Part 45 (1/2)
THE DIVaN.
The gates of the seraglio were thrown wide open, the discordant, clanging, and ear-piercing music was put to silence by a thundering roll of drums, and twelve mounted cava.s.ses with great trouble and difficulty began clearing a way for the corps of viziers among the thronging crowd, belabouring all they met in their path with stout cudgels and rhinoceros whips. The indolent, gaping crowd saw that it was going to be flogged, yet didn't stir a step to get out of the reach of the whips and bludgeons.
The members of the Divan dismounted from their horses in the courtyard and ascended the steps, which were guarded by a double row of Janissaries with drawn scimitars, the blue and yellow curtains of the a.s.sembly hall of the Divan were drawn aside before them, and the mysterious inner chamber--the hearth and home of so much power and splendour, once upon a time--lay open before them.
It was a large octagonal chamber without any of those adornments forbidden by the Koran; its marble pavement covered by oriental carpets, its walls to the height of a man's stature inlaid with mother-o'-pearl.
Along the walls were placed a simple row of low sofas covered with red velvet and without back-rests, behind them was a pillared niche concealing a secret door where Amurath was wont to listen unperceived to the consultations of his councillors.
Through the parted curtains pa.s.sed the members of the Council of the Divan. First of all came the Grand Vizier, a tall, dry man with rounded projecting shoulders; his head was constantly on the move and his eyes peered now to the right and now to the left as if he were perpetually watching and examining something. His brown, mud-coloured face wore an expression of perpetual discontent; every glance was full of scorn, rage, and morbid choler; when he spoke he gnashed his black teeth together through which he seemed to filter his voice; and his face was never for an instant placid, at one moment he drew down his eyebrows till his eyes were scarce visible, at the next instant he raised them so that his whole forehead became a network of wrinkles and the whites of his eyes were visible; the corners of his mouth twitched, his chin waggled, his beard was thin and rarely combed, and the only time he ever smiled was when he saw fear on the face of the person whom he was addressing; finally, his robes hung about him so slovenly that despite the splendid ornaments with which they were plastered he always looked shabby and sordid.
After the Grand Vizier came Kiuprile, a full-bodied, red-faced Pasha, with a beard sprawling down to his knees; the broad sword which hung by his side raised the suspicion that the hand that was wont to wield it was the hand of no weakling; his voice resembled the roar of a buffalo, so deep, so rumbling was it that when he spoke quietly it was difficult to understand him, while on the battle-field you could hear him above the din of the guns.
Among the other members of the Divan there were three other men worthy of attention.
The first was Kucsuk Pasha, a muscular, martial man; his sunburnt face was seamed with scars, his eyes were as bright and as black as an eagle's; his whole bearing, despite his advanced age, was valiant and defiant; he carried his sword in his left hand; his walk, his pose, his look were firm; he was slow to speak, and rapid in action.
Beside him stood his son, Feriz Beg, the sharer of his father's dangers and glory, a tall, handsome youth in a red caftan and a white turban with a heron's plume.
Last of all came the Sultan's Christian doctor, the court interpreter, Alexander Maurocordato, a tall, athletic man, in a long, ample mantle of many folds; his long, bright, black beard reaches almost to his girdle, his features have the intellectual calm of the ancient Greek type, his thick black hair flows down on both shoulders in thick locks.
The viziers took their places; the Sultan's divan remains vacant; nearest to it sits the Grand Vizier; farther back sit the pashas, agas, and begs.
”Most gracious sir,” said Maurocordato, turning towards the Grand Vizier, ”the poor Magyar gentlemen have been waiting at thy threshold since dawn.”
The Grand Vizier gazed venomously at the interpreter, protruding his head more than ever.
”Let them wait! It is more becoming that they should wait for us than we for them.”
And with that he beckoned to the chief of the cava.s.ses to admit the pet.i.tioners.
The refugees were twelve in number, and the chief cava.s.se, drawing aside the curtains from the door of an adjoining room, at once admitted them.
Foremost among them was Paul Beldi, the others entered with anxious faces and unsteady, hesitating footsteps; he alone was brave, n.o.ble, and dignified. His gentle, large blue eyes ran over the faces of those present, and his appearance excited general sympathy.
Only the Grand Vizier regarded him with a look of truculent indifference--it was his usual expression, and he knew no other.
”Fear not!--open your hearts freely!” signified the Grand Vizier.
Beldi stepped forward, and bowed before the Grand Vizier. One of the Hungarians approached still nearer to the Vizier and kissed his hand; the others were prevented from doing the same by the intervention of Maurocordato, who at the same time beckoned to Beldi to speak without delay.
”Your Excellencies!” began Beldi, ”our sad fate is already well-known to you, as fugitives from our native land we come to you, as beggars we stand before you; but not as fugitives, not as beggars do we pet.i.tion you at this moment, but as patriots. We have quitted our country not as traitors, not as rebels, but because we would save it. The Prince is rus.h.i.+ng headlong into destruction, carrying the country along with him.
His chief counsellor lures him on with the promise of the crown of Hungary in the hope that he himself will become the Palatine. Your excellencies are aware what would be the fate of Hungary after such a war. A number of the great men of the realm joined me in a protest against this policy. We knew what we were risking. For some years past I have been one of those who disapproved of an offensive war--we are the last of them, the rest sit in a shameful dungeon, or have died a shameful death. Once upon a time, as happy fathers of families, we dwelt by our own firesides; now our wives and children are cast into prison, our castles are rooted up, our escutcheons are broken; but we do not ask of you what we have lost personally, we ask not for the possession of our properties, we ask not for the embraces of our wives and children, we do not even ask to see our country; we are content to die as beggars and outcasts; we only pet.i.tion for the preservation of the life of the fatherland which has cast us forth, and which is rus.h.i.+ng swiftly to destruction--hasten ye to save it.”
Kucsuk Pasha, who well understood Hungarian, angrily clapped his hand upon his sword, half drew it and returned it to its sheath again. Feriz Beg involuntarily wiped away a tear from his eyes.
”Gracious sirs,” continued Beldi, ”we do not wish you to be wrath with the Prince for the tears and the blood that have been shed; we only ask you to provide the Prince with better counsellors than those by whom he is now surrounded, binding them by oath to satisfy the nation and the Grand Seignior, for none will break such an oath lightly and with impunity; and these new counsellors will constrain him to be a better father to those who remain in the country than he was to us.”
When Beldi had finished, Maurocordato came forward, took his place between the speaker and the Grand Vizier, and began to interpret the words of Beldi.