Part 45 (2/2)

At the concluding words the face of the interpreter flushed brightly, his resonant, sonorous voice filled the room, his soul, catching the expression of his face, changed with his changing feelings. Where Beldi calmly and resignedly had described his sufferings, the voice of the interpreter was broken and tremulous. Where Beldi had sketched the future in a voice of solemn conviction, Maurocordato a.s.sumed a tone of prophetic inspiration; and finally, when in words of self-renunciation he appealed for the salvation of his country, his oratory became as penetrating, as bitterly ravis.h.i.+ng, as if his speech were the original instead of the copy. Pa.s.sion in its ancient Greek style, the style of Demosthenes, seemed to have arisen from the dead.

The listening Pashas seemed to have caught the inspiration of his enthusiasm, and bent their heads approvingly. The Grand Vizier contracted his eyelids, puckered up his lips, and hugging his caftan to his breast, began to speak, at the same time gazing around abstractedly with p.r.i.c.kling eyes, every moment beating down the look of whomsoever he addressed or glaring scornfully at them. His screeching voice, which he seemed to strain through his lips, produced an unpleasant impression on those who heard it for the first time; while his features, which seemed to express every instant anger, rage, and scorn in an ascending scale, accentuated by the restless pantomime of his withered, tremulous hand, could not but make those of the Magyars who were ignorant of Turkish imagine that the Grand Vizier was atrociously scolding them, and that what he said was nothing but the vilest abuse from beginning to end.

Mr. Ladislaus Csaky, who was standing beside Paul Beldi, plucked his fur mantle and whispered in his ear with a tremulous voice:

”You have ruined us. Why did you not speak more humbly? He is going to impale the whole lot of us.”

The Vizier, as usual, concluded his speech with a weary smile, drew back his mocking lips, and exposed his black, stumpy teeth. The heart's blood of the Magyars began to grow cold at that smile.

Then Maurocordato came forward. A gentle smile of encouragement illumined his n.o.ble features, and he began to interpret the words of the Grand Vizier: ”Wors.h.i.+pful Magyars, be of good cheer. I have compa.s.sion on your pet.i.tion, your righteousness stands before us brighter than the noonday sun, your griefs shall have the fullest remedy. Ye did well to supplicate the garment of the Sublime Sultan; cling fast to the folds of it, and no harm shall befall you. Now depart in peace; if we should require you again, we will send for you.”

Everyone breathed more easily. Beldi thanked the Vizier in a few simple sentences, and they prepared to withdraw.

But Ladislaus Csaky, who was much more interested in his Sova property than in the future of Transylvania, and to whom Beldi's pet.i.tion, which only sought the salvation of the fatherland, and said nothing about the rest.i.tution of confiscated estates, appeared inadequate, scarce waited for his turn to speak, and, what is more, threw himself at the feet of the Vizier, seized one of them, which he embraced, and began to weep tremendously. Indeed, his words were almost unintelligible for his weeping, and Mr. Csaky's oratory was always difficult to understand at the best of times, so that it was no wonder that the Grand Vizier lost his usual phlegm and now began to curse and swear in real earnest; till the other Magyar gentlemen rushed up, tore Csaky away by force, while Maurocordato angrily pushed them all out, and thus put an end to the scandalous scene.

”If you kneel before a man,” said Beldi, walking beside him, ”at least do not weep like a child.”

Before Beldi could reach the door he felt his hand warmly pressed by another hand. He looked in that direction, and there stood Feriz.

”Did you say that your wife was a captive?” asked the youth with an uncertain voice.

”And my child also.”

The face of Feriz flushed.

”I will release them,” he said impetuously. Beldi seized his hand. ”Wait for me at the entrance.”

The Hungarian refugees withdrew, everyone of them weaving for himself fresh hopes from the a.s.surances of the Vizier. Only Ladislaus was not content with the result, and going to his quarters he immediately sat down and wrote two letters, one to the general of the Kaiser, and the other to the minister of the King of France, to both of whom he promised everything they could desire if they would help forward his private affairs, thinking to himself if the Sultan does not help me the Kaiser will, and if both fail me I can fall back upon the French King; at any rate a man ought to make himself safe all round.

Scarce had the refugees quitted the Divan when an Aga entered the audience-chamber and announced:

”The Magyar lords.”

”What Magyar lords?” cried the Grand Vizier.

”Those whom the Prince has sent.”

”They're in good time!” said the Vizier, ”show them in;” and he at once fell into a proper pose, reserving for them his most venomous expression.

The curtains were parted, and the Prince's emba.s.sy appeared, bedizened courtly folks in velvet with amiable, simpering faces. Their spokesman, Farkas Bethlen, stood in the very place where Paul Beldi had stood an hour before, in a velvet mantle trimmed with swan's-down, a bejewelled girdle worthy of a hero, and a sword studded with turquoises, the magnificence of his appointments oddly contrasting with his look of abject humility.

”Well! what do ye want? Out with it quickly!” snapped the Grand Vizier, with an ominous air of impatience.

Farkas Bethlen bent his head to his very knees, and then he began to orate in the roundabout rhetoric of those days, touching upon everything imaginable except the case in point.

”Most gracious and mighty, glorious and victorious Lords, dignified Grand Vizier, unconquerable Pashas, mighty Begs and Agas, most potent pillars of the State, lords of the three worlds, famous and widely-known heroes by land and sea, my peculiarly benevolent Lords!”

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