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by Lew. Wallace

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Title: The Prince of India
       Or
       Why Constantinople Fell
       Volume 2

Author: Lew. Wallace

Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6849]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on February 1, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCE OF INDIA
VOlume 2 ***




Produced by Anne Soulard, Naomi Parkhurst, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team




THE PRINCE OF INDIA
OR
WHY CONSTANTINOPLE FELL

BY
LEW. WALLACE

VOL. II.




   _Rise, too, ye Shapes and Shadows of the Past
    Rise from your long forgotten grazes at last
    Let us behold your faces, let us hear
    The words you uttered in those days of fear
    Revisit your familiar haunts again
    The scenes of triumph and the scenes of pain
    And leave the footprints of your bleeding feet
    Once more upon the pavement of the street_
                                       LONGFELLOW




CONTENTS


BOOK IV
THE PALACE OF BLACHERNE
(_Continued_)

CHAPTER
   XI. THE PRINCESS HEARS FROM THE WORLD
  XII. LAEL TELLS OF HER TWO FATHERS
 XIII. THE HAMARI TURNS BOATMAN
  XIV. THE PRINCESS HAS A CREED
   XV. THE PRINCE OF INDIA PREACHES GOD TO THE GREEKS
  XVI. HOW THE NEW FAITH WAS RECEIVED
 XVII. LAEL AND THE SWORD OF SOLOMON
XVIII. THE FESTIVAL OF FLOWERS
  XIX. THE PRINCE BUILDS CASTLES FOR HIS GUL BAHAR
   XX. THE SILHOUETTE OF A CRIME
  XXI. SERGIUS LEARNS A NEW LESSON
 XXII. THE PRINCE OF INDIA SEEKS MAHOMMED
XXIII. SERGIUS AND NILO TAKE UP THE HUNT
 XXIV. THE IMPERIAL CISTERN GIVES UP ITS SECRET

BOOK V
MIRZA

    I. A COLD WIND FROM ADRIANOPLE
   II. A FIRE FROM THE HEGUMEN'S TOMB
  III. MIRZA DOES AN ERRAND FOR MAHOMMED
   IV. THE EMIR IN ITALY
    V. THE PRINCESS IRENE IN TOWN
   VI. COUNT CORTI IN SANCTA SOPHIA
  VII. COUNT CORTI TO MAHOMMED
 VIII. OUR LORD'S CREED
   IX. COUNT CORTI TO MAHOMMED
    X. SERGIUS TO THE LION

BOOK VI
CONSTANTINE

    I. THE SWORD OF SOLOMON
   II. MAHOMMED AND COUNT CORTI MAKE A WAGER
  III. THE BLOODY HARVEST
   IV. EUROPE ANSWERS THE CRY FOR HELP
    V. COUNT CORTI RECEIVES A FAVOR
   VI. MAHOMMED AT THE GATE ST. ROMAIN
  VII. THE GREAT GUN SPEAKS
 VIII. MAHOMMED TRIES HIS GUNS AGAIN
   IX. THE MADONNA TO THE RESCUE
    X. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE ASSAULT
   XI. COUNT CORTI IN DILEMMA
  XII. THE ASSAULT
 XIII. MAHOMMED IN SANCTA SOPHIA




BOOK IV

THE PALACE OF BLACHERNE
(_Continued_)


CHAPTER XI

THE PRINCESS HEARS FROM THE WORLD


The sun shone clear and hot, and the guests in the garden were glad to
rest in the shaded places of promenade along the brooksides and under
the beeches and soaring pines of the avenues. Far up the extended hollow
there was a basin first to receive the water from the conduit supposed
to tap the aqueduct leading down from the forest of Belgrade. The noise
of the little cataract there was strong enough to draw a quota of
visitors. From the front gate to the basin, from the basin to the summit
of the promontory, the company in lingering groups amused each other
detailing what of fortune good and bad the year had brought them. The
main features of such meetings are always alike. There were games by the
children, lovers in retired places, and old people plying each other
with reminiscences. The faculty of enjoyment changes but never expires.

An array of men chosen for the purpose sallied from the basement of the
palace carrying baskets of bread, fruits in season, and wine of the
country in water-skins. Dispersing themselves through the garden, they
waited on the guests, and made distribution without stint or
discrimination. The heartiness of their welcome may be imagined; while
the thoughtful reader will see in the liberality thus characterizing her
hospitality one of the secrets of the Princess's popularity with the
poor along the Bosphorus. Nor that merely. A little reflection will lead
up to an explanation of her preference for the Homeric residence by
Therapia. The commonalty, especially the unfortunate amongst them, were
a kind of constituency of hers, and she loved living where she could
most readily communicate with them.

This was the hour she chose to go out and personally visit her guests.
Descending from the portico, she led her household attendants into the
garden. She alone appeared unveiled. The happiness of the many amongst
whom she immediately stepped touched every spring of enjoyment in her
being; her eyes were bright, her cheeks rosy, her spirit high; in a
word, the beauty so peculiarly hers, and which no one could look on
without consciousness of its influence, shone with singular enhancement.

News that she was in the garden spread rapidly, and where she went
everyone arose and remained standing. Now and then, while making
acknowledgments to groups along the way, she recognized acquaintances,
and for such, whether men or women, she had a smile, sometimes a word.
Upon her passing, they pursued with benisons, "God bless you!" "May the
Holy Mother keep her!" Not unfrequently children ran flinging flowers at
her feet, and mothers knelt and begged her blessing. They had lively
recollection of a sickness or other overtaking by sorrow, and of her
boat drawing to the landing laden with delicacies, and bringing what was
quite as welcome, the charm of her presence, with words inspiring hope
and trust. The vast, vociferous, premeditated Roman ovation, sonorously
the Triumph, never brought a Consular hero the satisfaction this
Christian woman now derived.

She was aware of the admiration which went with her, and the sensation
was of walking through a purer and brighter sunshine. Nor did she affect
to put aside the triumph there certainly was in the demonstration; but
she accounted it the due of charity--a triumph of good work done for the
pleasure there was in the doing.

At the basin mentioned as the landward terminus of the garden the
progress in that direction stopped. Thence, after gracious attentions to
the women and children there, the Princess set out for the summit of the
promontory. The road taken was broad and smooth, and on the left hand
lined from bottom to top with pine trees, some of which are yet
standing.

The summit had been a place of interest time out of mind. From its woody
cover, the first inhabitants beheld the Argonauts anchor off the town of
Amycus, king of the Bebryces; there the vengeful Medea practised her
incantations; and descending to acknowledged history, it were long
telling the notable events of the ages landmarked by the hoary height.
When the builder of the palace below threw his scheme of improvement
over the brow of the hill, he constructed water basins on different
levels, surrounding them with raised walls artistically sculptured;
between the basins he pitched marble pavilions, looking in the distance
like airy domes on a Cyclopean temple; then he drew the work together by
a tesselated pavement identical with the floor of the house of Caesar
hard by the Forum in Rome.

Giving little heed to the other guests in occupancy of the summit, the
attendants of the Princess broke into parties sight seeing; while she
called Sergius to her, and conducted him to a point commanding the
Bosphorus for leagues. A favorite lookout, in fact, the spot had been
provided with a pavement and a capacious chair cut from a block of the
coarse brown limestone native to the locality. There she took seat, and
the ascent, though all in shade, having been wearisome, she was glad of
the blowing of the fresh upper air.

From a place in the rear Sergius had witnessed the progress to the
present halt. Every incident and demonstration had been in his view and
hearing. The expressions of affection showered upon the Princess were
delightful to him; they seemed so spontaneous and genuine. As testimony
to her character in the popular estimate at least, they left nothing
doubtful. His first impression of her was confirmed. She was a woman to
whom Heaven had confided every grace and virtue. Such marvels had been
before. He had heard of them in tradition, and always in a strain to
lift those thus favored above the hardened commonplace of human life,
creatures not exactly angels, yet moving in the same atmosphere with
angels. The monasteries, even those into whose gates women are forbidden
to look, all have stories of womanly excellence which the monks tell
each other in pauses from labor in the lentil patch, and in their cells
after vesper prayers. In brief, so did Sergius' estimate of the Princess
increase that he was unaware of impropriety when, trudging slowly after
the train of attendants, he associated her with heroines most odorous in
Church and Scriptural memories; with Mothers Superior famous for
sanctity; with Saints, like Theckla and Cecilia; with the Prophetess who
was left by the wayside in the desert of Zin, and the later seer and
singer, she who had her judgment-seat under the palm tree of Deborah.

Withal, however, the monk was uncomfortable. The words of his Hegumen
pursued him. Should he tell the Princess? Assailed by doubts, he
followed her to the lookout on the edge of the promontory.

Seating herself, she glanced over the wide field of water below; from
the vessels there, she gazed across to Asia; then up at the sky, full to
its bluest depth with the glory of day. At length she asked:

"Have you heard from Father Hilarion?"

"Not yet," Sergius replied.

"I was thinking of him," she continued. "He used to tell me of the
primitive church--the Church of the Disciples. One of his lessons
returns to me. He seems to be standing where you are. I hear his voice.
I see his countenance. I remember his words: 'The brethren while of one
faith, because the creed was too simple for division, were of two
classes, as they now are and will always be'--ay, Sergius, as they will
always be!--'But,' he said, 'it is worthy remembrance, my dear child,
unlike the present habit, the rich held their riches with the
understanding that the brethren all had shares in them. The owner was
more than owner; he was a trustee charged with the safe-keeping of his
property, and with farming it to the best advantage, that he might be in
condition to help the greatest number of the Christian brotherhood
according to their necessities.' I wondered greatly at the time, but not
now. The delight I have today confirms the Father; for it is not in my
palace and garden, nor in my gold, but in the power I derive from them
to give respite from the grind of poverty to so many less fortunate than
myself. 'The divine order was not to desist from getting wealth'--thus
the Father continued--'for Christ knew there were who, labor as they
might, could not accumulate or retain; circumstances would be against
them, or the genius might be wanting. Poor without fault, were they to
suffer, and curse God with the curse of the sick, the cold, the naked,
the hungry? Oh, no! Christ was the representative of the Infinitely
Merciful. Under his dispensation they were to be partners of the more
favored.' Who can tell, who can begin to measure the reward there is to
me in the laughter of children at play under the trees by the brooks,
and in the cheer and smiles of women whom I have been able to draw from
the unvarying routine of toil like theirs?"

There was a ship with full spread sail speeding along so close in shore
Sergius could have thrown a stone on its deck. He affected to be deeply
interested in it. The ruse did not avail him.

"What is the matter?"

Receiving no reply, she repeated the question.

"My dear friend, you are not old enough in concealment to deceive me.
You are in trouble. Come sit here.... True, I am not an authorized
confessor; yet I know the principle on which the Church defends the
confessional. Let me share your burden. Insomuch as you give me, you
shall be relieved."

It came to him then that he must speak.

"Princess," he began, striving to keep his voice firm, "you know not
what you ask."

"Is it what a woman may hear?"

A step nearer brought him on the tesselated square.

"I hesitate, Princess, because a judgment is required of me. Hear, and
help me first."

Then he proceeded rapidly:

"There is one just entered holy service. He is a member of an ancient
and honorable Brotherhood, and by reason of his inexperience, doubtless,
its obligations rest the heavier on his conscience. His superior has
declared to him how glad he would be had he a son like him, and
confiding in his loyalty, he intrusted him with gravest secrets; amongst
others, that a person well known and greatly beloved is under watch for
the highest of religious crimes. Pause now, O Princess, and consider the
obligations inseparable from the relation and trust here disclosed....
Look then to this other circumstance. The person accused condescended to
be the friend and patron of the same neophyte, and by vouching for him
to the head of the Church, put him on the road to favor and quick
promotion. Briefly, O Princess, to which is obligation first owing? The
father superior or the patron in danger?"

The Princess replied calmly, but with feeling: "It is not a supposition,
Sergius."

Though surprised, he returned: "Without it I could not have your
decision first."

"Thou, Sergius, art the distressed neophyte."

He held his hands out to her: "Give me thy judgment."

"The Hegumen of the St. James' is the accuser."

"Be just, O Princess! To which is the obligation first owing?"

"I am the accused," she continued, in the same tone.

He would have fallen on his knees. "No, keep thy feet. A watchman may be
behind me now."

He had scarcely resumed his position before she asked, still in the
quiet searching manner: "What is the highest religious crime? Or rather,
to men in authority, like the Hegumen of your Brotherhood, what is the
highest of all crimes?"

He looked at her in mute supplication.

"I will tell you--HERESY."

Then, compassionating his suffering, she added: "My poor Sergius! I am
not upbraiding you. You are showing me your soul. I see it in its first
serious trial.... I will forget that I am the denounced, and try to help
you. Is there no principle to which we can refer the matter--no
Christian principle? The Hegumen claims silence from you; on the other
side, your conscience--I would like to say preference--impels you to
speak a word of warning for the benefit of your patroness. There, now,
we have both the dispute and the disputants. Is it not so?"

Sergius bowed his head.

"Father Hilarion once said to me: 'Daughter, I give you the ultimate
criterion of the divineness of our religion--there cannot be an instance
of human trial for which it does not furnish a rule of conduct and
consolation.' A profound saying truly! Now is it possible we have here
at last an exception? I do not seek to know on which side the honors
lie. Where are the humanities? Ideas of honor are of men conventional.
On the other hand, the humanities stand for Charity. If thou wert the
denounced, O Sergius, how wouldst thou wish to be done by?"

Sergius' face brightened.

"We are not seeking to save a heretic--we are in search of quiet for our
consciences. So why not ask and answer further: What would befall the
Hegumen, did you tell the accused all you had from him? Would he suffer?
Is there a tribunal to sentence him? Or a prison agape for him? Or
torture in readiness? Or a King of Lions? In these respects how is it
with the friend who vouched for you to the head of the Church? Alas!"

"Enough--say no more!" Sergius cried impulsively. "Say no more. O
Princess, I will tell everything--I will save you, if I can--if not, and
the worst come, I will die with you."

Womanlike the Princess signalized her triumph with tears. At length she
asked: "Wouldst thou like to know if I am indeed a heretic?"

"Yes, for what thou art, that am I; and then"--

"The same fire in the Hippodrome may light us both out of the world."

There was a ring of prophecy in the words.

"God forbid!" he ejaculated, with a shiver.

"God's will be done, were better! ... So, if it please you," she went
on, "tell me all the Hegumen told you about me."

"Everything?" he asked doubtfully.

"Why not?"

"Part of it is too wicked for repetition."

"Yet it was an accusation."

"Yes."

"Sergius, you are no match in cunning for my enemies. They are Greeks
trained to diplomacy; you are"--she paused and half smiled--"only a
pupil of Hilarion's. See now--if they mean to kill me, how important to
invent a tale which shall rob me of sympathy, and reconcile the public
to my sacrifice. They who do much good, and no harm"--she cast a glance
at the people swarming around the pavilions--"always have friends. Such
is the law of kindness, and it never failed but once; but today a
splinter of the Cross is worth a kingdom."

"Princess, I will hold nothing back."

"And I, Sergius--God witnessing for me--will speak to each denunciation
thou givest me."

"There were two matters in the Hegumen's mind," Sergius began, but struck
with the abruptness, he added apologetically: "I pray you, Princess,
remember I speak at your insistence, and that I am not in any sense an
accuser. It may be well to say also the Hegumen returned from last
night's Mystery low in spirits, and much spent bodily, and before
speaking of you, declared he had been an active partisan of your
father's. I do not think him your personal enemy."

A mist of tears dimmed her eyes while the Princess replied: "He was my
father's friend, and I am grateful to him; but alas! that he is
naturally kind and just is now of small consequence."

"It grieves me"--

"Do not stop," she said, interrupting him.

"At the Father's bedside I received his blessing; and asked leave to be
absent a few days. 'Where?' he inquired, and I answered: 'Thou knowest I
regard the Princess Irene as my little mother. I should like to go see
her.'"

Sergius sought his auditor's face at this, and observing no sign of
objection to the familiarity, was greatly strengthened.

"The Father endeavored to persuade me not to come, and it was with that
purpose he entered upon the disclosures you ask.... 'The life the
Princess leads'--thus he commenced--'and her manners, are outside the
sanctions of society.'"

Here, from resting on her elbow, the listener sat upright, grasping the
massive arm of the chair.

"Shall I proceed, O Princess?"

"Yes."

"This place is very public"--he glanced at the people above them.

"I will hear you here."

"At your pleasure.... The Hegumen referred next to your going about
publicly unveiled. While not positively wrong, he condemned the practice
as a pernicious example; besides which there was a defiant boldness in
it, he said, tending to make you a subject of discussion and indelicate
remark."

The hand on the stony arm trembled.

"I fear, O Princess," Sergius continued, with downcast look, "that my
words are giving you pain."

"But they are not yours. Go on."

"Then the Father came to what was much more serious."

Sergius again hesitated.

"I am listening," she said.

"He termed it your persistence in keeping up the establishment here at
Therapia."

The Princess grew red and white by turns.

"He said the Turk was too near you; that unmarried and unprotected your
proper place was in some house of God on the Islands, or in the city,
where you could have the benefit of holy offices. As it was, rumor was
free to accuse you of preferring guilty freedom to marriage."

The breeze fell off that moment, leaving the Princess in the centre of a
profound hush; except for the unwonted labor of her heart, the leaves
overhead were not more still. The sight of her was too oppressive--
Sergius turned away. Presently he heard her say, as if to herself: "I am
indeed in danger. If my death were not in meditation, the boldest of them
would not dare think so foul a falsehood.... Sergius," she said.

He turned to her, but she broke off diverted by another idea. Had this
last accusation reference to the Emperor's dream of making her his wife?
Could the Emperor have published what took place between them?
Impossible!

"Sergius, did the Hegumen tell you whence this calumny had origin?"

"He laid it to rumor merely."

"Surely he disclosed some ground for it. A dignitary of his rank and
profession cannot lend himself to shaming a helpless woman without
reason or excuse."

"Except your residence at Therapia, he gave no reason."

Here she looked at Sergius, and the pain in the glance was pitiful. "My
friend, is there anything in your knowledge which might serve such a
rumor?"

"Yes," he replied, letting his eyes fall.

"What!" and she lifted her head, and opened her eyes.

He stood silent and evidently suffering.

"Poor Sergius! The punishment is yours. I am sorry for you--sorry we
entered on this subject--but it is too late to retire from it. Speak
bravely. What is it you know against me? It cannot be a crime; much I
doubt if it be a sin; my walk has been very strait and altogether in
God's view. Speak!"

"Princess," he answered, "coming down from the landing, I was stopped by
a concourse studying a brass plate nailed to the right-hand pillar of
your gate. It was inscribed, but none of them knew the import of the
inscription. The hamari came up, and at sight of it fell to saluting,
like the abject Eastern he is. The bystanders chaffered him, and he
retorted, and, amongst other things, said the brass was a safeguard
directed to all Turks, notifying them that this property, its owner, and
inmates were under protection of the Prince Mahommed. Give heed now, I
pray you, O Princess, to this other thing of the man's saying. The
notice was the Prince Mahommed's, the inscription his signature, and the
Prince himself fixed the plate on the pillar with his own hand."

Sergius paused.

"Well," she asked.

"The inferences--consider them."

"State them."

"My tongue refuses. Or if I must, O Princess, I will use the form of
accusation others are likely to have adopted. 'The Princess Irene lives
at Therapia because Prince Mahommed is her lover, and it is a convenient
place of meeting. Therefore his safeguard on her gate.'"

"No one could be bold enough to"--

"One has been bold enough."

"One?"

"The Hegumen of my Brotherhood."

The Princess was very pale.

"It is cruel--cruel!" she exclaimed. "What ought I to do?"

"Treat the safeguard as a discovery of to-day, and have it removed while
the people are all present." She looked at him searchingly. On her
forehead between the brows, he beheld a line never there before. More
surprising was the failure of self-reliance observable in her request
for counsel. Heretofore her courage and sufficiency had been remarkable.
In all dealings with him she had proved herself the directress, quick
yet decided. The change astonished him, so little was he acquainted with
the feminine nature; and in reply he spoke hastily, hardly knowing what
he had said. The words were not straightforward and honest; they were
not becoming him any more than the conduct suggested was becoming her;
they lingered in his ear, a wicked sound, and he would have recalled
them--but he hesitated.

Here a voice in fierce malediction was heard up at the pavilions,
together with a prodigious splashing of water. Laughter, clapping of
hands, and other expressions of delight succeeded.

"Go, Sergius, and see what is taking place," said the Princess.

Glad of the opportunity to terminate the painful scene, he hastened to
the reservoirs and returned.

"Your presence will restore quiet at once."

The people made way for their hostess with alacrity. The hamari, it
appeared, had just arrived from the garden. Observing Lael in the midst
of the suite of fair ladies, he advanced to her with many strange
salutations. Alarmed, she would have run away had not Joqard broken from
his master, and leaped with a roar into the water. The poor beast seemed
determined to enjoy the bath. He swam, and dived, and played antics
without number. In vain the showman, resorting to every known language,
coaxed and threatened by turns--Joqard was self-willed and happy, and it
were hard saying which appreciated his liberty most, he or the
spectators of the scene.

The Princess, for the time conquering her pain of heart, interceded for
the brute; whereupon the hamari, like a philosopher used to making the
best of surprises, joined in the sport until Joqard grew tired, and
voluntarily returned to control.




CHAPTER XII

LAEL TELLS OF HER TWO FATHERS


Word passed from the garden to the knots of people on the height: "Come
down quickly. They are making ready for the boat race." Directly the
reservoirs, the pavilions, and the tesselation about them were deserted.

The Princess Irene, with her suite, made the descent to the garden more
at leisure, knowing the regatta would wait for her. So it happened she
was at length in charge of what seemed a rear guard; but how it befell
that Sergius and Lael drew together, the very last of that rear guard,
is not of such easy explanation.

Whether by accident or mutual seeking, side by side the two moved slowly
down the hill, one moment in the shade of the kingly pines, then in the
glowing sunshine. The noises of the celebration, the shouting, singing,
calling, and merry outcries of children ascended to them, and through
the verdurousness below, lucent as a lake, gleams of color flashed from
scarfs, mantles, embroidered jackets, and flaming petticoats.

"I hope you are enjoying yourself," he said to Lael, upon their meeting.

"Oh, yes! How could I help it--everything is delightful. And the
Princess--she is so good and gracious. Oh, if I were a man, I should go
mad with loving her!"

She spoke with enthusiasm; she even drew her veil partially aside; yet
Sergius did not respond; he was asking himself if it were possible the
girl could be an impostor. Presently he resolved to try her with
questions.

"Tell me of your father. Is he well?"

At this she raised her veil entirely, and in turn asked: "Which father
do you mean?"

"Which father," he repeated, stopping.

"Oh, I have the advantage of everybody else! I have two fathers."

He could do no more than repeat after her: "Two fathers!"

"Yes; Uel the merchant is one of them, and the Prince of India is the
other. I suppose you mean the Prince, since you know him. He accompanied
me to the landing this morning, and seated me in the boat. He was then
well."

There was no concealment here. Yet Sergius saw the disclosure was not
complete. He was tempted to go on.

"Two fathers! How can such thing be?"

She met the question with a laugh. "Oh! If it depended on which of them
is the kinder to me, I could not tell you the real father."

Sergius stood looking at her, much as to say: "That is no answer; you
are playing with me."

"See how we are falling behind," she then said. "Come, let us go on. I
can talk while walking."

They set forward briskly, but it was noticeable that he moved nearer
her, stooping from his great height to hear further.

"This is the way of it," she continued of her own prompting. "Some years
ago, my father, Uel, the merchant, received a letter from an old friend
of his father's, telling him that he was about to return to
Constantinople after a long absence in the East somewhere, and asking if
he, Uel, would assist the servant who was bearer of the note in buying
and furnishing a house. Uel did so, and when the stranger arrived, his
home was ready for him. I was then a little girl, and went one day to
see the Prince of India, his residence being opposite Uel's on the other
side of the street. He was studying some big books, but quit them, and
picked me up, and asked me who I was? I told him Uel was my father. What
was my name? Lael, I said. How old was I? And when I answered that also,
he kissed me, and cried, and, to my wonder, declared how he had once a
child named Lael; she looked like me, and was just my age when she
died"--

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Sergius.

"Yes, and he then said Heaven had sent me to take her place. Would I be
his Lael? I answered I would, if Uel consented. He took me in his arms,
carried me across the street and talked so Uel could not have refused
had he wanted to."

The manner of the telling was irresistible. At the conclusion, she
turned to him and said, with emotion: "There, now. You see I really have
two fathers, and you know how I came by them: and were I to recount
their goodness to me, and how they both love me, and how happy each one
of them is in believing me the object of the other's affection, you
would understand just as well how I know no difference between them."

"It is strange; yet as you tell it, little friend, it is not strange,"
he returned, seriously. They were at the instant in a bar of brightest
sunlight projected across the road; and had she asked him the cause of
the frown on his face, he could not have told her he was thinking of
Demedes.

"Yes, I see it--I see it, and congratulate you upon being so doubly
blessed. Tell me next who the Prince of India is."

She looked now here, now there, he watching her narrowly.

"Oh! I never thought of asking him about himself."

She was merely puzzled by an unexpected question.

"But you know something of him?"

"Let me think," she replied. "Yes, he was the intimate of my father
Uel's father, and of his father before him."

"Is he so old then?"

"I cannot say how long he has been a family acquaintance. Of my knowledge
he is very learned in everything. He speaks all the languages I ever
heard of; he passes the nights alone on the roof of his house"--

"Alone on the roof of his house!"

"Only of clear nights, you understand. A servant carries a chair and
table up for him, and a roll of papers, with pen and ink, and a clock of
brass and gold. The paper is a map of the heavens; and he sits there
watching the stars, marking them in position on the map, the clock
telling him the exact time."

"An astronomer," said Sergius.

"And an astrologer," she added; "and besides these things he is a doctor,
but goes only amongst the poor, taking nothing from them. He is also a
chemist; and he has tables of the plants curative and deadly, and can
extract their qualities, and reduce them from fluids to solids, and
proportionate them. He is also a master of figures, a science, he always
terms it, the first of creative principles without which God could not
be God. So, too, he is a traveller--indeed I think he has been over the
known world. You cannot speak of a capital or of an island, or a tribe
which he has not visited. He has servants from the farthest East. One of
his attendants is an African King; and what is the strangest to me,
Sergius, his domestics are all deaf and dumb."

"Impossible!"

"Nothing appears impossible to him."

"How does he communicate with them?"

"They catch his meaning from the motion of his lips. He says signs are
too slow and uncertain for close explanations."

"Still he must resort to some language."

"Oh, yes, the Greek."

"But if they have somewhat to impart to him?"

"It is theirs to obey, and pantomime seems sufficient to convey the
little they have to return to him, for it is seldom more than, 'My Lord,
I have done the thing you gave me to do.' If the matter be complex, he
too resorts to the lip-speech, which he could not teach without first
being proficient in it himself. Thus, for instance, to Nilo"--

"The black giant who defended you against the Greek?"

"Yes--a wonderful man--an ally, not a servant. On the journey to
Constantinople, the Prince turned aside into an African Kingdom called
Kash-Cush. I cannot tell where it is. Nilo was the King, and a mighty
hunter and warrior. His trappings hang in his room now--shields, spears,
knives, bows and arrows, and among them a net of linen threads. When he
took the field for lions, his favorite game, the net and a short sword
were all he cared for. His throne room, I have heard my father the
Prince say, was carpeted with skins taken by him in single combats."

"What could he do with the net, little Princess?"

"I will give you his account; perhaps you can see it clearly--I cannot.
When the monster makes his leap, the corners of the net are tossed up in
the air, and he is in some way caught and tangled... Well, as I was
saying, Nilo, though deaf and dumb, of choice left his people and throne
to follow the Prince, he knew not where."

"Oh, little friend! Do you know you are talking the incredible to me?
Who ever heard of such thing before?"

Sergius' blue eyes were astare with wonder.

"I only speak what I have heard recounted by my father, the Prince, to
my other father, Uel.... What I intended saying was that directly the
Prince established himself at home he began teaching Nilo to converse.
The work was slow at first; but there is no end to the master's skill
and patience; he and the King now talk without hindrance. He has even
made him a believer in God."

"A Christian, you mean."

"No. In my father's opinion the mind of a wild man cannot comprehend
modern Christianity; nobody can explain the Trinity; yet a child can be
taught the almightiness of God, and won to faith in him."

"Do you speak for yourself or the Prince?"

"The Prince," she replied.

Sergius was struck with the idea, and wished to go further with it, but
they were at the foot of the hill, and Lael exclaimed, "The garden is
deserted. We may lose the starting of the race. Let us hurry."

"Nay, little friend, you forget how narrow my skirts are. I cannot run.
Let us walk fast. Give me a hand. There now--we will arrive in time."

Near the palace, however, Sergius dropped into his ordinary gait; then
coming to a halt, he asked: "Tell me to whom else you have related this
pretty tale of the two fathers?"

His look and tone were exceedingly grave, and she studied his face, and
questioned him in turn: "You are very serious--why?"

"Oh, I was wondering if the story is public?" More plainly, he was
wondering whence Demedes had his information.

"I suppose it is generally known; at least I cannot see why it should
not be."

The few words swept the last doubt from his mind; yet she continued: "My
father Uel is well known to the merchants of the city. I have heard him
say gratefully that since the coming of the Prince of India his business
has greatly increased. He used to deal in many kinds of goods; now he
sells nothing but precious stones. His patrons are not alone the nobles
of Byzantium; traders over in Galata buy of him for the western markets,
especially Italy and France. My other father, the Prince, is an expert
in such things, and does not disdain to help Uel with advice."

Lael might have added that the Prince, in course of his travels, had
ascertained the conveniency of jewels as a currency familiar and
acceptable to almost every people, and always kept a store of them by
him, from which he frequently replenished his protege's stock, allowing
him the profits. That she did not make this further disclosure was
probably due to ignorance of the circumstances; in other words, her
artlessness was extreme enough to render her a dangerous confidant, and
both her fathers were aware of it.

"Everybody in the bazaar is friendly to my father Uel, and the Prince
visits him there, going in state; and he and his train are an
attraction"--thus Lael proceeded. "On his departure, the questions about
him are countless, and Uel holds nothing back. Indeed, it is more than
likely he has put the whole mart and city in possession of the history
of my adoption by the Prince."

In front of the palace she broke off abruptly: "But see! The landing is
covered with men and women. Let us hurry."

Presently they issued from the garden, and were permitted to join the
Princess.




CHAPTER XIII

THE HAMARI TURNS BOATMAN


The boatmen had taken up some of the marble blocks of the landing, and
planting long oars upright in the ground, and fixing other oars
crosswise on them, constructed a secure frame covered with fresh
sail-cloth. From their vessels they had also brought material for a dais
under the shelter thus improvised; another sail for carpet, and a chair
on the dais completed the stand whence the Princess was to view and
judge the race.

A way was opened for her through the throng, and with her attendants,
she passed to the stand; and as she went, all the women near reached out
their hands and reverently touched the skirt of her gown--so did their
love for her trench on adoration.

The shore from the stand to the town, and from the stand again around
the promontory on the south, was thronged with spectators, while every
vantage point fairly in view was occupied by them; even the ships were
pressed into the service; and somehow the air over and about the bay
seemed to give back and tremble with the eagerness of interest
everywhere discernible.

Between Fanar, the last northern point of lookout over the Black Sea,
and Galata, down on the Golden Horn, there are about thirty hamlets,
villages and cities specking the European shore of the Bosphorus. Each
of them has its settlement of fishermen. Aside from a voluminous net,
the prime necessity for successful pursuit of the ancient and honorable
calling is a boat. Like most things of use amongst men, the vessel of
preferred model here came of evolution. The modern tourist may yet see
its kind drawn up at every landing he passes.

Proper handling, inclusive of running out and hauling in the seine,
demanded a skilful crew of at least five men; and as whole lives were
devoted to rowing, the proficiency finally attained in it can be
fancied. It was only natural, therefore, that the thirty communities
should each insist upon having the crew of greatest excellence--the crew
which could outrow any other five on the Bosphorus; and as every
Byzantine Greek was a passionate gambler, the wagers were without end.
Vauntings of the sort, like the Black Sea birds of unresting wings, went
up and down the famous waterway.

At long intervals occasions presented for the proof of these men of
pride; after which, for a period there was an admitted champion crew,
and a consequent hush of the babble and brawl.

In determining to conclude the fete with a boat-race open to all Greek
comers from the capital to the Cyanian rocks, the Princess Irene did
more than secure a desirable climax; unconsciously, perhaps, she hit
upon the measure most certain to bring peace to the thirty villages.

She imposed but two conditions on the competitors--they should be
fishermen and Greeks.

The interval between the announcement of the race and the day set for it
had been filled with boasting, from which one would have supposed the
bay of Therapia at the hour of starting would be too contracted to hold
the adversaries. When the hour came there were six crews present actually
prepared to contest for the prize--a tall ebony crucifix, with a gilded
image, to be displayed of holidays on the winning prow. The shrinkage
told the usual tale of courage oozed out. There was of course no end of
explanation.

About three o'clock, the six boats, each with a crew of five men, were
held in front of the Princess' stand, representative of as many towns.
Their prows were decorated with banderoles large enough to be easily
distinguished at a distance--one yellow, chosen for Yenimahale; one
blue, for Buyukdere; one white, for Therapia; one red, for Stenia; one
green, for Balta-Liman; and one half white and half scarlet, for Bebek.
The crews were in their seats--fellows with knotted arms bare to the
shoulder; white shirts under jackets the color of the flags, trousers in
width like petticoats. The feet were uncovered that, while the pull was
in delivery, they might the better clinch the cleats across the bottom
of the boat.

The fresh black paint with which the vessels had been smeared from end
to end on the outside was stoned smoothly down until it glistened like
varnish. Inside there was not a superfluity to be seen of the weight of
a feather.

The contestants knew every point of advantage, and, not less clearly,
they were there to win or be beaten doing their best. They were cool and
quiet; much more so, indeed, than the respective clansmen and clanswomen.

From these near objects of interest, the Princess directed a glance over
the spreading field of dimpled water to a galley moored under a wooded
point across on the Asiatic shore. The point is now crowned with the
graceful but neglected Kiosk of the Viceroy of Egypt. That galley was
the thither terminus of the race course, and the winners turning it, and
coming back to the place of starting, must row in all about three miles.

A little to the right of the Princess' stand stood a pole of height to
be seen by the multitude as well as the rival oarsmen, and a rope for
hoisting a white flag to the top connected it with the chair on the
dais. At the appearance of the flag the boats were to start; while it
was flying, the race was on.

And now the competitors are in position by lot from right to left. On
bay and shore the shouting is sunk to a murmur. A moment more--but in
that critical period an interruption occurred.

A yell from a number of voices in sharpest unison drew attention to the
point of land jutting into the water on the north side not inaptly
called the toe of Therapia, and a boat, turning the point, bore down
with speed toward the sail-covered stand. There were four rowers in it;
yet its glossy sides and air of trimness were significant of a seventh
competitor for some reason behind time. The black flag at the prow and
the black uniform of the oarsmen confirmed the idea. The hand of the
Princess was on the signal rope; but she paused.

As the boat-hook of the newcomers fell on the edge of the landing, one
of them dropped upon his knees, crying: "Grace, O Princess! Grace, and a
little time!"

The four were swarthy men, and, unlike the Greeks they were seeking to
oppose, their swart was a peculiarity of birth, a racial sign.
Recognizing them, the spectators near by shouted: "Gypsies! Gypsies!"
and the jeer passed from mouth to mouth far as the bridge over the creek
at the corner of the bay; yet it was not ill-natured. That these
unbelievers of unknown origin, separatists like the Jews, could offer
serious opposition to the chosen of the towns was ridiculous. Since they
excited no apprehension, their welcome was general.

"Why the need of grace? Who are you?" the Princess replied, gravely.

"We are from the valley by Buyukdere," the man returned.

"Are you fishermen?"

"Judged by our catches the year through, and the prices we get in the
market, O Princess, it is not boasting to say our betters cannot be
found, though you search both shores between Fanar and the Isles of the
Princes."

This was too much for the bystanders. The presence they were in was not
sufficient to restrain an outburst of derision.

"But the conditions of the race shut you out. You are not Greeks," the
judge continued.

"Nay, Princess, that is according to the ground of judgment. If it
please you to decide by birth and residence rather than ancestry, then
are we to be preferred over many of the nobles who go in and out of His
Majesty's gates unchallenged. Has not the sweet water that comes down
from the hills seeking the sea through our meadow furnished drink for
our fathers hundreds of years? And as it knew them, it knows us."

"Well answered, I must admit. Now, my friend, do as wisely with what I
ask next, and you shall have a place. Say you come out winners, what
will you do with the prize? I have heard you are not Christians."

The man raised his face the first time.

"Not Christians! Were the charge true, then, argument being for the
hearing, I would say the matter of religion is not among the conditions.
But I am a petitioner, not lawyer, and to my rude thinking it is better
that I hold on as I began. Trust us, O Princess! There is a plane tree,
wondrous old, and with seven twin trunks, standing before our tents, and
in it there is a hollow which shelters securely as a house. Attend me
now, I pray. If happily we win, we will convert the tree into a
cathedral, and build an altar in it, and set the prize above the altar
in such style that all who love the handiworks of nature better than the
artfulness of men may come and worship there reverently as in the
holiest of houses, Sancta Sophia not excepted."

"I will trust you. With such a promise overheard by so many of this
concourse, to refuse you a part in the race were a shame to the
Immaculate Mother. But how is it you are but four?"

"We were five, O Princess; now one is sick. It was at his bidding we
come; he thought of the hundreds of oarsmen who would be here one at
least could be induced to share our fortune."

"You have leave to try them."

The man arose, and looked at the bystanders, but they turned away.

"A hundred noumiae for two willing hands!" he shouted.

There was no reply. "If not for the money, then in honor of the noble
lady who has feasted you and your wives and children."

A voice answered out of the throng: "Here am I!" and presently the
hamari appeared with the bear behind him.

"Here," he said, "take care of Joqard for me. I will row in the sick
man's place, and"--

The remainder of the sentence was lost in an outburst of gibing--and
laughter. Finally the Princess asked the rowers if they were satisfied
with the volunteer.

They surveyed him doubtfully.

"Art thou an oarsman?" one of them asked.

"There is not a better on the Bosphorus. And I will prove it. Here, some
of you--take the beast off my hands. Fear not, friend, Joqard's worst
growl is inoffensive as thunder without lightning. That's a good man."

And with the words the hamari released the leading strap, sprang into
the boat, and without giving time for protest or remonstrance, threw off
his jacket and sandals, tucked up his shirt-sleeves, and dropped into
the vacant fifth seat. The dexterity with which he then unshipped the
oars and took them in hand measurably quieted the associates thus
audaciously adopted; his action was a kind of certificate that the right
man had been sent them.

"Believe in me," he said, in a low tone. "I have the two qualities which
will bring us home winners--skill and endurance." Then he spoke to the
Princess: "Noble lady, have I your consent to make a proclamation?"

The manner of the request was singularly deferential. Sergius observed
the change, and took a closer look at him while the Princess was giving
the permission.

Standing upon the seat, the hamari raised his voice: "Ho, here--there--
every one!" and drawing a purse from his bosom, he waved it overhead,
with a louder shout, "See!--a hundred noumiae, and not all copper either.
Piece against piece weighed or counted, I put them in wager! Speak one or
all. Who dares the chance?"

Takers of the offer not appearing on the shore, he shook the purse at
his competitors.

"If we are not Christians," he said to them, "we are oarsmen and not
afraid. See--I stake this purse--if you win, it is yours."

They only gaped at him.

He put the purse back slowly, and recounting the several towns of his
opponents by their proper names in Greek, he cried: "Buyukdere, Therapia,
Stenia, Bebek, Balta-Liman, Yenimahale--your women will sing you low
to-night!" Then to the Princess: "Allow us now to take our place seventh
on the left."

The bystanders were in a maze. Had they been served with a mess of brag,
or was the fellow really capable? One thing was clear--the interest in
the race had taken a rise perceptible in the judge's stand not less than
on the crowded shore.

The four Gypsies, on their part, were content with the volunteer. In
fact, they were more than satisfied when he said to them, as their
vessel turned into position:

"Now, comrades, be governed by me; and besides the prize, if we win, you
shall have my purse to divide amongst you man and man. Is it agreed?"
And they answered, foreman and all, yes. "Very well," he returned. "Do
you watch, and get the time and force from me. Now for the signal."

The Princess sent the starting flag to the top of the pole, and the
boats were off together. A great shout went up from the spectators--a
shout of men mingled with the screams of women to whom a hurrah or cheer
of any kind appears impossible.

To warm the blood, there is nothing after all like the plaudits of a
multitude looking on and mightily concerned. This was now noticeable.
The eyes of all the rowers enlarged; their teeth set hard; the arteries
of the neck swelled; and even in their tension the muscles of the arms
quivered.

A much better arrangement would have been to allow the passage of the
racers broadside to the shore; for then the shiftings of position, and
the strategies resorted to would have been plain to the beholders; as it
was, each foreshortened vessel soon became to them a black body, with
but a man and one pair of oars in motion; and sometimes provokingly
indistinguishable, the banderoles blew backward squarely in a line with
the direction of the movement. Then the friends on land gave over
exercising their throats; finally drawn down to the water's edge, and
pressing on each other, they steadied and welded into a mass, like a
wall.

Once there was a general shout. Gradually the boats had lost the
formation of the start, and falling in behind each other, assumed an
order comparable to a string. While this change was going on, a breeze
unusually strong blew from the south, bringing every flag into view at
the same time: when it was perceived that the red was in the lead.
Forthwith the clansmen of Stenia united in a triumphant yell, followed
immediately, however, by another yet louder. It was discovered, thanks
to the same breeze, that the black banderole of the Gypsies was the last
of the seven. Then even those who had been most impressed by the bravado
of the hamari, surrendered themselves to laughter and sarcasm.

"See the infidels!" "They had better be at home taking care of their
kettles and goats!" "Turn the seven twins into a cathedral, will they?
The devil will turn them into porpoises first!" "Where is the hamari
now--where? By St. Michael, the father of fishermen, he is finding what
it is to have more noumiae than brains! Ha, ha, ha!"

Nevertheless the coolest of the thirty-five men then scudding the
slippery waterway was the hamari--he had started the coolest--he was the
coolest now.

For a half mile he allowed his crew to do their best, and with them he
had done his best. The effort sufficed to carry them to the front, where
he next satisfied himself they could stay, if they had the endurance. He
called to them:

"Well done, comrades! The prize and the money are yours! But ease up a
little. Let them pass. We will catch them again at the turn. Keep your
eyes on me."

Insensibly he lessened the dip and reach of his oars; at last, as the
thousands on the Therapian shore would have had it, the Gypsy racer was
the hinderling of the pack. Afterwards there were but trifling changes
of position until the terminal galley was reached.

By a rule of the race, the contestants were required to turn the galley,
keeping it on the right; and it was a great advantage to be a clear
first there, since the fortunate party could then make the round
unhindered and in the least space. The struggle for the point began
quite a quarter of a mile away. Each crew applied itself to quickening
the speed--every oar dipped deeper, and swept a wider span;--on a
little, and the keepers of the galley could hear the half groan, half
grunt with which the coming toilers relieved the extra exertion now
demanded of them;--yet later, they saw them spring to their feet, reach
far back, and finish the long deep draw by falling, or rather toppling
backward to their seats.

Only the hamari eschewed the resort for the present. He cast a look
forward, and said quickly: "Attend, comrades!" Thereupon he added weight
to his left delivery, altering the course to an angle which, if pursued,
must widen the circle around the galley instead of contracting it.

On nearing the goal the rush of the boats grew fiercer; each foreman,
considering it honor lost, if not a fatal mischance, did he fail to be
first at the turning-point, persisted in driving straight forward--a
madness which the furious yelling of the people on the marker's deck
intensified. This was exactly what the hamari had foreseen. When the
turn began five of the opposing vessels ran into each other. The boil
and splash of water, breaking of oars, splintering of boatsides; the
infuriate cries, oaths, and blind striving of the rowers, some intent on
getting through at all hazards, some turned combatants, striking or
parrying with their heavy oaken blades; the sound of blows on breaking
heads; plunges into the foaming brine; blood trickling down faces and
necks, and reddening naked arms--such was the catastrophe seen in its
details from the overhanging gunwale of the galley. And while it went
on, the worse than confused mass drifted away from the ship's side,
leaving a clear space through which, with the first shout heard from him
during the race, the hamari urged his crew, and rounded the goal.

On the far Therapian shore the multitude were silent. They could dimly
see every incident at the turn--the collision, fighting, and manifold
mishaps, and the confounding of the banderoles. Then the Stenia colors
flashed round the galley, with the black behind it a close second.

"Is that the hamari's boat next the leader?"

Thus the Princess, and upon the answer, she added: "It looks as if the
Holy One might find servants among the irreclaimables in the valley."

Had the Gypsies at last a partisan?

The two rivals were now clear of the galley. For a time there was but
one cry heard--"Stenia! Stenia!" The five oarsmen of that charming town
had been carefully selected; they were vigorous, skilful, and had a
chief well-balanced in judgment. The race seemed theirs. Suddenly--it
was when the homestretch was about half covered--the black flag rushed
past them.

Then the life went out of the multitude. "St. Peter is dead!" they
cried--"St. Peter is dead! It is nothing to be a Greek now!" and they
hung their heads, refusing to be comforted.

The Gypsies came in first; and amidst the profoundest silence, they
dropped their oars with a triumphant crash on the marble revetment. The
hamari wiped the sweat from his face, and put on his jacket and sandals;
pausing then to toss his purse to the foreman, and say: "Take it in
welcome, my friends. I am content with my share of the victory," he
stepped ashore. In front of the judge's stand, he knelt, and said:
"Should there be a dispute touching the prize, O Princess, be a witness
unto thyself. Thine eyes have seen the going and the coming; and if the
world belie thee not--sometimes it can be too friendly--thou art fair,
just and fearless."

On foot again, his courtierly manner vanished in a twinkling.

"Joqard, Joqard? Where are you?"

Some one answered: "Here he is."

"Bring him quickly. For Joqard is an example to men--he is honest, and
tells no lies. He has made much money, and allowed me to keep it all,
and spend it on myself. Women are jealous of him, but with reason--he is
lovely enough to have been a love of Solomon's; his teeth are as pearls
of great price; his lips scarlet as a bride's; his voice is the voice of
a nightingale singing to the full moon from an acacia tree fronded last
night; in motion, he is now a running wave, now a blossom on a swaying
branch, now a girl dancing before a king--all the graces are his. Yes,
bring me Joqard, and keep the world; without him, it is nothing to me."

While speaking, from a jacket pocket he brought out the fan Lael had
thrown him from the portico, and used it somewhat ostentatiously to cool
himself. The Princess and her attendants laughed heartily. Sergius,
however, watched the man with a scarcely defined feeling that he had
seen him. But where? And he was serious because he could not answer.

Taking the leading strap, when Joqard was brought, the hamari scrupled
not to give the brute a hearty cuff, whereat the fishermen shook the
sails of the pavilion with laughter; then, standing Joqard up, he placed
one of the huge paws on his arm, and, with the mincing step of a lady's
page, they disappeared.




CHAPTER XIV

THE PRINCESS HAS A CREED


"I shall ask you, Sergius, to return to the city to-night, for inquiry
about the fete will be lively tomorrow in the holy houses. And if you
have the disposition to defend me"--

"You doubt me, O Princess?"

"No."

"O little mother, let me once for all be admitted to your confidence,
that in talking to me there may never be a question of my loyalty."

This, with what follows, was part of a conversation between the Princess
Irene and Sergius of occurrence the evening of the fete in the court
heretofore described, being that to which she retired to read the letter
of introduction brought her by the young monk from Father Hilarion.

From an apartment adjoining, the voices of her attendants were
occasionally heard blent with the monotonous tinkle of water overflowing
the bowls of the fountain. In the shadowy depths of the opening above
the court the stars might have been seen had not a number of lamps
suspended from a silken cord stretched from wall to wall flooded the
marble enclosure with their nearer light.

There was a color, so to speak, in the declaration addressed to her--a
warmth and earnestness--which drew a serious look from the Princess--the
look, in a word, with which a woman admits a fear lest the man speaking
to her may be a lover.

To say of her who habitually discouraged the tender passion, and the
thought of it, that she moved in an atmosphere charged with attractions
irresistible to the other sex sounds strangely: yet it was true; and as
a consequence she had grown miraculously quick with respect to
appearances.

However, she now dismissed the suspicion, and replied:

"I believe you, Sergius, I believe you. The Holy Virgin sees how
completely and gladly."

She went on presently, a tremulous light in her eyes making him think of
tears. "You call me little mother. There are some who might laugh, did
they hear you, yet I agree to the term. It implies a relation of trust
without embarrassment, and a promise of mutual faithfulness warranting
me to call you in return, Sergius, and sometimes 'dear Sergius.' ...
Yes, I think it better that you go back immediately. The Hegumen will
want to speak to you in the morning about what you have seen and heard
to-day. My boatmen can take you down, and arrived there, they will stay
the night. My house is always open to them."

After telling her how glad he was for the permission to address her in a
style usual in his country, he moved to depart, but she detained him.

"Stay a moment. To-day I had not time to deal as I wished with the
charges the Hegumen prefers against me. You remember I promised to speak
to you about them frankly, and I think it better to do so now; for with
my confessions always present you cannot be surprised by
misrepresentations, nor can doubt take hold of you so readily. You shall
go hence possessed of every circumstance essential to judge how guilty I
am."

"They must do more than talk," the monk returned, with emphasis.

"Beware, Sergius! Do not provoke them into argument--or if you must
talk, stop when you have set them to talking. The listener is he who can
best be wise as a serpent.... And now, dear friend, lend me your good
sense. Thanks to the generosity of a kinsman, I am mistress of a
residence in the city and this palace; and it is mine to choose between
them. How healthful and charming life is with surroundings like
these--here, the gardens; yonder, the verdurous hills; and there, before
my door, a channel of the seas always borrowing from the sky, never
deserted by men. Guilt seeks exclusion, does it not? Well, whether you
come in the day or the night, my gate is open; nor have I a warder other
than Lysander; and his javelin is but a staff with which to steady his
failing steps. There are no prohibitions shutting me in. Christian,
Turk, Gypsy--the world in fact--is welcome to see what all I have; and
as to danger, I am defended better than with guards. I strive diligently
to love my neighbors as I love myself, and they know it.... Coming
nearer the accusation now. I find here a freedom which not a religious
house in the city can give me, nor one on the Isles, not Halki itself.
Here I am never disturbed by sectaries or partisans; the Greek and the
Latin wrangle before the Emperor and at the altars; but they spare me in
this beloved retiracy. Freedom! Ah, yes, I find it in this retreat--this
escape from temptations--freedom to work and sleep, and praise God as
seems best to me--freedom to be myself in defiance of deplorable social
customs--and there is no guilt in it.... Coming still nearer the very
charge, hear, O Sergius, and I will tell you of the brass on my gate,
and why I suffer it to stay there; since you, with your partialities,
account it a witness against me, it is in likelihood the foundation of
the calumny associating me with the Turk. Let me ask first, did the
Hegumen mention the name of one such associate?"

"No."

The Princess with difficulty repressed her feelings.

"Bear with me a moment," she said; "you cannot know the self-mastery I
require to thus defend myself. Can I ever again be confident of my
judgment? How doubts and fears will beset me when hereafter upon my own
responsibility I choose a course, whatever the affair! Ah, God, whom I
have sought to make my reliance, seems so far away! It will be for Him
in the great day to declare if my purpose in living here be not escape
from guiltiness in thought, from wrong and temptation, from taint to
character. For further security, I keep myself surrounded with good
women, and from the beginning took the public into confidence, giving it
privileges, and inviting it to a study of my daily life. And this is the
outcome! ... I will proceed now. The plate on the gate is a safeguard"--

"Then Mahommed has visited you?"

The slightest discernible pallor overspread her face.

"Does it surprise you so much? ... This is the way it came about. You
remember our stay at the White Castle, and doubtless you remember the
knight in armor who received us at the landing--a gallant, fair-speaking,
chivalrous person whom we supposed the Governor, and who prevailed upon
us to become his guests while the storm endured. You recollect him?"

"Yes. He impressed me greatly."

"Well, let me now bring up an incident not in your knowledge. The eunuch
in whose care I was placed for the time with Lael, daughter of the
Prince of India, as my companion, to afford us agreeable diversion,
obtained my consent to introduce an Arab story-teller of great repute
among the tribes of the desert and other Eastern people. He gave us the
name of the man--Sheik Aboo-Obeidah. The Sheik proved worthy his fame.
So entertaining was he, in fact, I invited him here, and he came."

"Did I understand you to say the entertainment took place in Lael's
presence?"

"She was my companion throughout."

"Let us be thankful, little mother."

"Ay, Sergius, and that I have witnesses down to the last incident. You
may have heard how the Emperor and his court did me the high honor of a
visit in state."

"The visit was notorious."

"Well, while the royal company were at table, Lysander appeared and
announced Aboo-Obeidah, and, by permission of the Emperor, the
story-teller was admitted, and remained during the repast. Now I come to
the surprising event--Aboo-Obeidah was Mahommed!"

"Prince Mahommed--son of the terrible Amurath?" exclaimed Sergius. "How
did you know him?"

"By the brass plate. When he went to his boat, he stopped and nailed the
plate to the pillar. I went to look at it, and not understanding the
inscription, sent to town for a Turk who enlightened me."

"Then the hamari was not gasconading?"

"What did he say?"

"He confirmed your Turk."

She gazed awhile at the overflowing of the fountain, giving a thought
perhaps to the masquerader and his description of himself what time he
was alone with her on the portico; presently she resumed:

"One word more now, and I dismiss the brass plate.... I cannot blind
myself, dear friend, to the condition of my kinsman's empire. It creeps
in closer and closer to the walls of Constantinople. Presently there
will be nothing of it left save the little the gates of the capital can
keep. The peace we have is by the grace of an unbeliever too old for
another great military enterprise; and when it breaks, then, O Sergius,
yon safeguard may be for others besides myself--for many others--farmers,
fishermen and townspeople caught in the storm. Say such anticipation
followed you, Sergius--what would you do with the plate?"

"What would I do with it? O little mother, I too should take counsel of
my fears."

"You approve my keeping it where it is, then? Thank you.... What remains
for explanation? Ah, yes--my heresy. That you shall dispose of yourself.
Remain here a moment."

She arose, and passing through a doorway heavily draped with cloth, left
him to the entertainment of the fountain. Returning soon, she placed a
roll of paper in his hand.

"There," she said, "is the creed which your Hegumen makes such a sin. It
may be heresy; yet, God helping me, and Christ and the Holy Mother
lending their awful help, I dare die for it. Take it, dear Sergius. You
will find it simple--nine words in all--and take this cover for it."

He wrapped the parcel in the white silken cover she gave him, making
mental comparison, nevertheless, with the old Nicaean ordinances.

"Only nine words--O little mother!"

"Nine," she returned.

"They should be of gold."

"I leave them to speak for themselves."

"Shall I return the paper?"

"No, it is a copy.... But it is time you were going. Fortunately the
night is pleasant and starlit; and if you are tired, the speeding of the
boat will rest you. Let me have an opinion of the creed at your leisure."

They bade each other good-night.

       *       *       *       *       *

About eight o'clock next morning Sergius awoke. He had dropped on his
cot undressed, and slept the sweet sleep of healthful youth; now,
glancing about, he thought of the yesterday and the spacious garden, of
the palace in the garden, of the Princess Irene, and of the conversation
she held with him in the bright inner court. And the creed of nine
words! He felt for it, and found it safe. Then his thought flew to Lael.
She had exonerated herself. Demedes was a liar--Demedes, the presumptuous
knave! He was to have been at the fete, but had not dared go. There was a
limit to his audacity; and in great thankfulness for the discovery,
Sergius tossed an arm over the edge of the narrow cot, and struck the
stool, his solitary item of furniture. He raised his head, and looked at
the stool, wondering how it came there so close to his cot. What was that
he saw? A fan?--And in his chamber? Somebody had brought it in. He
examined it cautiously. Whose was it? Whose could it be?--How!--No--but
it _was_ the very fan he had seen Lael toss to the hamari from the
portico! And the hamari?

A bit of folded paper on the settle attracted his attention. He snatched
it up, opened, and read it, and while he read his brows knit, his eyes
opened to their full.

"PATIENCE--COURAGE--JUDGMENT!

"Thou art better apprised of the meaning of the motto than thou wert
yesterday.

"Thy seat in the Academy is still reserved for thee.

"Thou mayst find the fan of the Princess of India useful; with me it is
embalmed in sentiment.

"Be wise.
THE HAMARI."

He read the scrap twice, the second time slowly; then it fell rustling
to the floor, while he clasped his hands and looked to Heaven. A murmur
was all he could accomplish.

Afterwards, prostrate on the cot, his face to the wall, he debated with
himself, and concluded:

"The Greek is capable of any villany he sets about--of abduction and
murder--and now indeed must Lael beware!"




CHAPTER XV

THE PRINCE OF INDIA PREACHES GOD TO THE GREEKS


We will now take the liberty of reopening the audience chamber of the
palace of Blacherne, presuming the reader holds it in recollection. It
is the day when, by special appointment, the Prince of India appears
before the Emperor Constantine to present his idea of a basis for
Universal Religious Union. The hour is exactly noon.

A report of the Prince's former audience with His Majesty had awakened
general curiosity to see the stranger and hear his discourse. This was
particularly the feeling in spiritual circles; by which term the most
influential makers of public opinion are meant. A sharp though decorous
rivalry for invitations to be present on the occasion ensued.

The Emperor, in robes varied but little from those he wore the day of
the Prince's first audience, occupied the throne on the dais. On both
sides of him the company sat in a semicircular arrangement which left
them all facing the door of the main entrance, and permitted the
placement of a table in a central position under every eye.

The appearance of the assemblage would have disappointed the reader; for
while the court was numerously represented, with every functionary in
his utmost splendor of decoration, it was outnumbered by the brethren of
the Holy Orders, whose gowns, for the most part of gray and black
material unrelieved by gayety in color, imparted a sombreness to the
scene which the ample light of the chamber could not entirely dissipate,
assisted though it was by refractions in plenitude from heads bald and
heads merely tonsured.

It should be observed now that besides a very striking exterior, the
Emperor fancied he discerned in the Prince of India an idea enriched by
an extraordinary experience. At loss to make him out, impressed, not
unpleasantly, with the mystery the stranger had managed, as usual, to
leave behind him, His Majesty had looked forward to this second
appearance with interest, and turned it over with a view to squeezing
out all of profit there might be in it. Why not, he asked himself, make
use of the opportunity to bring the chiefs of the religious factions
once more together? The explosive tendency which it seemed impossible
for them to leave in their cells with their old dalmatics had made it
politic to keep them apart widely and often as circumstances would
permit; here, however, he thought the danger might be averted, since
they would attend as auditors from whom speech or even the asking a
question would be out of order unless by permission. The imperial
presence, it was also judged, would restrain the boldest of them from
resolving himself into a disputant.

The arrangement of the chamber for the audience had been a knotty problem
to our venerable acquaintance, the Dean; but at last he submitted his
plan, giving every invitee a place by ticket; the Emperor, however,
blotted it out mercilessly. "Ah, my old friend," he said, with a smile
which assuaged the pang of disapproval, "you have loaded yourself with
unnecessary trouble. There was never a mass performed with stricter
observance of propriety than we will now have. Fix the chairs thus"--and
with a finger-sweep he described a semicircle--"here the table for the
Prince. Having notified me of his intention to read from some ancient
books, he must have a table--and let there be no reserved seat, except
one for the Patriarch. Set a sedilium, high and well clothed, for him
here on my right--and forget not a stool for his feet; for now to the
bitterness of controversy long continued he has added a constriction of
the lungs, and together they are grievous to old age."

"And Scholarius?"

"Scholarius is an orator; some say he is a prophet; I know he is not an
official; so of the seats vacant when he arrives, let him choose for
himself."

The company began coming early. Every Churchman of prominence in the
city was in attendance. The reception was unusually ceremonious. When
the bustle was over, and His Majesty at ease, the pages having arranged
the folds of his embroidered vestments, he rested his hand lightly on
the golden cone of the right arm of the throne, and surveyed the audience
with a quiet assurance becoming his birth in the purple, looking first to
the Patriarch, and bowing to him, and receiving a salute in return. To
the others on the right he glanced next, with a gracious bend of the
head, and then to those on the left. In. the latter quarter he recognized
Scholarius, and covertly smiled; if Gregory had taken seat on the left,
Scholarius would certainly have crossed to the right. There was no such
thing as compromise in his intolerant nature.

One further look the Emperor gave to where, near the door, a group of
women was standing, in attendance evidently upon the Princess Irene, who
was the only one of them seated. Their heads were covered by veils which
had the appearance of finely woven silver. This jealous precaution, of
course, cut off recognition; nevertheless such of the audience as had
the temerity to cast their eyes at the fair array were consoled by a
view of jewelled hands, bare arms inimitably round and graceful, and
figures in drapery of delicate colors, and of designs to tempt the
imagination without offence to modesty--a respect in which the Greek
costume has never been excelled. The Emperor recognized the Princess,
and slightly inclined his head to her. He then spoke to the Dean:

"Wait on the Prince of India, and if he is prepared, accompany him
hither."

Passing out a side door, the master of ceremonies presently reappeared
with Nilo in guidance. The black giant was as usual barbarously
magnificent in attire; and staring at him, the company did not observe
the burden he brought in, and laid on the table. He retired immediately;
then they looked, and saw a heap of books and MSS. in rolls left behind
him--quaint, curious volumes, so to speak, yellow with age and exposure,
and suggestive of strange countries, and a wisdom new, if not of more
than golden worth. And they continued to gaze and wonder at them, giving
warrant to the intelligent forethought of the Prince of India which sent
Nilo in advance of his own entry.

Again the door was thrown open, and this time the Dean ushered the Prince
into the chamber, and conducted him toward the dais. Thrice the foreigner
prostrated himself; the last time within easy speaking distance of His
Majesty, who silently agreed with the observant lookers-on, that he had
never seen the salutations better executed.

"Rise, Prince of India," the Emperor said, blandly, and well pleased.

The Prince arose, and stood before him, his eyes downcast, his hands
upon his breast--suppliancy in excellent pantomime.

"Be not surprised, Prince of India, at the assemblage you behold." Thus
His Majesty proceeded. "Its presence is due, I declare to you, not so
much to design of mine as to the report the city has had of your former
audience, and the theme of which you then promised to discourse."
Without apparently noticing the low reverence in acknowledgment of the
compliment, he addressed himself to the body of listeners. "I regard it
courtesy to our noble Indian guest to advise you, my Lords of the Court,
and you, devotees of Christ and the Father, whose prayers are now the
chief stay of my empire, that he is present by my appointment. On a
previous occasion, he interested us--I speak of many of my very
honorable assistants in Government--he interested us, I say, with an
account of his resignation of the Kingship in his country, moved by a
desire to surrender himself exclusively to study of religion. Under my
urgency, he bravely declared he was neither Jew, Moslem, Hindoo,
Buddhist nor Christian; that his travels and investigation had led him
to a faith which he summed up by pronouncing the most holy name of God;
giving us to understand he meant the God to whom our hearts have long
been delivered. He also referred to the denominations into which
believers are divided, and said his one motive in life was the bringing
them together in united brotherhood; and as I cannot imagine a result
more desirable, provided its basis obtain the sanction of our
conscience, I will now ask him to proceed, if it be his pleasure, and
speak to us freely."

Again the visitor prostrated himself in his best oriental manner; after
which, moving backward, he went to the table and took a few minutes
arranging the books and rolls. The spectators availed themselves of the
opportunity to gratify their curiosity well as they could from mere
inspection of the man; and as the liberty was within his anticipations,
it gave him but slight concern.

We about know how he appeared to them. We remember his figure, low,
slightly stooped, and deficiently slender;--we remember the thin yet
healthful looking face, even rosy of cheek;--we can see him in his
pointed red slippers, his ample trousers of glossy white satin, his long
black gown, relieved at the collar and cuffs with fine laces, his hair
fallen on his shoulders, beard overflowing his breast;--we can even see
the fingers, transparent, singularly flexible in operation, turning
leaves, running down pages and smoothing them out, and placing this roll
or that book as convenience required, all so lithe, swift, certain, they
in a manner exposed the mind which controlled them. At length, the
preliminaries finished, the Prince raised his eyes, and turned them
slowly about--those large, deep, searching eyes--wells from which,
without discoverable effort, he drew magnetism at his pleasure.

He began simply, his voice distinct, and cast to make itself heard, and
not more.

"This"--his second finger was on a page of the large volume heretofore
described--"this is the Bible, the most Holy of Bibles. I call it the
rock on which your faith and mine are castled." There was a stretching
of necks to see, and he did not allow the sensation to pass.

"And more--it is one of the fifty copies of the Bible translated by
order of the first Constantine, under supervision of his minister
Eusebius, well known to you for piety and learning."

It seemed at first every Churchman was on his feet, but directly the
Emperor observed Scholarius and the Patriarch seated, the latter
diligently crossing himself. The excitement can be readily comprehended
by considering the assemblage and its composition of zealots and
relic-worshippers, and that, while the tradition respecting the fifty
copies was familiar, not a man there could have truly declared he had
ever seen one of them--so had they disappeared from the earth.

"These are Bibles, also," the speaker resumed, upon the restoration of
order--"Bibles sacred to those unto whom they were given as that
imperishable monument to Moses and David is to us; for they too are
Revelations from God--ay, the very same God! This is the _Koran_--and
these, the _Kings_ of the Chinese--and these, the _Avesta_ of the Magians
of Persia--and these, the _Sutras_ well preserved of Buddha--and these,
the _Vedas_ of the patient Hindoos, my countrymen."

He carefully designated each book and roll by placing his finger on it.

"I thank Your Majesty for the gracious words of introduction you were
pleased to give me. They set before my noble and most reverend auditors
my history and the subject of my discourse; leaving me, without wrong to
their understanding, or waste of time or words, to invite them to think
of the years it took to fit myself to read these Books--for so I will
term them--years spent among the peoples to whom they are divine. And
when that thought is in mind, stored there past loss, they will
understand what I mean by Religion, and the methods I adopted and
pursued for its study. Then also the value of the assertions I make can
be intelligently weighed.... This first--Have not all men hands and
eyes? We may not be able to read the future in our palms; but there is
no excuse for us if we do not at least see God in them. Similarity is
law, and the law of Nature is the will of God. Keep the argument with
you, O my Lord, for it is the earliest lesson I had from my travels....
Animals when called to, the caller being on a height over them, never
look for him above the level of their eyes; even so some men are
incapable of thinking of the mysteries hidden out of sight in the sky;
but it is not so with all; and therein behold the partiality of God. The
reason of the difference between the leaves of trees not of the same
species, is the reason of the inequality of genius among races of men.
The Infinite prefers variety because He is more certainly to be
perceived in it. At this stop now, my Lord, mark the second lesson of my
travels. God, wishing above all things to manifest Himself and His
character to all humanity, made choice amongst the races, selecting
those superior in genius, and intrusted them with special revelations;
whence we have the two kinds of religion, natural and revealed. Seeing
God in a stone, and worshipping it, is natural religion; the
consciousness of God in the heart, an excitant of love and gratitude
inexpressible except by prayer and hymns of praise--that, O my Lord, is
the work and the proof of revealed religion.... I next submit the third
of the lessons I have had; but, if I may have your attention to the
distinction, it is remarkable as derived from my reading"--here he
covered all the books on the table with a comprehensive gesture--"my
reading more than my travels; and I call it the purest wisdom because it
is not sentiment, at the same time that it is without so much as a
strain of philosophy, being a fact clear as any fact deducible from
history--yes, my Lord, clearer, more distinct, more positive, most
undeniable--an incident of the love the Universal Maker has borne his
noblest creatures from their first morning--a Godly incident which I
have had from the study of these Bibles in comparison with each other.
In brief, my Lord, a revelation not intended for me above the generality
of men; nevertheless a revelation to me, since I went seeking it--or
shall I call it a recompense for the crown and throne I voluntarily gave
away?"

The feeling the Prince threw into these words took hold of his auditors.
Not a few of them were struck with awe, somewhat as if he were a saint
or prophet, or a missionary from the dead returned with secrets
theretofore locked up fast in the grave. They waited for his next
saying--his third lesson, as he termed it--with anxiety.

"The Holy Father of Light and Life," the speaker went on, after a pause
referable to his consummate knowledge of men, "has sent His Spirit down
to the world, not once merely, or unto one people, but repeatedly, in
ages sometimes near together, sometimes wide apart, and to races
diverse, yet in every instance remarkable for genius."

There was a murmur at this, but he gave it no time.

"Ask you now how I could identify the Spirit so as to be able to declare
to you solemnly, as I do in fear of God, that in the several repeated
appearances of which I speak it was the very same Spirit? How do you
know the man you met at set of sun yesterday was the man you saluted and
had salute from this morning? Well, I tell you the Father has given the
Spirit features by which it may be known--features distinct as those of
the neighbors nearest you there at your right and left hands. Wherever
in my reading Holy Books, like these, I hear of a man, himself a shining
example of righteousness, teaching God and the way to God, by those
signs I say to my soul: 'Oh, the Spirit, the Spirit! Blessed is the man
appointed to carry it about!'"

Again the murmur, but again he passed on.

"The Spirit dwelt in the Holy of Holies set apart for it in the
Tabernacle; yet no man ever saw it there, a thing of sight. The soul is
not to be seen; still less is the Spirit of the Most High; or if one did
see it, its brightness would kill him. In great mercy, therefore, it has
always come and done its good works in the world veiled; now in one
form, now in another; at one time, a voice in the air; at another, a
vision in sleep; at another, a burning bush; at another, an angel; at
another, a descending dove"--

"Bethabara!" shouted a cowled brother, tossing both hands up.

"Be quiet!" the Patriarch ordered.

"Thus always when its errand was of quick despatch," the Prince
continued. "But if its coming were for residence on earth, then its
habit has been to adopt a man for its outward form, and enter into him,
and speak by him; such was Moses, such Elijah, such were all the
Prophets, and such"--he paused, then exclaimed shrilly--"such was Jesus
Christ!"

In his study at home, the Prince had undoubtedly thought out his present
delivery with the care due an occasion likely to be a turning-point in
his projects, if not his life; and it must at that time have required of
him a supreme effort of will to resolve upon this climax; as it was, he
hesitated, and turned the hue of ashes; none the less his unknowing
auditors renewed their plaudits. Even the Emperor nodded approvingly.
None of them divined the cunning of the speaker; not one thought he was
pledging himself by his applause to a kindly hearing of the next point
in the speech.

"Now, my Lord, he who lives in a close vale shut in by great mountains,
and goes not thence so much as to the top of one of the mountains, to
him the vastness and beauty of the world beyond his pent sky-line shall
be secret in his old age as they were when he was a child. He has denied
himself to them. Like him is the man who, thinking to know God, spends
his days reading one Holy Book. I care not if it be this one"--he laid
his finger on the _Avesta_--"or this one"--in the same manner he
signified the _Vedas_--"or this one"--touching the _Koran_--"or this
one"--laying his whole hand tenderly palm down on the most Holy Bible.
"He shall know God--yes, my Lord, but not all God has done for men.... I
have been to the mountain's top; that is to say, I know these books, O
reverend brethren, as you know the beads of your rosaries and what each
bead stands for. They did not teach me all there is in the Infinite--I
am in too much awe for such a folly of the tongue--yet through them I
know His Spirit has dwelt on earth in men of different races and times;
and whether the Spirit was the same Spirit, I fear not leaving you to
judge. If we find in those bearing it about likenesses in ideas, aims,
and methods--a Supreme God and an Evil One, a Heaven and a Hell, Sin and
a Way to Salvation, a Soul immortal whether lost or saved--what are we
to think? If then, besides these likenesses, we find the other signs of
divine authority, acknowledged such from the beginning of the
world--Mysteries of Birth, Sinlessness, Sacrifices, Miracles done--which
of you will rise in his place, and rebuke me for saying there were Sons
of God in Spirit before the Spirit descended upon Jesus Christ?
Nevertheless, that is what I say."

Here the Prince bent over the table pretending to be in search of a page
in the most Holy Book, while--if the expression be pardonable--he
watched the audience with his ears. He heard the rustle as the men
turned to each other in mute inquiry; he almost heard their question,
though they but looked it; otherwise, if it had been dark, the silence
would have been tomb-like. At length, raising his head, he beheld a
tall, gaunt, sallow person, clad in a monkish gown of the coarsest gray
wool, standing and looking at him; the eyes seemed two lights burning in
darkened depths; the air was haughty and menacing; and altogether he
could not avoid noticing the man. He waited, but the stranger silently
kept his feet.

"Your Majesty," the Prince began again, perfectly composed, "these are
but secondary matters; yet there is such light in them with respect to
my main argument, that I think best to make them good by proofs, lest my
reverend brethren dismiss me as an idler in words.... Behold the Bible
of the Bodhisattwa"--he held up a roll of broad-leafed vellum, and
turned it dextrously for better exhibition--"and hear, while I read
from it, of a Birth, Life and Death which took place a thousand and
twenty-seven years before Jesus Christ was born." And he read:

"'Strong and calm of purpose as the earth, pure in mind as the
water-lily, her name figuratively assumed, Maya, she was in truth above
comparison. On her in likeness as the heavenly queen the Spirit
descended. A mother, but free from grief or pain, she was without
deceit.'" The Prince stopped reading to ask: "Will not my Lord see in
these words a Mary also 'blessed above other women'?" Then he read on:
..."'And now the queen Maya knew her time for the birth had come. It
was the eighth day of the fourth moon, a serene and agreeable season.
While she thus religiously observed the rules of a pure discipline,
Bodhisattwa was born from her right side, come to deliver the world,
constrained by great pity, without causing his mother pain or anguish.'"
Again the Prince lifted his eyes from the roll. "What is this, my Lord,
but an Incarnation? Hear now of the Child: ... 'As one born from
recumbent space, and not through the gates of life, men indeed regarded
his exceeding great glory, yet their sight remained uninjured; he
allowed them to gaze, the brightness of his person concealed for a time,
as when we look upon the moon in heaven. His body nevertheless was
effulgent with light, and, like the sun which eclipses the shining of
the lamp, so the true gold-like beauty of Bodhisattwa shone forth and
was everywhere diffused. Upright and firm, and unconfused in mind, he
deliberately took seven steps, the soles of his feet resting evenly upon
the ground as he went, his footmarks remained bright as seven stars.
Moving like the lion, king of beasts, and looking earnestly toward the
four quarters, penetrating to the centre the principles of truth, he
spoke thus with the fullest assurance: This birth is in the condition of
Buddha; after this I have done with renewed birth; _now only am I born
this once, for the purpose of saving all the world._'" A third time
the Prince stopped, and, throwing up his hand to command attention, he
asked: "My Lord, who will say this was not also a Redeemer? See now what
next ensued"--and he read on: "'And now from the midst of Heaven there
descended two streams of pure water, one warm, the other cold, and
baptized his head.'" Pausing again, the speaker searched the faces of
his auditors on the right and left, while he exclaimed in magnetic
repetition: "Baptism--_Baptism_--BAPTISM AND MIRACLE!"

Constantine sat, like the rest, his attention fixed; but the gray-clad
monk still standing grimly raised a crucifix before him as if taking
refuge behind it.

"My Lord is seeing the likenesses these things bear to the conception,
birth and mission of Jesus Christ, the later Blessed One, who is
nevertheless his first in love. He is comparing the incidents of the two
Incarnations of the Spirit or Holy Ghost; he is asking himself: 'Can
there have been several Sons of God?' and he is replying: 'That were
indeed merciful--Blessed be God!'"

The Emperor made no sign one way or the other.

"Suffer me to help my Lord yet a little more," the Prince continued,
apparently unobservant of the lowering face behind the crucifix. "He
remembers angels came down the night of the nativity in the cave by
Bethlehem; he cannot forget the song they sung to the shepherds. How
like these honors to the Bodhisattwa!"--and he read from the roll: ...
"'Meanwhile the Devas'--angels, if my Lord pleases--'the Devas in space,
seizing their jewelled canopies, attending, raise in responsive harmony
their heavenly songs to encourage him.' Nor was this all, my Lord," and
he continued reading: "'On every hand the world was greatly shaken....
The minutest atoms of sandal perfume, and the hidden sweetness of
precious lilies, floated on the air, and rose through space, and then
commingling came back to earth.... All cruel and malevolent kinds of
beings together conceived a loving heart; all diseases and afflictions
amongst men, without a cure applied, of themselves were healed; the
cries of beasts were hushed; the stagnant waters of the river courses
flowed apace; no clouds gathered on the heavens, while angelic music,
self-caused, was heard around.... So when Bodhisattwa was born, he came
to remove the sorrows of all living things. Mara alone was grieved.' O
my reverend brethren!" cried the Prince, fervently, "who was this Mara
that he should not share in the rejoicing of all nature else? In
Christian phrase, Satan, and Mara alone was grieved."

"Do the likenesses stop with the births, my brethren are now asking. Let
us follow the Bodhisattwa. On reaching the stage of manhood, he also
retired into the wilderness. 'The valley of the Se-na was level and full
of fruit trees, with no noxious insects,' say these Scriptures: 'and
there he dwelt under a sala tree. And he fasted nigh to death. The Devas
offered him sweet dew, but he rejected it, and took but a grain of
millet a day.' Now what think you of this as a parallel incident of his
sojourn in the wilderness?" And he read: ... "'Mara Devaraga, enemy of
religion, alone was grieved, and rejoiced not. He had three daughters,
mincingly beautiful, and of a pleasant countenance. With them, and all
his retinue, he went to the grove of "fortunate rest," vowing the world
should not find peace, and there'"--the Prince forsook the roll--"'and
there he tempted Bodhisattwa, and menaced him, a legion of devils
assisting.' The daughters, it is related, were changed to old women, and
of the battle this is written: ... 'And now the demon host waxed fiercer,
and added force to force, grasping at stones they could not lift, or
lifting them they could not let them go; their flying spears stuck fast
in space refusing to descend; the angry thunder-drops and mighty hail,
with them, were changed into five-colored lotus flowers; while the foul
poison of the dragon snakes was turned into spicy-breathing air'--and
Mara fled, say the Scriptures, fled gnashing his teeth, while Bodhisattwa
reposed peacefully under a fall of heavenly flowers." The Prince, looking
about him after this, said calmly: "Now judge I by myself; not a heart
here but hears in the intervals of its beating, the text: 'Then was Jesus
led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of the devil'--and
that other text: 'Then the devil leaveth him, and behold, angels came and
ministered unto him.' Verily, my Lord, was not the Spirit the same
Spirit, and did it not in both incarnations take care of its own?"

Thereupon the Prince again sought for a page on the roll, watching the
while with his ears, and the audience drew long breaths, and rested from
their rigor of attention. Then also the Emperor spoke to the Prince.

"I pray you, Prince of India, take a little rest. Your labor is of the
kind exhaustive to mind and body: and in thought of it, I ordered
refreshments for you and these, my other guests. Is not this a good time
to renew thyself?"

The Prince, rising from a low reverence, replied:

"Indeed Your Majesty has the kingly heart; but I pray you, in return,
hear me until I have brought the parallel, my present point of argument,
to an end; then I will most gladly avail myself of your great courtesy;
after which--your patience, and the goodwill of these reverend fathers,
holding on--I will resume and speedily finish my discourse."

"As you will. We are most interested. Or"--and the Emperor, glancing
over toward the monk on his feet, said coldly: "Or, if my declaration
does not fairly vouch the feeling of all present, those objecting have
permission to retire upon the adjournment. We will hear you, Prince."

The ascetic answered by lifting his crucifix higher. Then, having found
the page he wanted, the Prince, holding his finger upon it, proceeded:

"It would not become me, my Lord, to assume an appearance of teaching
you and this audience, most learned in the Gospels, concerning them,
especially the things said by the Blessed One of the later Incarnation,
whom we call The Christ. We all know the Spirit for which he was both
habitation and tongue, came down to save the world from sin and hell; we
also know what he required for the salvation. So, even so, did
Bodhisattwa. Listen to him now--he is talking to his Disciples: ... 'I
will teach you,' he said, to the faithful Ananda, 'a way of Truth,
called the Mirror of Truth, which, if an elect disciple possess, he may
himself predict of himself, "Hell is destroyed for me, and rebirth as an
animal, or a ghost, or any place of woe. I am converted. I am no longer
liable to be reborn in a state of suffering, and am assured of final
salvation."'... Ah, Your Majesty is asking, will the parallel never end?
Not yet, not yet! For the Bodhisattwa did miracles as well. I read
again: ... 'And the Blessed One came once to the river Ganges, and found
it overflowing. Those with him, designing to cross, began to seek for
boats, some for rafts of wood, while some made rafts of basket-work.
Then the Blessed One, as instantaneously as a strong man would stretch
forth his arm and draw it back again when he had stretched it forth,
vanished from this side of the river, and stood on the further bank with
the company of his brethren.'"

The stir the quotation gave rise to being quieted, the Prince, quitting
the roll, said: "Like that, my Lord, was the Bodhisattwa's habit on
entering assemblies of men, to become of their color--he, you remember,
was from birth of the color of gold just flashed in the crucible--and in
a voice like theirs instructing them. Then, say the Scriptures, they,
not knowing him, would ask, Who may this be that speaks? A man or a God?
Then he would vanish away. Like that again was his purifying the water
which had been stirred up by the wheels of five hundred carts passing
through it. He was thirsty, and at his bidding his companion filled a
cup, and lo! the water was clear and delightful. Still more decided,
when he was dying there was a mighty earthquake, and the thunders of
heaven broke forth, and the spirits stood about to see him until there
was no spot, say the Scriptures, in size even as the pricking of the
point of the tip of a hair not pervaded with them; and he saw them,
though they were invisible to his disciples; and then when the last
reverence of his five hundred brethren was paid at his feet, the pyre
being ready, it took fire of itself, and there was left of his body
neither soot nor ashes--only the bones for relics. Then, again, as the
pyre had kindled itself, so when the body was burned up streams of water
descended from the skies, and other streams burst from the earth, and
extinguished the fire. Finally, my Lord, the parallel ends in the modes
of death. Bodhisattwa chose the time and place for himself, and the
circumstances of his going were in harmony with his heavenly character.
Death was never arrayed in such beauty. The twin Sala trees, one at the
head of his couch, the other at the foot, though out of season, sprinkled
him with their flowers, and the sky rained powder of sandal-wood, and
trembled softly with the incessant music and singing of the floating
Gandharvis. But he whose soul was the Spirit, last incarnate, the
Christ"--the Prince stopped--the blood forsook his face--he took hold of
the table to keep from falling--and the audience arose in alarm.

"Look to the Prince!" the Emperor commanded.

Those nearest the ailing man offered him their arms, but with a mighty
effort he spoke to them naturally: "Thank you, good friends--it is
nothing." Then he said louder: "It is nothing, my Lord--it is gone now.
I was about to say of the Christ, how different was his dying, and with
that ends the parallel between him and the Bodhisattwa as Sons of God....
Now, if it please Your Majesty, I will not longer detain your guests
from the refreshments awaiting them."

A chair was brought for him; and when he was seated, a long line of
servants in livery appeared with the collation.

In a short time the Prince was himself again. The mention of the
Saviour, in connection with his death, had suddenly projected the scene
of the Crucifixion before him, and the sight of the Cross and the
sufferer upon it had for the moment overcome him.




CHAPTER XVI

HOW THE NEW FAITH WAS RECEIVED


It had been better for the Prince of India if he had not consented to
the intermission graciously suggested by the Emperor. The monk with the
hollow eyes who had arisen and posed behind his crucifix, like an
exorcist, was no other than George Scholarius, whom, for the sake of
historical conformity, we shall from this call Gennadius; and far from
availing himself of His Majesty's permission to retire, that person was
observed to pass industriously from chair to chair circulating some kind
of notice. Of the refreshments he would none; his words were few, his
manner earnest; and to him, beyond question, it was due that when order
was again called, the pleasure the Prince drew from seeing every seat
occupied was dashed by the scowling looks which met him from all sides.
The divining faculty, peculiarly sharpened in him, apprised him
instantly of an influence unfriendly to his project--a circumstance the
more remarkable since he had not as yet actually stated any project.

Upon taking the floor, the Prince placed the large Judean Bible before
him opened, and around it his other references, impressing the audience
with an idea that in his own view the latter were of secondary
importance.

"My Lord, and Reverend Sirs," he began, with a low salutation to the
Emperor, "the fulness of the parallel I have run between the Bodhisattwa,
Son of Maya, and Jesus Christ, Son of Mary, may lead to a supposition
that they were the only Blessed Ones who have appeared in the world
honored above men because they were chosen for the Incarnation of the
Spirit. In these Scriptures," unrolling the _Sutra_ or _Book of the Great
Decease_--"frequent statements imply a number of Tathagatas or Buddhas of
irregular coming. In this"--putting a finger on a Chinese _King_--"time
is divided into periods termed _Kalpas_, and in one place it is said
ninety-eight Buddhas illuminated one Kalpa [Footnote: EAKIN'S Chinese
Buddhism, 14.]--that is, came and taught as Saviours. Nor shall any man
deny the Spirit manifest in each of them was the same Spirit. They
preached the same holy doctrine, pointed out the same road to salvation,
lived the same pure unworldly lives, and all alike made a declaration of
which I shall presently speak; in other words, my Lord, the features of
the Spirit were the same in all of them.... Here in these rolls, parts of
the Sacred Books of the East, we read of Shun. I cannot fix his days,
they were so long ago. Indeed, I only know he must have been an adopted
of the Spirit by his leaving behind him the Tao, or Law, still observed
among the Chinese as their standard of virtue.... Here also is the
_Avesta_, most revered remains of the Magi, from whom, as many suppose,
the Wise Men who came up to Jerusalem witnesses of the birth of the new
King of the Jews were sent." This too he identified with his finger. "Its
teacher is Zarathustra, and, in my faith, the Spirit descended upon him
and abode with him while he was on the earth. The features all showed
themselves in him--in his life, his instruction, and in the honors paid
him through succeeding generations. His religion yet lives, though
founded hundreds of years before your gentle Nazarene walked the waters
of Galilee.... And here, O my Lord, is a book abhorred by Christians"--he
laid his whole hand on the Koran--"How shall it be judged? By the
indifferent manner too many of those ready to die defending its divine
origin observe it? Alas! What religion shall survive that test? In the
visions of Mahomet I read of God, Moses, the Patriarchs--nay, my Lord, I
read of him called the Christ. Shall we not beware lest in condemning
Mahomet we divest this other Bible"--he reverently touched the great
Eusebian volume--"of some of its superior holiness? He calls himself a
Prophet. Can a man prophesy except he have in him the light of the
Spirit?"

The question awoke the assemblage. A general signing of the Cross was
indulged in by the Fathers, and there was groaning hard to distinguish
from growls. Gennadius kept his seat, nervously playing with his rosary.
The countenance of the Patriarch was unusually grave. In all his
experience it is doubtful if the Prince ever touched a subject requiring
more address than this dealing with the Koran. He resumed without
embarrassment:

"Now, my Lord, I shall advance a step nearer my real subject. Think not,
I pray, that the things I have spoken of the Bodhisattwa, of Shun, of
Zarathustra, of Mahomet, likening them in their entertainment of the
Spirit to Jesus, was to excite comparisons; such as which was the
holiest, which did the most godly things, which is most worthy to be
accounted the best beloved of the Father; for I come to bury all strife
of the kind.... I said I had been to the mountain's top; and now, my
Lord, did you demand of me to single out and name the greatest of the
wonders I thence beheld, I should answer: Neither on the sea, nor on the
land, nor in the sky is there a wonder like unto the perversity which
impels men to invent and go on inventing religions and sects, and then
persecute each other on account of them. And when I prayed to be shown
the reason of it, I thought I heard a voice, 'Open thine eyes--See!' ...
And the first thing given me to see was that the Blessed Ones who went
about speaking for the Spirit which possessed them were divine; yet they
walked the earth, not as Gods, but witnesses of God; asking hearing and
belief, not worship; begging men to come unto them as guides sent to
show them the only certain way to everlasting life in glory--only that
and nothing more.... The next thing I saw, a bright light in a white
glass set on a dark hill, was the waste of worship men are guilty of in
bestowing it on inferior and often unworthy objects. When Jesus prayed,
it was to our Father in Heaven, was it not?--meaning not to himself, or
anything human, or anything less than human.... One other thing I was
permitted to see; and the reserving it last is because it lies nearest
the proposal I have come a great distance to submit to my Lord and these
most reverend brethren in holiness. Every place I have been in which men
are not left to their own imaginings of life and religion--in every land
and island touched by revelation--a supreme God is recognized, the same
in qualities--Creator, Protector, Father--Infinite in Power, Infinite in
Love--the Indivisible One! Asked you never, my Lord, the object he had
in intrusting his revelation to us, and why the Blessed Ones, his Sons
in the Spirit, were bid come here and go yonder by stony paths? Let me
answer with what force is left me. There is in such permissions but one
intention which a respectful mind can assign to a being great and good
as God--one altar, one worship, one prayer, and He the soul of them.
With a flash of his beneficent thought he saw in one religion peace
amongst men. Strange--most strange! In human history no other such
marvel! There has been nothing so fruitful of bickering, hate, murder
and war. Such is the seeming, and so I thought, my Lord, until on the
mountain's highest peak, whence all concerns lie in view below, I opened
my eyes and perceived the wrestling of tongues and fighting were not
about God, but about forms, and immaterialities, more especially the
Blessed Ones to whom he had intrusted his Spirit. From the Ceylonesian:
'Who is worthy praise but Buddha?' 'No,' the Islamite answers: 'Who but
Mahomet?' And from the Parsee; 'No--Who but Zarathustra?' 'Have done
with your vanities,' the Christian thunders: 'Who has told the truth
like Jesus?' Then the flame of swords, and the cruelty of blows--all in
God's name!"

This was bold speaking.

"And now, my Lord," the Prince went on, his appearance of exceeding
calmness belied only by the exceeding brightness of his eyes, "God wills
an end to controversy and wars blasphemously waged in his name, and I am
sent to tell you of it; and for that the Spirit is in me."

Here Gennadius again arose, crucifix in hand.

"I am returned from visiting many of the nations," the Prince continued,
nothing daunted. "They demanded of me a faith broad enough for them to
stand upon while holding fast the lesser ideas grown up in their
consciences; and, on my giving them such a faith, they said they were
ready to do the will, but raised a new condition. Some one must move
first. 'Go find that one,' they bade me, 'and we will follow after.' In
saying now I am ambassador appointed to bring the affair to Your Majesty
and Your Majesty's people, enlightened enough to see the will of the
Supreme Master, and of a courage to lead in the movement, with influence
and credit to carry it peacefully forward to a glorious end, I well know
how idle recommendation and entreaty are except I satisfy you in the
beginning that they have the sanction of Heaven; and thereto now.... I
take no honor to myself as author of the faith presented in answer to
the demand of the nations. In old cities there are houses under houses,
along streets underlying streets, and to find them, the long buried, men
dig deep and laboriously; that did I, until in these old Testaments"--he
cast a loving glance at all the Sacred Books--"I made a precious
discovery. I pray Your Majesty's patience while I read from them....
This from the Judean Bible: 'And God said unto Moses, I AM THAT I AM:
and he said, This shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, I AM hath
sent me unto you.' Thus did God, of whom we have no doubt, name himself
to one chosen race.... Next from a holy man of China who lived nearly
five hundred years before the Christ was born: 'Although any one be a
bad man, if he fasts and is collected, he may indeed offer sacrifices
unto God.' [Footnote: FABER'S _Mind of Mencius_]... And from the
_Avesta_, this of the creed of the Magi: 'The world is twofold,
being the work of Ahura Mazda and Angra Mainyu: all that is good in the
world comes from the First Principle (which is God) and all that is bad
from the latter (which is Satan). Angra Mainyu invaded the world after
it was made by Ahura Mazda and polluted it, but the conflict will some
day end.' [Footnote: Sir William Jones.] The First Principle here is
God. But most marvellous, because of the comparison it will excite,
hearken to this from the same Magian creed: 'When the time is full, a
son of the lawgiver still unborn, named Saoshyant, will appear; then
Angra Mainyu (Satan) and Hell will be destroyed, men will arise from the
dead, and everlasting happiness reign over the world.' Here again the
Lawgiver is God; but the Son--who is he? Has he come? Is he gone? ...
Next, take these several things from the _Vedas_: 'By One Supreme
Ruler is the universe pervaded, even every world in the whole circle of
nature. There is One Supreme Spirit which nothing can shake, more swift
than the thought of man. The Primeval Mover even divine intelligence
cannot reach; that Spirit, though unmoved, infinitely transcends others,
how rapid soever their course; it is distant from us, yet very near; it
pervades the whole system of worlds, yet is infinitely beyond
it.' [Footnote: _Ibid._ Vol. XIII.] Now, my Lord, and very reverend
sirs, do not the words quoted come to us clean of mystery? Or have you
the shadow of a doubt whom they mean, accept and consider the prayer I
read you now from the same _Vedas:_ 'O Thou who givest sustenance
to the world, Thou sole mover of all, Thou who restrainest sinners, who
pervadest yon great luminary which appearest as the Son of the Creator;
hide thy struggling beams and expand thy spiritual brightness that I may
view thy most auspicious, most glorious, real form. OM, remember me,
divine Spirit! OM, remember my deeds! Let my soul return to the immortal
Spirit of God, and then let my body, which ends in ashes, return to
dust.' Who is OM? Or is my Lord yet uncertain, let him heed this from
the _Holiest Verse of the Vedas_: 'Without hand or foot, he runs
rapidly, and grasps firmly; without eyes, he sees; without ears, he
hears all; he knows whatever can be known, but there is none who knows
him: Him the wise call the Great, Supreme, Pervading Spirit.' [Footnote:
Sir William Jones. Vol. XIII.] ... Now once more, O my Lord, and I am
done with citation and argument. Ananda asked the Bodhisattwa what was
the Mirror of Truth, and he had this answer: 'It is the consciousness
that the elect disciple is in this world possessed of faith in Buddha,
believing the Blessed One to be the Holy One, the Fully Enlightened One,
Wise, Upright, Happy, World-knowing, Supreme, the bridler of men's
wayward hearts, the Teacher of Gods and men--the Blessed Buddha.'
[Footnote: REHYS DAVID'S _Buddhist Sutras_.] Oh, good my Lord, a
child with intellect barely to name the mother who bore him, should see
and say, Here God is described!" ...

The Prince came to a full stop, and taking a fine silken cloth from a
pocket in his gown, he carefully wiped the open pages of the Eusebian
Bible, and shut it. Of the other books he made a separate heap, first
dusting each of them. The assemblage watched him expectantly. The
Fathers had been treated to strange ideas, matter for thought through
many days and nights ahead; still each of them felt the application was
wanting. "The purpose--give it us--and quickly!" would have been a fair
expression of their impatience. At length he proceeded:

"Dealing with children, my Lord, and reverend sirs," he began, "it is
needful to stop frequently, and repeat the things we have said; but you
are men trained in argument: wherefore, with respect to the faith asked
of me as I have told you by the nations, I say simply it is God; and
touching his sanction of it, you may wrest these Testaments from me and
make ashes of them, but you shall not now deny his approval of the Faith
I bring you. It is not in the divine nature for God to abjure himself.
Who of you can conceive him shrunk to so small a measure?"

The dogmatic vehemence amazed the listeners.

"Whether this idea of God is broad enough to accommodate all the
religions grown up on the earth, I will not argue; for I desire to be
most respectful"--thus the speaker went on in his natural manner. "But
should you accept it as enough, you need not be at loss for a form in
which to put it. 'Master,' the lawyer asked, 'which is the great
commandment in the law?' And the Master answered: 'Thou shalt love the
Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy
mind;' and he added: 'This is the first and great commandment.' My Lord,
no man else ever invented, nor shall any man ever invent an expression
more perfectly definitive of the highest human duty--the total of
doctrine. I will not tell you who the master uttering it was; neither
will I urge its adoption; only if the world were to adopt it, and abide
by it, there would be an end to wars and rumors of war, and God would
have his own. If the Church here in your ancient capital were first to
accept it, what happiness I should have carrying the glad tidings to the
peoples"--

The Prince was not allowed to finish the sentence.

"What do I understand, O Prince, by the term 'total of doctrine'?"

It was the Patriarch speaking.

"Belief in God."

In a moment the assemblage became uproarious, astounding the Emperor; and
in the midst of the excitement, Gennadius was seen on tip-toe, waving his
crucifix with the energy of command.

"Question--a question!" he cried.

Quiet was presently given him.

"In thy total of doctrine, what is Jesus Christ?"

The voice of the Patriarch, enfeebled by age and disease, had been
scarcely heard; his rival's penetrated to the most distant corner; and
the question happening to be the very thought pervading the assemblage,
the churchmen, the courtiers, and most of the high officials arose to
hear the reply.

In a tone distinct as his interlocutor's, but wholly without passion,
the master actor returned:

"A Son of God."

"And Mahomet, the Father of Islam--what is he?"

If the ascetic had put the name of Siddartha, the Bodhisattwa, in his
second question, his probing had not been so deep, nor the effect so
quick and great; but Mahomet, the camel-driver! Centuries of feud, hate,
crimination, and wars--rapine, battles, sieges, massacres, humiliations,
lopping of territory, treaties broken, desecration of churches,
spoliation of altars, were evoked by the name Mahomet.

We have seen it a peculiarity of the Prince of India never to forget a
relation once formed by him. Now behind Constantine he beheld young
Mahommed waiting for him--Mahommed and revenge. If his scheme were
rejected by the Greeks, very well--going to the Turks would be the old
exchange with which he was familiar, Cross for Crescent. To be sure
there was little time to think this; nor did he think it--it appeared
and went a glare of light--and he answered:

"He will remain, in the Spirit another of the Sons of God."

Then Gennadius, beating the air with his crucifix: "Liar--impostor--
traitor! Ambassador of Satan thou! Behind thee Hell uncurtained! Mahomet
himself were more tolerable! Thou mayst turn black white, quench water
with fire, make ice of the blood in our hearts, all in a winking or
slowly, our reason resisting, but depose the pure and blessed Saviour, or
double his throne in the invisible kingdom with Mahomet, prince of liars,
man of blood, adulterer, monster for whom Hell had to be enlarged--that
shalt thou never! A body without a soul, an eye its light gone out, a
tomb rifled of its dead--such the Church without its Christ! ... Ho,
brethren! Shame on us that we are guests in common with this fiend in
cunning! We are not hosts to bid him begone; yet we can ourselves begone.
Follow me, O lovers of Christ and the Church! To your tents, O Israel!"

The speaker's face was purple with passion; his voice filled the chamber;
many of the monks broke from their seats and rushed howling and blindly
eager to get nearer him. The Patriarch sat ashy white, helplessly
crossing himself. Constantine excellently and rapidly judging what became
him as Emperor and host, sent four armed officers to protect the Prince,
who held his appointed place apparently surprised but really interested
in the scene--to him it was an exhibition of unreasoning human nature
replying to an old-fashioned impulse of bigotry.

Hardly were the guards by the table, when Gennadius rushed past going to
the door, the schismatics at his heels in a panic. The pulling and
hauling, the hurry-skurry of the mad exit must be left to the
imagination. It was great enough to frighten thoroughly the attendants
of the Princess Irene. Directly there remained in the chamber with His
Majesty, the attaches of the court, the Patriarch and his adherents.
Then Constantine quietly asked:

"Where is Duke Notaras?"

There was much looking around, but no response.

The countenance of the monarch was observed to change, but still
mindful, he bade the Dean conduct the Prince to him.

"Be not alarmed, Prince. My people are quick of temper, and sometimes
they act hastily. If you have more to say, we are of a mind to hear you
to the end."

The Prince could not but admire the composure of his august host. After
a low reverence, he returned:

"Perhaps I tried the reverend Fathers unreasonably; yet it would be a
much greater grief to me if their impatience extended to Your Majesty. I
was not alarmed; neither have I aught to add to my discourse, unless it
pleases you to ask of anything in it which may have been left obscure or
uncertain."

Constantine signed to the Patriarch and all present to draw nearer.

"Good Dean, a chair for His Serenity."

In a short time the space in front of the dais was occupied.

"I understand the Prince of India has submitted to us a proposal looking
to a reform of our religion," His Majesty said, to the Patriarch; "and
courtesy requiring an answer, the violence to which we have just been
subjected, and the spirit of insubordination manifested, make it
imperative that you listen to what I now return him, and with attention,
lest a misquotation or false report lead to further trouble.... Prince,"
he continued, "I think I comprehend you. The world is sadly divided with
respect to religion, and out of its divisions have proceeded the
mischiefs to which you have referred. Your project is not to he
despised. It reminds me of the song, the sweetest ear ever listened
to--'Peace and good will toward men.' Its adoption, nevertheless, is
another matter. I have not power to alter the worship of my empire. Our
present Creed was a conclusion reached by a Council too famous in
history not to be conspicuously within your knowledge. Every word of it
is infinitely sacred. It fixed the relations between God the Father,
Christ the Son, and men to my satisfaction, and that of my subjects.
Serenity, do thou say if I may apply the remark to the Church."

"Your Majesty," the Patriarch replied, "the Holy Greek Church can never
consent to omit the Lord Jesus Christ from its worship. You have spoken
well, and it had been better if the brethren had remained to hear you."

"Thanks, O most venerated--thanks," said the Emperor, inclining his
head. "A council having established the creed of the Church," he
resumed, to the Prince of India, "the creed is above change to the
extent of a letter except by another council solemnly and authoritatively
convoked. Wherefore, O Prince, I admit myself wiser of the views you have
presented; I admit having been greatly entertained by your eloquence and
rhetoric; and I promise myself further happiness and profit in drawing
upon the stores of knowledge with which you appear so amply provided,
results doubtless of your study and travel--yet you have my answer."

The faculty of retiring his thoughts and feelings deeper in his heart as
occasion demanded, was never of greater service to the Prince than now;
he bowed, and asked if he had permission to retire; and receiving it, he
made the usual prostrations, and began moving backwards.

"A moment, Prince," said Constantine. "I hope your residence is
permanently fixed in our capital."

"Your Majesty is very gracious, and I thank you. If I leave the city, it
will be to return again, and speedily."

At the door of the palace the Prince found an escort waiting for him,
and taking his chair, he departed from Blacherne.




CHAPTER XVII

LAEL AND THE SWORD OF SOLOMON


Alone in his house, the Prince of India was unhappy, but not, as the
reader may hurriedly conclude, on account of the rejection by the
Christians of his proposal looking to brotherhood in the bonds of
religion. He was a trifle sore over the failure, but not disappointed. A
reasonable man, and, what times his temper left him liberty to think, a
philosopher, he could not hope after the observations he brought from
Mecca to find the followers of the Nazarene more relaxed in their faith
than the adherents of Mahomet. In short, he had gone to the palace
warned of what would happen.

It was not an easy thing for him to fold up his grand design preparatory
to putting it away forever; still there was no choice left him; and now
he would move for vengeance. Away with hesitation.

Descending the heights of Blacherne, he had felt pity for Constantine
who, though severely tried in the day's affair, had borne himself with
dignity throughout; but it was Mahommed's hour. Welcome Mahommed!

Between the two, the Prince's predilections were all for the Turk, and
they had been from the meeting at the White Castle. Besides personal
accomplishments and military prestige, besides youth, itself a mighty
preponderant, there was the other argument--separating Mahommed from the
strongest power in the world, there stood only an ancient whose death
was a daily expectation. "What opportunities the young man will have to
offer me! I have but to make the most of his ambition--to loan myself to
it--to direct it."

Thus the Seer reasoned, returning from Blacherne to his house.

At the door, however, he made a discovery. There the first time during
the day he thought of her in all things the image of the Lael whom he
had buried under the great stone in front of the Golden Gate at
Jerusalem. We drop a grain in the ground, and asking nothing of us but
to be let alone, it grows, and flowers, and at length amazes us with
fruit. Such had been the outcome of his adoption of the daughter of the
son of Jahdai.

The Prince called Syama.

"Make ready the chair and table on the roof," he said.

While waiting, he ate some bread dipped in wine: then walked the room
rubbing his hands as if washing them.

He sighed frequently. Even the servants could see he was in trouble.

At length he went to the roof. Evening was approaching. On the table
were the lamp, the clock, the customary writing materials, a fresh map
of the heavens, and a perfect diagram of a nativity to be cast.

He took the map in his hand, and smiled--it was Lael's work. "How she
has improved!--and how rapidly!" he said aloud, ending a retrospect
which began with the hour Uel consented to her becoming his daughter.
She was unlettered then, but how helpful now. He felt an artist's pride
in her growth in knowledge. There were tedious calculations which she
took off his hands; his geometrical drawings of the planets in their
Houses were frequently done in haste; she perfected them next day. She
had numberless daughterly ways which none but those unused to them like
him would have observed. What delight she took in watching the sky for
the first appearance of the stars. In this work she lent him her young
eyes, and there was such enthusiasm in the exclamations with which she
greeted the earliest wink of splendor from the far-off orbs. And he had
ailing days; then she would open the great Eusebian Scriptures at the
page he asked for, and read--sometimes from Job, sometimes from Isaiah,
but generally from Exodus, for in his view there was never man like
Moses. The contest with Pharaoh--how prodigious! The battles in
magic--what glory in the triumphs won! The luring the haughty King into
the Red Sea, and bringing him under the walls of water suddenly let
loose! What majestic vengeance!

Of the idle dreams of aged persons the possibility of attaching the
young to them in sentimental bonds of strength to insure resistance to
every other attachment is the idlest. Positive, practical, experienced
though he was, the childless man had permitted this fantasy to get
possession of him. He actually brought himself to believe Lael's love of
him was of that enduring kind. With no impure purpose, yet selfishly,
and to bring her under his influence until of preference she could
devote her life to him, with its riches of affection, admiration, and
dutiful service, he had surrendered himself to her; therefore the
boundless pains taken by him personally in her education, the
surrounding her with priceless luxuries which he alone could afford--in
brief, the attempt to fasten himself upon her youthful fancy as a titled
sage and master of many mysteries. So at length it came to pass, while
he was happy in his affection for her, he was even happier in her
affection for himself; indeed he cultivated the latter sentiment and
encouraged it in winding about his being until, in utter unconsciousness,
he belonged to it, and, in repetition of experiences common to others,
instead of Lael's sacrificing herself for him, he was ready to sacrifice
everything for her. This was the discovery he made at the door of his
house.

The reader should try to fancy him in the chair by the table on the
roof. Evening has passed into night. The city gives out no sound, and
the stars have the heavens to themselves. He is lost in thought--or
rather, accepting the poetic fancy of a division of the heart into
chambers, in that apartment of the palpitating organ of the Prince of
India supposed to be the abode of the passions, a very noisy parliament
was in full session. The speaker--that is, the Prince himself--submitted
the question: Shall I remain here, or go to Mahommed?

Awhile he listened to Revenge, whose speech in favor of the latter
alternative may be imagined; and not often had its appeals been more
effective. Ambition spoke on the same side. It pointed out the
opportunities offered, and dwelt upon them until the chairman nodded
like one both convinced and determined. These had an assistant not
exactly a passion but a kinsman collaterally--Love of Mischief--and when
the others ceased, it insisted upon being heard.

On the other side, Lael led the opposition. She stood by the president's
chair while her opponents were arguing, her arms round his neck; when
they were most urgent, she would nurse his hand, and make use of some
trifling endearment; upon their conclusion, she would gaze at him
mutely, and with tears. Not once did she say anything.

In the midst of this debate, Lael herself appeared, and kissed him on
the forehead.

"Thou here!" he said.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Nothing--only"--

She did not give him time to finish, but caught up the map, and seeing
it fresh and unmarked, exclaimed:

"You did so greatly to-day, you ought to rest."

He was surprised.

"Did so greatly?"

"At the palace."

"Put the paper down. Now, O my Gul Bahar"--and he took her hand, and
carried it to his cheek, and pressed it softly there--"deal me no
riddle. What is it you say? One may do well, yet come out badly."

"I was at the market in my father Uel's this afternoon," she began,
"when Sergius came in."

A face wonderfully like the face of the man he helped lead out to
Golgotha flashed before the Prince, a briefest passing gleam.

"He heard you discourse before the Emperor. How wickedly that disgusting
Gennadius behaved!"

"Yes," the Prince responded darkly, "a sovereign beset with such spirits
is to be pitied. But what did the young man think of my proposal to the
Emperor?"

"But for one verse in the Testament of Christ"--

"Nay, dear, say Jesus of Nazareth,"

"Well, of Jesus--but for one verse he could have accepted your argument
of many Sons of God in the Spirit"

"What is the verse?"

"It is where a disciple speaks of Jesus as the only begotten. Son."

The Wanderer smiled.

"The young man is too literal. He forgets that the Only Begotten Son may
have had many Incarnations."

"The Princess Irene was also present," Lael went on. "Sergius said she
too could accept your argument did you alter it"--

"Alter it!"--A bitter look wrung the Prince's countenance--"Sergius, a
monk not yet come to orders, and Irene, a Princess without a husband.
Oh, a small return for my surrender! ... I am tired--very tired," he
said impatiently--"and I have so much, so much to think of. Come, good
night."

"Can I do nothing for you?"

"Yes, tell Syama to bring me some water."

"And wine?"

"Yes, some wine."

"Very well. Good night."

He drew her to his breast.

"Good night. O my Gul Bahar!"

She went lightly away, never dreaming of the parliament to which she
left him.

When she was gone, he sat motionless for near an hour, seeing nothing in
the time, although Syama set water and wine on the table. And it may be
questioned if he heard anything, except the fierce debate going on in
his heart. Finally he aroused, looked at the sky, arose, and walked
around the table; and his expression of face, his actions, were those of
a man who had been treading difficult ground, but was safely come out of
it. Filling a small crystal cup, and holding the red liquor, rich with
garnet sparkles, between his eyes and the lamp, he said:

"It is over. She has won. If there were for me but the years of one life,
the threescore and ten of the Psalmist, it had been different. The
centuries will bring me a Mahommed gallant as this one, and opportunities
great as he offers; but never another Lael. Farewell Ambition! Farewell
Revenge! The world may take care of itself. I will turn looker-on, and be
amused, and sleep.... To hold her, I will live for her, but in redoubled
state. So will I hurry her from splendor to splendor, and so fill her
days with moving incidents, she shall not have leisure to think of
another love. I will be powerful and famous for her sake. Here in this
old centre of civilization there shall be two themes for constant talk,
Constantine and myself. Against his rank and patronage, I will set my
wealth. Ay, for her sake! And I will begin to-morrow."

The next day he spent in making drawings and specifications for a
palace. The second day he traversed the city looking for a building
site. The third day he bought the site most to his fancy. The fourth day
he completed a design for a galley of a hundred oars, that it might be
sea-going far as the Pillars of Hercules. Nothing ever launched from the
imperial docks should surpass it in magnificence. When he went sailing
on the Bosphorus, Byzantium should assemble to witness his going, and
with equal eagerness wait the day through to behold him return. And for
the four days, Lael was present and consulted in every particular. They
talked like two children.

The schemes filled him with a delight which would have been remarkable
in a boy. He packed his books and put away his whole paraphernalia of
study--through Lael's days he would be an actor in the social world, not
a student.

Of course he recurred frequently to the engagements with Mahommed. They
did not disturb him. The Turk might clamor--no matter, there was the
ever ready answer about the unready stars. The veteran intriguer even
laughed, thinking how cunningly he had provided against contingencies.
But there was a present practical requirement begotten of these
schemes--he must have money--soldans by the bag full.

Very early in the morning of the fifth day, having studied the weather
signs from his housetop, he went with Nilo to the harbor gate of
Blacherne, seeking a galley suitable for an outing of a few days on the
Marmora. He found one, and by noon she was fitted out, and with him and
Nilo aboard, flying swiftly around Point Serail.

Under an awning over the rudder-deck, he sat observing the brown-faced
wall of the city, and the pillars and cornices of the noble structures
towering above it. As the vessel was about passing the Seven Towers, now
a ruin with a most melancholy history, but in that day a well-garrisoned
fortress, he conversed with the master of the galley.

"I have no business in the strict meaning of the term," he said, in good
humor. "The city has become tiresome to me, and I have fancied a run on
the water would be bracing to body and restful to mind. So keep on down
the sea. When I desire a change of direction, I will tell you." The
mariner was retiring. "Stay," the Prince continued, his attention
apparently caught by two immense gray rocks rising bluffly out of the
blue rippling in which the Isles of the Princes seemed afloat--"What are
those yonder? Islands, of course, but their names?"

"Oxia and Plati--the one nearest us is Oxia."

"Are they inhabited?"

"Yes and no," the captain replied, smiling. "Oxia used to have a convent,
but it is abandoned now. There may be some hermits in the caves on the
other side, but I doubt if the poor wretches have noumias to keep their
altars in candles. It was so hard to coax visitors into believing God had
ever anything to do with the dreary place that patrons concluded to give
it over to the bad. Plati is a trifle more cheerful. Three or four monks
keep what used to be the prison there; but they are strays from unknown
orders, and live by herding a few starving goats and cultivating snails
for the market."

"Have you been on either of them recently?"

"Yes, on Plati."

"When?"

"Within the year."

"Well, you excite my curiosity. It is incredible that there can be two
such desolations in such close vicinity to yon famous capital. Turn and
row me around them."

The captain was pleased to gratify his passenger, and stood by him while
the galley encircled Oxia, telling legends, and pointing out the caves
to which celebrated anchorites had lent their names. He gave in full the
story of Basil and Prusien, who quarrelled, and fought a duel to the
scandal of the Church; whereupon Constantine VIII., then emperor, exiled
them, the former to Oxia, the latter to Plati, where their sole
consolation the remainder of their lives was gazing at each other from
the mouths of their respective caverns. For some reason, Plati, to which
he next crossed, was of more interest to the Prince than its sister
isle. What a cruel exterior the prison at the north end had! Wolves and
bats might live in it, but men--impossible! He drew back horrified when
told circumstantially of the underground cells.

While yet on the eastern side, the passenger said he would like to go up
to the summit.

"There," he exclaimed, pointing to a part of the bluff which appeared to
offer a climb, "put me on that shelving rock. I think I can go up by
it."

The small boat was lowered, and directly he set foot on the identical
spot which received him when, in the night fifty-six years before, he
made the ascent with the treasures of Hiram King of Tyre.

Almost any other man would have given at least a thought to that
adventure; the slice out of some lives would have justified a tear; but
he was too intent thinking about the jewels and the sword of Solomon.

His affected awkwardness in climbing amused the captain, watching him
from the deck, but at last he gained the top of the bluff.

The plain there was the same field of sickly weeds and perishing vines,
with here and there a shrub, and yonder a stunted olive tree, covered
trunk and branches with edible snails. If it brought anything in the
market, the crop, singular only to the Western mind, was plenteous
enough to be profitable to its farmers. There too was the debris of the
tower. With some anxiety he went to the stone which the reader will
probably remember as having to be rolled away from the mouth of the
hiding-place. It had not been disturbed. These observations taken, he
descended the bluff, and was received aboard the galley.

A very cautious man was the Prince of India. In commercial parlance, he
was out to cash a draft on the Plati branch of his quadruple bank. He
was not down to assist the captain of the galley to partnership with him
in the business. So, after completing the circuit of Plati, the vessel
bore away for Prinkipo and Halki, which Greek wealth and taste had
converted into dreamful Paradises. There it lay the night and next day,
while the easy-going passenger, out for air and rest, amused himself
making excursions to the convents and neighboring hills.

The second night, a perfect calm prevailing, he took the small boat, and
went out on the sea drifting, having provided himself with wine and
water, the latter in a new gurglet bought for the trip. The captain need
not be uneasy if he were late returning, he said on departing. Nilo was
an excellent sailor, and had muscle and spirit to contend against a
blow.

The tranquil environments of Prinkipo were enlivened by other parties
also drifting. Their singing was borne far along the starlit sea. Once
beyond sight and hearing, Nilo plied the oars diligently, bringing up an
hour or two after midnight at the shelving rock under the eastern bluff
of Plati. The way to the ruined tower was then clear.

Precisely as at the first visit when burial was the object, the
concealing stone was pushed aside; after which the Prince entered the
narrow passage crawling on his hands and knees. He was anxious. If the
precious stones had been discovered and carried away, he would have to
extend the voyage to Jaffa in order to draw from the Jerusalem branch of
his bank. But the sword of Solomon--that was not in the power of man to
duplicate--its loss would be irreparable.

The stones were mouldy, the passage dark, the progress slow. He had
literally to feel every inch in front of him, using his hands as a
caterpillar uses its antennae; but he did not complain--the difficulties
were the inducements which led him to choose the hiding-place in the
first instance. At length he went down a broken step, and, rising to his
knees, slipped his left hand along the face of the wall until his
fingers dropped into a crack between rocks. It was the spot he sought;
he knew it, and breathed easily. In murky lamplight, with mallet and
chisel--ah, how long ago!--he had worked a shelf there, finishing it
with an oblong pocket in the bottom. To mask the hole was simple. Three
or four easy-fitting blocks were removed, and thrusting a hand in, he
drew forth the sheepskin mantle of the elder Nilo.

In spite of the darkness, he could not refrain from unrolling the
mildewed cover. The sword was safe! He drew the blade and shot it
sharply back into the scabbard, then kissed the ruby handle, thinking
again of the purchasing power there was in the relic which was yet more
than a relic. The leather of the water-gurglet, stiff as wood, responded
to a touch. The jewels were also safe, the great emerald with the rest.
He touched the bags, counting from one to nine inclusively. Then
remembering the ten times he had crawled into the passage to put the
treasures away, he began their removal, and kept at it until every
article was safely deposited in the boat.

On the way back to the galley he made new packages, using his mantle as
a wrap for the sword, and the new gurglet for the bags of jewels.

"I have had enough," he exclaimed to the captain, dropping wearily on
the deck about noon. "Take me to the city." After a moment of
reflection, he added: "Land me after nightfall."

"We will reach the harbor before sundown."

"Oh, well! There is the Bosphorus--go to Buyukdere, and come back."

"But, my Lord, the captain of the gate may decline to allow you to
pass."

The Prince smiled, and rejoined, with a thought of the bags in the
gurglet thrown carelessly down by him: "Up with the anchor."

The sailor's surmise was groundless. Disembarking about midnight, he
whispered his name to the captain at the gate of Blacherne, and, leaving
a soldan in the official palm, was admitted without examination. On the
street there was nothing curious in an old man carrying a mantle under
his arm, followed by a porter with a half-filled gurglet on his
shoulder. Finally, the adventure safely accomplished, the Prince of
India was home again, and in excellent humor.

One doubt assailed him--one only. He had just seen the height of
Candilli, an aerial wonder in a burst of moonlight, and straightway his
fancy had crowned it with a structure Indian in style, and of material
to shine afar delicate as snow against the black bosomed mountain behind
it. He was not a Greek to fear the Turks. Nay, in Turkish protection
there was for him a guaranty of peaceable ownership which he could not
see under Constantine. And as he was bringing now the wherewith to
realize his latest dream, he gave his imagination a loosened rein.

He built the house; he heard the tinkling of fountains in its courts,
and the echoes in the pillared recession of its halls; free of care,
happy once more, with Lael he walked in gardens where roses of Persia
exchanged perfumes with roses of Araby, and the daylong singing of birds
extended into noon of night; yet, after all, to the worn, weary,
droughted heart nothing was so soothing as the fancy which had been his
chief attendant from the gate of Blacherne--that he heard strangers
speaking to each other: "Have you seen the Palace of Lael?" "No, where
is it?" "On the crest of Candilli." The Palace of Lael! The name
confirmed itself sweeter and sweeter by repetition. And the doubt grew.
Should he build in the city or amidst the grove of Judas trees on the
crest of Candilli?

Just as he arrived before his door, he glanced casually across the
street, and was surprised by observing light in Uel's house. It was very
unusual. He would put the treasure away, and go over and inquire into
the matter. Hardly was he past his own lintel when Syama met him. The
face of the faithful servant showed unwonted excitement, and, casting
himself at his master's feet, he embraced his knees, uttering the hoarse
unintelligible cries with which the dumb are wont to make their suffering
known. The Master felt a chill of fear--something had happened--something
terrible--but to whom? He pushed the poor man's head back until he caught
the eyes.

"What is it?" he asked.

Syama arose, took the Prince's hand, and led him out of the door, across
the street, and into Uel's house. The merchant, at sight of them, rushed
forward and hid his face in the master's breast, crying:

"She is gone--lost!--The God of our fathers be with her!"

"Who is gone? Who lost?"

"Lael, Lael--our child--our Gul Bahar."

The blood of the elder Jew flew to his heart, leaving him pale as a dead
man; yet such was his acquired control of himself, he asked steadily:
"Gone!--Where?"

"We do not know. She has been snatched from us--that is all we know."

"Tell me of it--and quickly."

The tone was imperious, and he pushed Uel from him.

"Oh! my friend--and my father's friend--I will tell you all. You are
powerful, and love her, and may help where I am helpless." Then by
piecemeal he dealt out the explanation. "This afternoon she took her
chair and went to the wall in front of the Bucoleon--sunset, and she was
not back. I saw Syama--she was not in your house. He and I set out in
search of her. She was seen on the wall--later she was seen to descend
the steps as if starting home--she was seen in the garden going about on
the terrace--she was seen coming out of the front gate of the old
palace. We traced her down the street--then she returned to the garden,
through the Hippodrome, and there she was last seen. I called my friends
in the market to my aid--hundreds are now looking for her."

"She went out in her chair, did you say?"

The steady voice of the Prince was in singular contrast with his
bloodless face.

"Yes."

"Who carried it?"

"The men we have long had."

"Where are they?"

"We sought for them--they cannot be found."

The Prince kept his eyes on Uel's face. They were intensely, fiercely
bright. He was not in a rage, but thinking, if a man can be said to
think when his mind projects itself in a shower. Lael's disappearance
was not voluntary; she was in detention somewhere in the city. If the
purpose of the abduction were money, she would be held in scrupulous
safety, and a day or two would bring the demand; but if--he did not
finish the idea--it overpowered him. Pure steel in utmost flexion breaks
into pieces without warning; so with this man now. He threw both hands
up, and cried hoarsely: "Lend me, O God, of thy vengeance!" and
staggering blindly, he would have fallen but for Syama.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE FESTIVAL OF FLOWERS


The Academy of Epicurus was by no means a trifle spun for vainglory in
the fertile fancy of Demedes; but a fact just as the Brotherhoods of the
City were facts, and much more notorious than many of them.

Wiseacres are generally pessimistic. Academy of Epicurus indeed! For
once there was a great deal in a name. The class mentioned repeated it
sneeringly; it spoke to them, and loudly, of some philosophical
wickedness.

Stories of the miraculous growth of the society were at first amusing;
then the announcement of its housing excited loud laughter; but when its
votaries attached the high sounding term _Temple_ to their place of
meeting, the clergy and all the devoutly inclined looked sober. In their
view the word savored of outright paganism. Temple of the Academy of
Epicurus! Church had been better--Church was at least Christian.

At length, in ease of the increasing interest, notice was
authoritatively issued of a Festival of Flowers by the Academicians,
their first public appearance, and great were the anticipations aroused
by the further advertisement that they would march from their Temple to
the Hippodrome.

The festival took place the afternoon of the third day of the Prince of
India's voyage to Plati. More particularly, while that distinguished
foreigner on the deck of the galley was quietly sleeping off the fatigue
and wear of body and spirit consequent on the visit to the desolate
island, the philosophers were on parade with an immense quota of
Byzantines of both sexes in observation. About three thousand were in
the procession, and from head to foot it was a mass of flowers.

The extravaganza deserved the applause it drew. Some of its features
nevertheless were doubtfully regarded. Between the sections into which
the column was divided there marched small groups, apparently officers,
clad in gowns and vestments, carrying insignia and smoking tripods well
known to have belonged to various priesthoods of mythologic fame. When
the cortege reached the Hippodrome every one in the galleries was
reminded of the glory the first Constantine gained from his merciless
forays upon those identical properties.

In the next place, the motto of the society--Patience, Courage, Judgment
--was too frequently and ostentatiously exhibited not to attract
attention. The words, it was observed, were not merely on banners
lettered in gold, but illustrated by portable tableaux of exquisite
appositeness and beauty. They troubled the wiseacres; for while they
might mean a world of good, they might also stand for several worlds of
bad. Withal, however, the youthfulness of the Academicians wrought the
profoundest sensation upon the multitude of spectators. The march was
three times round the interior, affording excellent opportunity to study
the appearances; and the sober thinking, whom the rarity and tastefulness
of the display did not hoodwink, when they discovered that much the
greater number participating were beardless lads, shook their heads while
saying to each other, At the rate these are going what is to become of
the Empire? As if the decadence were not already in progress, and they,
the croakers, responsible for it!

At the end of the first round, upon the arrival of the sections in front
of the triple-headed bronze serpent, one of the wonders of the
Hippodrome then as now, the bearers of the tripods turned out, and set
them down, until at length the impious relic was partially veiled in
perfumed smoke, as was the wont in its better Delphian days.

Nothing more shocking to the religionists could have been invented; they
united in denouncing the defiant indecency. Hundreds of persons, not all
of them venerable and frocked, were seen to rise and depart, shaking the
dust from their feet. In course of tile third circuit, the tripods were
coolly picked up and returned to their several places in the procession.

From a seat directly over the course, Sergius beheld the gay spectacle
from its earliest appearance through the portal of the Blues to its exit
by the portal of the Greens. [Footnote: The Blues and the Greens--two
celebrated factions of Constantinople. See Gibbon, vii. pp. 79-89. Four
gates, each flanked with towers, gave entrance to the Hippodrome from
the city. The northwestern was called the gate of the Blues; the
northeastern of the Greens; the southeastern gate bore the sullen title,
"Gate of the Dead."--Prof. Edwin A. Grosvenor.] His interest, the reader
will bear reminding, was peculiar. He had been honored by a special
invitation to become a member of the Academy--in fact, there was a seat
in the Temple at the moment reserved for him. He had the great advantage,
moreover, of exact knowledge of the objects of the order. Godless itself,
it had been organized to promote godlessness. He had given much thought
to it since Demedes unfolded the scheme to him, and found it impossible
to believe persons of sound sense could undertake a sin so elaborate. If
for any reason the State and Church were unmindful of it, Heaven
certainly could not be.

Aside from the desire to satisfy himself of the strength of the Academy,
Sergius was drawn to the Hippodrome to learn, if possible, the position
Demedes held in it. His sympathy with the venerable Hegumen, with whom
mourning for the boy astray was incessant, and sometimes pathetic as the
Jewish king's, gradually became a grief for the prodigal himself, and he
revolved plans for his reformation. What happiness could he one day lead
the son to the father, and say: "Your prayers and lamentations have been
heard; see--God's kiss of peace on his forehead!"

And then in what he had seen of Demedes--what courage, dash, and
audacity--what efficiency--what store of resources! The last play of
his--attending the fete of the Princess Irene as a bear tender--who but
Demedes would have thought of such a role? Who else could have made
himself the hero of the occasion, with none to divide honors with him
except Joqard? And what a bold ready transition from bear tender to
captain in the boat race! Demedes writhing in the grip of Nilo over the
edge of the wall, death in the swish of waves beneath, had been an
object of pity tinged with contempt--Demedes winner of the prize at
Therapia was a very different person.

This feeling for the Greek, it is to be said next, was dashed with a
lurking dread of him. If he had a design against Lael, what was there to
prevent him from attempting it? That he had such a design, Sergius could
not deny. How often he repeated the close of the note left on the stool
after the Fisherman's fete. "Thou mayst find the fan of the Princess of
India useful; with me it is embalmed in sentiment." He shall write with
a pen wondrous fine who makes the difference between love and sentiment
clear. Behind the fete, moreover, there was the confession heard on the
wall, illustrated by the story of the plague of crime. Instead of fading
out in the Russian's mind it had become better understood--a consequence
of the brightening process of residence in the city.

Twice the procession rounded the great curriculum. Twice Sergius had
opportunity to look for the Greek, but without avail. So were the
celebrants literally clothed in flowers that recognition of individuals
was almost impossible. The first time, he sought him in the body of each
passing section; the second time, he scanned the bearers of the standards
and symbols; the third time, he was successful.

At the head of the parade, six or eight persons were moving on horseback.
It was singular Sergius had not looked for Demedes amongst them, since
the idea of him would have entitled the Greek to a chief seat in the
Temple and a leading place when in the eye of the public. As it was, he
could not repress an exclamation on making the discovery.

Like his associates, Demedes was in armor _cap-a-pie_. He also carried an
unshod lance, a shield on arm, and a bow and quiver at his back; but
helmet, breastplate, shield, lance and bow were masked in flowers, and
only now and then a glint betrayed the underdress of polished steel. The
steed he bestrode was housed in cloth which dragged the ground; but of
the color of the cloth or its material not a word can be said, so
entirely was it covered with floral embroidery of diverse hues and
figures.

The decoration contributed little of grace to man or beast; nevertheless
its richness was undeniable. To the spendthrifts in the galleries the
effect was indescribably attractive. They studied its elaboration,
conjecturing how many gardens along the Bosphorus, and out in the Isles
of the Princes, had been laid under contribution for the accomplishment
of the splendor. Thus in the saddle, Demedes could not have been accused
of diminutiveness; he appeared tall, even burly; indeed, Sergius would
never have recognized him had he not been going with raised visor, and
at the instant of passing turned his face up, permitting it to be
distinctly seen.

The exclamation wrung from the monk was not merely because of his
finding the man; in sober truth, it was an unconventional expression
provoked by finding him in the place he occupied, and a quick jump to
the logical conclusion that the foremost person in the march was also
the chief priest--if such were the title--in the Academy.

Thenceforward Sergius beheld little else of the show than Demedes. He
forgot the impiety of the honors to the bronze serpent. There is no
enigma to us like him who is broadly our antipodes in moral being, and
whether ours is the good or the bad nature does not affect the saying.
His feelings the while were strangely diverse. The election of the evil
genius to the first place in the insidious movement was well done for
the Academy; there would be no failure with him in control; but the poor
Hegumen!

And now, the last circuit completed, the head of the bright array
approached the Gate of the Greens. There the horsemen drew out and
formed line on the right hand to permit the brethren to march past them.
The afternoon was going rapidly. The shadow of the building on the west
crept more noticeably across the carefully kept field. Still Sergius
retained his seat watchful of Demedes. He saw him signal the riders to
turn out--he saw the line form, and the sections begin to march past
it--then an incident occurred of no appreciable importance at the
moment, but replete with significancy a little later.

A man appeared on the cornice above the Gate--the Grate on the interior
having a face resembling a very tall but shallow portico resting on
slender pillars--and commenced lowering himself as if he meant to
descend. The danger of the attempt drew all eyes to him. Demedes looked
up, and hastily rode through the column toward the spot where the
adventurer must alight. The spectators credited the young chief with a
generous intent to be of assistance; but agile as a cat, and master of
every nerve and muscle, the man gained one of the pillars and slid to
the ground. The galleries of the Hippodrome found voice immediately.

While the acrobat hung from the cornice striving to get hold of the
pillar with his feet and legs, Sergius was wrestling with the question,
what could impel a fellow being to tempt Providence so rashly? If a
messenger with intelligence for some one in the procession, why not wait
for him outside? In short, the monk was a trifle vexed; but doubly
observant now, he saw the man hasten to Demedes, and Demedes bend low in
the saddle to receive a communication from him. The courier then hurried
away through the Gate, while the chief returned to his place; but,
instructed probably by some power of divination proceeding from sympathy
and often from suspicion, one of the many psychological mysteries about
which we keep promising ourselves a day of enlightenment, Sergius
observed a change in the latter. He was restless, impatient, and
somewhat too imperative in hastening the retirement of the brethren. The
message had obviously excited him.

Now Sergius would have freely given the best of his earthly possessions
to have known at that moment the subject of the communication delivered
by a route so extraordinary; but leaving him to his conjectures, there
is no reason why the reader should not be more confidentially treated.

"Sir," the messenger had whispered to Demedes, "she has left her
father's, and is coming this way."

"How is she coming?"

"In her sedan."

"Who is with her?"

"She is alone."

"And her porters?"

"The Bulgarians."

"Thank you. Go now--out by the Gate--to the keeper of the Imperial
Cistern. Tell him to await me under the wall in the Bucoleon garden with
my chair. He will understand. Come to the Temple tomorrow for your
salary."




CHAPTER XIX

THE PRINCE BUILDS CASTLES FOR HIS GUL BAHAR


The words between Demedes and his courier may have the effect of
additionally exciting the reader's curiosity; for better understanding,
therefore, we will take the liberty of carrying him from the Hippodrome
to the house of Uel the merchant.

Much has been said about the Prince of India's affection for Lael; so
much indeed that there is danger of its being thought one sided. A
greater mistake could scarcely be. She returned his love as became a
daughter attentive, tender and obedient. Without knowing anything of his
past life except as it was indistinctly connected with her family, she
regarded him a hero and a sage whose devotion to her, multiform and
unwearied, was both a delight and an honor. She was very sympathetic,
and in everything of interest to him responded with interest. His word
in request or direction was law to her. Such in brief was the charming
mutuality between them.

The night before he started for Plati, Lael sat with him on the roof. He
was happy of his resolution to stay with her. The moonlight was ample
for them. Looking up into his face, her chin in a palm, an elbow on his
knee, she listened while he talked of his plans, and was the more
interested because he made her understand she was the inspiration of
them all.

"The time for my return home is up," he said, forgetting to specify
where the home was, "and I should have been off before this but for my
little girl--my Gul Bahar"--and he patted her head fondly. "I cannot go
and leave her; neither can I take her with me, for what would then
become of father Uel? When she was a child it might not have been so
hard for me to lose sight of her, but now--ah, have I not seen you grow
day by day taller, stronger, wiser, fairer of person, sweeter of soul,
until you are all I fancied you would be--until you are my ideal of a
young woman of our dear old Israel, the loveliness of Judah in your eyes
and on your cheek, and of a spirit to sit in the presence of the Lord
like one invited and welcome? Oh, I am very happy!"

He kept silence awhile, indulging in retrospect. If she could have
followed him! Better probably that she could not.

"It is a day of ease to me, dear, and I cannot see any unlawfulness in
extending the day into months, or a year, or years indefinitely, and in
making the most of it. Can you?" he asked, smiling at her.

"I am but a handmaiden, and my master's eyes are mine," she replied.

"That was well said--ever so well said," he returned. "The words would
have become Ruth speaking to her lord who was of the kindred of
Elimelech... Yes, I will stay with my Gul Bahar, my most precious one. I
am resolved. She loves me now, but can I not make her love me still
more--Oh, doubt not, doubt not! Her happiness shall be the measure of
her love for me. That is the right way, is it not?"

"My father is never wrong," Lael answered, laughing.

"Flatterer!" he exclaimed, pressing her cheeks between his hands....
"Oh, I have it marked out already! In the dry lands of my country, I
have seen a farmer, wanting to lead water to a perishing field, go
digging along the ground, while the stream bubbled and leaped behind
him, tame and glad as a petted lamb. My heart is the field to be
watered--your love, O my pretty, pretty Gul Bahar, is the refreshing
stream, and I will lead it after me--never fear!... Listen, and I will
tell you how I will lead it. I will make you a Princess. These Greeks
are a proud race, but they shall bow to you; for we will live amongst
them, and you shall have things richer than their richest--trinkets of
gold and jewels, a palace, and a train of women equal to that of the
Queen who went visiting Solomon. They praise themselves when they look
at their buildings, but I tell you they know nothing of the art which
turns dreams into stones. The crags and stones have helped them to their
models. I will teach them better--to look higher--to find vastness with
grace and color in the sky. The dome of Sancta Sophia--what is it in
comparison with the Hindoo masterpieces copied from the domes of God on
the low-lying clouds in the distance opposite the sun?"

Then he told her of his palace in detail--of the fronts, no two of them
alike--the pillars, those of red granite, those of porphyry, and the
others of marble--windows which could not be glutted with light--arches
such as the Western Kaliphs transplanted from Damascus and Bagdad, in
form first seen in a print of the hoof of Borak. Then he described the
interior, courts, halls; passages, fountains: and when he had thus set
the structure before her, he said, softly smoothing her hair:

"There now--you have it all--and verily, as Hiram, King of Tyre, helped
Solomon in his building, he shall help me also."

"How can he help you?" she asked, shaking her finger at him. "He has
been dead this thousand years, and more."

"Yes, dear, to everybody but me," he answered, lightly, and asked in
turn: "How do you like the palace?"

"It will be wonderful!"

"I have named it. Would you like to hear the name?"

"It is something pretty, I know."

"The Palace of Lael."

Her cry of delighted surprise, given with clasped hands and wide-open
eyes, would have been tenfold payment were he putting her in possession
of the finished house.

The sensation over, he told her of his design for a galley.

"We know how tiresome the town becomes. In winter, it is cheerless and
damp; in summer, it is hot, dusty and in every way trying. Weariness
will invade our palace--yes, dear, though we hide from it in the shady
heart of our Hall of Fountains. We can provide against everything but
the craving for change. Not being birds to fly, and unable to compel the
eagles to lend us their wings, the best resort is a galley; then the sea
is ours--the sea, wide, mysterious, crowded with marvels. I am never so
near the stars as there. When a wave is bearing me up, they seem
descending to meet me. Times have been when I thought the Pleiades were
about to drop into my palm.... Here is my galley. You see, child, the
palace is to be yours, the galley mine."

Thereupon he described a trireme of a hundred and twenty oars, sixty on
a side, and ended, saying: "Yes, the peerless ship will be mine, but
every morning it shall be yours to say Take it here or there, until we
have seen every city by the sea; and there are enough of them, I
promise, to keep us going and going forever were it not that the
weariness which drove us from our palace will afterwhile drive us back
to it. How think you I have named my galley?"

"Lael," she answered.

"No, try again."

"The world is too full of names for me. Tell me."

"Gul Bahar," he returned.

Again she clasped her hands, and gave the little cry in his ears so
pleasant.

Certainly the Prince was pleading with effect, and laying up happiness
in great store to cheer him through unnumbered sterile years inevitably
before him after time had resolved this Lael into a faint and fading
memory, like the other Lael gone to dust under the stone at Jerusalem.

The first half of the night was nearly spent when he arose to conduct
her across the street to Uel's house. The last words at the head of the
steps were these: "Now, dear, to-morrow I must go a journey on business
which will keep me three days and nights--possibly three weeks. Tell
father Uel what I say. Tell him also that I have ordered you to stay
indoors while I am absent, unless he can accompany you. Do you hear me?"

"Three weeks!" she cried, protestingly. "Oh, it will be so lonesome! Why
may I not go with Syama?"

"Syama would be a wisp of straw in the hands of a ruffian. He could not
even call for help."

"Then why not with Nilo?"

"Nilo is to attend me."

"Oh, I see," she said, with a merry laugh. "It is the Greek, the Greek,
my persecutor! Why, he has not recovered from his fright yet; he has
deserted me."

He answered gravely: "Do you remember a bear tender, one of the
amusements at the fisherman's fete?"

"Oh, yes."

"He was the Greek."

"He!" she cried, astonished.

"Yes. I have it from Sergius the monk; and further, my child, he was
there in pursuit of you."

"Oh, the monster! I threw him my fan!"

The Prince knew by the tremulous voice she was wounded, and hastened to
say: "It was nothing. He deceived everybody but Sergius. I spoke of the
pestilent fellow because you wanted a reason for my keeping you close at
home. Perhaps I exacted too much of you. If I only knew certainly how
long I shall be detained! The three weeks will be hard--and it may be
Uel cannot go with you--his business is confining. So if you do venture
out, take your sedan--everybody knows to whom it belongs--and the old
Bulgarian porters. I have paid them enough to be faithful to us. Are you
listening, child?"

"Yes, yes--and I am so glad!"

He walked down the stairs half repenting the withdrawal of his
prohibition.

"Be it so," he said, crossing the street. "The confinement might be
hurtful. Only go seldom as you can; then be sure you return before
sunset, and that you take and keep the most public streets. That is all
now."

"You are so good to me!" she said, putting her arm round his neck, and
kissing him. "I will try and stay in the house. Come back early.
Farewell."

Next day about noon the Prince of India took the galley, and set out for
Plati.

The day succeeding his departure was long with Lael. She occupied
herself with her governess, however, and did a number of little tasks
such as women always have in reserve for a more convenient season.

The second day was much more tedious. The forenoon was her usual time
for recitations to the Prince; she also read with him then, and
practised talking some of the many languages of which he was master.
That part of the day she accordingly whiled through struggling with her
books.

She was earnest in the attempt at study; but naturally, the circumstances
considered, she dropped into thinking of the palace and galley. What a
delightful glorious existence they prefigured! And it was not a dream!
Her father, the Prince of India, as she proudly and affectionately called
him, did not deal in idle promises, but did what he said. And besides
being a master of design in many branches of art, he had an amazing
faculty of describing the things he designed. That is saying he had the
mind's eye to see his conceptions precisely as they would appear in
finished state. So in talking his subjects always seemed before him for
portraiture. One can readily perceive the capacity he must have had for
making the unreal appear real to a listener, and also how he could lead
Lael, her hand in his, through a house more princely than anything of the
kind in Constantinople, and on board a ship such as never sailed unless
on a painted ocean--a house like the Taj Mahal, a vessel like that which
burned on the Cydnus. She decided what notable city by the sea she wanted
most to look at next, and in naming them over, smiled at her own
indecision.

The giving herself to such fancies was exactly what the Prince intended;
only he was to be the central figure throughout. Whether in the palace
or on the ship, she was to think of him alone, and always as the author
of the splendor and the happiness. Of almost any other person we would
speak compassionately; but he had lived long enough to know better than
dream so childishly--long enough at least to know there is a law for
everything except the vagaries of a girl scarcely sixteen.

After all, however, if his scheme was purely selfish, perhaps it may be
pleasing to the philosophers who insist that relations cannot exist
without carrying along with them their own balance of compensations, to
hear how Lael filled the regal prospect set before her with visions in
which Sergius, young, fair, tall and beautiful, was the hero, and the
Prince only a paternal contributor. If the latter led her by the hand
here and there, Sergius went with them so close behind she could hear
his feet along the marble, and in the voyages she took, he was always a
passenger.

The trial of the third day proved too much for the prisoner. The weather
was delightfully clear and warm, and in the afternoon she fell to
thinking of the promenade on the wall by the Bucoleon, and of the
waftures over the Sea from the Asian Olympus. They were sweet in her
remembrance, and the longing for them was stronger of a hope the
presence of which she scarcely admitted to herself--a hope of meeting
Sergius. She wanted to ask him if the bear-tender at the fete could have
been the Greek. Often as she thought of that odious creature with her
fan, she blushed, and feared Sergius might seriously misunderstand her.

About three o'clock she ordered her chair brought to father Uel's door
at exactly four, having first dutifully run over the conditions the
Prince had imposed upon her. Uel was too busy to be her escort. Syama,
if he went, would be no protection; but she would return early. To be
certain, she made a calculation. It would take about half an hour to get
to the wall; the sun would set soon after seven; by starting home at six
she could have fully an hour and a half for the airing, which meant a
possible hour and a half with Sergius.

At four o'clock the sedan was set down before the merchant's house, and,
for a reason presently apparent, the reader to whom vehicles of the kind
are unfamiliar is advised to acquaint himself somewhat thoroughly with
them. In idea, as heretofore observed, this one was a box constructed
with a seat for a single passenger; a door in front allowed exit and
entrance; besides the window in the door, there was a smaller opening on
each side. For portage, it was affixed centrally and in an upright
position to two long poles; these, a porter in front and another behind
grasped at the ends, easing the burden by straps passed over the
shoulders. The box was high enough for the passenger to stand in it.

Lest this plain description should impose an erroneous idea of the
appearance of the carriage, we again advert to its upholstery in
silk-velvet orange-tinted; to the cushions covering the seat; to the
lace curtaining the windows in a manner to permit view from within while
screening the occupant from obtrusive eyes without; and to the elaborate
decoration of the exterior, literally a mosaic of vari-colored woods,
mother-of-pearl and gold, the latter in lines and flourishes. In fine,
to such a pitch of gorgeousness had the Prince designed the chair,
intending the public should receive it as an attestation of his love for
the child to whom it was specially set apart, that it became a notoriety
and avouched its ownership everywhere in the city.

The reader would do well in the next place to give a glance at the men
who brought the chair to the door--two burly fellows, broad-faced,
shock-headed, small-eyed, sandalled, clad in semi-turbans, gray shirts,
and gray trousers immensely bagged behind--professional porters; for the
service demanded skill. A look by one accustomed to the compound of
races hived in Constantinople would have determined them Bulgarians in
extraction, and subjects of the Sultan by right of recent conquest. They
had settled upon the Prince of India in a kind of retainership. As the
chair belonged to Lael, from long employment as carriers they belonged
to the chair. Their patron dealt very liberally with them, and for that
reason had confidence in their honesty and faithfulness. That they
should have pride in the service, he dressed them in a livery. On this
occasion, however, they presented themselves in every-day costume--a
circumstance which would not have escaped the Prince, or Uel, or Syama.

The only witness of the departure was the governess, who came out and
affectionately settled her charge in the chair, and heard her name the
streets which the Bulgarians were to pursue, all of them amongst the
most frequented of the city. Gazing at her through the window the moment
the chair was raised, she thought Lael never appeared lovelier and was
herself pleased and lulled with the words she received at parting:

"I will be home before sunset."

The carriers in going followed instructions, except that upon arrival at
the Hippodrome, observing it already in possession of a concourse of
people waiting for the Epicureans, they passed around the enormous pile,
and entered the imperial gardens by a gate north of Sancta Sophia.

Lael found the promenade thronged with habitues, and falling into the
current moving toward Point Serail, she permitted her chair to become
part of it; after which she was borne backward and forward from the
Serail to the Port of Julian, stopping occasionally to gaze at the Isles
of the Princes seemingly afloat and drifting through the purple haze of
the distance.

Where, she persisted in asking herself, is Sergius? Lest he might pass
unobserved, she kept the curtains of all the windows aside, and every
long gown and tall hat she beheld set her heart to fluttering. Her
eagerness to meet the monk at length absorbed her.

The sun marked five o'clock--then half after five--then, in more rapid
declension, six, and still she went pendulously to and fro along the
wall--six o'clock, the hour for starting home; but she had not seen
Sergius. On land the shadows were lengthening rapidly; over the sea, the
brightness was dulling, and the air perceptibly freshening. She awoke
finally to the passage of time, and giving up the hope which had been
holding her to the promenade, reluctantly bade the carriers take her
home. "Shall we go by the streets we came?" the forward man asked,
respectfully.

"Yes," she returned.

Then, as he closed the door, she was startled by noticing the promenade
almost deserted; the going and coming were no longer in two decided
currents; groups had given place to individual loiterers. These things
she noticed, but not the glance the porters threw to each other
telegraphic of some understanding between them.

At the foot of the stairs descending the wall she rapped on the front
window.

"Make haste," she said, to the leading man; "make haste, and take the
nearest way."

This, it will be perceived, left him to choose the route in return, and
he halted long enough to again telegraph his companion by look and nod.

Between the eastern front of the Bucoleon and the sea-wall the entire
space was a garden. From the wall the ascent to the considerable plateau
crowned by the famous buildings was made easy by four graceful terraces,
irregular in width, and provided with zigzag roads securely paved.

Roses and lilies were not the only products of the terraces; vines and
trees of delicate leafage and limited growth flourished upon them in
artistic arrangement. Here and there were statues and lofty pillars, and
fountains in the open, and fountains under tasteful pavilions, planted
advantageously at the angles. Except where the trees and shrubbery
formed groups dense enough to serve as obstructions, the wall commanded
the whole slope. Time was when all this loveliness was jealously guarded
for the lords and ladies of the court; but when Blacherne became the
Very High Residence the Bucoleon lapsed to the public. His Majesty
maintained it; the people enjoyed it.

Following the zigzags, the carriers mounted two of the terraces without
meeting a soul. The garden was deserted. Hastening on, they turned the Y
at the beginning of the third terrace. A hundred or more yards along the
latter there was a copse of oleander and luxuriant filbert bushes
over-ridden by fig trees. As the sedan drew near this obstruction, its
bearers flung quick glances above and below them, and along the wall,
and descrying another sedan off a little distance but descending toward
them, they quickened their pace as if to pass the copse first. In the
midst of it, at the exact point where the view from every direction was
cut off, the man in the rear stumbled, struggled to recover himself,
then fell flat. His ends of the poles struck the pavement with a
crash--the chair toppled backward--Lael screamed. The leader slipped the
strap from his shoulder, and righted the carriage by letting it go to
the ground, floor down. He then opened the door.

"Do not be scared," he said to Lael, whose impulse was to scramble out.
"Keep your seat--my comrade has had a fall--that is nothing--keep your
seat. I will get him up, and we will be going on in a minute."

Lael became calm.

The man walked briskly around, and assisted his partner to his feet.
There was a hurried consultation between them, of which the passenger
heard only the voices. Presently they both came to the door, looking
much mortified.

"The accident is more than I thought," the leader said, humbly.

By this time the chill of the first fear was over with Lael, and she
asked: "Can we go on?"

"If the Princess can walk--yes."

She turned pale.

"What is it? Why must I walk?"

"Our right-hand pole is broken, and we have nothing to tie it with."

And the other man added: "If we only had a rope!"

Now the mishap was not uncommon, and remembering the fact, Lael grew
cooler, and bethought herself of the silken scarf about her waist. To
take it off was the work of a moment.

"Here," she said, rather pleased at her presence of mind; "you can make
a rope of this."

They took the scarf, and busied themselves, she thought, trying to
bandage the fractured shaft. Again they stood before the door.

"We have done the best we can. The pole will hold the chair, but not
with the Princess. She must walk--there is nothing else for her."

Thereupon the assistant interposed a suggestion: "One of us can go for
another chair, and overtake the Princess before she reaches the gate."

This was plausible, and Lael stepped forth. She sought the sun first;
the palace hid it, yet she was cheered by its last rays redly enlivening
the heights of Scutari across the Bosphorus, and felicitated herself
thinking it still possible to get home before the night was completely
fallen.

"Yes, one of you may seek another"--

That instant the sedan her porters had descried before they entered the
copse caught her eyes. Doubt, fear, suspicion vanished; her face
brightened: "A chair! A chair!--and no one in it!" she cried, with the
vivacity of a child. "Bring it here, and let us be gone."

The carriage so heartily welcomed was of the ordinary class, and the
carriers were poorly clad, hard-featured men, but stout and well
trained. They came at call.

"Where are you going?"

"To the wall."

"Are you engaged?"

"No, we hoped to find some one belated there."

"Do you know Uel the merchant?"

"We have heard of him. He has a stall in the market, and deals in
diamonds."

"Do you know where his house is?"

"On the street from St. Peter's Gate, under the church by the old
cistern."

"We have a passenger here, his daughter, and want you to carry her home.
One of our poles is broken."

"Will she pay us our price?"

"How much do you want?"

Here Lael interposed: "Stand not on the price. My father will pay
whatever they demand."

The Bulgarians seemed to consider a moment.

"It is the best we can do," the leader said.

"Yes, the very best," the other returned.

Thereupon the first one went to the new sedan, and opened the door. "If
the Princess will take seat," he said, respectfully, "we will pick up,
and follow close after her."

Lael stepped in, saying as the door closed upon her: "Make haste, for
the night is near."

The strangers without further ado faced about, and started up the road.

"Wait, wait," she heard her old leader call out.

There was a silence during which she imagined the Bulgarians were
adjusting the straps upon their shoulders; then there came a quick: "Now
go, and hurry, or we will pass you."

These were the last words she heard from them, for the new men put
themselves in motion. She missed the cushions of her own carriage, but
was content--she was returning home, and going fast. This latter she
judged by the slide and shuffle of the loose-sandalled feet under her,
and the responsive springing of the poles.

The reaction of spirit which overtook her was simply the swing of nature
back to its normal lightness. She ceased thinking of the accident,
except as an excuse for the delay to which she had been subjected. She
was glad the Prince's old retainer had escaped without injury. There was
no window back through which she could look, yet she fancied she heard
the feet of the faithful Bulgarians; they said nothing, therefore
everything was proceeding well. Now and then she peered out through the
side windows to notice the deepening of the shades of evening. Once a
temporary darkness filled the narrow box, but it gave her no uneasiness--
the men were passing out of the garden through a covered gate. Now they
were in a street, and the travelling plain.

Thus assured and tranquil, maiden-like, she again fell to thinking of
Sergius. Where could he have been? What kept him from the promenade? He
might have known she would be there. Was the Hegumen so exacting? Old
people are always forgetting they cannot make young people old like
themselves; and it was so inconvenient, especially now she wanted to
hear of the bear tender. Then she adverted to the monk more directly.
How tall he was! How noble and good of face! And his religion--she
wished ever so quietly that he could be brought over to the Judean
faith--she wished it, but did not ask herself why. To say truth, there
was a great deal more feeling in undertone, as it were, touching these
points than thought; and while she kept it going, the carriers forgot
not to be swift, nor did the night tarry.

Suddenly there was an awakening. From twilight deeply shaded, she passed
into utter darkness. While, with her face to a window, she tried to see
where she was and make out what had happened, the chair stopped, and
next moment was let drop to the ground. The jar and the blank blackness
about renewed her fears, and she called out:

"What is the matter? Where are we? This is not my father Uel's."

And what time an answer should have been forthcoming had there been good
faith and honesty in the situation, she heard a rush of feet which had
every likeness to a precipitate flight, and then a banging noise, like
the slamming to of a ponderous door.

She had time to think of the wisdom of her father, the Prince of India,
and of her own wilfulness--time to think of the Greek--time to call once
on Sergius--then a flutter of consciousness--an agony of fright--and it
was as if she died.




CHAPTER XX

THE SILHOUETTE OF A CRIME


A genius thoroughly wicked--such was Demedes.

Quick to see the disgust the young men of Constantinople had fallen into
for the disputes their elders were indulging about the Churches, he
proposed that they should discard religion, and reinstate philosophy;
and at their request he formulated the following:

"Nature is the lawgiver; the happiness of man is the primary object of
Nature: hence for youth, Pleasure; for old age, Repentance and Piety,
the life hereafter being a respectable conjecture."

The principles thus tersely stated were eagerly adopted, and going
forward with his scheme, it may be said the Academy was his design, and
its organization his work. In recognition of his superior abilities, the
grateful Academicians elected him their High Priest.

We have seen how the public received the motto of the society. Patience,
Courage, Judgment looked fair and disclosed nothing wrong; but there was
an important reservation to it really the only secret observed. This was
the motto in full, known only to the initiated--Patience, Courage,
Judgment _in the pursuit of Pleasure_.

From the hour of his installation as High Priest, Demedes was consumed
by an ambition to illustrate the motto in its entirety, by doing
something which should develop the three virtues in connection with
unheard of daring and originality.

It is to be added here that to his own fortune, he had now the treasury
of the Academy to draw upon, and it was full. In other words, he had
ample means to carry out any project his _judgment_ might approve.

He pondered the matter long. One day Lael chanced to fall under his
observation. She was beautiful and the town talk. Here, he thought, was
a subject worth studying, and speedily two mysteries presented themselves
to him: Who was the Prince of India? And what was her true relationship
to the Prince?

We pass over his resorts in unravelling the mysteries; they were many
and cunning, and thoroughly tried the first virtue of the Academical
motto; still the sum of his finding with respect to the Prince was a
mere theory--he was a Jew and rich--beyond this Demedes took nothing for
his pains.

He proceeded next to investigate Lael. She too was of Jewish origin, but
unlike other Jewesses, wonderful to say, she had two fathers, the
diamond merchant and the Prince of India.

Nothing better could be asked--so his judgment, the third virtue of the
motto, decreed. In Byzantine opinion, Jews were socially outside decent
regard. In brief, if he should pursue the girl to her ruin, there was
little to fear from an appeal by either of her fathers to the
authorities. Exile might be the extremest penalty of discovery.

He began operations by putting into circulation the calumny, too
infamous for repetition, with which we have seen him attempt to poison
Sergius. Robbing the victim of character would deprive her of sympathy,
and that, in the event of failure, would be a half defence for himself
with the public.

He gave himself next to finding what to do with the little Princess, as
he termed her. All his schemes respecting her fell short in that they
lacked originality. At last the story of the Plague of Crime, stumbled
on in the library of the St. James', furnished a suggestion novel, if
not original, and he accepted it.

Proceeding systematically, he first examined the cistern, paddling
through it in a boat with a flambeau at the bow. He sounded the depth of
the water, counted the pillars, and measured the spaces between them; he
tested the purity of the air; and when the reconnoissance was through,
he laughed at the simplicity of the idea, and embodied his decision in a
saying eminently becoming his philosophic character--the best of every
new thing is that it was once old.

Next he reduced the affair to its elements. He must steal her--such was
the deed in simplest term--and he must have assistants, but prudence
whispered just as few of them as possible. He commenced a list, heading
it with the keeper of the cistern, whom he found poor, necessitous, and
anxious to better his condition. Upon a payment received, that worthy
became warmly interested, and surprised his employer with suggestions of
practical utility.

Coming then to the abduction, he undertook a study of her daily life,
hoping it would disclose something available. A second name was
thereupon entered in his list of accomplices.

One day a beggar with sore eyes and a foot swollen with elephantiasis--an
awful object to sight--set a stool in an angle of the street a few doors
from Uel's house; and thenceforward the girl's every appearance was
communicated to Demedes, who never forgot the great jump of heart with
which he heard of the gorgeous chair presented her by the Prince, and of
the visit she forthwith made to the wall of the Bucoleon.

Soon as he satisfied himself that the Bulgarians were in the Prince's
pay, he sounded them. They too were willing to permit him to make them
comfortable the remainder of their days, especially as, after the
betrayal asked of them, they had only to take boat to the Turkish side
of the Bosphorus, beyond pursuit and demand. His list of assistants was
then increased to four.

Now indeed the game seemed secure, and he prepared for the hour which
was to bring the Jewess to him.

The keeper of the cistern was the solitary occupant of a house built
round a small court from which a flight of stone steps admitted to the
darkened water. He had a felicitous turn for mechanics, and undertook
the building of a raft with commodious rooms on it. Demedes went with
him to select a place of anchorage, and afterward planned the structure
to fit between four of the pillars in form thus:

[Illustration]

Seeing the design on paper, Demedes smiled--it was so like a cross; the
part in lines being the landing, and the rest a room divisible at
pleasure into three rooms. A boat was provided for communication, and to
keep it hid from visitors, a cord was fixed to a pillar off in the
darkness beyond ken, helped though it might be by torches; so standing
on the stone steps, one could draw the vessel to and fro, exactly as a
flag is hoisted or lowered on a staff.

The work took a long time, but was at last finished. The High Priest of
the Epicureans came meantime to have something akin to tender feeling
for his intended victim. He indulged many florid dreams of when she
should grace his bower in the Imperial Cistern; and as the time of her
detention might peradventure extend into months, he vowed to enrich the
bower until the most wilful spirit would settle into contentment.

Neither the money nor the time spent in this part of the preparation was
begrudged; on the contrary, Demedes took delight in the occupation; it
was exercise for ingenuity, taste, and judgment, always a pleasure to
such as possess the qualities. In fact, the whole way through he likened
himself to a bird building a nest for its mate.

After all, however, the part of the project most troublesome of
arrangement by the schemer, was getting the Princess into the cistern
keeper's house--that is, without noise, scuffle, witnesses, or a clew
left behind. To this he gave more hours of reflection than to the rest
altogether. The method we have seen executed was decided upon when he
arrived at two conclusions; that the attempt was most likely to succeed
in the garden of the Bucoleon, and that the Princess must be lured from
her chair into another less conspicuous and not so well known. Greatly
to his regret, but of necessity, he then saw himself compelled to
increase his list of accessories to six. Yet he derived peace remembering
none of them, with exception of the keeper, knew aught of the affair
beyond their immediate connection with it. The porters, for instance, who
dropped the unfortunate and fled, leaving her in the sedan to intents
dead, had not the slightest idea of what was to become of her afterwards.

The conjunctions needful to success in the enterprise were numerous; yet
the Greek accepted the waiting they put him to as a trial of the
Patience to which the motto pledged him. He believed in being ready.
When the house was built and furnished, he drilled the Bulgarians with
such particularity that the scene in the garden may be said to have been
literally to order. Probably the nearest approach to the mythical sixth
sense is the power of casting one's mind forward to a coming event, and
arranging its occurrence; and whether some have it a gift of nature,
while others derive it from cultivation, this much is certain--without
it, no man will ever create anything originally.

Now, if the reader pleases, Demedes was too liberally endowed with the
faculty, trait or sense of which we have just spoken to permit the sedan
to be broken; such an accident would have been very inconvenient at the
critical moment succeeding the exchange of chairs. The prompter ever at
the elbow of a bad man instructed him that, aside from what the Prince
of India could not do, it was in his power to arouse the city, and set
it going hue and cry; and then the carriage, rich, glittering, and known
to so many, would draw pursuit, like a flaming torch at night. So it
occurred to Demedes, the main object being to conceal the going to the
cistern keeper's, why not use the sedan to deceive the pursuers? He
scored the idea with an exultant laugh.

Returning now to the narrative of the enactment, directly the strange
porters moved out of the copse with their unsuspecting passenger, the
Bulgarians slung the poles to their shoulders, and followed up the
zigzag to the Y of the fourth terrace; there they turned, and retraced
their steps to the promenade; whence, after reaching Point Serail, they
doubled on their track, descended the wall, traversed the garden, and,
passing the gate by which they came, paraded their empty burden around
the Hippodrome and down a thronged street. And again doubling, they
returned to the wall, and finding it forsaken, and the night having
fallen, they abandoned the chair at a spot where the water on the
seaward side was deep and favorable for whatever violence theory might
require. In the course of this progress they were met by numberless
people, many of whom stopped to observe the gay turnout, doubting not
that the little Princess was within directing its movements. Finally,
their task thoroughly done, the Bulgarians hurried to where a boat was
in readiness, and crossing to Scutari, lost themselves in the growing
dominions of their rightful Lord, the Sultan.

One casually reading this silhouette of a crime in act is likely to rest
here, thinking there was nothing more possible of doing either to
forward the deed or facilitate the escape of those engaged in it; yet
Demedes was not content. There were who had heard him talk of the
girl--who knew she had been much in his thought--to whom he had
furnished ground for suspecting him of following her with evil
intent--Sergius amongst others. In a word, he saw a necessity for
averting attention from himself in the connection. Here also his wit was
willing and helpful. The moment the myrmidon dropped from the portico
with news that the Princess was out in her chair unattended, he decided
she was proceeding to the wall.

"The gods are mindful of me!" he said, his blood leaping quick. "Now is
the time ripe, and the opportunity come!"

Looking at the sun, he fixed the hour, and reflected:

"Five o'clock--she is on the wall. Six o'clock--she is still there. Half
after six--making up her mind to go home. Oh, but the air will be sweet,
and the sea lovely! Seven o'clock--she gives order, and the Bulgarians
signal my men on the fourth terrace. Pray Heaven the Russian keep to his
prayers or stay hearkening for my father's bell!... Here am I seen of
these thousands. Later on--about the time she forsakes the wall--my
presence shall be notorious along the streets from the Temple to
Blacherne. Then what if the monk talks? May the fiend pave his path with
stumbling-blocks and breaknecks! The city will not discredit its own
eyes."

The Epicureans, returning from the Hippodrome, reached their Temple
about half after five o'clock. The dispersal occupied another hour;
shortly after, the regalia having been put away, and the tripods and
banners stored, Demedes called to his mounted assistants:

"My brothers, we have worked hard, but the sowing has been bounteous and
well done. Philosophy in flowers, religion in sackcloth--that is the
comparison we have given the city. There will be no end to our harvest.
To-morrow our doors open to stay open. To-day I have one further service
for you. To your horses and ride with me to the gate of Blacherne. We
may meet the Emperor."

They answered him shouting: "Live the Emperor!"

"Yes," cried Demedes, when the cheering was over, "by this time he
should be tired of the priests; and what is that but the change of heart
needful to an Epicurean?"

Laughing and joking, they mounted, eight of them, in flowers as when in
the Hippodrome. The sun was going down, but the streets were yet bright
with day. It was the hour when balconies overhanging the narrow
thoroughfares were crowded with women and children, and the doors beset
with servants--the hour Byzantine gossips were abroad filling and
unfilling their budgets. How the wooden houses trembled while the
cavalcade went galloping by! What thousands of bright eyes peered down
upon the cavaliers, attracted by the shouting and laughter! Now and then
some person would be a little late in attempting to cross before him;
then with what grace Demedes would spur after him, his bow and bowstring
for whip! And how the spectators shrieked with delight when he overtook
the culprit, and wore the flowers out flogging him! And when a balcony
was low, and illuminated with a face fairer than common, how the gallant
young riders plucked roses from their helms and shields, and tossed them
in shouting:

"Largesse, Lady--largesse of thy smiles!"

"Look again! Another rose for another look!"

"From the brave to the fair!"

Thus to the gate of Blacherne. There they drew up, and saluted the
officer of the guard, and cheered: "Live Constantine! To the good
Emperor, long life!"

All the way Demedes rode with lifted visor. Returning through the
twilight, earlier in the close streets than in the open, he led his
company by the houses of Uel and the Prince of India. Something might
be learned of what was going on with the little Princess by what was
going on there; and the many persons he saw in the street signified
alarm and commotion.

"Ho, here!" he shouted, drawing rein. "What does this mean? Somebody
dead or dying?"

"Uel, the master of the house, is afraid for his child. She should have
been home before sundown. He is sending friends out to look for her."

There was a whole story in the answer, and the conspirator repressed a
cry of triumph, and rode on.





CHAPTER XXI

SERGIUS LEARNS A NEW LESSON


Syama, always thoughtful, took care of the treasure brought from Plati,
and standing by the door watched his master through the night, wondering
what the outcome of his agitation would be.

It were useless attempting to describe how the gloomy soul of the Jew
exercised itself. His now ungovernable passions ran riot within him. He
who had seen so much of life, who had made history as the loomsmen of
Bokhara make carpets, who dealt with kings and kingdoms, and the
superlatives of every kind canonized in the human imagination--he to be
so demeaned! Yet it was not the disrespect to himself personally that
did the keenest stinging, nor even the enmity of Heaven denying him the
love permitted every other creature, bird, beast, crawling reptile,
monster of the sea--these were as the ruffling of the weather feathers
of a fighting eagle, compared with the torture he endured from
consciousness of impotency to punish the wrongdoers as he would like to
punish them.

That Lael was immured somewhere in the city, he doubted not; and he
would find her, for what door could stand shut against knocking by a
hand with money in it? But might it not be too late? The flower he could
recover, but the fragrance and purity of bloom--what of them? How his
breast enlarged and shrank under the electric touch of that idea! The
devil who did the deed might escape him, for hell was vast and deep; yet
the city remained, even the Byzantium ancient of days like himself, and
he would hold it a hostage for the safe return of his Gul Bahar.

All the night long he walked without pause; it seemed unending to him;
at length the faintest rosy tint, a reflection from morning's palette of
splendor, lodged on the glass of his eastern window, and woke him from
his misery. At the door he found Syama.

"Syama," he said, kindly, "bring me the little case which has in it my
choicest drugs."

It was brought him, an oblong gold box encrusted with brilliants.
Opening it, he found a spatula of fine silver on a crystal lid, and
under the lid, in compartments, pellets differently colored, one of
which he selected, and dropped in his throat.

"There, put it back," he said, returning the box to Syama, who went out
with it. Looking then at the brightness brighter growing through the
window, "Welcome," he continued, speaking to the day as it were a
person: "Thou wert slow coming, yet welcome. I am ready for this new
labor imposed on me, and shall not rest, or sleep, or hunger, or thirst
until it is done. Thou shalt see I have not lived fourteen centuries for
nothing; that in a hunt for vengeance I have not lost my cunning. I will
give them till thou hast twice run thy course; then, if they bring her
not, they will find the God they worship once more the Lord God of
Israel."

Syama returned.

"Thou art a faithful man, Syama, and I love thee. Get me a cup of the
Cipango leaves--no bread, the cup alone."

While waiting, the Prince continued his silent walk; but when the tea
was brought, he said: "Good! It shall go after the meat of the
poppies"--adding to Syama--"While I drink, do thou seek Uel, and bring
him to me."

When the son of Jahdai entered, the Prince looked at him a moment, and
asked: "Hast thou word of her?"

"Not a word, not one word," and with the reply the merchant's face sunk
until the chin rested on his breast. The hopelessness observable in the
voice, joined to the signs of suffering apparent in the manner, was
irresistibly touching. Another instant, then the elder advanced to him,
and took his hand.

"We are brothers," he said, with exceeding gentleness. "She was our
child--ours--thine, yet mine. She loved us both. We loved her, thou not
more, I not less. She went not willingly from us; we know that much,
because we know she loved us, me not less, thee not more. A pitfall was
digged for her. Let us find it. She is calling for us from the bottom--I
hear her--now thy name, now mine--and there is no time to be lost. Wilt
thou do as I say?"

"You are strong, and I weak; be it entirely as you say," Uel answered,
without looking up, for there were tears in his eyes, and a great groan
growing in his throat.

"Well, see thou now. We will find the child, be the pit ever so deep;
but--it is well bethinking--we may not find her the undefiled she was,
or we may find her dead. I believe she had a spirit to prefer death to
dishonor--but dead or dishonored, wilt thou merge thy interest in her
into mine?"

"Yes."

"I alone am to decide then what best becomes us to do. Is it agreed?"

"Yes--such faith have I in you."

"Oh, but understand thee, son of Jahdai! I speak not merely as a father,
but as an Israelite."

Uel looked at the speaker's face, and was startled. The calm voice, low
and evenly toned, to which he had been listening, had not prepared him
for the livid pursing he saw under the eyes, and the pupils lurid and
unnaturally dilated--effects we know, good reader, of the meat of the
poppies assisted by the friendly Cipango leaves. Yet the merchant
replied, strong in the other's strength: "Am not I, too, an
Israelite?--Only do not take her from me."

"Fear not. Now, son of Jahdai, let us to work. Let us first find our
pretty child."

Again Uel was astonished. The countenance was bright and beaming with
confidence. A world of energy seemed to have taken possession of the
man. He looked inspired--looked as if a tap of his finger could fetch
the extremities of the continent rolling like a carpet to his feet.

"Go now, my brother Uel, and bring hither all the clerks in the market."

"All of them--all? Consider the expense."

"Nay, son of Jahdai, be thou a true Israelite. In trade, this for that,
consider the profits and stand on them closely, getting all thou canst.
But here is no trade--here is honor--our honor--thine, mine. Shall a
Christian beat us, and wear the virtue of our daughter as it were a
leman's favor? No, by Abraham--by the mother of Israel"--a returning
surge of passion blackened his face again, and quickened his speech--"by
Rachael and Sarah, and all the God-loving asleep in Hebron, in this
cause our money shall flow like water--even as the Euphrates in swollen
tide goes bellowing to the sea, it shall flow. I will fill the mouths
and eyes as well as the pockets of this Byzantium with it, until there
shall not be a dune on the beach, a cranny in the wall, a rathole in its
accursed seven hills unexamined. Yes, the say is mine--so thou didst
agree--deny it not! Bid the clerks come, and quickly--only see to it
that each brings his writing material, and a piece of paper large as his
two hands. This house for their assemblage. Haste. Time flies--and from
the pit, out of the shadows in the bottom of the pit, I hear the voice
of Lael calling now to thee, now to me."

Uel was not deficient in strength of purpose, nor for that matter in
judgment; he went and in haste; and the clerks flocked to the Prince,
and wrote at his dictation. Before half the breakfasts in the city were
eaten, vacant places at the church doors, the cheeks of all the gates,
and the fronts of houses blazed with handbills, each with a reader
before it proclaiming to listening groups:

"BYZANTINES!

"FATHERS AND MOTHERS OF BYZANTIUM!

"Last evening the daughter of Uel the merchant, a child of sixteen,
small in stature, with dark hair and eyes, and fair to see, was set upon
in the garden of the Bucoleon, and stolen out of her sedan chair.
Neither she, nor the Bulgarians carrying her have been heard of since.

"REWARDS.

"Out of love of the child, whose name was Lael, I will pay him who
returns her to me living or dead

"6,000 BEZANTS IN GOLD.

"And to him who brings me the abductor, or the name of any one engaged
in the crime, with proof to convict him,

"5,000 BEZANTS IN GOLD.

"Inquire of me at Uel's stall in the Market.

"PRINCE OF INDIA."

Thus the Jew began his campaign of discovery, meaning to follow it up
with punishment first, and then vengeance, the latter in conditional
mood.

Let us not stop to ask about motives. This much is certain, the city
arose with one mind. Such a running here and there had never been known,
except possibly the times enemies in force sat down before the gates.
The walls landwardly by the sea and harbor, and the towers of the walls
above and below; old houses whose solitariness and decay were suspicious;
new houses and their cellars; churches from crypt to pulpit and gallery;
barracks and magazines, even the baker's ovens attached to them; the
wharves and vessels tied up and the ships at anchor--all underwent a
search. Hunting parties invaded the woods. Scorpions were unnested, and
bats and owls made unhappy by daylight where daylight had never been
before. Convents and monasteries were not exempt. The sea was dragged,
and the great moat from the Golden Gate to the Cynegion raked for traces
of a new-made grave. Nor less were the cemeteries overhauled, and tombs
and sarcophagi opened, and Saints' Rests dug into and profaned. In short,
but one property in Byzantium was respected--that of the Emperor. By noon
the excitement had crossed to Galata, and was at high tide in the Isles
of the Princes. Such power was there in the offer of bezants in gold--six
thousand for the girl, five thousand for one of her captors--singly, a
fortune to stir the cupidity of a Duke--together, enough to enlist a King
in the work. And everywhere the two questions--Has she been found? and
who is the Prince of India? Poor Uel had not space to think of his loss
or yield to sorrow; the questions kept him so busy.

It must not be supposed now in this all but universal search, nobody
thought of the public cisterns. They were visited. Frequently through
the day parties followed each other to the Imperial reservoir; but the
keeper was always in his place, cool, wary, and prepared for them. He
kept open door and offered no hindrance to inspection of his house. To
interrogators he gave ready replies:

"I was at home last night from sunset to sunrise. At dark I closed up,
and no one could have come in afterwards without my seeing him.... I
know the chair of the merchant's daughter. It is the finest in the city.
The Bulgarians have carried it past my house, but they never stopped....
Oh, yes, you are welcome to do with the cistern what you please. There
is the doorway to the court, and in the court is the descent to the
water." Sometimes he would treat the subject facetiously: "If the girl
were here, I should know it, and if I knew it--ha, ha, ha!--are bezants
in gold by the thousand more precious to you than to me? Do you think I
too would not like to be rich?--I who live doggedly on three noumias,
helped now and then by scanty palm-salves from travellers?"

This treatment was successful. One party did insist on going beyond the
court. They descended the steps about half way, looked at the great gray
pillars in ghostly rows receding off into a blackness of silence thick
with damps and cellar smells, each a reminder of contagion; then at the
motionless opaque water, into which the pillars sank to an unknown
depth: and they shivered, and cried: "Ugh! how cold and ugly!" and
hastened to get out.

Undoubtedly appearances helped save the ancient cistern from
examination; yet there were other influences to the same end. Its
vastness was a deterrent. A thorough survey required organization and
expensive means, such as torches, boats, fishing tongs and drag-nets;
and why scour it at all, if not thoroughly and over every inch? Well,
well--such was the decision--the trouble is great, and the uncertainty
greater. Another class was restrained by a sentiment possibly the oldest
and most general amongst men; that which casts a spell of sanctity
around wells and springs, and stays the hand about to toss an impurity
into a running stream; which impels the North American Indian to replace
the gourd, and the Bedouin to spare the bucket for the next comer,
though an enemy. In other words, the cistern was in daily use.

One can imagine the scene at the Prince's through the day. To bring a
familiar term into service, his house was headquarters.

About eight o'clock the sedan was brought home empty, and without a sign
of defacement inside or out. It told no tale.

Noon, and still no clew.

In the afternoon there was an observable cessation of vigor in the
quest. Thousands broke off, and went about their ordinary business,
giving the reason.

"Which way now?" would be asked them.

"Home."

"What! Has she been found?"

"Not that we know."

"Ah, you have given up."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"We are satisfied the Bulgarians stole the girl. The Turks have her; and
now for a third part of either of the rewards he offers, the Prince of
India, whoever he is, can ransom her. He will have plenty of time. There
is no such thing as haste in a harem."

By lamplighting in the evening, the capital resumed its customary quiet,
and of the turmoil of the day, the rush and eager halloo, the
promiscuous delving into secret places, and upturning of things strange
and suspicious, there remained nothing but a vast regret--vast in the
collective sense--for the rewards lost.

Quiet crept into headquarters. To the Prince's insistence that the hunt
go on, he was advised to prosecute the inquest on the other side of the
Bosphorus. The argument presented him was plausible; either--thus it
ran--the Bulgarians carried the child away with them or she was taken
from them. They were stout men, yet there is no sign of a struggle. If
they were killed, we should find their bodies; if they are alive and
innocent, why are they not here? They would be entitled to the rewards
along with the best of us.

Seeing the drift, the Prince refrained from debate. He only looked more
grim and determined. When the house was cleared, he took the floor again
fiercely restless as before. Later on Uel came in, tired, spirit-worn,
and apparently in the last stage of despondency.

"Well, son of Jahdai, my poor brother," said the Prince, much moved, and
speaking tenderly. "It is night, and what bringest thou?"

"Alas! Nothing, except the people say the Bulgarians did it."

"The Bulgarians! Would it were so; for look thee, in their hands she
would be safe. Their worst of villany would be a ransom wrung from us.
Ah, no! They might have been drawn into the conspiracy; but take her,
they did not. How could they have passed the gates unseen? The night was
against them. And besides, they have not the soul to devise or dare the
deed. This is no common criminal, my brother. When he is found--and he
will be, or hell hath entered into partnership with him--thou wilt see a
Greek of title, bold from breeding and association, behind him an
influence to guarantee him against the law and the Emperor. Of the
classes in Byzantium to-day, who are the kings? Who but the monks? And
here is a morsel of wisdom, true, else my experience is a delusion: In
decaying and half-organized states, the boldest in defying public
opinion are they who have the most to do in making it."

"I do not understand you," Uel interposed.

"Thou art right, my brother. I know not why I am arguing; yet I ought
not to leave thee in the dark now; therefore I will go a step further.
Thou art a Jew--not a Hebrew, or an Israelite, mark thee--but in the
contemptuous Gentile sense, a Jew. She, our gentle Gul-Bahar, hath her
beating of heart from blood thou gavest her. I also am a Jew. Now, of
the classes in Byzantium, which is it by whom hate of Jews is the
article of religion most faithfully practised? Think if it be not the
same from whose shops proceed the right and wrong of the time--the same
I myself scarce three days gone saw insult and mortify the man they
chose Emperor, and not privately, in the depths of a monastery or
chapel, but publicly, his court present.... Ah, now thou seest my
meaning! In plainest speech, my brother, when he who invented this crime
is set down before us, look not for a soldier, or a sailor, or one of
thy occupation--look not for a beggar, or a laborer, or an Islamite--look
rather for a Greek, with a right from relationship near or remote to
summon the whole priestly craft to hold up his hands against us, Jews
that we are. But I am not discouraged. I shall find her, and the titled
outlaw who stole her. Or--but threats now are idle. They shall have
tomorrow to bring her home. I pray pardon for keeping thee from rest and
sleep. Go now. In the morning betimes see thou that the clerks come back
to me here. I will have need of them again, for"--he mused a moment--
"yes, if that I purpose must be, then, the worst betiding us, they shall
not say I was hard and merciless, and cut their chances scant."

Uel was at the door going, when the Prince called him back.

"Wait--I do not need rest. Thou dost. Is Syama there?"

"Yes."

"Send him to me."

When the slave was come, "Go," the master said, "and bring me the golden
case."

And when it was brought, he took out a pellet, and gave it to Uel.

"There--take it, and thou shalt sleep sound as the dead, and have never
a dream--sound, yet healthfully. To-morrow we must work. To-morrow," he
repeated when Uel was gone--"to-morrow! Till then, eternity."

Let us now shift the scene to the Monastery of the St. James'.

It is eight o'clock in the morning--about the time the empty sedan was
being brought to the Prince's house. Sergius had been hearkening for the
Hegumen's bell, and at the moment we look in upon him, he is with the
venerable superior, helping him to breakfast, if a meal so frugal
deserves the name.

The young Russian, it is to be said, retired to his cell immediately
upon the conclusion of the Festival of Flowers the evening before.
Awaking early, he made personal preparation for the day, and with the
Brotherhood in the chapel, performed the matinal breviary services,
consisting of lauds, psalms, lections and prayers. Then he took seat by
his superior's door. By and by the bell called him in, and thenceforward
he was occupied in the kitchen or at the elder's elbow. In brief, he
knew nothing of the occurrence which had so overwhelmed the merchant and
the Prince of India.

The Hegumen sat on a broad armless chair, very pale and weak--so poorly,
indeed, that the brethren had excused him from chapel duties. Having
filled a flagon with water, Sergius was offering it to him, when the
door opened without knock, or other warning, and Demedes entered. Moving
silently to his father, he stooped, and kissed his hand with an unction
which brought a smile to the sunken face.

"God's benison on you, my boy. I was thinking of the airs of Prinkipo or
Halki, and that they might help me somewhat; but now you are here, I
will put them off. Bring the bench to my right hand, and partake with
me, if but to break a crust."

"The crust has the appearance of leaven in it, and you know the party to
which I belong. I am not an _azymite_."

There was scarcely an attempt to conceal the sneer with which the young
man glanced at the brown loaf gracing the platter on the Hegumen's
knees. Seeing then a look of pain on the paternal countenance, he
continued: "No, I have had breakfast, and came to see how you are, and
to apprise you that the city is being stirred from the foam on top to
the dregs at the bottom, all because of an occurrence last evening, so
incredible, so strange, so audacious, and so wicked it weakens
confidence in society, and almost forces one to look up and wonder if
God does not sometimes sleep."

The Hegumen and his attendant were aroused. Both gazed at Demedes
looking the same question.

"I hesitate to tell you, my dear father, of the affair, it is so
shocking. The chill of the first hearing has not left me. I am excited
body and mind, and you know how faithfully I have tried to school myself
against excitement--it is unbecoming--only the weak suffer it. Rather
than trust myself to the narrative--though as yet there are no details--I
plucked a notice from a wall while coming, and as it was the first I had
of the news, and contains all I know, I brought it along; and if you care
to hear, perhaps our friend Sergius will kindly give you the contents.
His voice is better than mine, and he is perfectly calm."

"Yes, Sergius will read. Give him the paper."

Thereupon Demedes passed to Sergius one of the handbills with which the
Prince of India had sown the city. After the first line, the monk began
stammering and stumbling; at the close of the first sentence, he stopped.
Then he threw a glance at the Greek, and from the gaze with which he was
met, he drew understanding and self-control. "I ask thy grace, Father,"
he said, raising the paper, and looking at the signature. "I am
acquainted with Uel the merchant, and with the child said to be stolen. I
also know the man whose title is here attached. He calls himself Prince
of India, but by what right I cannot say. The circumstance is a great
surprise to me; so, with thy pardon, I will try the reading again."

Sergius finished the paper, and returned it to Demedes.

The Hegumen folded his hands, and said: "Oh, the flow of mercy cannot
endure forever!"

Then the young men looked at each other.

To be surprised when off guard, is to give our enemy his best
opportunity. This was the advantage the Greek then had. He was satisfied
with the working of his scheme; yet one dread had disturbed him through
the night. What would the Russian do? And when he read the Prince's
proclamation, and saw the rewards offered, in amounts undreamt of, he
shivered; not, as he told the Hegumen, from horror at the crime; still
less from fear that the multitude might blunder on discovery; and least
of all from apprehension of betrayal from his assistants, for, with
exception of the cistern-keeper, they were all in flight, and a night's
journey gone. Be the mass of enemies ever so great, there is always one
to inspire us with liveliest concern. Here it was Sergius. He had come
so recently into the world--descent from a monastery in the far north
was to the metropolitan much like being born again--there was no telling
what he might do. Thus moved and uncertain, the conspirator resolved to
seek his adversary, if such he were, and boldly try him. In what spirit
would he receive the news? That was the thought behind the gaze Demedes
now bent on the unsophisticated pupil of the saintly Father Hilarion.

Sergius returned the look without an effort to hide the pain he really
felt. His utmost endeavor was to control his feelings. With no idea of
simulation, he wanted time to think. Altogether it would have been
impossible for him to have chosen a course more perplexing to Demedes,
who found himself driven to his next play.

"You know now," he said to his father, "why I decline to break a crust
with you. I must go and help uncover this wicked deed. The rewards are
great"--he smiled blandly--"and I should like to win one of them at
least--the first one, for I have seen the girl called Lael. She
interested me, and I was in danger from her. On one occasion"--he paused
to throw a glance to Sergius--"I even made advances to become acquainted
with her, but she repulsed me. As the Prince of India says, she was fair
to see. I am sure I have your permission to engage in the hunt."

"Go, and God speed you," the Hegumen responded.

"Thank you; yet another request."

He turned to the Russian.

"Now is Sergius here tall, and, if his gown belie him not, stout, and
there may be need of muscle as well as spirit; for who can tell where
our feet will take us in a game like this, or what or whom we may
confront? I ask you to permit him to go with me."

"Nay," said the Hegumen, "I will urge him to go."

Sergius answered simply:

"Not now. I am under penance, and to-day bound to the third breviary
prayers. When they are finished, I will gladly go."

"I am disappointed," Demedes rejoined. "But I must make haste."

He kissed the Hegumen's hand and retired; after which, the meal speedily
concluded, Sergius gathered the few articles of service on the platter,
and raised it, but stopped to say: "After prayers, with your consent,
reverend Father, I will take part in this affair."

"Thou hast my consent."

"It may take several days."

"Give thyself all the time required. The errand is of mercy."

And the holy man extended his hand, and Sergius saluted it reverently,
and went out.

If the young monastic kept not fast hold of the holy forms prescribed
immemorially for the third hour's service, there is little doubt he was
forgiven in the higher court before which he was supposed present, for
never had he been more nearly shaken out of his better self than by the
Prince's proclamation. He had managed to appear composed while under
Demedes' observation. In the language of the time, some protecting Saint
prompted him to beware of the Greek, and keeping the admonition, he had
come well out of the interview; but hardly did the Hegumen's door close
behind him before Lael's untoward fate struck him with effect. He
hurried to his cell, thinking to recover himself; but it was as if he
were pursued by a voice calling him, and directly the voice seemed hers,
sharp and piercing from terror. A little later he took to answering the
appeal--I hear, but where art thou? His agitation grew until the bell
summoned him to the chapel, and the sound was gladdening on account of
the companionship it promised. Surely the voice would be lost in the
full-toned responses of the brethren. Not so. He heard it even more
clearly. Then, to place himself certainly beyond it, he begged an
ancient worshipper at his side to loan him his triptych. For once,
however, the sorrowful figure of the Christ on the central tablet was of
no avail, hold it close as he might; strange to say, the face of the
graven image assumed her likeness; so he was worse off than before, for
now her suffering look was added to her sorrowful cry.

At last the service was over. Rushing back to his cell he exchanged his
black gown for the coarse gray garment with which he had sallied from
Bielo-Osero. Folding the veil, and putting it carefully away in his hat,
he went forth, a hunter as the multitude were hunters; only, as we shall
presently see, his zeal was more lasting than theirs, and he was owner
of an invaluable secret.

On the street he heard everywhere of the rewards, and everywhere the
question, Has she been found? The population, women and children
included, appeared to have been turned out of their houses. The corners
were possessed by them, and it will be easy for readers who have once
listened to Greeks in hot debate to fancy how on this occasion they were
heard afar. Yet Sergius went his way unobservant of the remarks drawn by
the elephantine ears of his outlandish hood, his tall form, and impeded
step.

Had one stopped him to ask, Where are you going? it is doubtful if he
could have told. He had no plan; he was being pulled along by a pain of
heart rather than a purpose--moving somnolently through a light which
was also a revelation, for now he knew he loved the lost girl--knew it,
not by something past, such as recollections of her sweetness and
beauty, but by a sense of present bereavement, an agonizing impulsion, a
fierce desire to find the robber, a murderous longing the like of which
had never assailed him. The going was nearest an answer he could make to
the voice calling him, equivalent to, I am coming.

He sped through the Hippodrome outwalking everybody; then through the
enclosure of Sancta Sophia; then down the garden terraces--Oh, that the
copse could have told him the chapter it had witnessed!--then up the
broad stairway to the promenade, and along it toward Port St. Julian,
never pausing until he was at the bench in the angle of the wall from
which he had overheard Demedes' story of the Plague of Crime.

Now the bench was not in his mind when he started from the monastery;
neither had he thought of it on the way, or of the dark history it had
helped him to; in a freak, he took the seat he had formerly occupied,
placed his arm along the coping of the parapet, and closed his eyes. And
strange to say, the conversation of that day repeated itself almost word
for word. Stranger still, it had now a significancy not then observed;
and as he listened, he interpreted, and the fever of spirit left him.

About an hour before noon, he arose from the bench like one refreshed by
sleep, cool, thoughtful, capable. In the interval he had put off
boyishness, and taken on manhood replete with a faculty for worldly
thinking that would have alarmed Father Hilarion. In other words, he was
seeing things as they were; that bad and good, for instance, were
coexistent, one as much a part of the plan of creation as the other;
that religion could only regulate and reform; that the end of days would
find good men striving with bad men--in brief, that Demedes was
performing the role to which his nature and aptitude assigned him, just
as the venerable Hegumen, his father, was feebly essaying a counterpart.
Nor was that all. The new ideas to which he had been converted
facilitated reflection along the lines of wickedness. In the Plague of
Crime, told the second time, he believed he had found what had befallen
Lael. Demedes, he remembered, gave the historic episode to convince his
protesting friend how easy it would be to steal and dispose of her. The
argument pointed to the Imperial cistern as the hiding-place.

Sergius' first prompting was to enlist the aid of the Prince of India,
and go straight to the deliverance; but he had arisen from the bench a
person very different from a blind lover. Not that his love had
cooled--ah, no! But there were things to be done before exposing his
secret. Thus, his curiosity had never been strong enough to induce him
to look into the cistern. Was it not worth while to assure himself of
the possibility of its conversion to the use suspected? He turned, and
walked back rapidly--down the stairway, up the terraces, and through the
Hippodrome. Suddenly he was struck with the impolicy of presenting
himself to the cistern-keeper in his present costume--it would be such a
help to identification by Demedes. So he continued on to the monastery,
and resumed the black gown and tall hat.

The Hegumen's door, which he had to pass in going out again, served him
with another admonition. If Demedes were exposed through his endeavor,
what of the father? If, in the conflict certain of precipitation, the
latter sided with his son--and what could be more natural?--would not
the Brotherhood follow him? How then could he, Sergius, a foreigner,
young, and without influence, combat a fraternity powerful in the city
and most powerful up at Blacherne?

At this, it must be confessed, the young man's step lost its elasticity;
his head sunk visibly, and the love just found was driven to divide its
dominion with a well-grounded practical apprehension. Yet he walked on,
out of the gate, and thence in the direction of the cistern.

Arrived there, he surveyed the wooden structure doubtfully. The door was
open, and just inside of it the keeper sat stick in hand drumming upon
the brick pavement, a man of medium height and rather pleasant demeanor.

"I am a stranger here," Sergius said to him. "The cistern is public, I
believe; may I see it?"

"It is public, and you may look at it all you want. The door there at
the end of the passage will let you into the court. If you have trouble
in finding the stairway down, call me."

Sergius dropped some small coin into the keeper's hand.

The court was paved with yellow Roman brick, and moderately spacious. An
oblong curbing in the centre without rails marked the place of descent
to the water. Overhead there was nothing to interfere with the fall of
light from the blue sky, except that in one corner a shed had been
constructed barely sufficient to protect a sedan chair deposited there,
its poles on end leant against the wall. Sergius noticed the chair and
the poles, then looked down over the curbing into a doorway, and saw
four stone steps leading to a platform three or four feet square.
Observing a further descent, he went down to the landing, where he
paused long enough to be satisfied that the whole stairway was built
into the eastern wall of the cistern. The light was already dim.
Proceeding carefully, for the stones were slippery, he counted fourteen
steps to another landing, the width of the first but quite ten feet
long, and slightly submerged with water. Here, as he could go no
further, he stopped to look about him.

It is true there was not much to be seen, yet he was at once impressed
with a sense of vastness and durability. A dark and waveless sheet lay
stretched before him, merging speedily into general blackness. About
four yards away and as many apart, two gigantic pillars arose out of the
motionless flood stark and ghostly gray. Behind them, suggestive of rows
with an aisle between, other pillars were seen, mere upright streaks of
uncertain hue fainter growing in the shadowy perspective. Below there
was nothing to arrest a glance. Raising his eyes to the roof above him,
out of the semi-obscurity, he presently defined a brick vault springing
boldly from the Corinthian capitals of the nearest pillars, and he knew
straightway the roof was supported by a system of vaults susceptible of
indefinite extension. But how was he, standing on a platform at the
eastern edge of the reservoir, mighty in so many senses, to determine
its shape, width, length? Stooping he looked down the vista straining
his vision, but there was no opposite wall--only darkness and
impenetrability. He filled his lungs trying the air, and it was damp but
sweet. He stamped with force--there was a rumble in the vault
overhead--that was all. He called: "Lael, Lael"--there was no answer,
though he listened, his soul in his ears. Therewith he gave over trying
to sound the great handmade cavern, and lingered awhile muttering:

"It is possible, it is possible! At the end of this row of pillars"--he
made a last vain effort to discover the end--"there may be a house
afloat, and she"--he clinched his hands, and shook with a return of
murderous passion--"God help her! Nay, God help me! If she is here, as I
believe, I will find her."

In the court he again noticed the sedan in the corner.

"I am obliged to you," he said to the keeper by the door. "How old is
the cistern?"

"Constantine begun it, and Justinian finished it, they say."

"Is it in use now?"

"They let buckets down through traps in the roof."

"Do you know how large it is?" [Footnote: Yere Batan Serai, or the
Underground Palace, the ancient Royal Cistern, or cistern of Constantine,
is in rank, as well as in interest and beauty, the chief Byzantine
cistern. It is on the right-hand side of the tramway street, west of St.
Sophia. The entrance is in the yard of a large Ottoman house in last
street on the right of tramway street before the tramway turns abruptly
west (to right) after passing St. Sophia.

This cistern was built by Constantine the Great, and deepened and
enlarged by Justinian the Great in 527, the first year of his reign. It
has been in constant use ever since. The water is supplied from unknown
and subterranean sources, sometimes rising nearly to the capitals of the
columns. It is still in admirable preservation: all its columns are in
position, and almost the entire roof is intact. The columns are arranged
in twelve rows of twenty-eight, there being in all three hundred and
thirty-six, which are twelve feet distant from each other or from the
wall. Some of the capitals are Corinthian; others plain, hardly more
than truncated pyramids. The roof consists of a succession of brick
vaults.

On left side in yard of the large Ottoman house already mentioned is a
trap-door. One is let down over a rickety ladder about four feet to the
top of four high stone steps, which descend on the left to a platform
about three and one-half feet square which projects without railing over
the water. Thence fourteen steps, also without railing, conduct to
another platform below, about three and one-half feet wide and ten feet
long. Sometimes this lower platform and the nearer steps are covered
with water, though seldom in summer and early fall. These steps are
uneven--in places are broken and almost wanting; and they as well as
both platforms are exceedingly slippery. The place is absolutely dark
save for the feeble rays which glimmer from the lantern of the guide.
One should remember there is no railing or barrier of any sort, and not
advance an inch without seeing where he puts his foot. Then there is no
danger. Moreover, the platform below is less slippery than the steps or
the platform above. Visitors will do well to each bring his own candle
or small lantern, not for illumination but for safety. When the visitors
have arrived on the lower platform, which is near the middle of the
eastern side against the wall, the guide, who has not descended the
steps, lights a basket of shavings or other quick combustible on the
platform above. The effect is instantaneous and magical. Suddenly from
an obscurity so profound that only the outline of the nearest columns
can be faintly discerned by the flicker of a candle, the entire maze of
columns flashes into being resplendent and white. The roof and the water
send the light back to each other. Not a sound is heard save distant
splashes here and there as a bucket descends to supply the necessities
of some house above. Nowhere can be beheld a scene more weird and
enchanting. It will remain printed on the memory when many another
experience of Stamboul is dim or forgotten.

PROFESSOR GROSVENOR. CONSTANTINOPLE.]

The keeper laughed, and pommelled the pavement vigorously: "I was never
through it--haven't the courage--nor do I know anybody who has been.
They say it has a thousand pillars, and that it is supplied by a river.
They tell too how people have gone into it with boats, and never come
out, and that it is alive with ghosts; but of these stories I say
nothing, because I know nothing."

Sergius thereupon departed.




CHAPTER XXII

THE PRINCE OF INDIA SEEKS MAHOMMED


All the next night, Syama, his ear against his master's door, felt the
jar of the machine-like tread in the study. At intervals it would slow,
but not once did it stop. The poor slave was himself nearly worn out.
Sympathy has a fashion of burdening us without in the least lightening
the burden which occasions it.

To-morrows may be long coming, but they keep coming. Time is a mill, and
to-morrows are but the dust of its grinding. Uel arose early. He had
slept soundly. His first move was to send the Prince all the clerks he
could find in the market, and shortly afterwards the city was
re-blazoned with bills.

"BYZANTINES!

"Fathers and mothers of Byzantium!

"Lael, the daughter of Uel the merchant, has not been found. Wherefore I
now offer 10,000 bezants in gold for her dead or alive, and 6,000
bezants in gold for evidence which will lead to the discovery and
conviction of her abductors.

"The offers will conclude with to-day.

"PRINCE OF INDIA."

There was a sensation when the new placards had been generally read; yet
the hunt of the day before was not resumed. It was considered exhausted.
Men and women poured into the streets and talked and talked--about the
Prince of India. By ten o'clock all known of him and a great deal more
had gone through numberless discussions; and could he have heard the
conclusions reached he had never smiled again. By a consensus singularly
unanimous, he was an Indian, vastly rich, but not a Prince, and his
interest in the stolen girl was owing to forbidden relations. This
latter part of the judgment, by far the most cruel, might have been
traced to Demedes.

In all the city there had not been a more tireless hunter than Demedes.
He seemed everywhere present--on the ships, on the walls, in the gardens
and churches--nay, it were easier telling where he had not been. And by
whomsoever met, he was in good spirits, fertile in suggestions, and sure
of success. He in fact distinguished himself in the search, and gave
proof of a knowledge of the capital amazing to the oldest inhabitants.
Of course his role was to waste the energy of the mass. In every pack of
beagles it is said there is one particularly gifted in the discovery of
false scents. Such was Demedes that first day, until about two o'clock.
The results of the quest were then in, and of the theories to which he
listened, nothing pleased him like the absence of a suggestion of the
second sedan. There were witnesses to tell of the gorgeous chair, and
its flitting here and yonder through the twilight; none saw the other.
This seems to have sufficed him, and he suddenly gave up the chase;
appearing in the garden of the Bucoleon, he declared the uselessness of
further effort. The Jewess, he said, was not in Byzantium; she had been
carried off by the Bulgarians, and was then on the road to some Turkish
harem. From that moment the search began to fall off, and by evening it
was entirely discontinued.

Upon appearance of the placards the second day, Demedes was again equal
to the emergency. He collected his brethren in the Temple, organized
them into parties, and sent them everywhere--to Galata, to the towns
along the Bosphorus, down the western shore of the Marmora, over to the
Islands, and up to the forest of Belgrade--to every place, in short,
except the right one. And this conduct, apparently sincere, certainly
energetic, bore its expected fruit; by noon he was the hero of the
occasion, the admiration of the city.

When very early in the second day the disinclination of the people to
renew the search was reported to the Prince of India, he looked
incredulous, and broke out:

"What! Not for ten thousand bezants!--more gold than they have had in
their treasury at one time in ten years!--enough to set up three empires
of such dwindle! To what is the world coming?"

An hour or so later, he was told of the total failure of his second
proclamation. The information drove him with increased speed across the
floor.

"I have an adversary somewhere," he was saying to himself--"an adversary
more powerful than gold in quantity. Are there two such in Byzantium?"

An account of Demedes' action gave him some comfort.

About the third hour, Sergius asked to see him, and was admitted. After
a simple expression of sympathy, the heartiness of which was attested by
his sad voice and dejected countenance, the monk said: "Prince of India,
I cannot tell you the reasons of my opinion; yet I believe the young
woman is a prisoner here in this city. I will also beg you not to ask me
where I think she is held, or by whom. It may turn out that I am
mistaken; I will then feel better of having had no confidant. With this
statement--submitted with acknowledged uncertainty--can you trust me?"

"You are Sergius, the monk?"

"So they call me; though here I have not been raised to the priesthood."

"I have heard the poor child speak of you. You were a favorite with
her."

The Prince spoke with trouble.

"I am greatly pleased to hear it."

The trouble of the Prince was contagious, but Sergius presently
recovered.

"Probably the best certificate of my sincerity, Prince--the best I can
furnish you--is that your gold is no incentive to the trial at finding
her which I have a mind to make. If I succeed, a semblance of pay or
reward would spoil my happiness."

The Jew surveyed him curiously. "Almost I doubt you," he said.

"Yes, I can understand. Avarice is so common, and disinterestedness,
friendship, and love so uncommon."

"Verily, a great truth has struck you early."

"Well, hear what I have to ask."

"Speak."

"You have in your service an African"--

"Nilo?"

"That is his name. He is strong, faithful, and brave, qualities I may
need more than gold. Will you allow him to go with me?"

The Prince's look and manner changed, and he took the monk's hand.
"Forgive me," he said warmly--"forgive me, if I spoke doubtfully--forgive
me, if I misunderstood you."

Then, with his usual promptitude, he went to the door, and bade Syama
bring Nilo.

"You know my method of speech with him?" the Prince asked.

"Yes," Sergius replied.

"If you have instructions for him, see they are given in a good light,
for in the dark he cannot comprehend."

Nilo came, and kissed his master's hand. He understood the trouble which
had befallen.

"This," the Prince said to him, "is Sergius, the monk. He believes he
knows where the little Princess is, and has asked that you may go with
him. Are you willing?"

The King looked assent.

"It is arranged," the master added to Sergius. "Have you other
suggestion?"

"It were better he put off his African costume."

"For the Greek?"

"The Greek will excite less attention."

"Very well."

In a short time Nilo presented himself in Byzantine dress, with
exception of a bright blue handkerchief on his head.

"Now, I pray you, Prince, give me a room. I wish to talk with the man
privately."

The request was granted, the instructions given, and Sergius reappeared
to take leave.

"Nilo and I are good friends, Prince. He understands me."

"He may be too eager. Remember I found him a savage."

With these words, the Prince and the young Russian parted.

After this nobody came to the house. The excitement had been a flash.
Now it seemed entirely dead, and dead without a clew. When Time goes
afoot his feet are of lead; and in this instance his walk was over the
Prince's heart. By noon he was dreadfully wrought up.

"Let them look to it, let them look to it!" he kept repeating, sometimes
shaking a clinched hand. Occasionally the idea to which he thus darkly
referred had power to bring him to a halt. "I have an adversary. Who is
he?" Ere long the question possessed him entirely. It was then as if he
despaired of recovering Lael, and had but one earthly object--vengeance.
"Ah, my God, my God! Am I to lose her, and never know my enemy? Action,
action, or I will go mad!" Uel came with his usual report: "Alas! I have
nothing." The Prince scarcely heard or saw him. "There are but two
places where this enemy can harbor," he was repeating to himself--"but
two; the palace and"--he brought his hands together vehemently--"the
church. Where else are they who have power to arrest a whole people in
earnest movement? Whom else have I offended? Ay, there it is! I
preached God; therefore the child must perish. So much for Christian
pity!"

All the forces in his nature became active.

"Go," he said to Uel, "order two men for my chair. Syama will attend
me."

The merchant left him on the floor patting one hand with another.

"Yes, yes, I will try it--I will see if there is such thing as Christian
pity--I will see. It may have swarmed, and gone to hive at Blacherne."
In going to the palace, he continually exhorted the porters:

"Faster, faster, my men!"

The officer at the gate received him kindly, and came back with the
answer, "His Majesty will see you."

Again the audience chamber, Constantine on the dais, his courtiers each
in place; again the Dean in his role of Grand Chamberlain; again the
prostrations. Ceremony at Blacherne was never remitted. There is a
poverty which makes kings miserable.

"Draw nearer, Prince," said Constantine, benignly. "I am very busy. A
courier arrived this morning from Adrianople with report that my august
friend, the Sultan Amurath, is sick, and his physicians think him sick
unto death. I was not prepared for the responsibilities which are
rising; but I have heard of thy great misfortune, and out of sympathy
bade my officer bring thee hither. By accounts the child was rarely
intelligent and lovely, and I did not believe there was in my capital a
man to do her such inhuman wrong. The progress of the search thou didst
institute so wisely I have watched with solicitude little less than
thine own. My officials everywhere have orders to spare no effort or
expense to discover the guilty parties; for if the conspiracy succeed
once, it will derive courage and try again, thus menacing every family
in my Empire. If thou knowest aught else in my power to do, I will
gladly hear it."

The Emperor, intent upon his expressions, failed to observe the gleam
which shone in the Wanderer's eyes, excited by mention of the condition
of the Sultan.

"I will not try Your Majesty's patience, since I know the
responsibilities to which you have referred concern the welfare of an
Empire, while I am troubled not knowing if one poor soul be dead or
alive; yet she was the world to me"--thus the Prince began, and the
knightly soul of the Emperor was touched, for his look softened, and
with his hand he gently tapped the golden cone of the right arm of his
throne.

"That which brought me to your feet," the Prince continued, "is partly
answered. The orders to your officers exhaust your personal endeavor,
unless--unless"--

"Speak, Prince."

"Your Majesty, I shrink from giving offence, and yet I have in this
terrible affair an enemy who is my master. Yesterday Byzantium adopted
my cause, and lent me her eyes and hands; before the sun went down her
ardor cooled; to-day she will not go a rood. What are we to think, what
do, my Lord, when gold and pity alike lose their influence? ... I will
not stop to say what he must be who is so much my enemy as to lay an icy
finger on the warm pulse of the people. When we who have grown old cast
about for a hidden foe, where do we habitually look? Where, except among
those whom we have offended? Whom have I offended? Here in the audience
you honored me with, I ventured to argue in favor of universal
brotherhood in faith, and God the principle of agreement; and there were
present some who dealt me insult, and menaced me, until Your Majesty
sent armed men to protect me from their violence. They have the ear of
the public--they are my adversaries. Shall I call them the Church?"

Constantine replied calmly: "The head of the Church sat here at my right
hand that day, Prince, and he did not interrupt you; neither did he
menace you. But say you are right--that they of whom you speak are the
Church--what can I do?"

"The Church has thunders to terrify and subdue the wicked, and Your
Majesty is the head of the Church."

"Nay, Prince, I fear thou hast studied us unfairly. I am a member--a
follower--a subscriber to the faith--its thunders are not mine."

A despairing look overcast the countenance of the visitor, and he
trembled. "Oh, my God! There is no hope further--she is lost--lost!" But
recovering directly, he said: "I crave pardon for interrupting Your
Majesty. Give me permission to retire. I have much work to do."

Constantine bowed, and on raising his head, declared with feeling to his
officers: "The wrong to this man is great."

The Wanderer moved backward slowly, his eyes emitting uncertain light;
pausing, he pointed to the Emperor, and said, solemnly: "My Lord, thou
hadst thy power to do justice from God; it hath slipped from thee. The
choice was thine, to rule the Church or be ruled by it; thou hast
chosen, and art lost, and thy Empire with thee."

He was at the door before any one present could arouse from surprise;
then while they were looking at each other, and making ready to cry out,
he came back clear to the dais, and knelt. There was in his manner and
countenance so much of utter hopelessness, that the whole court stood
still, each man in the attitude the return found him.

"My Lord," he said, "thou mightest have saved me--I forgive thee that
thou didst not. See--here"--he thrust a hand in the bosom of his gown,
and from a pocket drew the great emerald--"I will leave thee this
talisman--it belonged to King Solomon, the son of David--I found it in
the tomb of Hiram, King of Tyre--it is thine, my Lord, so thou fitly
punish the robber of the lost daughter of my soul, my Gul Bahar.
Farewell."

He laid the jewel on the edge of the dais, and rising, betook himself to
the door again, and disappeared before the Dean was sufficiently mindful
of his duty.

"The man is mad," the Emperor exclaimed.

"Take up the stone"--he spoke to the Dean--"and return it to him
to-morrow." [Footnote: This identical stone, or one very like it, may be
seen in the "Treasury" which is part of the old Serail in Stamboul. It
is in the first room of entrance, on the second shelf of the great case
of curios, right-hand side.] For a time then the emerald was kept
passing from hand to hand by the courtiers, none of whom had ever seen
its peer for size and brilliance; more than one of them touched it with
awe, for despite a disposition to be incredulous in the matter of
traditions incident to precious stones, the legend here, left behind him
by the mysterious old man, was accepted--this was a talisman--it had
belonged to Solomon--it had been found by the Prince of India--and he
was a Prince--nobody but Indian Princes had such emeralds to give away.
But while they bandied the talisman about, the Emperor sat, his chin in
the palm of his right hand, the elbow on the golden cone, not seeing as
much as thinking, nor thinking as much as silently repeating the strange
words of the stranger: "Thou hadst thy power to do justice from God; it
hath slipped from thee. The choice was thine to rule the Church or be
ruled by it. Thou hast chosen, and art lost, and thy Empire with thee."
Was this prophetic? What did it mean? And by and by he found a meaning.
The first Constantine made the Church; now the Church will unmake the
last Constantine. How many there are who spend their youth yearning and
fighting to write their names in history, then spend their old age
shuddering to read them there!

The Prince of India was scarcely in his study, certainly he was not yet
calmed down from the passion into which he had been thrown at Blacherne,
when Syama informed him there was a man below waiting to see him.

"Who is he?"

The servant shook his head.

"Well, bring him here."

Presently a gypsy, at least in right of his mother, and tent-born in the
valley of Buyukdere, slender, dark-skinned, and by occupation a
fisherman, presented himself. From the strength of the odor he brought
with him, the yield of his net during the night must have been unusually
large.

"Am I in presence of the Prince of India?" the man asked, in excellent
Arabic, and a manner impossible of acquisition except in the daily life
of a court of the period.

The Prince bowed.

"The Prince of India who is the friend of the Sultan Mahommed?" the
other inquired, with greater particularity. "Sultan Mahommed? Prince
Mahommed, you mean."

"No--Mahommed the Sultan."

A flash of joy leaped from the Prince's eyes--the first of the kind in
two days.

The stranger addressed himself to explanation.

"Forgive my bringing the smell of mullet and mackerel into your house. I
am obeying instructions which require me to communicate with you in
disguise. I have a despatch to tell who I am, and more of my business
than I know myself."

The messenger took from his head the dirty cloth covering it, and from
its folds produced a slip of paper; with a salute of hand to breast and
forehead, declarative of a Turk to the habit born, he delivered the
slip, and walked apart to give opportunity for its reading. This was the
writing in free translation:

"Mahommed, Son of Amurath, Sultan of Sultans, to the Prince of India.

"I am about returning to Magnesia. My father--may the prayers of the
Prophet, almighty with God, preserve him from long suffering!--is fast
falling into weakness of body and mind. Ali, son of Abed-din the
Faithful, is charged instantly the great soul is departed on its way to
Paradise to ride as the north wind flies, and give thee a record which
Abed-din is to make on peril of his soul, abating not the fraction of a
second. Thou wilt understand it, and the purpose of the sending."

The Prince of India, with the slip in his hand, walked the floor once
from west to east to regain the mastery of himself.

"Ali, son of Abed-din the Faithful," he then said, "has a record for
me."

Now the thongs of Ali's sandals were united just below the instep with
brass buttons; stooping he took off that of the left sandal, and gave it
a sharp twist; whereupon the top came off, disclosing a cavity, and a
ribbon of the finest satin snugly folded in it. He gave the ribbon to
the Prince, saying:

"The button of the plane tree planted has not in promise any great thing
like this I take from the button of my sandal. Now is my mission done.
Praised be Allah!" And while the Prince read, he recapped the button,
and restored it in place.

The bit of yellow satin, when unfolded, presented a diagram which the
Prince at first thought a nativity; upon closer inspection, he asked the
courier:

"Son of Abed-din, did thy father draw this?"

"No, it is the handiwork of my Lord, the Sultan Mahommed."

"But it is a record of death, not of birth."

"Insomuch is my Lord, the Sultan Mahommed, wiser in his youth than many
men in their age"--Ali paused to formally salute the opinion. "He
selected the ribbon, and drew the figure--did all you behold, indeed,
except the writing in the square; that he intrusted to my father, saying
at the time: 'The Prince of India, when he sees the minute in the
square, will say it is not a nativity; have one there to tell him I,
Mahommed, avouch, 'Twice in his life I had the throne from my august
father; now has he given it to me again, this third time with death to
certify it mine in perpetuity; wherefore it is but righteous holding
that the instant of his final secession must be counted the beginning of
my reign; for often as a man has back the property he parted from as a
loan, is it not his? What ceremony is then needed to perfect his title?"

"If one have wisdom, O son of Abed-din, whence is it except from Allah?
Let not thy opinion of thy young master escape thee. Were he to die
to-morrow"--

"Allah forbid!" exclaimed Ali.

"Fear it not," returned the Prince, smiling at the young man's
earnestness: "for is it not written, 'A soul cannot die unless by
permission of God, according to a writing definite as to time'?
[Footnote: Koran, III. 139.]--I was about to say, there is not in his
generation another to lie as close in the bosom of the Prophet. Where is
he now?"

"He rides doubtless to Adrianople. The moment I set out hither, which
was next minute after the great decease, a despatch was started for him
by Khalil the Grand Vizier."

"Knowest thou the road he will take?"

"By Gallipoli."

"Behold, Ali!"--from his finger the Prince took a ring. "This for thy
good news. Now to the road again, the White Castle first. Tell the
Governor there to keep ward to-night with unlocked gates, for I may seek
them in haste. Then put thyself in the Lord Mahommed's way coming from
Gallipoli, and when thou hast kissed his sandals for me, and given him
my love and duty, tell him I have perfect understanding of the nativity,
and will meet him in Adrianople. Hast thou eaten and drunk?"

"Eaten, not drunk, my Lord."

"Come then, and I will put thee in the way to some red wine; for art
thou not a traveller?"

The son of Abed-din saluted, saying simply: "_Meshallah!_" and was
presently in care of Syama; after which the Prince took the ribbon to
the table, spread it out carefully, and stood over it in the strong
light, studying the symbols and writing in the square of

[Illustration: THE DIAGRAM.]

"It is the nativity of an Empire, [Footnote: Since the conquest of
Constantinople by Mahommed, Turkey has been historically counted an
Empire.] not a man," the Prince said, his gaze still on the figure--"an
Empire which I will make great for the punishment of these robbers of
children."

He stood up at the last word, and continued, excitedly: "It is the word
of God, else it had not come to me now nigh overcome and perishing in
bitter waters; and it calls me to do His will. Give over the child, it
says--she is lost to thee. Go up now, and be thou my instrument this
once again--I AM THE I AM whom Moses knew, the Lord God of Israel who
covenanted with Abraham, and with whom there is no forgetting--no, not
though the world follow the leaf blown into the mouth of a roaring
furnace. I hear, O God! I hear--I am going!"

This, it will be observed, is the second of the two days of grace the
Prince appears to have given the city for the return of Lael; and as it
is rapidly going without a token of performance, our curiosity increases
to know the terrible thing in reserve of which some of his outbursts
have vaguely apprised us.

A few turns across the floor brought him back to apparent calmness;
indeed, but for the fitful light in his eyes and the swollen veins about
his temples, it might be supposed he had been successful in putting his
distresses by. He brought Syama in, and, for the first time in two days,
took a seat.

"Listen, and closely," he said; "for I would be sure you comprehend me.
Have you laid the Sacred Books in the boxes?"

Syama, in his way, answered, yes.

"Are the boxes secure? They may have to go a long journey."

"Yes."

"Did you place the jewels in new bags? The old ones were well nigh
gone."

"Yes."

"Are they in the gurglet now?"

"Yes."

"You know we will have to keep it filled with water."

"Yes."

"My medicines--are they ready for packing?"

"Yes."

"Return them to their cases carefully. I cannot afford to leave or lose
them. And the sword--is it with the books?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Attend again. On my return from the voyage I made the other
day for the treasure you have in care"--he paused for a sign of
comprehension--"I retained the vessel in my service, and directed the
captain to be at anchor in the harbor before St. Peter's gate"--another
pause--"I also charged him to keep lookout for a signal to bring the
galley to the landing; in the day, the signal would be a blue
handkerchief waved; at night, a lantern swung four times thus"--he gave
the illustration. "Now to the purpose of all this. Give heed. I may wish
to go aboard to-night, but at what hour I cannot tell. In preparation,
however, you will get the porters who took me to the palace to-day, and
have them take the boxes and gurglet of which I have been speaking to
St. Peter's gate. You will go with them, make the signal to the captain,
and see they are safely shipped. The other servants will accompany you.
You understand?"

Syama nodded.

"Attend further. When the goods are on the galley, you will stay and
guard them. All the other property you will leave in the house here just
as it is. You are certain you comprehend?"

"Yes."

"Then set about the work at once. Everything must be on the ship before
dark."

The master offered his hand, and the slave kissed it, and went softly
out.

Immediately that he was alone, the Prince ascended to the roof. He stood
by the table a moment, giving a thought to the many times his Gul Bahar
had kept watch on the stars for him. They would come and go regularly as
of old, but she?--He shook with sudden passion, and walked around taking
what might have answered for last looks at familiar landmarks in the
wide environment--at the old church near by and the small section of
Blacherne in the west, the heights of Galata and the shapely tower
northwardly, the fainter glimpses of Scutari in the east. Then he looked
to the southwest where, under a vast expanse of sky, he knew the Marmora
was lying asleep; and at once his face brightened. In that quarter a
bank of lead-colored clouds stretched far along the horizon, sending
rifts lighter hued upward like a fan opening toward the zenith. He
raised his hand, and held it palm thitherward, and smiled at feeling a
breath of air. Somehow the cloud associated itself with the purpose of
which he was dreaming, for he said audibly, his eyes fiercely lighted:

"O God, the proud are risen against me, and the assemblies of violent
men have sought after my soul, and have not set thee before them. But
now hast thou thy hand under my head; now the wind cometh, and their
punishment; and it is for me to scourge them."

He lingered on the roof, walking sometimes, but for the most part
seated. The cloud in the southwest seemed the great attraction. Assured
it was still coming, he would drop awhile into deep thought. If there
were calls at the street door, he did not hear them. At length the sun,
going down, was met and covered out of sight by the curtain beyond the
Marmora. About the same time a wave of cold February air rolled into the
city, and to escape it he went below.

The silence there was observable; for now Syama had finished, and the
house was deserted. Through the rooms upper and lower he stalked gloomy
and restless, pausing now and then to listen to a sufflation noisier and
more portentous than its predecessors; and the moans with which the
intermittent blast turned the corners and occasionally surged through
the windows he received smilingly, much as hospitable men welcome
friends, or as conspirators greet each other; and often as they
recurred, he replied to them in the sonorous words of the Psalm, and the
refrain, "Now the wind cometh, and the punishment."

When night was fallen, he crossed the street to Uel's. After the first
greeting, the conversation between the two was remarkable chiefly for
its lapses. It is always so with persons who have a sorrow in
common--the pleasure is in their society, not in exchange of words.

In one thing the brethren were agreed--Lael was lost. By and by the
Prince concluded it time for him to depart. There was a lamp burning
above the table; he went to it, and called Uel; and when he was come,
the elder drew out a sealed purse, saying:

"Our pretty Gul Bahar may yet be found. The methods of the Lord we
believe in are past finding out. If it should be that I am not in the
city when she is brought home, I would not she should have cause to say
I ceased thinking of her with a love equal to yours--a father's love.
Wherefore, O son of Jahdai, I give you this. It is full of jewels, each
a fortune in itself. If she comes, they are hers; if a year passes, and
she is not found, they are yours to keep, give or sell, as you please.
You have furnished me happiness which this sorrow is not strong enough
to efface. I will not pay you, for acceptance in such kind were shameful
to you as the offer would be to me; yet if she comes not in the year,
break the seal. We sometimes wear rings in help of pleasant memories."

"Is your going so certain?" Uel asked.

"O my youngest brother, I am a traveller even as you are a merchant,
with the difference, I have no home. So the Lord be with you. Farewell."

Then they kissed each other tenderly.

"Will I not hear from you?" Uel inquired.

"Ah, thank you," and the Wanderer returned to him and said, as if to
show who was first in his very farewell thought:

"Thank you for the reminder. If peradventure you too should be gone when
she is found, she will then be in want of a home. Provide against that;
for she is such a sweet stranger to the world."

"Tell me how, and I will keep your wish as it were part of the Law."

"There is a woman in Byzantium worthy to have Good follow her name
whenever it is spoken or written."

"Give me her name, my Lord."

"The Princess Irene."

"But she is a Christian!"

Uel spoke in surprise.

"Yes, son of Jahdai, she is a Christian. Nevertheless send Lael to her.
Again I leave you where I rest myself--with God--our God."

Thereupon he went out finally, and between gusts of wind regained his
own house. He stopped on entering, and barred the door behind him; then
he groped his way to the kitchen, and taking a lamp from its place,
raked together the embers smothering in a brazier habitually kept for
retention of fire, and lighted the lamp. He next broke up some stools
and small tables, and with the pieces made a pile under the grand
stairway to the second floor, muttering as he worked: "The proud are
risen against me; and now the wind cometh, and punishment."

Once more he walked through the rooms, and ascended to the roof. There,
just as he cleared the door, as if it were saluting him, and determined
to give him a trial of its force, a blast leaped upon him, like an
embodiment out of the cloud in full possession of both world and sky,
and started his gown astream, and twisting his hair and beard into
lashes whipped his eyes and ears with them, and howled, and snatched his
breath nearly out of his mouth. Wind it was, and darkness somewhat like
that Egypt knew what time the deliverer, with God behind him, was trying
strength with the King's sorcerers--wind and darkness, but not a drop of
rain. He grasped the door-post, and listened to the crashing of heavy
things on the neighboring roofs, and the rattle of light things for the
finding of which loose here and there the gust of a storm may be trusted
where eyes are useless. And noticing that obstructions served merely to
break the flying forces into eddies, he laughed and shouted by turns so
the inmates of the houses near might have heard had they been out as he
was instead of cowering in their beds: "The proud are risen against me,
and the assembly of violent men have sought after my soul; and now--ha,
ha, ha!--the wind cometh and the punishment!"

Availing himself of a respite in the blowing, he ran across the roof and
looked over into the street, and seeing nothing, neither light nor
living thing, he repeated the refrain with a slight variation: "And the
wind--ha, ha!--the wind _is_ come, and the punishment!"--then he
fled back, and down from the roof.

And now the purpose in reserve must have revelation.

The grand staircase sprang from the floor open beneath like a bridge.
Passing under it, he set the lamp against the heap of kindling there,
and the smell of scorching wood spread abroad, followed by smoke and the
crackle and snap of wood beginning to burn.

It was not long until the flames, gathering life and strength, were
beyond him to stay or extinguish them, had he been taken with sudden
repentance. From step to step they leaped, the room meantime filling
fast with suffocating gases. When he knew they were beyond the efforts
of any and all whom they might attract, and must burst into conflagration
the instant they reached the lightest of the gusts playing havoc outside,
he went down on his hands and knees, for else it had been difficult for
him to breathe, and crawled to the door. Drawing himself up there, he
undid the bar, and edged through into the street; nor was there a soul to
see the puff of smoke and murky gleam which passed out with him.

His spirit was too drunken with glee to trouble itself with precautions
now; yet he stopped long enough to repeat the refrain, with a hideous
spasm of laughter: "And now--ha, ha!--the wind _is_ come, and the
fire, and the punishment." Then he wrapped his gown closer about his
form bending to meet the gale, and went leisurely down the street,
intending to make St. Peter's gate.

Where the intersections left openings, the Jew, now a fugitive rather
than a wanderer--a fugitive nevertheless who knew perfectly where he was
going, and that welcome awaited him there--halted to scan the cloudy
floor of the sky above the site of the house he had just abandoned. A
redness flickering and unsteady over in that quarter was the first
assurance he had of the growth of the flame of small beginning under the
grand staircase.

"Now the meeting of wind and fire!--Now speedily these hypocrites and
tongue-servers, bastards of Byzantium, shall know Israel has a God in
whom they have no lot, and in what regard he holds conniving at the rape
of his daughters. Blow, Wind, blow harder! Rise, Fire, and spread--be a
thousand lions in roaring till these tremble like hunted curs! The few
innocent are not more in the account than moths burrowed in woven wool
and feeding on its fineness. Already the guilty begin to pray--but to
whom? Blow, O Wind! Spread and spare not, O Fire!"

Thus he exulted; and as if it heard him and were making answer to his
imprecations, a column, pinked by the liberated fire below it, a burst
of sparks in its core, shot up in sudden vastness like a Titan rushing
to seizure of the world; but presently the gale struck and toppled it
over toward Blacherne in the northwest.

"That way points the punishment? I remember I offered him God and peace
and good-will to men, and he rejected them. Blow, Winds! Now are ye but
breezes from the south, spice-laden to me, but in his ears be as
chariots descending. And thou, O Fire! Forget not the justice to be
done, and whose servant thou art. Leave Heaven to say which is guiltier;
they who work at the deflowerment of the innocent, or he who answers no
to the Everlasting offering him love. Unto him be thou as banners above
the chariots!"

Now a noise began--at first faint and uncertain, then, as the red column
sprang up, it strengthened, and ere long defined itself--Fire, Fire!

It seemed the city awoke with that cry. And there was peering from
windows, opening of doors, rushing from houses, and hurrying to where
the angry spot on the floor of the cloud which shut Heaven off was
widening and deepening. In a space incredibly quick, the streets--those
leading to the corner occupied by the Jew as well--became rivulets
flowing with people, and then blatant rivers.

"My God, what a night for a fire!"

"There will be nothing left of us by morning, not even ashes."

"And the women and children--think of them!"

"Fire--fire--fire!"

Exchanges like these dinned the Jew until, finding himself an
obstruction, he moved on. Not a phase of the awful excitement escaped
him--the racing of men--half-clad women assembling--children staring
wild-eyed at the smoke extending luridly across the fifth and sixth
hills to the seventh--white faces, exclamations, and not seldom resort
to crucifixes and prayers to the Blessed Lady of Blacherne--he heard and
saw them all--yet kept on toward St. Peter's gate, now an easy thing,
since the thoroughfares were so aglow he could neither stumble nor miss
the right one. A company of soldiers running nearly knocked him down;
but finally he reached the portal, and passed out without challenge. A
brief search then for his galley; and going aboard, after replying to a
few questions about the fire, he bade the captain cast off, and run for
the Bosphorus.

"It looks as if the city would all go," he said; and the mariner,
thinking him afraid, summoned his oarsmen, and to please him made haste,
as he too well might, for the light of the burning projected over the
wall, and, flung back from the cloud overhead far as the eye could
penetrate, illuminated the harbor as it did the streets, bringing the
ships to view, their crews on deck, and Galata, wall, housetops and
tower, crowded with people awestruck by the immensity of the calamity.

When the galley outgoing cleared Point Serail, the wind and the long
swells beating in from the Marmora white with foam struck it with such
force that keeping firm grip of their oars was hard for the rowers, and
they began to cry out; whereupon the captain sought his passenger.

"My Lord," he said, "I have plied these waters from boyhood, and never
saw them in a night like this. Let me return to the harbor."

"What, is it not light enough?"

The sailor crossed himself, and replied: "There is light enough--such as
it is!" and he shuddered. "But the wind, and the running sea, my Lord"--

"Oh! for them, keep on. Under the mountain height of Scutari the sailing
will be plain."

And with much wonder how one so afraid of fire could be so indifferent
to danger from flood and gale, the captain addressed himself to
manoeuvring his vessel.

"Now," said the Jew, when at last they were well in under the Asiatic
shore--"now bear away up the Bosphorus."

The light kept following him the hour and more required to make the
Sweet Waters and the White Castle; and even there the reflection from
the cloud above the ill-fated city was strong enough to cast half the
stream in shadow from the sycamores lining its left bank.

The Governor of the Castle received the friend of his master, the new
Sultan, at the landing; and from the wall just before retiring, the
latter took a last look at the signs down where the ancient capital was
struggling against annihilation. Glutted with imaginings of all that was
transpiring there, he clapped his hands, and repeated the refrain in its
past form:

"Now have the winds come, and the fire, and the punishment. So be it
ever unto all who encourage violence to children, and reject God."

An hour afterwards, he was asleep peacefully as if there were no such
thing as conscience, or a misery like remorse.

       *       *       *       *       *

Shortly after midnight an officer of the guard ventured to approach the
couch of the Emperor Constantine; in his great excitement he even shook
the sacred person.

"Awake, Your Majesty, awake, and save the city. It is a sea of fire."

Constantine was quickly attired, and went first to the top of the Tower
of Isaac. He was filled with horror by what he beheld; but he had
soldierly qualities--amongst others the faculty of keeping a clear head
in crises. He saw the conflagration was taking direction with the wind
and coming straight toward Blacherne, where, for want of aliment, it
needs must stop. Everything in its line of progress was doomed; but he
decided it possible to prevent extension right and left of that line,
and acting promptly, he brought the entire military force from the
barracks to cooperate with the people. The strategy was successful.

Gazing from the pinnacle as the sun rose, he easily traced a blackened
swath cut from the fifth hill up to the eastward wall of the imperial
grounds; and, in proof of the fury of the gale, the terraces of the
garden were covered inches deep with ashes and scoriac-looking flakes of
what at sunset had been happy homes. And the dead? Ascertainment of the
many who perished was never had; neither did closest inquiry discover
the origin of the fire. The volume of iniquities awaiting exposure
Judgment Day must be immeasurable, if it is of the book material in
favor among mortals.

The Prince of India was supposed to have been one of the victims of the
fire, and not a little sympathy was expended for the mysterious
foreigner. But in refuge at the White Castle, that worthy greedily
devoured the intelligence he had the Governor send for next day. One
piece of news, however, did more than dash the satisfaction he secretly
indulged--Uel, the son of Jahdai, was dead--and dead of injuries
suffered the night of the catastrophe.

A horrible foreboding struck the grim incendiary. Was the old destiny
still pursuing him? Was it still a part of the Judgment that every human
being who had to do with him in love, friendship or business, every one
on whom he looked in favor, must be overtaken soon or late with a doom
of some kind? From that moment, moved by an inscrutable prompting of
spirit, he began a list of those thus unfortunate--Lael first, then Uel.
Who next?

The reader will remember the merchant's house was opposite the Prince's,
with a street between them. Unfortunately the street was narrow; the
heat from one building beat across it and attacked the other. Uel
managed to get out safely; but recollecting the jewels intrusted to him
for Lael, he rushed back to recover them. Staggering out again blind and
roasting, he fell on the pave, and was carried off, but with the purse
intact. Next day he succumbed to the injuries. In his last hour, he
dictated a letter to the Princess Irene, begging her to accept the
guardianship of his daughter, if God willed her return. Such, he said,
was his wish, and the Prince of India's; and with the missive, he
forwarded the jewels, and a statement of the property he was leaving in
the market. They and all his were for the child--so the disposition ran,
concluding with a paragraph remarkable for the confidence it manifested
in the Christian trustee. "But if she is not returned alive within a
year from this date, then, O excellent Princess, I pray you to be my
heir, holding everything of mine yours unconditionally. And may God keep
you!"




CHAPTER XXIII

SERGIUS AND NILO TAKE UP THE HUNT


We have seen the result of Sergius' interview with the Prince of India,
and remember that it was yet early in the morning after Lael's
disappearance when, in company with Nilo, he bade the eccentric stranger
adieu, and set forth to try his theory respecting the lost girl.

About noon he appeared southwest of the Hippodrome in the street leading
past the cistern-keeper's abode. Nilo, by arrangement, followed at a
distance, keeping him in sight. By his side there was a fruit peddler,
one of the every-day class whose successors are banes of life to all
with whom in the modern Byzantium a morning nap is the sweetest
preparation for the day.

The peddler carried a huge basket strapped to his forehead. He was also
equipped with a wooden platter for the display of samples of his stock;
and it must be said the medlars, oranges, figs of Smyrna, and the
luscious green grapes in enormous clusters freshly plucked in the
vineyards on the Asiatic shore over against the Isles of the Princes,
were very tempting; especially so as the hour was when the whole world
acknowledges the utility of lunching as a stay for dinner.

It is not necessary to give the conversation between the man of fruits
and the young Russian. The former was endeavoring to sell. Presently
they reached a point from which the cistern-keeper was visible, seated,
as usual, just within the door pommelling the pavement. Sergius stopped
there, and affected to examine his companion's stock; then, as if of a
mind, he said:

"Oh, well! Let us cross the street, and if the man yonder will give me a
room in which I can eat to my content, I will buy of you. Let us try
him."

The two made their way to the door.

"Good day, my friend," Sergius said, to the keeper, who recognized him,
and rising, returned the salutation pleasantly enough.

"You were here yesterday," he said, "I am glad to see you again. Come
in."

"Thank you," Sergius returned. "I am hungry, and should like some of
this man's store; but it is uncomfortable eating in the street; so I
thought you might not be offended if I asked a room for the purpose;
particularly as I give you a hearty invitation to share the repast with
me."

In support of the request the peddler held the platter to the keeper.
The argument was good, and straightway, assuming the air of a
connoisseur, the master of the house squeezed a medlar, and raising an
orange to his nose smelt it, calculated its weight, and answered: "Why,
yes--come right along to my sitting-room. I will get some knives; and
when we are through, we will have a bowl of water, and a napkin. Things
are not inviting out here as they might be."

"And the peddler?" Sergius inquired.

"Bring him along. We will make him show us the bottom of his basket. I
believe you said you are a stranger?"

Sergius nodded.

"Well, I am not," the keeper continued, complacently. "I know these
fellows. They all have tricks. Bring him in. I have no family. I live
alone."

The monk acknowledged the invitation, but pausing to allow the peddler
to enter first, he at the same time lifted his hat as if to readjust it;
then a moment was taken to make a roll of the long fair hair, and tuck
it securely under the hat. That finished, he stepped into the passage,
and pursued after his host through a door on the left hand; whereupon
the passage to the court was clear.

Now the play with the hat was a signal to Nilo. Rendered into words, it
would have run thus: "The keeper is employed, and the way open. Come!"
And the King, on the lookout, answered by sauntering slowly down,
mindful if he hurried he might be followed, there being a number of
persons in the vicinity.

At the door, he took time to examine the front of the house; then he,
too, stepped into the passage and through it, and out into the court,
where, with a glance, he took everything in--paved area, the curbing
about the stairway to the water, the faces of the three sides of the
square opposite that of the entrance, all unbroken by door, window, or
panel, the sedan in the corner, the two poles lashed together and on end
by the sedan. He looked behind him--the passage was yet clear--if seen
coming in, he was not pursued. There was a smile on his shining black
face; and his teeth, serrated along the edges after the military fashion
in Kash-Cush, displayed themselves white as dressed coral. Evidently he
was pleased and confident. Next he went to the curb, shot a quick look
down the steps far as could be seen; thence he crossed to the sedan,
surveyed its exterior, and opened the door. The interior appearing in
good order, he entered and sat down, and closing the door, arranged the
curtain in front, drew it slightly aside and peeped out, now to the door
admitting from the passage, then to the curbing. Both were perfectly
under view.

When the King issued from the chair, his smile was broader than before,
and his teeth seemed to have received a fresh enamelling. Without
pausing again, he proceeded to the opening of the cistern, and with his
hands on the curbing right and left, let himself lightly down on the
four stones of the first landing; a moment, and he began descent of the
steps, taking time to inspect everything discernible in the shadowy
space. At length he stood on the lower platform.

He was now in serious mood. The white pillars were wondrous vast, and
the darkness--it may be doubted if night in its natural aspects is more
impressive to the savage than the enlightened man; yet it is certain the
former will take alarm quicker when shut in by walls of artful
contrivance. His imagination then peoples the darkness with spirits, and
what is most strange, the spirits are always unfriendly. To say now that
Nilo, standing on the lower platform, was wholly unmoved, would be to
deny him the sensibilities without which there can be none of the
effects usually incident to courage and cowardice. The vastness of the
receptacle stupefied him. The silence was a curtain he could feel; the
water, deep and dark, looked so suggestive of death that the
superstitious soul required a little time to be itself again. But relief
came, and he watched intently to see if there was a current in the black
pool; he could discover none; then, having gained all the information he
could, he ascended the steps and lifted himself out into the court. A
glance through the passage--another at the sky--and he entered the
sedan, and shut himself in.

The discussion of the fruit in the keeper's sitting-room meantime was
interesting to the parties engaged in it. With excellent understanding
of Nilo's occupation in the court, Sergius exerted himself to detain his
host--if the term be acceptable--long as possible.

Fortunately no visitors came. Settling the score, and leaving a
profusion of thanks behind him, he at length made his farewell, and
spent the remainder of the afternoon on a bench in the Hippodrome.

Occasionally he went back to the street conducting to the cistern, and
walked down it far enough to get a view of the keeper still at the door.

In the evening he ate at a confectionery near by, prolonging the meal
till near dusk, and thence, business being suspended, he idled along the
same thoroughfare in a manner to avoid attracting attention.

Still later, he found a seat in the recess of an unused doorway nearly
in front of the house of such interest to him.

The manoeuvres thus detailed advise the reader somewhat of the
particulars of the programme in execution by the monk and Nilo; nor that
only--they notify him of the arrival of a very interesting part of the
arrangement. In short, it is time to say that, one in the recess of the
door, the other shut up in the sedan, they are both on the lookout for
Demedes. Would he come? And when?

Anticipating a little, we may remark, if he comes, and goes into the
cistern, Nilo is to open the street door and admit Sergius, who is then
to take control of the after operations.

A little before sunset the keeper shut his front door. Sergius heard the
iron bolt shoot into the mortice. He believed Demedes had not seen Lael
since the abduction, and that he would not try to see her while the
excitement was up and the hunt going forward. But now the city was
settled back into quiet--now, if she were indeed in the cistern, he
would come, the night being in his favor. And further, if he merely
appeared at the house, the circumstance would be strongly corroborative
of the monk's theory; if he did more--if he actually entered the
cistern, there would be an end of doubt, and Nilo could keep him there,
while Sergius was bringing the authorities to the scene. Such was the
scheme; and he who looks at it with proper understanding must perceive
it did not contemplate unnecessary violence. On this score, indeed, the
Prince of India's significant reminder that he had found Nilo a savage,
had led Sergius to redoubled care in his instructions.

The first development in the affair took place under the King's eye.

Waiting in ambush was by no means new to him. He was not in the least
troubled by impatience. To be sure, he would have felt more comfortable
with a piece of bread and a cup of water; yet deprivations of the kind
were within the expectations; and while there was a hope of good issue
for the enterprise, he could endure them indefinitely. The charge given
him pertained particularly to Demedes. No fear of his not recognizing
the Greek. Had he not enjoyed the delight of holding him out over the
wall to be dropped to death?

He was eager, but not impatient. His chief dependence was in the sense
of feeling, which had been cultivated so the slightest vibration along
the ground served him in lieu of hearing. The closing of the front door
by the keeper--felt, not heard--apprised him the day was over.

Not long afterward the pavement was again jarred, bringing a return of
the sensations he used to have when, stalking lions in Kash-Cush, he
felt the earth thrill under the galloping of the camelopards stampeded.

He drew the curtain aside slightly, just as a man stepped into the court
from the passage. The person carried a lighted lamp, and was not
Demedes.

The cistern-keeper--for he it was--went to the curbing slowly, for the
advance airs of the gale were threatening his lamp, and dropped
dextrously through the aperture to the upper landing.

In ambush the King never admitted anything like curiosity. Presently he
felt the pavement again jar. Nobody appeared at the passage. Another
tremor more decided--then the King stepped softly from the sedan, and
stealing barefooted to the curbing looked down the yawning hole.

The lamp on the platform enabled him to see a boat drawn up to the lower
step, and the stranger in the act of stepping into it. Then the lamp was
shifted to the bow of the boat--oars taken in hand--a push off, and
swift evanishment.

We, with our better information of the devices employed, know what a
simple trick it was on the keeper's part to bring the vessel to him--he
had but to pull the right string in the right direction--but Nilo was
left to his astonishment. Stealing back to his cover, he drew the door
to, and struggled with the mystery.

Afterwhile, the mist dissipated, and a fact arose plainer to him than
the mighty hand on his knee. The cistern was inhabited--some person was
down there to be communicated with. What should the King do now?

The quandary was trying. Finally he concluded to stay where he was. The
stranger might bring somebody back with him--possibly the lost
child--such Lael was in his thoughts of her.

Afterwhile--he had no idea of time--he felt a shake run along the
pavement, and saw the stranger appear coming up the steps, lamp in hand.
Next instant the person crawled out of the curbing, and went into the
house through the passage doorway. The King never took eye from the
curbing--nobody followed after--the secret of the old reservatory was
yet a secret.

Again Nilo debated whether to bring Sergius in, and again he decided to
stay where he was.

Meantime the cloud which the Prince of India had descried from the roof
of his house arrived on the wings of the gale. Ere long Sergius was
shivering in the recess of the door. For relief he counted the beads of
his rosary, and there was scarcely a Saint in the calendar omitted from
his recitals. If there was potency in prayers the angels were in the
cistern ministering to Lael.

The street became deserted. Everything living which had a refuge sought
it; yet the gale increased: it howled and sang dirges; it started the
innumerable loose trifles in its way to waltzing over the bowlders;
every hinged fixture on the exposed house-fronts creaked and banged.
Only a lover would voluntarily endure the outdoors of such a night--a
lover or a villain unusually bold.

Near midnight--so Sergius judged--a dull redness began to tinge the
cloud overhead, and brightening rapidly, it ere long cast a strong
reflection downward. At first he was grateful for the light;
afterwhile, however, he detected an uproar distinguishable from the
wind; it had no rest or lulls, and in its rise became more and more a
human tone. When shortly people rushed past his cover crying fire, he
comprehended what it was. The illumination intensified. The whole city
seemed in danger. There were women and children exposed; yet here he was
waiting on a mere hope; there he could do something. Why not go?

While he debated, down the street from the direction of the Hippodrome
he beheld a man coming fast despite the strength of the gusts. A cloak
wrapped him from head to foot, somewhat after the fashion of a toga, and
the face was buried in its folds; yet the air and manner suggested
Demedes. Instantly the watcher quit arguing; and forgetful of the fire,
and of the city in danger, he shrank closer into the recess.

The thoroughfare was wider than common, and the person approaching on
the side opposite Sergius; when nearer, his low stature was observable.
Would he stop at the cistern-keeper's?

Now he was at the door!

The Russian's heart was in his mouth.

Right in front of the door the man halted and knocked. The sound was so
sharp a stone must have been used. Immediately the bolt inside was
drawn, and the visitor passed in.

Was it Demedes? The monk breathed again--he believed it was--anyhow the
King would determine the question, and there was nothing to do meantime
but bide the event.

The sedan, it hardly requires saying, was a much more comfortable ambush
than the recess of the door. Nilo merely felt the shaking the gale now
and then gave the house. So, too, he bade welcome to the glare in the
sky for the flushing it transmitted to the court. Only a wraith could
have come from or gone into the cistern unseen by him.

The clapping to of the front door on the street was not lost to the
King. Presently the person he had seen in the boat at the foot of the
steps again issued from the passage, lamp in hand as before; but as he
kept looking back deferentially, a gust leaped down, and extinguished
the flame, compelling him to return; whereupon another man stepped out
into the court, halting immediately. Nilo opened a little wider the gap
in the curtain through which he was peeping.

It may be well to say here that the newcomer thus unwittingly exposing
himself to observation was the same individual Sergius had seen admitted
into the house. The keeper had taken him to a room for the rearrangement
of his attire. Standing forth in the light now filling the court, he was
still wrapped in the cloak, all except the head, which was jauntily
covered with a white cap, in style not unlike a Scotch bonnet, garnished
with two long red ostrich feathers held in place by a brooch that shot
forth gleams of precious stones in artful arrangement. Once the man
opened the cloak, exposing a vest of fine-linked mail, white with silver
washing, and furnished with epaulettes or triangular plates, fitted
gracefully to the shoulders. A ruff, which was but the complement of a
cape of heavy lace, clothed the neck.

To call the feeling which now shot through the King's every fibre a
sudden pleasure would scarcely be a sufficient description; it was
rather the delight with which soldiers old in war acknowledge the
presence of their foemen. In other words, the brave black recognized
Demedes, and was strong minded enough to understand and appreciate the
circumstances under which the discovery was made. If the savage arose in
him, it should be remembered he was there to revenge a master's wrongs
quite as much as to rescue a stolen girl. Moreover, the education he had
received from his master was not in the direction of mercy to enemies.

The two--Demedes and the keeper--lost no time in entering the cistern,
the latter going first. When the King thought they had reached the lower
platform, he issued from the chair barefooted, and bending over the
curbing beheld what went on below.

The Greek was holding the lamp. The occupation of his assistant was
beyond comprehension until the boat moved slowly into view. Demedes then
set the lamp down, divested himself of his heavy wrap, and taking the
rower's seat, unshipped the oars. There was a brief conference; at the
conclusion the subordinate joined his chief; whereupon the boat pushed
off.

Thus far the affair was singularly in the line of Sergius' anticipations;
and now to call him in!

There is little room for doubt that Nilo was in perfect recollection of
the instructions he had received, and that his first intention was to
obey them; for, standing by the curbing long enough to be assured the
Greek was indeed in the gloomy cavern, whence escape was impossible
except by some unknown exit, he walked slowly away, and was in the
passage door when, looking back, he saw the keeper leaping out into the
court.

To say truth, the King had witnessed the departure of the boat with
misgivings. Catching the robbers was then easy; yet rescue of the girl
was a different thing. What might they not do with her in the meantime?
As he understood his master, her safety was even more in purpose than
their seizure; wherefore his impulse was to keep them in sight without
reference to Sergius. He could swim--yes, but the water was cold, and
the darkness terrible to his imagination. It might be hours before he
found the hiding-place of the thieves--indeed, he might never overtake
them. His regret when he stepped into the passage was mighty; it enables
us, however, to comprehend the rush of impetuous joy which now took
possession of him. A step to the right, and he was behind the cheek of
the door.

All unsuspicious of danger, the keeper came on; a few minutes, and he
would be in bed and asleep, so easy was he in conscience. The ancient
cistern had many secrets. What did another one matter? His foot was on
the lintel--he heard a rustle close at his side--before he could dart
back--ere he could look or scream, two powerful hands were around his
throat. He was not devoid of courage or strength, and resisted,
struggling for breath. He merely succeeded in drawing his assailant out
into the light far enough to get a glimpse of a giant and a face black
and horrible to behold. A goblin from the cistern! And with this idea,
he quit fighting, and sank to the floor. Nilo kept his grip
needlessly--the fellow was dead of terror.

Here was a contingency not provided for in the arrangement Sergius had
laid out with such care.

And what now?

It was for the King to answer.

He dragged the victim out in the court, and set a foot on his throat.
All the savage in him was awake, and his thoughts pursued Demedes.
Hungering for that life more than this one, he forgot the monk utterly.
Had he a plank--anything in the least serviceable as a float--he would
go after the master. He looked the enclosure over, and the sedan caught
his eye, its door ajar. The door would suffice. He took hold of the limp
body of the keeper, drew it after him, set it on the seat, and was about
wrenching the door away, when he saw the poles. They were twelve or
fourteen feet long and lashed together. On rafts not half so good he had
in Kash-Cush crossed swollen streams, paddling with his hands. To take
them to the cistern--to descend the steps with them--to launch himself
on them--to push out into the darkness, were as one act, so swiftly were
they accomplished. And going he knew not whither, but scorning the
thought of another man betaking himself where he dared not, sustained by
a feeling that he was in pursuit, and would have the advantage of a
surprise when at last he overtook the enemy, we must leave the King
awhile in order to bring up a dropped thread of our story.




CHAPTER XXIV

THE IMPERIAL CISTERN GIVES UP ITS SECRET


The reader will return--not unwillingly, it is hoped--to Lael.

The keeper, on watch for her, made haste to bar the door behind the
carriers of the sedan, who, on their part, made greater haste to take
boat and fly the city. From his sitting-room he brought a lamp, and
opening the chair found the passenger in a corner to appearance dead.
The head was hanging low; through the dishevelled hair the slightest
margin of forehead shone marble white; a scarce perceptible rise and
fall of the girlish bosom testified of the life still there. A woman at
mercy, though dumb, is always eloquent.

"Here she is at last!" the keeper thought, while making a profane survey
of the victim.... "Well, if beauty was his object--beauty without
love--he may be satisfied. That's as the man is. I would rather have the
bezants she has cost him. The market's full of just such beauty in
health and strength--beauty matured and alive, not wilted like this! ...
But every fish to its net, every man to his fate, as the infidels on the
other shore say. To the cistern she must go, and I must put her there.
Oh, how lucky! Her wits are out--prayers, tears, resistance would be
uncomfortable. May the Saints keep her!" Closing the door of the sedan,
he hurried out into the court, and thence down the cistern stairs to the
lower platform, where he drew the boat in, and fixed it stationary by
laying the oars across the gunwale from a step. The going and return
were quick.

"The blood of doves, or the tears of women--I am not yet decided which
is hardest on a soul.... Come along!... There is a palace at the further
end of the road."...

He lifted her from the chair. In the dead faint she was more an
inconvenient burden than a heavy one.

At the curbing he sat her down while he returned for the lamp. The steps
within were slippery, and he dared take no risks. To get her into the
boat was trying: yet he was gentle as possible--that, however, was from
regard for the patron he was serving. He laid her head against a seat,
and arranged her garments respectfully.

"O sweet Mother of Blacherne!" he then said, looking at the face for the
first time fully exposed. "That pin on the shoulder--Heavens, how the
stone flashes! It invites me." Unfastening the trinket, he secured it
under his jacket, then ran on: "She is so white! I must hurry--or drop
her overboard. If she dies"--his countenance showed concern, but
brightened immediately. "Oh, of course she jumped overboard to escape!"

There was no further delay. With the lamp at the bow, he pushed off, and
rowed vigorously. Through the pillared space he went, with many quick
turns. It were vain saying exactly which direction he took, or how long
he was going; after a time, the more considerable on account of the
obstructions to be avoided, he reached the raft heretofore described as
in the form of a cross and anchored securely between four of the immense
columns by which the roof of the cistern was upheld. Still Lael slept
the merciful sleep.

Next the keeper carried the unresisting body to a door of what in the
feeble light seemed a low, one-storied house--possibly hut were a better
word--thence into an interior where the blackness may be likened to a
blindfold many times multiplied. Yet he went to a couch, and laid her
upon it.

"There--my part is done!" he muttered, with a long-drawn breath.... "Now
to illuminate the Palace! If she were to awake in this pitch-black"--
something like a laugh interrupted the speech--"it would strangle her--
oil from the press is not thicker."

He brought in the light--in such essential midnight it was indispensable,
and must needs be always thought of--and amongst the things which began
to sparkle was a circlet of furbished metal suspended from the centre of
the ceiling. It proved to be a chandelier, provided with a number of
lamps ready for lighting; and when they were all lit, the revelation
which ensued while a lesson in extravagance was not less a tribute to the
good taste of the reckless genius by which it was conceived.

It were long reading the inventory of articles he had brought together
there for the edification and amusement of such as might become his
idols. They were everywhere apparently--books, pictures, musical
instruments--on the floor, a carpet to delight a Sultana mother--over
the walls, arras of silk and gold in alternate threads--the ceiling an
elaboration of wooden panels.

By referring to the diagram of the raft, it will be seen one quarter was
reserved for a landing, while the others supported what may be termed
pavilions, leaving an interior susceptible of division into three rooms.
Standing under the circlet of light, an inmate could see into the three
open quarters, each designed and furnished for a special use; this at
the right hand, for eating and drinking; that at the left, for sleeping;
the third, opposite the door, for lounging and reading. In the first
one, a table already set glittered with ware in glass and precious
metals; in the second, a mass of pink plush and fairy-like lace bespoke
a bed; in the third were chairs, a lounge, and footrests which had the
appearance of having been brought from a Ptolemaic palace only
yesterday; and on these, strewn with an eye to artistic effect, lay fans
and shawls for which the harem-queens of Persia and Hindostan might have
contended. The "crown-jewel" of this latter apartment, however, was
undoubtedly a sheet of copper burnished to answer the purpose of a
looking-glass with a full-length view. On stands next the mirror, was a
collection of toilet necessaries.

Elsewhere we have heard of a Palace of Love lying as yet in the high
intent of Mahommed; here we have a Palace of Pleasure illustrative of
Epicureanism according to Demedes. The expense and care required to make
it an actuality beget the inference that the float, rough outside,
splendid within, was not for Lael alone. A Princess of India might
inaugurate it, but others as fair and highborn were to come after her,
recipients of the same worship. Whosoever the favorite of the hour might
be, the three pavilions were certainly the assigned limits of her being;
while the getting rid of her would be never so easy--the water flowing,
no one knew whence or whither, was horribly suggestive. Once installed
there, it was supposed that longings for the upper world would go
gradually out. The mistress, with nothing to wish for not at hand, was
to be a Queen, with Demedes and his chosen of the philosophic circle for
her ministers. In other words, the Academic Temple in the upper world
was but a place of meeting; this was the Temple in fact. There the
gentle priests talked business; here they worshipped; and of their
psalter and litany, their faith and ceremonial practices, enough that
the new substitute for religion was only a reembodiment of an old
philosophy with the narrowest psychical idea for creed; namely, that the
principle of Present Life was all there was in man worth culture and
gratification.

The keeper cared little for the furnishments and curios. He was much
more concerned in the restoration of his charge, being curious to see
how she would behave on waking. He sprinkled her face with water, and
fanned her energetically, using an ostrich wing of the whiteness of
snow, overlaid about the handle with scarab-gems. Nor did he forget to
pray.

"O Holy Mother! O sweet Madonna of Blacherne! Do not let her die.
Darkness is nothing to thee. Thou art clothed in brightness. Oh, as thou
lovest all thy children, descend hither, and open her eyes, and give her
speech!"

The man was in earnest.

Greatly to his delight, he beheld the blood at length redden the pretty
mouth, and the eyelids begin to tremble. Then a long, deep inhalation,
and an uncertain fearful looking about; first at the circlet of the
lamps, and next at the keeper, who, as became a pious Byzantine, burst
into exclamation:

"Oh Holy Mother! I owe you a candle!"

Directly, having risen to a sitting posture, Lael found her tongue:

"You are not my father Uel, or my father the Prince of India?"

"No," he returned, plying the fan.

"Where are they? Where is Sergius?"

"I do not know."

"Who are you?"

"I am appointed to see that no harm comes to you."

This was intended kindly enough; it had, however, the opposite effect.
She arose, and with both hands holding the hair from her eyes, stared
wildly at objects in the three rooms, and fell to the couch again
insensible. And again the water, the ostrich-wing, and the prayer to the
Lady of Blacherne--again an awakening.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"In the Palace of"--

He had not time to finish; with tears, and moans, and wringing of hands
she sat up: "Oh, my father! Oh, that I had heeded him! ... You will take
me to him, will you not? He is rich, and loves me, and he will give you
gold and jewels until you are rich. Only take me to him.... See--I am
praying to you!"--and she cast herself at his feet.

Now the keeper was not used to so much loveliness in great distress, and
he moved away; but she tried to follow him on her knees, crying: "Oh, as
you hope mercy for yourself, take me home!" And beginning to doubt his
strength, he affected harshness.

"It is useless praying to me. I could not take you out if your father
rained gold on me for a month--I could not if I wished to.... Be
sensible, and listen to me."

"Then you did not bring me here."

"Listen to me, I say.... You will get hungry and thirsty--there are
bread, fruit, and water and wine--and when you are sleepy, yonder is the
bed. Use your eyes, and you are certain to find in one room or the other
everything you can need; and whatever you put hand on is yours. Only be
sensible, and quit taking on so. Quit praying to me. Prayer is for the
Madonna and the Blessed Saints. Hush and hear. No? Well, I am going
now."

"Going?--and without telling me where I am? Or why I was brought here?
Or by whom? Oh, my God!"

She flung herself on the floor distracted; and he, apparently not
minding, went on:

"I am going now, but will come back for your orders in the morning, and
again in the evening. Do not be afraid; it is not intended to hurt you;
and if you get tired of yourself, there are books; or if you do not
read, maybe you sing--there are musical instruments, and you can choose
amongst them. Now I grant you I am not a waiting-maid, having had no
education in that line; still, if I may advise, wash your face, and
dress your hair, and be beautiful as you can, for by and by he will
come"--

"Who will come?" she asked, rising to her knees, and clasping her hands.

The sight was more than enough for him. He fled incontinently, saying:
"I will be back in the morning." As he went he snatched up the
indispensable lamp; outside, he locked the door; then rowed away,
repeating, "Oh, the blood of doves and the tears of women!"

Left thus alone, the unfortunate girl lay on the floor a long time,
sobbing, and gradually finding the virtue there is in tears--especially
tears of repentance. Afterwhile, with the return of reason--meaning
power to think--the silence of the place became noticeable. Listening
closely, she could detect no sign of life--nothing indicative of a
street, or a house adjoining, or a neighbor, or that there was any
outdoors about her at all. The noise of an insect, the note of a bird, a
sough of wind, the gurgle of water, would have relieved her from the
sense of having in some way fallen off the earth, and been caught by a
far away uninhabited planet. That would certainly have been hard; but
worse--the idea of being doomed to stay there took possession of her,
and becoming intolerable, she walked from room to room, and even tried
to take interest in the things around. Will it ever be that a woman can
pass a mirror without being arrested by it? Before the tall copper plate
she finally stopped. At first, the figure she saw startled her. The air
of general discomfiture--hair loose, features tear-stained, eyes red and
swollen, garments disarranged--made it look like a stranger. The notion
exaggerated itself, and further on she found a positive comfort in the
society of the image, which not only looked somebody else, but more and
more somebody else who was lost like herself, and, being in the same
miserable condition, would be happy to exchange sympathy for sympathy.

Now the spectacle of a person in distress is never pleasant; wherefore
permission is begged to dismiss the passage of that night in the cistern
briefly as possible. From the couch to the mirror; fearing now, then
despairing; one moment calling for help, listening next, her distracted
fancy caught by an imaginary sound; too much fevered to care for
refreshments; so overwhelmed by the awful sense of being hopelessly and
forever lost, she could neither sleep nor control herself mentally. Thus
tortured, there were no minutes or hours to her, only a time, that being
a peculiarity of the strange planet her habitat. To be sure, she
explored her prison intent upon escape, but was as often beaten back by
walls without window, loophole or skylight--walls in which there was but
one door, fastened outside.

The day following was to the captive in nothing different from the
night--a time divisionless, and filled with fear, suspense, and horrible
imaginings--a monotony unbroken by a sound. If she could have heard a
bell, though ever so faint, or a voice, to whomsoever addressed, it
would yet prove her in an inhabited world--nay, could she but have heard
a cricket singing!

In the morning the keeper kept his appointment. He came alone and
without business except to renew the oil in the lamps. After a careful
survey of the palace, as he called it, probably in sarcasm, and as he
was about to leave, he offered, if she wanted anything, to bring it upon
his return. Was there ever prisoner not in want of liberty? The proposal
did but reopen the scene of the evening previous; and he fled from it,
repeating as before, "Oh, the blood of doves and the tears of women!"

In the evening he found her more tractable; so at least he thought; and
she was in fact quieter from exhaustion. None the less he again fled to
escape the entreaties with which she beset him.

She took to the couch the second night. The need of nature was too
strong for both grief and fear, and she slept. Of course she knew not of
the hunt going on, or of the difficulties in the way of finding her; and
in this ignorance the sensation of being lost gradually yielded to the
more poignant idea of desertion. Where was Sergius? Would there ever be
a fitter opportunity for display of the superhuman intelligence with
which, up to this time, she had invested her father, the Prince of
India? The stars could tell him everything; so, if now they were silent
respecting her, it could only be because he had not consulted them.
Situations such as she was in are right quarters of the moon for
unreasonable fantasies; and she fell asleep oppressed by a conviction
that all the friendly planets, even Jupiter, for whose appearance she
had so often watched with the delight of a lover, were hastening to
their Houses to tell him where she was, but for some reason he ignored
them.

Still later, she fell into a defiant sullenness, one of the many aspects
of despair.

In this mood, while lying on the couch, she heard the sound of oars, and
almost immediately after felt the floor jar. She sat up, wondering what
had brought the keeper back so soon. Steps then approached the door; but
the lock there proving troublesome, suggested one unaccustomed to it;
whereupon she remembered the rude advice to wash her face and dress her
hair, for by and by somebody was coming.

"Now," she thought, "I shall learn who brought me here, and why."

A hope returned to her.

"Oh, it may be my father has at last found me!"

She arose--a volume of joy gathered in her heart ready to burst into
expression--when the door was pushed open, and Demedes entered.

We know the figure he thus introduced to her. With averted face he
reinserted the key in the lock. She saw the key, heavy enough in
emergency for an aggressive weapon--she saw a gloved hand turn it, and
heard the bolt plunge obediently into its socket--and the flicker of
hope went out. She sunk upon the couch again, sullenly observant.

The visitor--at first unrecognized by her--behaved as if at home, and
confident of an agreeable reception. Having made the door safe on the
outside, he next secured it inside, by taking the key out. Still
averting his face, he went to the mirror, shook the great cloak from his
shoulders, and coolly surveyed himself, turning this way and that. He
rearranged his cape, took off the cap, and, putting the plumes in better
relation, restored it to his head--thrust his gloves on one side under a
swordless belt, and the ponderous key under the same belt but on the
other side, where it had for company a straight dagger of threatening
proportions.

Lael kept watch on these movements, doubtful if the stranger were aware
of her presence. Uncertainty on that score was presently removed.
Turning from the mirror, he advanced slowly toward her. When under the
circlet, just at the point where the light was most favorable for an
exhibition of himself, he stopped, doffed the cap, and said to her:

"The daughter of the Prince of India cannot have forgotten me."

Now if, from something said in this chronicle, the reader has been led
to exalt the little Jewess into a Bradamante, it were just to undeceive
him. She was a woman in promise, of fair intellect subordinate to a pure
heart. Any great thing said or done by her would be certain to have its
origin in her affections. The circumstances in which she would be other
than simple and unaffected are inconceivable. In the beautiful armor,
Demedes was handsome, particularly as there was no other man near to
force a comparison of stature; yet she did not see any of his
braveries--she saw his face alone, and with what feeling may be inferred
from the fact that she now knew who brought her where she was, and the
purpose of the bringing.

Instead of replying, she shrank visibly further and further from him,
until she was an apt reminder of a hare cornered by a hound, or a dove
at last overtaken by a hawk.

The suffering she had undergone was discernible in her appearance, for
she had not taken the advice of the keeper; in a word, she was at the
moment shockingly unlike the lissome, happy, radiant creature whom we
saw set out for a promenade two days before. Her posture was crouching;
the hair was falling all ways; both hands pressed hard upon her bosom;
and the eyes were in fixed gaze, staring at him as at death. She was in
the last extremity of fear, and he could not but see it.

"Do not be afraid," he said, hurriedly, and in a tone of pity. "You were
never safer than you are here--I swear it, O Princess!"

Observing no change in her or indication of reply, he continued: "I see
your fear, and it may be I am its object. Let me come and sit by you,
and I will explain everything--where you are--why you were brought
here--and by whom.... Or give me a place at your feet.... I will not
speak for myself, except as I love you--nay, I will speak for love."

Still not a word from her--only a sullenness in which he fancied there
was a threat.... A threat? What could she do? To him, nothing; he was in
shirt of steel; but to herself much.... And he thought of suicide, and
then of--madness.

"Tell me, O Princess, if you have received any disrespect since you
entered this palace? There is but one person from whom it could have
proceeded. I know him; and if, against his solemn oath, he has dared an
unseemly look or word--if he has touched you profanely--you may choose
the dog's death he shall die, and I will give it him. For that I wear
this dagger. See!"

In this he was sincere; yet he shall be a student very recently come to
lessons in human nature who fails to perceive the reason of his
sincerity; possibly she saw it; we speak with uncertainty, for she still
kept silent. Again he cast about to make her speak. Reproach, abuse,
rage, tears in torrents, fury in any form were preferable to that look,
so like an animal's conscious of its last moment.

"Must I talk to you from this distance? I can, as you see, but it is
cruel; and if you fear me"--he smiled, as if the idea were amusing. "Oh!
if you still fear me, what is there to prevent my compelling the favors
I beg?"

The menace was of no more effect than entreaty. Paralysis of spirit from
fright was new to him; yet the resources of his wit were without end.
Going to the table, he looked it over carefully.

"What!" he cried, turning to her with well-dissembled astonishment.
"Hast thou eaten nothing? Two days, and not a crumb of bread in thy
pretty throat?--not a drop of wine? This shall not go on--no, by all the
goodness there is in Heaven!"

On a plate he then placed a biscuit and a goblet filled with red wine of
the clearest sparkle, and taking them to her, knelt at her feet.

"I will tell you truly, Princess--I built this palace for you, and
brought you here under urgency of love. God deny me forever, if I once
dreamed of starving you! Eat and drink, if only to give me ease of
conscience."

He offered the plate to her.

She arose, her face, if possible, whiter than before.

"Do not come near me--keep off!" Her voice was sharp and high. "Keep
off!... Or take me to my father's house. This palace is yours--you have
the key. Oh, be merciful!"

Madness was very near her.

"I will obey you in all things but one," he said, and returned the plate
to the table, content with having brought her to speech. "In all things
but one," he repeated peremptorily, standing under the circlet. "I will
not take you to your father's house. I brought you here to teach you
what I would never have a chance to teach you there--that you are the
idol for whom I have dared every earthly risk, and imperilled my soul....
Sit down and rest yourself. I will not come near you to-night, nor ever
without your consent.... Yes, that is well. And now you are seated, and
have shown a little faith in my word--for which I thank you and kiss your
hand--hear me further and be reasonable.... You shall love me."

Into this declaration he flung all the passion of his nature.

"No, no! Draw not away believing yourself in peril. You shall love me,
but not as a scourged victim. I am not a brute. I may be won too
lightly, by a voice, by bright eyes, by graces of person, by faithfulness
where faithfulness is owing, by a soul created for love and aglow with it
as a star with light; but I am not of those who kill the beloved, and
justify the deed, pleading coldness, scorn, preference for another. Be
reasonable, I say, O Princess, and hear how I will conquer you.... Are
not the better years of life ours? Why should I struggle or make haste,
or be impatient? Are you not where I have chosen to put you?--where I can
visit you day and night to assure myself of your health and spirits?--all
in the world, yet out of its sight?... You may not know what a physician
Time is. I do. He has a medicine for almost every ailment of the mind,
every distemper of the soul. He may not set my lady's broken finger, but
he will knit it so, when sound again, the hurt shall be forgotten. He
drops a month--in extreme cases, a year or years--on a grief, or a
bereavement, and it becomes as if it had never been. So he lets the sun
in on prejudices and hates, and they wither, and where they were, we go
and gather the fruits and flowers of admiration, respect--ay, Princess,
of love. Now, in this cause, I have chosen Time for my best friend; he
and I will come together, and stay"--

The conclusion of the speech must be left to the reader, for with the
last word some weighty solid crashed against the raft until it trembled
throughout. Demedes stopped. Involuntarily his hand sought the dagger;
and the action was a confession of surprise. An interval of quiet
ensued; then came a trial of the lock--at first, gentle--another, with
energy--a third one rattled the strong leaf in its frame.

"The villain! I will teach him--No, it cannot be--he would not dare--and
besides I have the boat."

As Demedes thus acquitted the keeper, he cast a serious glance around
him, evidently in thought of defence.

Again the raft was shaken, as if by feet moving rapidly under a heavy
burden. Crash!--and the door was splintered. Once more--crash!--and door
and framework shot in--a thunderbolt had not wrought the wreck more
completely.

Justice now to the Greek. Though a genius all bad, he was manly.
Retiring to a position in front of Lael, he waited, dagger in hand. And
he had not breathed twice, before Nilo thrust his magnificent person
through the breach, and advanced under the circlet.

Returning now. Had the King been in toils, and hard pressed, he would
not have committed himself to the flood and darkness of the cistern in
the manner narrated; at least the probabilities are he would have
preferred battle in the court, and light, though of the city on fire, by
which to conquer or die. But his blood was up, and he was in pursuit,
not at bay; to the genuine fighting man, moreover, a taste of victory is
as a taste of blood to tigers. He was not in humor to bother himself
with practical considerations such as--If I come upon the hiding-place
of the Greek, how, being deaf and dumb, am I to know it? Of what use are
eyes in a hollow rayless as this? Whether he considered the obvious
personal dangers of the adventure--drowning, for instance--is another
matter.

The water was cold, and his teeth chattered; for it will be recollected
he was astride the poles of the sedan, lashed together. That his body
was half submerged was a circumstance he little heeded, since it was
rather helpful than otherwise to the hand strokes with which he
propelled himself. Nor need it be supposed he moved slowly. The speed
attainable by such primitive means in still water is wonderful.

Going straight from the lower platform of the stair, he was presently in
total darkness. With a row of columns on either hand, he managed to keep
direction; and how constantly and eagerly he employed the one available
sense left him may be imagined. His project was to push on until stayed
by a boundary wall--then he would take another course, and so on to the
end. The enemy, by his theory, was in a boat or floating house. Hopeful,
determined, inspirited by the prospect of combat, he made haste as best
he could. At last, looking over his left shoulder, he beheld a ruddy
illumination, and changed direction thither. Presently he swept into the
radius of a stationary light, broken, of course, by intervening pillars
and the shadows they cast; then, at his right, a hand lamp in front of
what had the appearance of a house rising out of the water, startled
him.

Was it a signal?

The King approached warily, until satisfied no ambush was
intended--until, in short, the palace of the Greek was before him.

It was his then to surprise; so he drove the ends of the poles against
the landing with force sufficient, as we have seen, to interrupt Demedes
explaining how he meant to compel the love of Lael.

With all his nicety of contrivance, the Greek had at the last moment
forgotten to extinguish the lamp or take it into the house with him. The
King recognized it and the boat, yet circumspectly drew his humble craft
up out of the water. He next tried the lock, and then the door; finally
he used the poles as a ram.

Taking stand under the circlet, there was scant room between it and the
blue handkerchief on his head; while the figure he presented, nude to
the waist, his black skin glistening with water, his trousers clinging
to his limbs, his nostrils dilating, his eyes jets of flame, his cruel
white teeth exposed--this figure the dullest fancy can evoke--and it
must have appeared to the guilty Greek a very genius of vengeance.

Withal, however, the armor and the dagger brought Demedes up to a
certain equality; and, as he showed no flinching, the promise of combat
was excellent. It happened, however, that while the two silently
regarded each other, Lael recognized the King, and unable to control
herself, gave a cry of joy, and started to him. Instinctively Demedes
extended a hand to hold her back; the giant saw the opening; two steps
so nearly simultaneous the movement was like a leap--and he had the
wrist of the other's armed hand in his grip. Words can convey no idea of
the outburst attending the assault--it was the hoarse inarticulate
falsetto of a dumb man signalizing a triumph. If the reader can think of
a tiger standing over him, its breath on his cheek, its roar in his
ears, something approximate to the effect is possible.

The Greek's cap fell off, and the dagger rattled to the floor. His
countenance knit with sudden pain--the terrible grip was crushing the
bones--yet he did not submit. With the free hand, he snatched the key
from his belt, and swung it to strike--the blow was intercepted--the key
wrenched away. Then Demedes' spirit forsook him--mortal terror showed in
his face turned gray as ashes, and in his eyes, enlarged yet ready to
burst from their sockets. He had not the gladiator's resignation under
judgment of death.

"Save me, O Princess, save me!... He is killing me.... My God--see--hear
--he is crushing my bones!... Save me!"

Lael was then behind the King, on her knees, thanking Heaven for rescue.
She heard the imploration, and, woman-like, sight of the awful agony
extinguished the memory of her wrongs.

"Spare him, Nilo, for my sake, spare him!" she cried.

It was not alone her wrongs that were forgotten--she forgot that the
avenger could not hear.

Had he heard, it is doubtful if he had obeyed; for we again remark he
was fighting less for her than for his master--or rather for her in his
master's interest. And besides, it was the moment of victory, when, of
all moments, the difference between the man born and reared under
Christian influences and the savage is most impressible.

While she was entreating him, he repeated the indescribable howl, and
catching Demedes bore him to the door and out of it. At the edge of the
landing, he twisted his fingers in the long locks of the screaming
wretch, whose boasted philosophy was of so little worth to him now that
he never thought of it--then he plunged him in the water, and held him
under until--enough, dear reader!

Lael did not go out. The inevitable was in the negro's face. Retreating
to the couch, she there covered her ears with her hands, trying to
escape the prayers the doomed man persisted to the last in addressing
her.

By and by Nilo returned alone.

He took the cloak from the floor, wrapped her in it, and signed her to
go with him; but the distresses she had endured, together with the
horrors of the scene just finished, left her half fainting. In his arms
she was a child. Almost before she knew it, he had placed her in the
boat. With a cord found in the house, he tied the poles behind the
vessel, and set out to find the stairs, the tell-tale lamp twinkling at
the bow.

Safely arrived there, the good fellow carried his fair charge up the
steps to the court--descending again, he brought the poles--going back
once more, he drew the boat on the lower platform. Then to hasten to the
street door, unbar it, and admit Sergius were scarce a minute's work.

The monk's amazement and delight at beholding Lael, and hers at sight of
him, require no labored telling. At that meeting, conventionalities were
not observed. He carried her into the passage, and gave her the keeper's
chair; after which, reminded of the programme so carefully laid out by
him, he returned with Nilo to the court, where the illumination in the
sky still dropped its relucent flush. Turning the King face to him he
asked:

"Where is the keeper?"

The King walked to the sedan, opened the door, and dragging the dead man
forth, flung him sprawling on the pavement.

Sergius stood speechless, seeing what the victor had not--arrests,
official inquests, and the dread machinery of the law started, with
results not in foresight except by Heaven. Before he had fairly
recovered, Nilo had the sedan out and the poles fixed to it, and in the
most cheerful, matter-of-fact manner signed him to take up the forward
ends.

"Where is the Greek?" the monk asked.

That also the King managed to answer.

"In the cistern--drowned!" exclaimed Sergius, converting the reply into
words.

The King drew himself up proudly.

"O Heavens! What will become of us?"

The exclamation signified a curtain rising upon a scene of prosecution
against which the Christian covered his face with his hands.... Again
Nilo brought him back to present duty.... In a short time Lael was in
the chair, and they bearing her off.

Sergius set out first for Uel's house. The time was near morning; but
for the conflagration the indications of dawn might have been seen in
the east. He was not long in getting to understand the awfulness of the
calamity the city had suffered, and that, with thousands of others, the
dwellings of Uel and the Prince of India were heaps of ashes on which
the gale was expending its undiminished strength.

What was to be done with Lael?

This Sergius answered by leading the way to the town residence of the
Princess Irene. There the little Jewess was received, while he took boat
and hurried to Therapia.

The Princess came down, and under her roof, Lael found sympathy, rest,
and safety. In due time also Uel's last testament reached her, with the
purse of jewels left by the Prince of India, and she then assumed
guardianship of the bereaved girl.




BOOK V

MIRZA


CHAPTER I

A COLD WIND FROM ADRIANOPLE


It is now the middle of February, 1451. Constantine has been Emperor a
trifle over three years, and proven himself a just man and a
conscientious ruler. How great he is remains for demonstration, since
nothing has occurred to him--nothing properly a trial of his higher
qualities.

In one respect the situation of the Emperor was peculiar. The highway
from Gallipoli to Adrianople, passing the ancient capital on the south,
belonged to the Turks, and they used it for every purpose--military,
commercial, governmental--used it as undisputedly within their domain,
leaving Constantine territorially surrounded, and with but one neighbor,
the Sultan Amurath.

Age had transformed the great Moslem; from dreams of conquest, he had
descended to dreams of peace in shaded halls and rose-sprent gardens,
with singers, story-tellers, and philosophers for companions, and women,
cousins of the houris, to carpet the way to Paradise; but for George
Castriot, [Footnote: Iskander-beg--Scanderbeg. _Vide_ GIBBON's _Roman
Empire._] he had abandoned the cimeter. Keeping terms of amity with such
a neighbor was easy--the Emperor had merely to be himself peaceful.
Moreover, when John Palaeologus died, the succession was disputed by
Demetrius, a brother to Constantine. Amurath was chosen arbitrator, and
he decided in favor of the latter, placing him under a bond of gratitude.

Thus secure in his foreign relations, the Emperor, on taking the throne,
addressed himself to finding a consort; of his efforts in that quest the
reader is already informed, leaving it to be remarked that the Georgian
Princess at last selected for him by Phranza died while journeying to
Constantinople. This, however, was business of the Emperor's own
inauguration, and in point of seriousness could not stand comparison
with another affair imposed upon him by inheritance--keeping the
religious factions domiciled in the capital from tearing each other to
pieces. The latter called for qualities he does not seem to have
possessed. He permitted the sectaries to bombard each other with
sermons, bulletins and excommunications which, on the ground of scandal
to religion, he should have promptly suppressed; his failure to do so
led to its inevitable result--the sectaries presently dominated him.

Now, however, the easy administration of the hitherto fortunate Emperor
is to vanish; two additional matters of the gravest import are thrust
upon him simultaneously, one domestic, the other foreign; and as both of
them become turning points in our story, it is advisable to attend to
them here.

When the reins of government fell from the hands of Amurath, they were
caught up by Mahommed; in other words, Mahommed is Sultan, and the old
regime, with its friendly policies and stately courtesies, is at an end,
imposing the necessity for a recast of the relations between the
Empires. What shall they be? Such is the foreign question.

Obviously, the subject being of vital interest to the Greek, it was for
him to take the initiative in bringing about the definitions desired.
With keen appreciation of the danger of the situation he addressed
himself to the task. Replying to a request presented through the
ambassador resident at Adrianople, Mahommed gave him solemn assurances
of his disposition to observe every existing treaty. The response seems
to have made him over-confident. Into the gilded council chamber at
Blacherne he drew his personal friends and official advisers, and heard
them with patience and dignity. At the close of a series of deliberative
sessions which had almost the continuity of one session, two measures
met his approval. Of these, the first was so extraordinary it is
impossible not to attribute its suggestion to Phranza, who, to the
immeasurable grief and disgust of our friend the venerable Dean, was now
returned, and in the exercise of his high office of Grand Chamberlain.

Allusion has been already made to the religious faith of the mother of
Mahommed. [Footnote: "For it was thought that his (Amurath's) eldest son
Mahomet, after the death of his father, would have embraced the
Christian Religion, being in his childhood instructed therein, as was
supposed, by his mother, the daughter of the Prince of Servia, a
Christian."--KNOLLES' _Turk. Hist._, 239, Vol. I.

"He (Mahommed) also entered into league with Constantinus Palaeologus,
the Emperor of Constantinople, and the other Princes of Grecia; as also
with the Despot of Servia, his Grandfather by the mother's side, as some
will have it; howbeit some others write that the Despot his daughter,
Amurath his wife (the Despot's daughter, Amurath's wife) was but his
Mother-in-law, whom he, under colour of Friendship, sent back again unto
her Father, after the death of Amurath, still allowing her a Princely
Dowery."--_Ibid_. 230.

On this very interesting point both Von Hammer and Gibbon are somewhat
obscure; the final argument, however, is from Phranza: "After the taking
of Constantinople, she (the Princess) fled to Mahomet II." (GIBBON'S
_Rom. Emp._, Note 52, 12.) The action is significant of a mother.
Mothers-in-law are not usually so doting.] The daughter of a Servian
prince, she is supposed to have been a Christian. After the interment of
Amurath, she had been returned to her native land. Her age was about
fifty. Clothed with full powers, the Grand Chamberlain was despatched to
Adrianople to propose a marriage between His Majesty, the Emperor, and
the Sultana mother. The fears and uncertainties besetting the Greek must
have been overwhelming.

The veteran diplomat was at the same time entrusted with another affair
which one would naturally think called for much less delicacy in
negotiation. There was in Constantinople then a refugee named Orchan, of
whose history little is known beyond the fact that he was a grandson of
Sultan Solyman. Sometime presumably in the reign of John Palaeologus,
the Prince appeared in the Greek capital as a pretender to the
Sultanate; and his claim must have had color of right, at least, since
he became the subject of a treaty between Amurath and his Byzantine
contemporary, the former binding himself to pay the latter an annual
stipend in aspers in consideration of the detention of the fugitive.

With respect to this mysterious person, the time was favorable, in the
opinion of the council, for demanding an increase of the stipend.
Instructions concerning the project were accordingly delivered to Lord
Phranza.

The High Commissioner was received with flattering distinction at
Adrianople. He of course presented himself first to the Grand Vizier,
Kalil Pacha, of whom the reader may take note, since, aside from his
reappearances in these pages, he is a genuine historic character. To
further acquaintance with him, it may be added that he was truly a
veteran in public affairs, a member of the great family to which the
vizierat descended almost in birthright, and a friend to the Greeks,
most likely from long association with Amurath, although he has suffered
severe aspersion on their account. Kalil advised Phranza to drop the
stipend. His master, he said, was not afraid of Orchan, if the latter
took the field as an open claimant, short work would be made of him. The
warning was disregarded. Phranza submitted his proposals to Mahommed
directly, and was surprised by his gentleness and suavity. There was no
scene whatever. On the contrary, the marriage overture was forwarded to
the Sultana with every indication of approval, nor was the demand
touching the stipend rejected; it was simply deferred. Phranza lingered
at the Turkish capital, pleased with the attentions shown him, and still
more with the character of the Sultan.

In the judgment of the Envoy the youthful monarch was the incarnation of
peace. What time he was not mourning the loss of his royal father, he
was studying designs for a palace, probably the Watch Tower of the World
(_Jehan Numa_), which he subsequently built in Adrianople.

Well for the trusting master in Blacherne, well for Christianity in the
East, could the credulous Phranza have looked in upon the amiable young
potentate during one of the nights of his residence in the Moslem
capital! He would have found him in a chamber of impenetrable privacy,
listening while the Prince of India proved the calculations of a
horoscope decisive of the favorable time for beginning war with the
Byzantines.

"Now, my Lord," he could have heard the Prince say, when the last of the
many tables had been refooted for the tenth time--"now we are ready for
the ultimate. We are agreed, if I mistake not"--this was not merely a
complimentary form of speech, for Mahommed, it should be borne in mind,
was himself deeply versed in the intricate and subtle science of
planetary prediction--"we are agreed that as thou art to essay the war
as its beginner, we should have the most favorable Ascendant,
determinable by the Lord, and the Planet or Planets therein or in
conjunction or aspect with the Lord; we are also agreed that the Lord of
the Seventh House is the Emperor of Constantinople; we are also agreed
that to have thee overcome thy adversary, the Emperor, it is better to
have the Ascendant in the House of one of the Superior Planets, Saturn,
Jupiter or Mars"--

"Jupiter would be good, O Prince," said Mahommed, intensely interested,
"yet I prefer Mars."

"My Lord is right again." The Seer hesitated slightly, then explained
with a deferential nod and smile: "I was near saying my Lord is always
right. Though some of the adepts have preferred Scorpio for the
Ascendant, because it is a fixed sign, Mars pleases me best; wherefore
toward him have I directed all my observations, seeking a time when he
shall certainly be better fortified than the Lord of the Seventh House,
as well as elevated above him in our figure of the Heavens."

Mahommed leaned far over toward the Prince, and said imperiously, his
eyes singularly bright: "And the ultimate--the time, the time, O Prince!
Hast thou found it? Allah forbid it be too soon!--There is so much to be
done--so much of preparation."

The Prince smiled while answering:

"My Lord is seeing a field of glory--his by reservation of destiny--and
I do not wonder at his impatience to go reaping in it; but" (he became
serious) "it is never to be forgotten--no, not even by the most exalted
of men--that the Planets march by order of Allah alone." ... Then taking
the last of the calculations from the table at his right hand, he
continued: "The Ascendant permits my Lord to begin the war next year."

Mahommed heard with hands clinched till the nails seemed burrowing in
the flesh of the palms.

"The day, O Prince!--the day--the hour!" he exclaimed.

Looking at the calculation, the Prince appeared to reply from it: "At
four o'clock, March twenty-sixth"--

"And the year?"

"Fourteen hundred and fifty-two."

"_Four o'clock, March twenty-sixth, fourteen hundred and fifty-two_,"
Mahommed repeated slowly, as if writing and verifying each word. Then he
cried with fervor: "There is no God but God!"

Twice he crossed the floor; after which, unwilling probably to submit
himself at that moment to observation by any man, he returned to the
Prince:

"Thou hast leave to retire; but keep within call. In this mighty
business who is worthier to be the first help of my hands than the
Messenger of the Stars?"

The Prince saluted and withdrew.

At length Phranza wearied of waiting, and being summoned home left the
two affairs in charge of an ambassador instructed to forego no
opportunity which might offer to press them to conclusions. Afterwhile
Mahommed went into Asia to suppress an insurrection in Caramania. The
Greek followed him from town to camp, until, tiring of the importunity,
the Sultan one day summoned him to his tent.

"Tell my excellent friend, the Lord of Constantinople, thy master, that
the Sultana Maria declines his offer of marriage."

"Well, my Lord," said the ambassador, touched by the brevity of the
communication, "did not the great lady deign an explanation?"

"She declined--that is all."

The ambassador hurried a courier to Constantinople with the answer. For
the first time he ventured to express a doubt of the Turk's sincerity.

He would have been a wiser man and infinitely more useful to his
sovereign, could he have heard Mahommed again in colloquy with the
Prince of India.

"How long am I to endure this dog of a _Gabour?_" [Footnote: Mahommed
always wrote and spoke of Byzantines as _Romans_, except when in passion;
then he called them _Gabours_.] asked the Sultan, angrily. "It was not
enough to waylay me in my palace; he pursued me into the field; now he
imbitters my bread, now at my bedside he drives sleep from me, now he
begrudges me time for prayer. How long, I say?"

The Prince answered quietly: "Until March twenty-sixth, fourteen hundred
and fifty-two."

"But if I put him to sleep, O Prince?"

"His master will send another in his place."

"Ah, but the interval! Will it not be so many days of rest?--so many
nights of unbroken sleep?"

"Has my Lord finished his census yet? Are his arsenals full? Has he his
ships, and sailors, and soldiers? Has he money according to the
estimate?"

"No."

"My Lord has said he must have cannon. Has he found an artificer to his
mind?"

Mahommed frowned.

"I will give my Lord a suggestion. Does it suit him to reply now to the
proposal of marriage, keeping the matter of the stipend open, he may
give half relief and still hold the Emperor, who stands more in need of
bezants than of a consort."

"Prince," said Mahommed, quickly, "as you go out send my secretary in."

"Despatch a messenger for the ambassador of my brother of Constantinople.
I will see him immediately."

This to the secretary.

And presently the ambassador had the matter for report above recited. In
the report he might have said with truth--a person styling himself
_Prince of India_ has risen to be Grand Vizier in fact, leaving the
title to Kalil.

These negotiations, lamentably barren of good results, were stretched
through half the year. But it is necessary to leave them for the time,
that we may return and see if the Emperor had better success in the
management of the domestic problem referred to as an inheritance.




CHAPTER II

A FIRE FROM THE HEGUMEN'S TOMB


The great fire burned its way broadly over two hills of the city,
stopping at the wall of the garden on the eastern front of Blacherne.
How it originated, how many houses were destroyed, how many of the
people perished in the flames and in the battle waged to extinguish
them, were subjects of unavailing inquiry through many days.

For relief of the homeless, Constantine opened his private coffers. He
also assumed personal direction of the removal of the debris cumbering
the unsightly blackened districts, and, animated by his example, the
whole population engaged zealously in the melancholy work. When Galata,
laying her jealousies aside, contributed money and sent companies of
laborers over to the assistance of her neighbor, it actually seemed as
if the long-forgotten age of Christian brotherhood was to be renewed.
But, alas! This unity, bred of so much suffering, so delightful as a
rest from factious alarms, so suggestive of angelic society and heavenly
conditions in general, disappeared--not slowly, but almost in a
twinkling.

It was afternoon of the second day after the fire. Having been on
horseback since early morning, the Emperor, in need of repose, had
returned to his palace; but met at the portal by an urgent request for
audience from the Princess Irene, he received her forthwith. The reader
can surmise the business she brought for consideration, and also the
amazement with which her royal kinsman heard of the discovery and rescue
of Lael. For a spell his self-possession forsook him. In anticipation of
the popular excitement likely to be aroused by the news, he summoned his
councillors, and after consultation, appointed a commission to
investigate the incident, first sending a guard to take possession of
the cistern.

Like their master, the commissioners had never heard of the first
profanation of the ancient reservoir; as a crime, consequently, this
repetition was to them original in all its aspects, and they addressed
themselves to the inquiry incredulously; but after listening to Sergius,
and to the details the little Jewess was able to give them, the
occurrence forced itself on their comprehension as more than a crime at
law--it took on the proportions and color of a conspiracy against
society and religion. Then its relative consequences presented
themselves. Who were concerned in it?

The name of Demedes startled them by suddenly opening a wide horizon of
conjecture. Some were primarily disposed to welcome the intelligence for
the opportunity it offered His Majesty to crush the Academy of Epicurus,
but a second thought cooled their ardor; insomuch that they began
drawing back in alarm. The Brotherhood of the St. James' was powerful,
and it would certainly resent any humiliation their venerable Hegumen
might sustain through the ignominious exposure of his son.

In great uncertainty, and not a little confusion, the commissionate body
hied from the Princess Irene to the cistern. While careful to hide it
from his associates, each of them went with a scarce admitted hope that
there would be a failure of the confirmations at least with respect to
the misguided Demedes; and not to lose sight of Nilo, in whom they
already discerned a serviceable scapegoat, they required him to go with
them.

The revelations call for a passing notice. In the court the body of the
keeper was found upon the pavement. The countenance looked the terror of
which the man died, and as a spectacle grimly prepared the beholders for
the disclosures which were to follow.

There was need of resolution to make the dismal ferriage from the lower
platform in the cistern, but it was done, Nilo at the oars. When the
visitors stepped on the landing of the "palace," their wonder was
unbounded. When they passed through the battered doorway, and standing
under the circlet, in which the lights were dead, gazed about them, they
knew not which was most astonishing, the courage of the majestic black
or the audacity of the projector of the villanous scheme. But where was
he? We may be sure there was no delay in the demand for him. While the
fishing tongs were being brought, the apartments were inspected, and a
list of their contents made. Then the party collected at the edge of the
landing. The secret hope was faint within them, for the confirmations so
far were positive, and the terrible negro, not in the least abashed, was
showing them where his enemy went down. They gave him the tongs, and at
the first plunge he grappled the body, and commenced raising it. They
crowded closer around him, awe-struck yet silently praying: Holy Mother,
grant it be any but the Hegumen's son! A white hand, the fingers gay
with rings, appeared above the water. The fisherman took hold of it, and
with a triumphant smile, drew the corpse out, and laid it face up for
better viewing. The garments were still bright, the gilded mail sparkled
bravely. One stooped with the light, and said immediately:

"It is he--Demedes!"

Then the commissioners looked at each other--there was no need of
speech--a fortunate thing, for at that instant there was nothing of
which they were more afraid.

Avoidance of the dreaded complications was now impossible--so at least
it seemed to them. Up in the keeper's room, whither they hurriedly
adjourned, it was resolved to despatch a messenger to His Majesty with
an informal statement of the discoveries, and a request for orders. The
unwillingness to assume responsibility was natural.

Constantine acted promptly, and with sharp discernment of the
opportunity afforded the mischief-makers. The offence was to the city,
and it should see the contempt in which the conspirators held it, the
danger escaped, and the provocation to the Most Righteous; if then there
were seditions, his conscience was acquit. He sent Phranza to break the
news to the Hegumen, and went in person to the Monastery, arriving
barely in time to receive the blessings of his reverend friend, who,
overcome by the shock, died in his arms. Returning sadly to Blacherne,
he ordered the corpses of the guilty men to be exposed for two days
before the door of the keeper's house, and the cistern thrown open for
visitation by all who desired to inspect the Palace of Darkness, as he
appropriately termed the floating tenement constructed with such wicked
intents. He also issued a proclamation for the suppression of the
Epicurean Academy, and appointed a day of Thanksgiving to God for the
early exposure of the conspiracy. Nilo he sent to a cell in the
Cynegion, ostensibly for future trial, but really to secure him from
danger; in his heart he admired the King's spirit, and hoped a day would
come when he could safely and suitably reward him.

On the part of the people the commotion which ensued was extraordinary.
They left the fire to its smouldering, and in steady currents marched
past the ghastly exhibits prepared for them in the street, looked at
them, shuddered, crossed themselves, and went their ways apparently
thankful for the swiftness of the judgment which had befallen; nor was
there one heard to criticise the Emperor's course. The malefactors were
dropped, like unclean clods, into the earth at night, without ceremony
or a mourner in attendance. Thus far all well.

At length the day of thanksgiving arrived. By general agreement, there
was not a sign of dissatisfaction to be seen. The most timorous of the
commissioners rested easy. Sancta Sophia was the place appointed for the
services, and Constantine had published his intention to be present. He
had donned the Basilean robes; his litter was at the door of the palace;
his guard of horse and foot was formed, when the officer on duty at the
gate down by the Port of Blacherne arrived with a startling report.

"Your Majesty," he said, unusually regardless of the ancient salutation,
"there is a great tumult in the city."

The imperial countenance became stern.

"This is a day of thanks to God for a great mercy; who dares profane it
by tumult?"

"I must speak from hearsay," the officer answered.... "The funeral of
the Hegumen of the St. James took place at daylight this morning"--

"Yes," said Constantine, sighing at the sad reminder, "I had intended to
assist the Brotherhood. But proceed."

"The Brothers, with large delegations from the other Monasteries, were
assembled at the tomb, when Gennadius appeared, and began to preach, and
he wrought upon his hearers until they pushed the coffin into the vault,
and dispersed through the streets, stirring up the people."

At this the Emperor yielded to his indignation.

"Now, by the trials and sufferings of the Most Christian Mother, are we
beasts insensible to destruction? Or idiots exempt from the penalties of
sin and impiety? And he--that genius of unrest--that master of foment--
God o' Mercy, what has he laid hold of to lead so many better men to
betray their vows and the beads at their belts? Tell me--speak--my
patience is nearly gone."

For an instant, be it said, the much tried Sovereign beheld a strong
hand move within reach, as offering itself for acceptance. No doubt he
saw it as it was intended, the symbol and suggestion of a policy. Pity
he did not take it! For then how much of mischance had been averted from
himself--Constantinople might not have been lost to the Christian
world--the Greek Church had saved its integrity by recognizing the union
with the Latins consummated at the Council of Florence--Christianity had
not been flung back for centuries in the East, its birthplace.

"Your Majesty," the officer returned, "I can report what I heard,
leaving its truth to investigation.... In his speech by the tomb
Gennadius admitted the awfulness of the crime attempted by Demedes, and
the justice of the punishment the young man suffered, its swiftness
proving it to have been directed by Heaven; but he declared its
conception was due to the Academy of Epicurus, and that there remained
nothing deserving study and penance except the continued toleration
without which the ungodly institution had passed quickly, as plagues fly
over cities purified against them. The crime, he said, was ended. Let
the dead bury the dead. But who were they responsible for grace to the
Academy? And he answered himself, my Lord, by naming the Church and the
State."

"Ah! He attacked the Church then?"

"No, my Lord, he excused it by saying it had been debauched by an
_azymite_ Patriarch, and while that servant of prostitution and
heresy controlled it, wickedness would be protected and go on
increasing."

"And the State--how dealt he with the State?"

"The Church he described as Samson; the Patriarch, as an uncomely
Delilah who had speciously shorn it of its strength and beauty; the
State, as a political prompter and coadjutor of the Delilah; and Rome, a
false God seeking to promote worship unto itself through the debased
Church and State."

"God o' Mercy!" Constantine exclaimed, involuntarily signing to the
sword-bearer at his back; but recovering himself, he asked with forced
moderation: "To the purpose of it all--the object. What did he propose
to the Brothers?"

"He called them lovers of God in the livery of Christ, and implored them
to gird up their loins, and stand for the religion of the Fathers, lest
it perish entirely."

"Did he tell them what to do?"

"Yes, my Lord."

A wistful, eager look appeared on the royal face, and behind it an
expectation that now there would be something to justify arrest and
exile at least--something politically treasonable.

"He referred next to the thanksgiving services appointed to-day in
Sancta Sophia, and declared it an opportunity from Heaven, sent them and
all the faithful in the city, to begin a crusade for reform; not by
resort to sword and spear, for they were weapons of hell, but by
refusing to assist the Patriarch with their presence. A vision had come
to him in the night, he said--an angel of the Lord with the Madonna of
Blacherne--advising him of the Divine will. Under his further urgency--
and my Lord knows his power of speech--the Brothers listening, the St.
James' and all present from the other Orders, broke up and took to the
streets, where they are now, exhorting the people not to go to the
Church, and there is reason to believe they will"--

"Enough," said the Emperor, with sudden resolution. "The good Gregory
shall not pray God singly and alone."

Turning to Phranza, he ordered him to summon the court for the occasion.
"Let not one stay away," he continued; "and they shall put on their best
robes and whole regalia; for, going in state myself, I have need of
their utmost splendor. It is my will, further, that the army be drawn
from their quarters to the Church, men, music, and flags, and the navies
from their ships. And give greeting to the Patriarch, and notify him,
lest he make haste. Aside from these preparations, I desire the
grumblers be left to pursue their course unmolested. The sincere and
holy amongst them will presently have return of clear light."

This counter project was entered upon energetically.

Shortly after noon the military bore down to the old Church, braying the
streets with horns, drums and cymbals, and when they were at order in
the immense auditorium, their banners hanging unfurled from the
galleries, the Emperor entered, with his court; in a word, the brave,
honest, white-haired Patriarch had company multitudinous and noble as he
could desire. None the less, however, Gennadius had his way also--_the
people took no part in the ceremony_.

After the celebration, Constantine, in his chambers up in Blacherne,
meditated upon the day and its outcome. Phranza was his sole attendant.

"My dear friend," the Emperor began, breaking a long silence, and much
disquieted, "was not my predecessor, the first Constantine, beset with
religious dissensions?"

"If we may credit history, my Lord, he certainly was."

"How did he manage them?"

"He called a Council."

"A Council truly--was that all?"

"I do not recollect anything more."

"It was this way, I think. He first settled the faith, and then provided
against dispute."

"How, my Lord?"

"Well, there was one Arius, a Libyan, Presbyter of a little church in
Alexandria called Baucalis, preacher of the Unity of God"--

"I remember him now."

"Of the Unity of God as opposed to the Trinity. Him the first Constantine
sent to prison for life, did he not?"

Thereupon Phranza understood the subject of his master's meditation; but
being of a timid soul, emasculated by much practice of diplomacy,
usually a tedious, waiting occupation, he hastened to reply: "Even so,
my Lord. Yet he could afford to be heroic. He had consolidated the
Church, and was holding the world in the hollow of his hand."

Constantine allowed a sigh to escape him, and lapsed into silence; when
next he spoke, it was to say slowly:

"Alas, my dear friend! The people were not there"--meaning at Sancta
Sophia. "I fear, I fear"--

"What, my Lord?"

Another sigh deeper than the first one: "I fear I am not a statesman,
but only a soldier, with nothing to give God and my Empire except a
sword and one poor life."

These details will help the reader to a fair understanding of the
domestic involvements which overtook the Emperor about the time Mahommed
ascended the Turkish throne, and they are to be considered in addition
to the negotiations in progress with the Sultan. And as it is important
to give an idea of their speeding, we remark further, that from the
afternoon of the solemnity in Sancta Sophia the discussion then forced
upon him went from bad to worse, until he was seriously deprived both of
popular sympathy and the support of the organized religious orders. The
success of the solemnity in point of display, and the measures resorted
to, were not merely offensive to Gennadius and his ally, the Duke
Notaras; they construed them as a challenge to a trial of strength, and
so vigorously did they avail themselves of their advantages that, before
the Emperor was aware of it, there were two distinct parties in the
city, one headed by Gennadius, the other by himself and Gregory the
Patriarch.

Month by month the bitterness intensified; month by month the imperial
party fell away until there was little of it left outside the court and
the army and navy, and even they were subjected to incessant inroads--
until, finally, it came to pass that the Emperor was doubtful whom to
trust. Thereupon, of course, the season for energetic repressive measures
vanished, never to return.

Personalities, abuse, denunciation, lying, and sometimes downright blows
took the place of debate in the struggle. One day religion was an
exciting cause; next day, politics. Throughout it all, however,
Gennadius was obviously the master-spirit. His methods were consummately
adapted to the genius of the Byzantines. By confining himself strictly
to the Church wrangle, he avoided furnishing the Emperor pretexts for
legal prosecution; at the same time he wrought with such cunning that in
the monasteries the very High Residence of Blacherne was spoken of as a
den of _azymites_, while Sancta Sophia was abandoned to the Patriarch. To
be seen in the purlieus of the latter was a signal for vulgar anathemas
and social ostracism. His habits meantime were of a sort to make him a
popular idol. He grew, if possible, more severely penitential; he fasted
and flagellated himself; he slept on the stony floor before his crucifix;
he seldom issued from his cell, and when visited there, was always
surprised at prayers, the burden of which was forgiveness for signing the
detested Articles of Union with the Latins. The physical suffering he
endured was not without solace; he had heavenly visions and was attended
by angels. If in his solitude he fainted, the Holy Virgin of Blacherne
ministered to him, and brought him back to life and labor. First an
ascetic, then a Prophet--such was his progression.

And Constantine was a witness to the imposture, and smarted under it;
still he held there was nothing for him but to temporize, for if he
ordered the seizure and banishment of the all-powerful hypocrite, he
could trust no one with the order. The time was dark as a starless night
to the high-spirited but too amiable monarch, and he watched and waited,
or rather watched and drifted, extending confidence to but two
counsellors, Phranza and the Princess Irene. Even in their company he
was not always comfortable, for, strange to say, the advice of the woman
was invariably heroic, and that of the man invariably weak and
accommodating.

From this sketch the tendencies of the government can be right plainly
estimated, leaving the suspicion of a difference between the first
Constantine and the last to grow as the evils grew.




CHAPTER III

MIRZA DOES AN ERRAND FOR MAHOMMED


Vegetation along the Bosphorus was just issuing from what may be called
its budded state. In the gardens and protected spots on the European
side white and yellow winged butterflies now and then appeared without
lighting, for as yet there was nothing attractive enough to keep them.
Like some great men of whom we occasionally hear, they were in the world
before their time. In other words the month of May was about a week old,
and there was a bright day to recommend it--bright, only a little too
much tinctured with March and April to be all enjoyable. The earth was
still spongy, the water cold, the air crisp, and the sun deceitful.

About ten o'clock in the morning Constantinopolitans lounging on the
sea-wall were surprised by explosive sounds from down the Marmora.
Afterwhile they located them, so to speak, on a galley off St. Stephano.
At stated intervals, pale blue smoke would burst from the vessel,
followed by a hurry-skurry of gulls in the vicinity, and then the roar,
muffled by distance. The age of artillery had not yet arrived;
nevertheless, cannon were quite well known to fame. Enterprising traders
from the West had sailed into the Golden Horn with samples of the new
arm on their decks; they were of such rude construction as to be unfit
for service other than saluting. [Footnote: Cannon were first made of
hooped iron, widest at the mouth. The process of casting them was just
coming in.] So, now, while the idlers on the wall were not alarmed, they
were curious to make out who the extravagant fellows were, and waited
for the flag to tell them.

The stranger passed swiftly, firing as it went; and as the canvas was
new and the hull freshly painted in white, it rode the waves to
appearances a very beautiful "thing of life;" but the flag told nothing
of its nationality. There were stripes on it diagonally set, green,
yellow, and red, the yellow in the middle.

"The owners are not Genoese"--such was the judgment on the wall.

"No, nor Venetian, for that is not a lion in the yellow."

"What, then, is it?"

Pursued thus, the galley, at length rounding Point Serail (Demetrius),
turned into the harbor. When opposite the tower of Galata, a last salute
was fired from her deck; then the two cities caught up the interest, and
being able to make out decisively that the sign in the yellow field of
the flag was but a coat-of-arms, they said emphatically:

"It is not a national ship--only a great Lord;" and thereupon the
question became self-inciting:

"Who is he?"

Hardly had the anchor taken hold in the muddy bed of the harbor in front
of the port of Blacherne, before a small boat put off from the strange
ship, manned by sailors clad in flowing white trousers, short sleeveless
jackets, and red turbans of a style remarkable for amplitude. An
officer, probably the sailing-master, went with them, and he, too, was
heavily turbaned. A gaping crowd on the landing received the visitor
when he stepped ashore and asked to see the captain of the guard. To
that dignitary he delivered a despatch handsomely enveloped in yellow
silk, saying, in imperfect Greek:

"My Lord, just arrived, prays you to read the enclosure, and send it
forward by suitable hand. He trusts to your knowledge of what the
proprieties require. He will await the reply on his galley."

The sailing-master saluted profoundly, resumed seat in his boat, and
started back to the ship, leaving the captain of the guard to open the
envelope and read the communication, which was substantially as follows:

"From the galley, St. Agostino, May 5, Year of our Blessed Saviour,
1451.

"The undersigned is a Christian Noble of Italy, more particularly from
his strong Castle Corti on the eastern coast of Italy, near the ancient
city of Brindisi. He offers lealty to His Most Christian Majesty, the
Emperor of Constantinople, Defender of the Faith according to the
crucified Son of God (to whom be honor and praise forevermore), and
humbly represents that he is a well-knighted soldier by profession,
having won his spurs in battle, and taken the accolade from the hand of
Calixtus the Third, Bishop of Rome, and, yet more worthily, His Holiness
the Pope: that the time being peaceful in his country, except as it was
rent by baronial feuds and forays not to his taste, he left it in search
of employment and honors abroad; that he made the pilgrimage to the Holy
Sepulchre first, and secured there a number of precious relics, which he
is solicitous of presenting to His Imperial Majesty; that from long
association with the Moslems, whom Heaven, in its wisdom impenetrable to
the understanding of men, permits to profane the Holy Land with their
presence and wicked guardianship, he acquired a speaking knowledge of
the Arabic and Turkish languages; that he engaged in warfare against
those enemies of God, having the powerful sanction therefor of His
Holiness aforesaid, by whose direction he occupied himself chiefly with
chastising the Berber pirates of Tripoli, from whom he took prisoners,
putting them at his oars, where some of them now are. With the august
city of Byzantium he has been acquainted many years through report, and,
if its fame be truly published, he desires to reside in it, possibly to
the end of his days. Wherefore he presumes to address this his
respectful petition, praying its submission to His Most Christian
Majesty, that he may be assured if the proposal be agreeable to the
royal pleasure, and in the meantime have quiet anchorage for his galley.

UGO, COUNT CORTI."

In the eyes of the captain of the guard the paper was singular, but
explicit; moreover, the request seemed superfluous, considering the
laxity prevalent with respect to the coming and going of persons of all
nativities and callings. To be sure, trade was not as it used to be,
and, thanks to the enterprise and cunning of the Galatanese across the
harbor, the revenues from importations were sadly curtailed; still the
old city had its markets, and the world was welcome to them. The
argument, however, which silenced the custodian's doubt was, that of the
few who rode to the gates in their own galleys and kept them there ready
to depart if their reception were in the least chilling, how many signed
themselves as did this one? Italian counts were famous fighters, and
generally had audiences wherever they knocked. So he concluded to send
the enclosure up to the Palace without the intermediation of the High
Admiral, a course which would at least save time.

While the affair is thus pending, we may return to Count Corti, and say
an essential word or two of him.

The cannon, it is to be remarked, was not the only novelty of the
galley. Over the stern, where the aplustre cast its shadow in ordinary
crafts, there was a pavilion-like structure, high-raised, flat-roofed,
and with small round windows in the sides. Quite likely the progressive
ship-builders at Palos and Genoa would have termed the new feature a
cabin. It was beyond cavil an improvement; and on this occasion the
proprietor utilized it as he well might. Since the first gun off St.
Stephano, he had held the roof, finding it the best position to get and
enjoy a view of the capital, or rather of the walls and crowned
eminences they had so long and all-sufficiently defended. A chair had
been considerately brought up and put at his service, but in witness of
the charm the spectacle had for him from the beginning, he did not once
resort to it.

If only to save ourselves description of the man, and rescue him from a
charge of intrusion into the body of our story, we think it better to
take the reader into confidence at once, and inform him that Count Corti
is in fact our former acquaintance Mirza, the Emir of the Hajj. The
difference between his situation now, and when we first had sight of him
on his horse under the yellow flag in the valley of Zaribah is
remarkable; yet he is the same in one particular at least--he was in
armor then, and he is still in armor--that is, he affects the same
visorless casque, with its cape of fine rings buckled under the chin,
the same shirt and overalls of pliable mail, the same shoes of
transverse iron scales working into each other telescopically when the
feet are in movement, the same golden spurs, and a surcoat in every
particular like the Emir's, except it is brick-dust red instead of
green. And this constancy in armor should not be accounted a vanity; it
was a habit acquired in the school of arms which graduated him, and
which he persisted in partly for the inurement, and partly as a mark of
respect for Mahommed, with whom the gleam and clink of steel well
fashioned and gracefully worn was a passion, out of which he evolved a
suite rivalling those kinsmen of the Buccleuch who--

"--quitted not their harness bright, Neither by day nor yet by night."

Returning once again. It was hoped when Mirza was first introduced that
every one who might chance to spend an evening over these pages would
perceive the possibilities he prefigured, and adopt him as a favorite;
wherefore the interest may be more pressing to know what he, an Islamite
supposably without guile, a Janissary of rank, lately so high in his
master's confidence, is doing here, offering lealty to the Most
Christian Emperor, and denouncing the followers of the Prophet as
enemies of God. The appearances are certainly against him.

The explanation due, if only for coherence in our narrative, would be
clearer did the reader review the part of the last conversation in the
White Castle between the Prince of India and Mahommed, in which the
latter is paternally advised to study the Greek capital, and keep
himself informed of events within its walls. Yet, inasmuch as there is a
current in reading which one once fairly into is loath to be pushed out
of, we may be forgiven for quoting a material passage or two.... "There
is much for my Lord to do"--the Prince says, speaking to his noble
eleve. "It is for him to think and act as if Constantinople were his
capital temporarily in possession of another.... It is for him to learn
the city within and without; its streets and edifices; its hills and
walls; its strong and weak places; its inhabitants, commerce, foreign
relations; the character of its ruler, his resources and policies; its
daily events; its cliques, clubs, and religious factions; especially is
it for him to foment the differences Latin and Greek already a fire
which has long been eating out to air in an inflammable house."...
Mahommed, it will be recollected, acceded to the counsel, and in
discussing the selection of a person suitable for the secret agency, the
Prince said: ... "He who undertakes it should enter Constantinople and
live there above suspicion. He must be crafty, intelligent, courtly in
manner, accomplished in arms, of high rank, and with means to carry his
state bravely; for not only ought he to be conspicuous in the
Hippodrome; he should be welcome in the salons and palaces; along with
other facilities, he must be provided to buy service in the Emperor's
bedroom and council chamber--nay, at his elbow. Mature of judgment, it
is of prime importance that he possess my Lord's confidence
unalterably."... And when the ambitious Turk demanded: "The man, Prince,
the man!"--the wily tutor responded: "My Lord has already named him."--
"I?"--"Only to-night my Lord spoke of him as a marvel."--"Mirza?"... The
Jew then proceeded: "Despatch him to Italy; let him appear in
Constantinople, embarked from a galley, habited like an Italian, and with
a suitable Italian title. He speaks Italian already, is fixed in his
religion, and in knightly honor. Not all the gifts at the despot's
disposal, nor the blandishments of society can shake his allegiance--he
worships my Lord."...

Mahommed demurred to the proposal, saying: "So has Mirza become a part
of me, I am scarcely myself without him."

Now he who has allowed himself to become interested in the bright young
Emir, and pauses to digest these excerpts, will be aware of a grave
concern for him. He foresees the outcome of the devotion to Mahommed
dwelt upon so strongly by the Prince of India. An order to undertake the
secret service will be accepted certainly as it is given. The very
assurance that it will be accepted begets solicitude in the affair. Did
Mahommed decide affirmatively? What were the instructions given? Having
thus settled the coherences, we move on with the narrative.

It will be remembered, further, that close after the departure of the
Princess Irene from the old Castle, Mahommed followed her to Therapia,
and, as an Arab story-teller, was favored with an extended private
audience in which he extolled himself to her at great length, and
actually assumed the role of a lover. What is yet more romantic, he came
away a lover in fact.

The circumstance is not to be lightly dismissed, for it was of
immeasurable effect upon the fortunes of the Emir, and--if we can be
excused for connecting an interest so stupendous with one so
comparatively trifling--the fate of Constantinople. Theretofore the
Turk's ambition had been the sole motive of his designs against that
city, and, though vigorous, driving, and possibly enough of itself to
have pushed him on, there might yet have been some delay in the
achievement. Ambition derived from genius is cautious in its first
movements, counts the cost, ponders the marches to be made and the means
to be employed, and is at times paralyzed by the simple contemplation of
failure; in other words, dread of loss of glory is not seldom more
powerful than the hope of glory. After the visit to Therapia, however,
love reenforced ambition; or rather the two passions possessed Mahommed,
and together they murdered his sleep. He became impatient and irritable;
the days were too short, the months too long. Constantinople absorbed
him. He thought of nothing else waking, and dreamed of nothing else.
Well for him his faith in astrology, for by it the Prince of India was
able to hold him to methodic preparation.

There were times when he was tempted to seize the Princess, and carry
her off. Her palace was undefended, and he had but to raid it at night.
Why not? There were two reasons, either of them sufficient: first, the
stern old Sultan, his father, was a just man, and friendly to the
Emperor Constantine; but still stronger, and probably the deterrent in
fact, he actually loved the Princess with a genuine romantic sentiment,
her happiness an equal motive--loved her for herself--a thing perfectly
consistent, for in the Oriental idea there is always One the Highest.

Now, it was very lover-like in Mahommed, his giving himself up to
thought of the Princess while gliding down the Bosphorus, after leaving
his safeguard on her gate. He closed his eyes against the mellow light
on the water, and, silently admitting her the perfection of womanhood,
held her image before him until it was indelible in memory--face,
figure, manner, even her dress and ornaments--until his longing for her
became a positive hunger of soul.

As if to give us an illustration of the mal-apropos in coincidence, his
august father had selected a bride for him, and he was on the road to
Adrianople to celebrate the nuptials when he stopped at the White
Castle. The maiden chosen was of a noble Turkish family, but harem born
and bred. She might be charming, a very queen in the Seraglio; but,
alas! the kinswoman of the Christian Emperor had furnished a glimpse of
attractions which the fiancee to whom he was going could never
attain--attractions of mind and manner more lasting than those of mere
person; and as he finished the comparison, he beat his breast, and cried
out: "Ah, the partiality of the Most Merciful! To clothe this Greek with
all the perfections, and deny her to me!"

Withal, there was a method in Mahommed's passion. Setting his face
sternly against violating his own safeguard by abducting the Princess,
he fell into revision of her conversation; and then a light broke in
upon him--a light and a road to his object.

He recalled with particularity her reply to the message delivered to
her, supposably from himself, containing his avowal that he loved her
the more because she was a Christian, and singled out of it these
words: ... "A wife I might become, not from temptation of gain or power,
or in surrender to love--I speak not in derision of the passion, since,
like the admitted virtues, it is from God--nay, Sheik, in illustration
of what may otherwise be of uncertain meaning to him, tell Prince
Mahommed I might become his wife could I, by so doing, save or help the
religion I profess."

This he took to pieces.... "'She might become a wife.' Good!... 'She
might become my wife'--on condition.... What condition?" ... He beat his
breast again, this time with a laugh.

The rowers looked at him in wonder. What cared he for them? He had
discovered a way to make her his.... "Constantinople is the Greek
Church," he muttered, with flashing eyes. "I will take the city for my
own glory--to her then the glory of saving the Church! On to
Constantinople!"

And from that moment the fate of the venerable metropolis may be said to
have been finally sealed.

Within an hour after his return to the White Castle, he summoned Mirza,
and surprised him by the exuberance of his joy. He threw his arm over
the Emir's shoulder, and walked with him, laughing and talking, like a
man in wine. His nature was of the kind which, for the escape of
feeling, required action as well as words. At length he sobered down.

"Here, Mirza," he said. "Stand here before me.... Thou lovest me, I
believe?"

Mirza answered upon his knee: "My Lord has said it."

"I believe thee.... Rise and take pen and paper, and write, standing
here before me." [Footnote: A Turkish calligraphist works on his feet as
frequently as on a chair, using a pen made of reed and India ink reduced
to fluid.]

From a table near by the materials were brought, and the Emir, again
upon his knees, wrote as his master dictated.

The paper need not be given in full. Enough that it covered with uncommon
literalness--for the Conqueror's memory was prodigious--the suggestions
of the Prince of India already quoted respecting the duties of the agent
in Constantinople. While writing, the Emir was variously moved; one
instant, his countenance was deeply flushed, and in the next very pale;
sometimes his hand trembled. Mahommed meantime kept close watch upon him,
and now he asked:

"What ails thee?"

"My Lord's will is my will," was the answer--"yet"--

"Out--speak out."

"My Lord is sending me from him, and I dread losing my place at his
right hand."

Mahommed laughed heartily.

"Lay the fear betime," he then said, gravely. "Where thou goest, though
out of reach of my right hand, there will my thought be. Hear--nay, at
my knee."

He laid the hand spoken of on Mirza's shoulder, and stooped towards him.
"Ah, my Saladin, thou wert never in love, I take it? Well--I am. Look
not up now, lest--lest thou think my bearded cheek hath changed to a
girl's."

Mirza did not look up, yet he knew his master was blushing.

"Where thou goest, I would give everything but the sword of Othman to be
every hour of the day, for she abideth there.... I see a ring on thy
hand--the ruby ring I gave thee the day thou didst unhorse the
uncircumcised deputy of Hunyades. Give it back to me. 'Tis well. See, I
place it on the third finger of my left hand. They say whoever looketh
at her is thenceforth her lover. I caution thee, and so long as this
ruby keepeth color unchanged, I shall know thou art keeping honor bright
with me--that thou lovest her, because thou canst not help it, yet for
my sake, and because I love her.... Look up now, my falcon--look up, and
pledge me."

"I pledge my Lord," Mirza answered.

"Now I will tell thee. She is that kinswoman of the _Gabour_ Emperor
Constantine whom we saw here the day of our arrival. Or didst thou see
her? I have forgotten."

"I did not, my Lord."

"Well, thou wilt know her at sight; for in grace and beauty I think she
must be a daughter of the houri this moment giving immortal drink to the
beloved of Allah, even the Prophet."

Mahommed changed his tone.

"The paper and the pen."

And taking them he signed the instructions, and the signature was the
same as that on the safeguard on the gate at Therapia.

"There--keep it well; for when thou gettest to Constantinople, thou wilt
become a Christian." He laughed again. "Mirza--the Mirza Mahommed swore
by, and appointed keeper of his heart's secret--he a Christian! This
will shift the sin of the apostasy to me."

Mirza took the paper.

"I have not chosen to write of the other matter. In what should it be
written, if at all, except in my blood--so close is it to me?... These
are the things I expect of thee. Art thou listening? She shall be to
thee as thine eye. Advise me of her health, and where she goes; with
whom she consorts; what she does and says; save her from harm: does one
speak ill of her, kill him, only do it in my name--and forget not, O my
Saladin!--as thou hopest a garden and a couch in Paradise--forget not
that in Constantinople, when I come, I am to receive her from thy hand
peerless in all things as I left her to-day.... Thou hast my will all
told. I will send money to thy room to-night, and thou wilt leave
to-night, lest, being seen making ready in the morning, some idiot
pursue thee with his wonder.... As thou art to be my other self, be it
royally. Kings never account to themselves.... Thou wantest now nothing
but this signet."

From his breast he drew a large ring, its emerald setting graven with
the signature at the bottom of the instructions, and gave it to him.

"Is there a Pacha or a Begler-bey, Governor of a city or a province,
property of my father, who refuseth thy demand after showing him this,
report him, and _Shintan_ will be more tolerable unto him than I,
when I have my own. It is all said. Go now.... We will speak of rewards
when next we meet.... Or stay! Thou art to communicate by way of this
Castle, and for that I will despatch a man to thee in Constantinople.
Remember--for every word thou sendest me of the city, I look for two of
her.... Here is my hand." Mirza kissed it, and departed.




CHAPTER IV

THE EMIR IN ITALY


We know now who Count Corti is, and the objects of his coming to
Constantinople--that he is a secret agent of Mahommed--that, summed up
in the fewest words, his business is to keep the city in observation,
and furnish reports which will be useful to his master in the preparation
the latter is making for its conquest. We also know he is charged with
very peculiar duties respecting the Princess Irene.

The most casual consideration of these revelations will make it apparent,
in the next place, that hereafter the Emir must be designated by his
Italian appellative in full or abbreviated. Before forsaking the old
name, there is lively need of information, whether as he now stands on
the deck of his galley, waiting the permissions prayed by him of the
Emperor Constantine, he is, aside from title, the same Mirza lately so
honored by Mahommed.

From the time the ship hove in sight of the city, he had kept his place
on the cabin. The sailors, looking up to him occasionally, supposed him
bound by the view, so motionless he stood, so steadfastly he gazed. Yet
in fact his countenance was not expressive of admiration or rapture. A
man with sound vision may have a mountain just before him and not see
it; he may be in the vortex of a battle deaf to its voices; a thought or
a feeling can occupy him in the crisis of his life to the exclusion of
every sense. If perchance it be so with the Emir now, he must have
undergone a change which only a powerful cause could have brought about.
He had been so content with his condition, so proud of his fame already
won, so happy in keeping prepared for the opportunities plainly in his
sight, so satisfied with his place in his master's confidence, so
delighted when that master laid a hand upon his shoulder and called him
familiarly, now his Saladin, and now his falcon.

Faithfully, as bidden, Mirza sallied from the White Castle the night of
his appointment to the agency in Constantinople. He spoke to no one of
his intention, for he well knew secrecy was the soul of the enterprise.
For the same reason, he bought of a dervish travelling with the Lord
Mahommed's suite a complete outfit, including the man's donkey and
donkey furniture. At break of day he was beyond the hills of the
Bosphorus, resolved to skirt the eastern shore of the Marmora and
Hellespont, from which the Greek population had been almost entirely
driven by the Turks, and at the Dardanelles take ship for Italy direct
as possible--a long route and trying--yet there was in it the total
disappearance from the eyes of acquaintances needful to success in his
venture. His disguise insured him from interruption on the road,
dervishes being sacred characters in the estimation of the Faithful, and
generally too poor to excite cupidity. A gray-frocked man, hooded,
coarsely sandalled, and with a blackened gourd at his girdle for the
alms he might receive from the devout, no Islamite meeting him would
ever suspect a large treasure in the ragged bundle on the back of the
patient animal plodding behind him like a tired dog.

The Dardanelles was a great stopping-place for merchants and tradesmen,
Greek, Venetian, Genoese. There Mirza provided himself with an Italian
suit, adopted the Italian tongue, and became Italian. He borrowed a
chart of the coast of Italy from a sailor, to determine the port at
which it would be advisable for him to land.

While settling this point, the conversation had with the Prince of India
in the latter's tent at Zaribah arose to mind, and he recalled with
particularity all that singular person said with reference to the accent
observable in his speech. He also went over the description he himself
had given the Prince of the house or castle from which he had been taken
in childhood. A woman had borne him outdoors, under a blue sky, along a
margin of white sand, an orchard on one hand, the sea on the other. He
remembered the report of the waves breaking on the shore, the olive-green
color of the trees in the orchard, and the battlemented gate of the
castle; whereupon the Prince said the description reminded him of the
eastern shore of Italy in the region of Brindisi.

It was a vague remark certainly; but now it made a deeper impression on
the Emir than at the moment of its utterance and pointed his attention
to Brindisi. The going to Italy, he argued, was really to get a warrant
for the character he was to assume in Constantinople; that is, to obtain
some knowledge of the country, its geography, political divisions,
cities, rulers, and present conditions generally, without which the
slightest cross-examination by any of the well-informed personages about
the Emperor would shatter his pretensions in an instant. Then it was he
fell into a most unusual mood.

Since the hour the turbaned rovers captured him he had not been assailed
by a desire to see or seek his country and family. Who was his father?
Was his mother living? Probably nothing could better define the
profundity of the system underlying the organization of the Janissaries
than that he had never asked those questions with a genuine care to have
them solved. What a suppression of the most ordinary instincts of nature!
How could it have been accomplished so completely? As a circumstance, its
tendency is to confirm the theory that men are creatures of education and
association.... Was his mother living? Did she remember him? Had she wept
for him? What sort of being was she? If living, how old would she be? And
he actually attempted a calculation. Calling himself twenty-six she might
not be over forty-five. That was not enough to dim her eyes or more than
slightly silver her hair; and as respects her heart, are not the
affections of a mother flowers for culling by Death alone?

Such reflections never fail effect. A tenderness of spirit is the first
token of their presence; then memory and imagination begin striving; the
latter to bring the beloved object back, and the former to surround it
with sweetest circumstances. They wrought with Mirza as with everybody
else. The yearning they excited in him was a surprise; presently he
determined to act on the Prince of India's suggestion, and betake
himself to the eastern coast of Italy.

The story of the sack of a castle was of a kind to have wide circulation;
at the same time this one was recent enough to be still in the memory of
persons living. Finding the place of its occurrence was the difficulty.
If in the vicinity of Brindisi--well, he would go and ask. The yearning
spoken of did not come alone; it had for companion, Conscience, as yet in
the background.

There were vessels bound for Venice. One was taking in water, after
which it would sail for Otranto. It seemed a fleet craft, with a fair
crew, and a complement of stout rowers. Otranto was south of Brindisi a
little way, and the castle he wanted to hear of might have been situated
between those cities. Who could tell? Besides, as an Italian nobleman,
to answer inquiry in Constantinople, he would have to locate himself
somewhere, and possibly the coast in question might accommodate him with
both a location and a title. The result was he took passage to Otranto.

While there he kept his role of traveller, but was studious, and picked
up a great fund of information bearing upon the part awaiting him. He
lived and dressed well, and affected religious circles. It was the day
when Italy was given over to the nobles--the day of robbers, fighting,
intrigues and usurpations--of free lances and bold banditti--of
government by the strong hand, of right determinable by might, of
ensanguined Guelphs and Ghibellines. Of these the Emir kept clear.

By chance he fell in with an old man of secondary rank in the city much
given to learning, an habitue of a library belonging to one of the
monasteries. It came out ere long that the venerable person was familiar
with the coast from Otranto to Brindisi, and beyond far as Polignano.

"It was in my sturdier days," the veteran said, with a dismal glance at
his shrunken hands. "The people along the shore were much harried by
Moslem pirates. Landing from their galleys, the depredators burned
habitations, slew the men, and carried off such women as they thought
would fetch a price. They even assaulted castles. At last we were driven
to the employment of a defensive guard cooperative on land and water. I
was a captain. Our fights with the rovers were frequent and fierce.
Neither side showed quarter."

The reminiscence stimulated Mirza to inquiry. He asked the old man if he
could mention a castle thus attacked.

"Yes, there was one belonging to Count Corti, a few leagues beyond
Brindisi. The Count defended himself, but was slain."

"Had he a family?"

"A wife and a boy child."

"What became of them?"

"By good chance the Countess was in Brindisi attending a fete; she
escaped, of course. The boy, two or three years of age, was made
prisoner, and never heard of afterwards."

A premonition seized Mirza.

"Is the Countess living?"

"Yes. She never entirely recovered from the shock, but built a house
near the site of the castle, and clearing a room in the ruins, turned it
into a chapel. Every morning and evening she goes there, and prays for
the soul of her husband, and the return of her lost boy."

"How long is it since the poor lady was so bereft?"

The narrator reflected, and replied: "Twenty-two or three years."

"May the castle be found?"

"Yes."

"Have you been to it?"

"Many times."

"How was it named?"

"After the Count--_Il Castillo di Corti_."

"Tell me something of its site."

"It is down close by the sea. A stone wall separates its front enclosure
from the beach. Sometimes the foam of the waves is dashed upon the wall.
Through a covered gate one looks out, and all is water. Standing on the
tower, all landward is orchard and orchard--olive and almond trees
intermixed. A great estate it was and is. The Countess, it is understood,
has a will executed; if the boy does not return before her death, the
Church is to be her legatee."

There was more of the conversation, covering a history of the Corti
family, honorable as it was old--the men famous warriors, the women
famous beauties.

Mirza dreamed through the night of the Countess, and awoke with a vague
consciousness that the wife of the Pacha, the grace of whose care had
been about him in childhood--a good woman, gentle and tender--was after
all but a representative of the mother who had given him birth, just as
on her part every mother is mercifully representative of God. Under
strong feeling he took boat for Brindisi.

There he had no trouble in confirming the statements of his Otranto
acquaintance. The Countess was still living, and the coast road
northwardly would bring him to the ruins of her castle. The journey did
not exceed five leagues.

What he might find at the castle, how long he would stay, what do, were
so uncertain--indeed everything in the connection was so dependent upon
conditions impossible of foresight, that he resolved to set out on foot.
To this course he was the more inclined by the mildness of the weather,
and the reputation of the region for freshness and beauty.

About noon he was fairly on the road. Persons whom he met--and they were
not all of the peasant class--seeing a traveller jaunty in plumed cap,
light blue camail, pointed buskins, and close-fitting hose the color of
the camail, sword at his side, and javelin in hand, stayed to observe
him long as he was in sight, never dreaming they were permitted to
behold a favorite of one of the bloody Mahounds of the East.

Over hill and down shallow vales: through stone-fenced lanes; now in the
shade of old trees; now along a seashore partially overflowed by languid
waves, he went, lighter in step than heart, for he was in the mood by no
means uncommon, when the spirit is prophesying evil unto itself. He was
sensible of the feeling, and for shame would catch the javelin in the
middle and whirl it about him defensively until it sung like a
spinning-wheel; at times he stopped and, with his fingers in his mouth,
whistled to a small bird as if it were a hunting hawk high in air.

Once, seeing a herd of goats around a house thatched and half-hidden in
vines, he asked for milk. A woman brought it to him, with a slice of
brown bread; and while he ate and drank, she stared at him in respectful
admiration; and when he paid her in gold, she said, courtesying low: "A
glad life to my Lord! I will pray the Madonna to make the wish good."
Poor creature! She had no idea she was blessing one in whose faith the
Prophet was nearer God than God's own Son.

At length the road made an abrupt turn to the right, bringing him to a
long stretch of sandy beach. Nearly as he could judge, it was time for
the castle to appear, and he was anxious to make it before sundown. Yet
in the angle of the wood he saw a wayside box of stone sheltering an
image of the Virgin, with the Holy Child in its arms. Besides being
sculptured better than usual, the figures were covered with flowers in
wreath and bouquet. A dressed slab in front of the structure, evidently
for the accommodation of worshippers, invited him to rest, and he took
the seat, and looking up at the mother, she appeared to be looking at
him. He continued his gaze, and presently the face lost its stony
appearance--stranger still, it smiled. It was illusion, of course, but
he arose startled, and moved on with quickened step. The impression went
with him. Why the smile? He did not believe in images: much less did he
believe in the Virgin, except as she was the subject of a goodly story.
And absorbed in the thought, he plodded on, leaving the sun to go down
unnoticed.

Thereupon the shadows thickened in the woods at his left hand, while the
sound of the incoming waves at his right increased as silence laid its
velvet finger with a stronger compress on all other pulsations. Here and
there a star peeped timidly through the purpling sky--now it was dusk--a
little later, it would be night--and yet no castle!

He pushed on more vigorously; not that he was afraid--fear and the
falcon of Mahommed had never made acquaintance--but he began to think of
a bed in the woods, and worse yet, he wanted the fast-going daylight to
help him decide if the castle when he came to it were indeed the castle
of his fathers. He had believed all along, if he could see the pile
once, his memory would revive and help him to recognition.

At last night fell, and there was darkness trebled on the land, and on
the sea darkness, except where ghostly lines of light stretched
themselves along the restless water. Should he go on?...

Then he heard a bell--one soft tone near by and silvery clear. He
halted. Was it of the earth? A hush deeper of the sound--and he was
wondering if another illusion were not upon him, when again the bell!

"Oh!" he muttered, "a trick of the monks in Otranto! Some soul is
passing."

He pressed forward, guided by the tolling. Suddenly the trees fell away,
and the road brought him to a stone wall heavily coped. On further, a
blackened mass arose in dim relief against the sky, with heavy merlons
on its top.

"It is the embattled gate!" he exclaimed, to himself--"the embattled
gate!--and here the beach!--and, O Allah! the waves there are making the
reports they used to!"

The bell now tolled with awful distinctness, filling him with unwonted
chills--tolled, as if to discourage his memory in its struggle to lift
itself out of a lapse apparently intended to be final as the grave--
tolled solemnly, as if his were the soul being rung into the next life. A
rush of forebodings threatened him with paralysis of will, and it was
only by a strong exertion he overcame it, and brought himself back to the
situation, and the question, What next?

Now Mirza was not a man to forego a purpose lightly. Emotional, but not
superstitious, he tried the sword, if it were loose in the scabbard, and
then, advancing the point of his javelin, entered the darkened gallery
of the gate. Just as he emerged from it on the inner side, the bell
tolled.

"A Moslem doth not well," he thought, silently repeating a saying of the
_jadis_, "to accept a Christian call to prayer; but," he answered in
self-excuse, "I am not going to prayer--I am seeking"--he stopped, for
very oddly, the face of the Virgin in the stone box back in the angle of
the road presented itself to him, and still more oddly, he felt firmer of
purpose seeing again the smile on the face. Then he finished the sentence
aloud--"my mother _who is a Christian._"

There was a jar in the conclusion, and he went back to find it, and
having found it, he was surprised. Up to that moment, he had not thought
of his mother a Christian. How came the words in his mouth now? Who
prompted them? And while he was hastily pondering the effect upon her of
the discovery that he himself was an Islamite, the image in the box
reoccurred to him, this time with the child in its arms; and thereupon
the mystery seemed to clear itself at once. "Mother and mother!" he
said. "What if my coming were the answer of one of them to the other's
prayer?"

The idea affected him; his spirit softened; the heat of tears sprang to
his eyelids; and the effort he made to rise above the unmanliness
engaged him so he failed to see the other severer and more lasting
struggle inevitable if the Countess were indeed the being to whom he
owed the highest earthly obligations--the struggle between natural
affection and honor, as the latter lay coiled up in the ties binding him
to Mahommed.

The condition, be it remarked, is ours; for from that last appearance of
the image by the wayside--from that instant, marking a new era in his
life--often as the night and its incidents recurred to him, he had never
a doubt of his relationship to the Countess. Indeed, not only was she
thenceforward his mother, but all the ground within the gate was his by
natal right, and the castle was the very castle from which he had been
carried away, over the body of his heroic father--_he was the Count
Corti_!

These observations will bring the reader to see more distinctly the
Emir's state after passing the gate. Of the surroundings, he beheld
nothing but shadows more or less dense and voluminous; the mournful
murmuring of the wind told him they belonged to trees and shrubbery in
clumps. The road he was on, although blurred, was serviceable as a
guide, and he pursued it until brought to a building so masked by night
the details were invisible. Following its upper line, relieved against
the gray sky, he made out a broken front and one tower massively
battlemented. A pavement split the road in two; crossing it, he came to
an opening, choked with timbers and bars of iron; surmisably the front
portal at present in disuse. He needed no explanation of its condition.
Fire and battle were familiars of his.

The bell tolled on. The sound, so passing sweet elsewhere, seemed to
issue from the yawning portal, leaving him to fancy the interior a
lumber of floors, galleries, and roofs in charred tumble down.

Mirza turned away presently, and took the left branch of the road; since
he could not get into the castle, he would go around it; and in doing
so, he borrowed from the distance traversed a conception of its
immensity, as well as of the importance the countship must have enjoyed
in its palmy days.

At length he gained the rear of the great pile. The wood there was more
open, and he was pleased with the sight of lights apparently gleaming
through windows, from which he inferred a hamlet pitched on a broken
site. Then he heard singing; and listening, never had human voices
seemed to him so impressively solemn. Were they coming or going?

Ere long a number of candles, very tall, and screened from the wind by
small lanterns of transparent paper, appeared on the summit of an
ascent; next moment the bearers of the candles were in view--boys
bareheaded and white frocked. As they began to descend the height, a
bevy of friars succeeded them, their round faces and tonsured crowns
glistening in ruddy contrast with their black habits. A choir of four
singers, three men and one woman, followed the monks. Then a linkman in
half armor strode across the summit, lighting the way for a figure, also
in black, which at once claimed Mirza's gaze.

As he stared at the figure, the account given him by the old captain in
Otranto flashed upon his memory. The widow of the murdered count had
cleared a room in the castle, and fitted it up as a chapel, and every
morning and evening she went thither to pray for the soul of her husband
and the return of her lost boy.

The words were alive with suggestions; but suggestions imply
uncertainty; wherefore they are not a reason for the absolute conviction
with which the Emir now said to himself:

"It is she--the Countess--my mother!"

There must be in every heart a store of prevision of which we are not
aware--occasions bring it out with such sudden and bewildering effect.

Everything--hymn, tolling bell, lights, boys, friars, procession--was
accessory to that veiled, slow-marching figure. And in habiliment,
movement, air, with what telling force it impersonated sorrow! On the
other hand, how deep and consuming the sorrow itself must be!

She--he beheld only her--descended the height without looking up or
around--a little stooped, yet tall and of dignified carriage--not old
nor yet young--a noble woman worthy reverence.

While he was making these comments, the procession reached the foot of
the ascent; then the boys and friars came between, and hid her from his
view.

"O Allah! and thou his Prophet!" he exclaimed. "Am I not to see her
face? Is she not to know me?"

Curiously the question had not presented itself before; neither when he
resolved to come, nor while on the way. To say truth, he had been all
the while intent on the one partial object--to see her. He had not
anticipated the awakening the sight might have upon his feelings.

"Am I not to discover myself to her? Is she never to know me?" he
repeated.

The lights in the hands of the boys were beginning to gleam along a
beaten road a short distance in front of the agitated Emir conducting to
the castle. He divined at once that the Countess was coming to the
chapel for the usual evening service, and that, by advancing to the side
of the road, he could get a near view of her as she passed. He started
forward impulsively, but after a few steps stopped, trembling like a
child imagining a ghost.

Now our conception of the man forbids us thinking him overcome by a
trifle, whether of the air or in the flesh. A change so extreme must
have been the work of a revelation of quick and powerful consequence--and
it was, although the first mention may excite a smile. In the gleam of
mental lightning--we venture on the term for want of another more
descriptive--he had been reminded of the business which brought him to
Italy.

Let us pause here, and see what the reminder means; if only because the
debonair Mirza, with whom we have been well pleased, is now to become
another person in name and character, commanding our sympathies as
before, but for a very different reason.

This was what the lightning gave him to see, and not darkly: If he
discovered himself to the Countess, he must expose his history from the
night the rovers carried him away. True, the tale might be given
generally, leaving its romance to thrill the motherly heart, and exalt
him the more; for to whom are heroes always the greatest heroes?
Unhappily steps in confession are like links in a chain, one leads to
another.... Could he, a Christian born, tell her he was an apostate? Or
if he told her, would it not be one more grief to the many she was
already breaking under--one, the most unendurable? And as to himself,
how could he more certainly provoke a forfeiture of her love?... She
would ask--if but to thank God for mercies--to what joyful accident his
return was owing? And then? Alas! with her kiss on his brow, could he
stand silent? More grievous yet, could he deceive her? If nothing is so
murderous of self-respect as falsehood, a new life begun with a lie
needs no prophet to predict its end. No, he must answer the truth. This
conviction was the ghost which set him trembling. An admission that he
was a Moslem would wound her, yet the hope of his conversion would
remain--nay, the labor in making the hope good might even renew her
interest in life; but to tell her he was in Italy to assist in the
overthrow of a Christian Emperor for the exaltation of an infidel--God
help him! Was ever such a monster as he would then become in her eyes?...
The consequences of that disclosure, moreover, were not to the Countess
and himself merely. With a sweep of wing one's fancy is alone capable of,
he was borne back to the White Castle, and beheld Mahommed. When before
did a Prince, contemplating an achievement which was to ring the world,
give trust with such absoluteness of faith? Poor Mirza! The sea rolled
indefinitely wide between the White Castle and this one of his fathers;
across it, nevertheless, he again heard the words: "As thou art to be my
other self, be it royally. Kings never account to themselves." If they
made betrayal horrible in thought, what would the fact be?...

Finally, last but not least of the reflections the lightning laid bare,
the Emir had been bred a soldier, and he loved war for itself and for
the glory it offered unlike every other glory. Was he to bid them both a
long farewell?

Poor Mirza! A few paragraphs back allusion was made to a struggle before
him between natural affection on one hand and honor on the other. Perhaps
it was obscurely stated; if so, here it is amended, and stripped of
conditions. He has found his mother. She is coming down the road--there,
behind the dancing lights, behind the friars, she is coming to pray for
him. Should he fly her recognition or betray his confiding master? Room
there may be to say the alternatives were a judgment upon him, but who
will deny him pity? ... There is often a suffering, sometimes an agony,
in indecision more wearing than disease, deadlier than sword-cuts.

The mournful pageant was now where its lights brought out parts of the
face of the smoke-stained building. With a loud clang a door was thrown
open, and a friar, in the black vestments usual in masses for the dead,
came out to receive the Countess. The interior behind him was dully
illuminated. A few minutes more, and the opportunity to see her face
would be lost. Still the Emir stood irresolute. Judge the fierceness of
the conflict in his breast!

At last he moved forward. The acolytes, with their great candles of
yellow wax, were going by as he gained the edge of the road. They looked
at him wonderingly. The friars, in Dominican cassocks, stared at him
also. Then the choir took its turn. The linkman at sight of him stopped
an instant, then marched on. The Emir really beheld none of them; his
eyes and thoughts were in waiting; and now--how his heart beat!--how
wistfully he gazed!--the Countess was before him, not three yards away.

Her garments, as said, were all black. A thick veil enveloped her head;
upon her breast her crossed hands shone ivory white. Two or three times
the right hand, in signing the cross, uncovered a ring upon the left--the
wedding ring probably. Her bearing was of a person not so old as
persecuted by an engrossing anguish. She did not once raise her face.

The Emir's heart was full of prayer.

"O Allah! It is my mother! If I may not speak to her, or kiss her feet--
if I may not call her mother--if I may not say, mother, mother, behold, I
am thy son come back--still, as thou art the Most Merciful! let me see
her face, and suffer her to see mine--once, O Allah! once, if nevermore!"

But the face remained covered--and so she passed, but in passing she
prayed. Though the voice was low, lie heard these words: "Oh, sweet
Mother! By the Blessed Son of thy love and passion, remember mine, I
beseech thee. Be with him, and bring him to me quickly. Miserable woman
that I am!"

The world, and she with it, swam in the tears he no longer tried to
stay. Stretching his arms toward her, he fell upon his knees, then upon
his face; and that the face was in the dust, he never minded. When he
looked up, she was gone on, the last of the procession. And he knew she
had not seen him.

He followed after. Everybody stood aside to let her enter the door
first. The friar received her; she went in, and directly the linkman
stood alone outside.

"Stay!" said the linkman, peremptorily. "Who art thou?"

Thus rudely challenged, the Emir awoke from his daze--awoke with all his
faculties clear.

"A gentleman of Otranto," he replied.

"What is thy pleasure?"

"Admit me to the chapel."

"Thou art a stranger, and the service is private. Or hast thou been
invited?"

"No."

"Thou canst not enter."

Again the world dropped into darkness before Mirza; but this time it was
from anger. The linkman never suspected his peril. Fortunately for him,
the voice of the female chorister issued from the doorway in tremulous
melody. Mirza listened, and became tranquillized. The voice sank next
into a sweet unearthly pleading, and completely subdued, he began
arguing with himself.... She had not seen him while he was in the dust
at her side, and now this repulse at the door--how were they to be taken
except as expressions of the will of Heaven?... There was plenty of
time--better go away, and return--perhaps to-morrow. He was not prepared
to prove his identity, if it were questioned.... There would be a
scene, and he shrank from it.... Yes, better retire now.... And he
turned to go. Not six steps away, the Countess reappeared to his excited
mind, exactly as she had passed praying for him--reappeared--

  ... "like the painting of a sorrow."

A revulsion of feeling seized him--he halted. Oh, the years she had
mourned for him! Her love was deep as the sea! Tears again--and without
thought of what he did--all aimlessly--he returned to the door.

"This castle was sacked and burned by pirates, was it not?" he asked the
linkman.

"Yes."

"They slew the Count Corti?"

"Yes."

"And carried off his son?"

"Yes."

"Had he other children?"

"No."

"What was the name of the boy?"

"Ugo."

"Well--in thy ear now--thou didst not well in shutting me out--_I am
that Ugo._"

Thereupon the Emir walked resolutely away.

A cry, shrill and broken, overtook him, issuing apparently from the door
of the chapel--a second time he heard it, more a moan than a shriek--and
thinking the linkman had given the alarm, he quickened his pace to a
run, and was soon out on the beach.

The breath of the sea was pleasant and assuring, and falling into a
walk, he turned his face toward Brindisi. But the cry pursued him. He
imagined the scene in the chapel--the distress of the Countess--the
breaking up of the service--the hurry of question--a consultation, and
possibly search for him. Every person in the procession but the Countess
had seen him; so the only open point in the affair was the one of
directest interest to her: Was it her son?

Undoubtedly the suffering lady would not rest until investigation was
exhausted. Failing to find the stranger about the castle, horsemen might
be sent out on the road. There is terrible energy in mother-love. These
reflections stimulated the Emir to haste. Sometimes he even ran; only at
the shrine of the Virgin and Child in the angle of the road did he halt.
There he cast himself upon the friendly slab to recover breath.

All this of course indicated a preference for Mahommed. And now he came
to a decision. He would proceed with the duty assigned him by the young
master; then, at the end, he would come back, and assert himself in his
native land.

He sat on the slab an hour or more. At intervals the outcry, which he
doubted not was his mother's, rang in his ears, and every time he heard
it, conscience attacked him with its whip of countless stings. Why
subject her to more misery? For what other outcome could there be to the
ceaseless contention of fears and hopes now hers? Oh, if she had only
seen him when he was so near her in the road! That she did not, was the
will of Allah, and the fatalistic Mohammedan teaching brought him a
measure of comfort. In further sooth, he had found a location and a
title. Thenceforward, and not fictitiously, he was the _Count Corti_; and
so entitling himself, he determined to make Brindisi, and take ship for
Genoa or Venice in the morning before a messenger could arrive from the
castle.

As he arose from the slab, a bird in housel for the night flew out of
the box. Its small cheep reminded him of the smile he had fancied on the
face of the Madonna, and how, a little later, the smile had, with such
timely suggestion of approval, woven itself into his thought of the
Countess. He looked up at the face again; but the night was over it like
a veil, and he went nearer, and laid his hand softly on the Child. That
which followed was not a miracle; only a consequence of the wisdom which
permits the enshrinement of a saintly woman and Holy Child as witnesses
of the Divine Goodness to humanity. He raised himself higher in the box,
and pushing aside a heap of faded floral offerings, kissed the foot of
the taller image, saying: "Thus would I have done to my mother." And
when he had climbed down, and was in the road, it seemed some one
answered him: "Go thy way! God and Allah are the same." We may now urge
the narrative. From Brindisi the Emir sailed to Venice. Two weeks in
"the glorious city in the sea" informed him of it thoroughly. While
there, he found, on the "ways" of an Adriatic builder, the galley in
which we have seen him at anchor in the Golden Horn. Leaving an order
for the employment of a sailing-master and crew when the vessel was
complete, he departed next for Rome. At Padua he procured the harness of
a man-at-arms of the period, and recruited a company of _condottieri_--
mercenary soldiers of every nationality. With all his sacerdotal
authority, Nicholas V., the Holy Father, was sorely tried in keeping his
States. The freebooters who unctuously kissed his hand to-day, did not
scruple, if opportunity favored, to plunder one of his towns tomorrow. It
befell that Count Corti--so the Emir styled himself--found a Papal castle
beleaguered by marauders, whom he dispersed, slaying their chief with his
own hand. Nicholas, in public audience, asked him to name the reward he
preferred.

"Knighthood at thy hands, first of all things," was the reply.

The Holy Father took a sword from one of his officers, and gave him the
_accolade_.

"What next, my son?"

"I am tired fighting men who ought to be Christians. Give me, I pray, thy
commission to make war upon the Barbary pirates who infest the seas."

This was granted him.

"What next?"

"Nothing, Holy Father, but thy blessing, and a certificate in good form,
and under seal, of these favors thou hast done me."

The certificate and the blessing were also granted.

The Count then dismissed his lances, and, hastening to Naples, embarked
for Venice. There he supplied himself with suits of the finest Milanese
armor he could obtain, and a wardrobe consisting of costumes such as
were in vogue with the gay gallants along the Grand Canal. Crossing to
Tripoli, he boarded a Moorish merchantman, and made prisoners of the
crew and rowers. The prize he gave to his Christian sailors, and sent
them home. Summoning his prisoners on deck, he addressed them in Arabic,
offering them high pay if they would serve him, and they gratefully
accepted his terms.

The Count then directed his prow to what is now Aleppo, with the purpose
of procuring Arab horses; and having purchased five of the purest blood,
he made sail for Constantinople.

We shall now, for a time, permit the title _Emir_ to lapse. The knight we
have seen on the deck of the new arrival in the Golden Horn viewing with
melancholy interest the cities on either side of the fairest harbor on
earth, is in easy English speech, _Count Corti_, the Italian.

Thus far the Count had been successful in his extraordinary mission, yet
he was not happy. He had made three discoveries during his journey--his
mother, his country, his religion. Ordinarily these relations--if we may
so call them--furnish men their greatest sum of contentment; sadly for
him, however, he had made a fourth finding, of itself sufficient to dash
all the others--in briefest term, he was not in condition to acknowledge
either of them. Unable to still the cry heard while retiring from his
father's ruined castle, he surrendered himself more and more to the
wisdom brought away from the box of the Madonna and Child in the angle
of the road to Brindisi--_God and Allah are the same._ Conscience
and a growing sense of misappropriated life were making Count Corti a
very different person from the light-hearted Emir of Mahommed.




CHAPTER V

THE PRINCESS IRENE IN TOWN


An oblong room divided in the middle crosswise by two fluted pillars of
pink-stained marble, light, delicately capped, and very graceful--between
the pillars a segmental arch--between the walls and the pillars square
ties;--the wall above the pillars elaborately scrolled;--three curtains
of woollen stuff uniformly Tyrian dyed filling the open places--the
central curtain drawn to the pillars, and held there by silken ropes
richly tasselled--the side curtains dropped;--a skylight for each
division of the room, and under each skylight an ample brazier dispensing
a comfortable degree of warmth;--floor laid in pink and saffron tiles;--
chairs with and without arms, some upholstered, all quaintly carved--to
each chair a rug harmoniously colored;--massive tables of carven wood,
the tops of burnished copper inlaid with blocks of jasper, mostly red and
yellow--on the tables murrhine pitchers vase-shaped, with crystal
drinking goblets about them;--the skylights conical and of clear glass;--
the walls panelled, a picture in every panel, and the raised margins and
the whole space outside done in arabesque of studied involution;--doors
opposite each other and bare;--such was the reception-room in the
town-house of the Princess Irene arranged for the winter.

On an armless chair in one of the divisions of the beautiful room, the
Princess sat, slightly bending over a piece of embroidery stretched upon
a frame. What with the accessories about her--the chair, a small table
at her right covered with the bright materials in use, the slanted
frame, and a flexible lion's skin under her feet--she was a picture once
seen never forgotten. The wonderful setting of the head and neck upon
the Phidian shoulders was admirably complemented by the long arms, bare,
round, and of the whiteness of an almond kernel freshly broken, the
hands, blue-veined and dimpled, and the fingers, tapering, pliant,
nimble, rapid, each seemingly possessed of a separate intelligence.

To the left of the Princess, a little removed, Lael half reclined
against a heap of cushions, pale, languid, and not wholly recovered from
the effects of the abduction by Demedes, the terrible doom which had
overtaken her father, and the disappearance of the Prince of India, the
latter unaccountable except upon the hypothesis of death in the great
fire. The dying prayer of the son of Jahdai had not failed with the
Princess Irene. Receiving the unfortunate girl from Sergius the day
after the rescue from the cistern, she accepted the guardianship, and
from that hour watched and tended her with maternal solicitude.

The other division of the room was occupied by attendants. They were
visible through the opening left by the drawn curtain; yet it is not to
be supposed they were under surveillance; on the contrary, their
presence in the house was purely voluntary. They read, sang, accepted
tasks in embroidery from their mistress, accompanied her abroad, loved
her--in a word, their service was in every respect compatible with high
rank, and in return they derived a certain education from her. For by
universal acknowledgment she was queen and arbiter in the social world
of Byzantium; in manner the mirror, in taste and fashion its very form.
Indeed, she was the subject of but one objection--her persistent protest
against the encumbrance of a veil.

With all her grave meditation, she never lectured her attendants,
knowing probably that sermons in example are more impressive than
sermons in words. In illustration of the freedom they enjoyed in her
presence and hearing, one of them, behind the curtain, touched a
stringed instrument--a cithern--and followed the prelude with a song of
Anacreontic vein.

      THE GOLDEN NOON.

    If my life were but a day--
      One morn, one night,
    With a golden noon for play,
      And I, of right,
    Could say what I would do
    With it--what would I do?

    Penance to me--e'en the stake,
      And late or soon!--
    Yet would Love remain to make
      That golden noon
    Delightful--I would do--
    Ah, Love, what would I do?

And when the singer ceased there was a merry round of applause.

The ripple thus awakened had scarcely subsided, when the ancient
Lysander opened one of the doors, and, after ringing the tiled floor
with the butt of his javelin, and bowing statelywise, announced Sergius.
Taking a nod from the Princess, he withdrew to give the visitor place.

Sergius went first to Irene, and silently kissed her hand; then, leaving
her to resume work, he drew a chair to Lael's side.

Under his respectful manner there was an ease which only an assurance of
welcome could have brought him. This is not to be taken in the sense of
familiarity; if he ever indulged that vulgarism--something quite out of
character with him--it was not in his intercourse with the Princess. She
did not require formality; she simply received courtesy from everybody,
even the Emperor, as a natural tribute. At the same time, Sergius was
nearer in her regard than any other person, for special reasons.

We have seen the sympathetic understanding between the two in the matter
of religion. We have seen, also, why she viewed him as a protege. Never
had one presented himself to her so gentle and unconventional never one
knowing so little of the world. With life all before him, with its ways
to learn, she saw he required an adviser through a period of tutelage,
and assumed the relation partly through a sense of duty, partly from
reverent recollection of Father Hilarion. These were arguments sound in
themselves; but two others had recently offered.

In the first place she was aware of the love which had arisen between
the monk and Lael. She had not striven to spy it out. Like children,
they had affected no disguise of their feeling; and while disallowing
the passion a place in her own breast, she did not deprecate or seek to
smother it in others. Far from that, in these, her wards, so to speak,
it was with her an affair of permissive interest. They were so lovable,
it seemed an order of nature they should love each other.

Next, the world was dealing harshly with Sergius; and though he strove
manfully to hide the fact, she saw he was suffering. He deserved well,
she thought, for his rescue of Lael, and for the opportunity given the
Emperor to break up the impiety founded by Demedes. Unhappily her
opinion was not subscribed in certain quarters. The powerful Brotherhood
of the St. James' amongst others was in an extreme state of exasperation
with him. They insisted he could have achieved the rescue without the
death of the Greek. They went so far as to accuse him of a double
murder--of the son first, then of the father. A terrible indictment! And
they were bold and open-mouthed. Out of respect for the Emperor, who was
equally outspoken in commendation of Sergius, they had not proceeded to
the point of expulsion. The young man was still of the Brotherhood;
nevertheless he did not venture to exercise any of the privileges of a
member. His cell was vacant. The five services of the day were held in
the chapel without him. In short, the Brotherhood were in wait for an
opportunity to visit him with their vengeance. In hope of a favorable
turn in the situation, he wore the habit of the Order, but it was his
only outward sign of fraternity. Without employment, miserable, he found
lodgment in the residence of the Patriarch, and what time he was not
studying, he haunted the old churches of the city, Sancta Sophia in
especial, and spent many hours a dreaming voyager on the Bosphorus.

The glad look which shone in the eyes of the invalid when Sergius took
seat by her was very noticeable; and when she reached him her hand, the
kiss he left upon it was of itself a declaration of tender feeling.

"I hope my little friend is better, to-day," he said, gravely.

"Yes, much better. The Princess says I may go out soon--the first real
spring day."

"That is good news. I wish I could hurry the spring. I have everything
ready to take you on the water--a perfect boat, and two master rowers.
Yesterday they carried me to the Black Sea and back, stopping for a
lunch of bread and figs at the foot of the Giants' Mountain. They boast
they can repeat the trip often as there are days in the week."

"Did you stop at the White Castle?" she asked, with a smile.

"No. Our noble Princess was not with me; and in her absence, I feared
the Governor might forget to be polite as formerly."

The gracious lady, listening, bent lower over the frame before her. She
knew so much more of the Governor than Lael did! But Lael then inquired:

"Where have you been to-day?"

"Well, my little friend, let me see if I can interest you.... This
morning I awoke betimes, and set myself to study. Oh, those chapters of
John--the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth. There is no need of
religious knowledge beyond them. Of the many things they make clear,
this is the clearest--the joys of eternal life lie in the saying of the
Lord, 'I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life; no man cometh unto the
Father but by Me.' ... After my hours of study, I went to see an old
church over in the low garden grounds beyond the aqueduct. Before I
could get through the doorway, a flock of goats had to pass out. I will
tell His Serenity what I beheld. Better the wreck be cleaned from the
face of the earth than desecrated. Holy ground once, holy ground
forever."

"Where is the Church?" the Princess inquired.

"In the low grounds between the aqueduct, and the gates of St. Romain
and Adrianople."

"It belongs to one of the Brotherhoods. They have farming right in the
soil."

"I am sorry to hear it."

As she turned to her work again, he went on with his account of himself.

"I had then two hours and more till noon, and was at loss what to do.
Finally I decided to go to the Port of Blacherne--a long walk, but not
too long, considering my motive.... Princess, have you heard of the
Italian newly arrived?"

"What of him, pray?"

"He is the talk of the city, and if the half told of him be true, we
must needs wonder. He travels in his own ship. Merchants have that
habit, but he is not a merchant. Kings do so, but he is not a king. He
came in saluting with a gun, in style becoming a great admiral; but if
he is an admiral, his nationality is a secret. He also flies an unknown
flag. They report him further as standing much on his deck in a suit of
armor glistening like silver. And what is he? Mouth speaketh unto mouth,
with no one to answer. They go then to his ship, pronouncing it the most
perfect thing of the kind ever seen in the harbor. Those who have rowed
around it say the sailors are not white men, but dark-faced creatures in
turbans and black beards, un-Christian and ugly-looking. Fishermen and
fruiterers have been permitted on deck--nobody else--and they, returning
alive, say the rowers, of whom they caught glimpses, are blacker than
the sailors. They also overheard strange noises below--voices not
human."

The countenance of the Princess during this recital gradually changed;
she seemed disposed to laugh at the exaggerations of the populace.

"So much for town-talk," Sergius continued. "To get sight of the ship,
and of the mysterious magnate, I walked across the city to the Port of
Blacherne, and was well rewarded. I found the ship drawn in to the quay,
and the work of unloading her in progress. Parties of porters were
attacking heaps of the cargo already on the landing. Where they were
taking the goods I could not learn. I saw five horses lifted out of the
hold, and led ashore over a bridge dropped from the vessel's side. Such
horses I never before beheld. Two were grays, two bays, and one
chestnut-colored. They looked at the sun with wide-open unwinking eyes;
they inhaled the air as it were something to drink; their coats shone
like silk; their manes were soft like the hair of children; their tails
flared out in the breeze like flags; and everybody exclaimed: 'Arabs,
Arabs!' There was a groom for each horse--tall men, lean, dust-hued,
turbaned, and in black gowns. At sight of the animals, an old Persian
who, from his appearance, might have been grandfather of the grooms,
begged permission--I could not understand the tongue he used--put his
arms around the necks of the animals, and kissed them between the eyes,
his own full of tears the while. I suppose they reminded him of his own
country.... Then two officers from the palace, representatives
doubtless of the Emperor, rode out of the gate in armor, and immediately
the stranger issued from his cabin, and came ashore. I confess I lost
interest in the horses, although he went to them and scanned them over,
lifting their feet and tapping their hoofs with the handle of a dagger.
By that time the two officers were dismounted; and approaching with
great ceremony, they notified him they had been sent by His Majesty to
receive and conduct him to assigned quarters. He replied to them in
excellent Greek, acknowledging His Majesty's graciousness, and the
pleasure he would have in their escort. From the cabin, two of his men
brought a complete equipment, and placed it on the chestnut steed. The
furniture was all sheen of satin and gold. Another attendant brought his
sword and shield; and after the sword was buckled around him, and the
shield at his back, he took hold of the saddle with both hands, and
swung himself into the seat with an ease remarkably in contrast with the
action of his Greek conductors, who, in mounting, were compelled to make
use of their stirrups. The cavalcade then passed the gate into the
city."

"You saw him closely?" Lael asked.

"To get to his horse, he passed near me as I am to you, my little
friend."

"What did he wear?"

"Oh, he was in armor. A cap of blue steel, with a silver spike on the
crown--neck and shoulders covered with a hood of mail--body in a shirt
of mail, a bead of silver in each link--limbs to the knees in mail. From
the knees down there were splints of steel inlaid with silver; his shoes
were of steel, and on the heels long golden spurs. The hood was clasped
under the chin, leaving the face exposed--a handsome face, eyes black
and bright, complexion olive, though slightly bloodless, expression
pleasant."

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-six or seven. Altogether he reminded me of what I have heard of
the warriors who used to go crusading."

"What following had he?"

This was from the Princess.

"I can only speak of what I saw--of the keepers of the horses, and of
the other men, whom, in my unfamiliarity with military fashions, I will
call equerry, armorer, and squire or page. What accounting is to be made
of the ship's company, I leave, O Princess, to your better knowledge."

"My inquiry was of his personal suite."

"Then I cannot give you a better answer; but if I may say so much, the
most unusual thing observable in his followers was, they were all
Orientals--not one of them had a Christian appearance."

"Well"--and the Princess laid her needle down for the first time--"I see
how easily a misunderstanding of the stranger may get abroad. Let me
tell what I know of him.... Directly he arrived, he despatched a letter
to His Majesty, giving an account of himself. He is a soldier by
profession, and a Christian; has spent much time in the Holy Land, where
he acquired several Eastern languages; obtained permission from the
Pontiff Nicholas to make war on the African pirates; manned his galley
with captives; and, not wishing to return to his native land and engage
in the baronial wars which prevail there at present, he offered his
services to His Majesty. He is an Italian nobleman, entitled _Count
Corti,_ and submitted to His Majesty a certificate, under the hand
and seal of the Holy Father, showing that the Holy Father knighted him,
and authorized his crusade against the infidels. The preference for a
following composed of Orientals is singular; but after all, it is only a
matter of taste. The day may come, dear Sergius, when the Christian
world will disapprove his method of getting title to servants; but it is
not here now.... If further discussion of the Count takes place in your
presence, you are at liberty to tell what I tell you. At Blacherne
yesterday I had the particulars, together with the other circumstance,
that the Emperor gladly accepted the Italian's overture, and assigned
him quarters in the Palace of Julian, with leave to moor his galley in
the port there. Few noble foreigners have sought our Empire bringing
better recommendations."

The fair lady then took up her needle, and was resuming work, when
Lysander entered, and, after thumping the floor, announced: "Three
o'clock."

The Princess silently arose, and passed out of the room; at the same
time there was a commotion behind the curtain, and presently the other
apartment was vacated. Sergius lingered a moment.

"Tell me now of yourself," Lael said, giving him her hand.

He kissed the hand fondly, and replied: "The clouds still hang low and
dark over me; but my faith is not shaken; they will blow away; and in
the meantime, dear little friend, the world is not all cheerless--you
love me."

"Yes, I love you," she said, with childish simplicity.

"The Brotherhood has elected a new Hegumen," he continued.

"A good man, I hope."

"The violence with which he denounced me was the chief argument in his
favor. But God is good. The Emperor, the Patriarch, and the Princess
Irene remain steadfast. Against them the Hegumen will be slow in
proceeding to my expulsion. I am not afraid. I will go on doing what I
think right. Time and patience are good angels to the unjustly accused.
But that any one should hold it a crime to have rescued you--O little
friend, dear soul! See the live coal which does not cease burning!"

"And Nilo?"

"He wants nothing in the way of comforts."

"I will go see the poor man the first thing when I get out."

"His cell in the Cynegion is well furnished. The officer in charge has
orders direct from the Emperor to see that he suffers no harm. I saw him
day before yesterday. He does not know why he is a prisoner, but behaves
quietly. I took him a supply of tools, and he passes the time making
things in use in his country, mostly implements of war and hunting. The
walls of his cell are hung with bows, arrows and lances of such curious
form that there is always quite a throng to see them. He actually
divides honor with Tamerlane, the king of the lions."

"It should be a very noble lion, for that."

Sergius, seeing her humor, went on: "You say truly, little friend. He
has in hand a net of strong thread and thousands of meshes already.
'What is it for?' I asked. In his pantomimic way he gave me to
understand: 'In my country we hunt lions with it.' 'How?' said I. And he
showed me two balls of lead, one in each corner of the net. Taking the
balls in his hands: 'Now we are in front of the game--now it springs at
us--up they go this way.' He gave the balls a peculiar toss which sent
them up and forward on separating lines. The woven threads spread out in
the air like a yellow mist, and I could see the result--the brute caught
in the meshes, and entangled. Then the brave fellow proceeded with his
pantomime. He threw himself to one side out of the way of the leap--drew
a sword, and stabbed and stabbed--and the triumph in his face told me
plainly enough. 'There--he is dead!' Just now he is engaged on another
work scarcely less interesting to him. A dealer in ivory sent him an
elephant's tusk, and he is covering it with the story of a campaign. You
see the warriors setting out on the march--in another picture they are
in battle--a cloud of arrows in flight--shields on arm--bows bent--and a
forest of spears. From the large end he is working down toward the
point. The finish will be a victory, and a return with captives and
plunder immeasurable.... He is well cared for; yet he keeps asking me
about his master the Prince of India. Where is he? When will he come?
When he turns to that subject I do not need words from him. His soul
gets into his eyes. I tell him the Prince is dead. He shakes his head:
'No, no!' and sweeping a circle in the air, he brings his hands to his
breast, as to say: 'No, he is travelling--he will come back for me.'"

Sergius had become so intent upon the description that he lost sight of
his hearer; but now a sob recalled him. Bending lower over the hand, he
caressed it more assiduously than ever, afraid to look into her face.
When at length the sobbing ceased, he arose and said, shamefacedly:

"O dear little friend, you forgive me, do you not?"

From his manner one would have thought he had committed an offence far
out of the pale of condonement.

"Poor Sergius," she said. "It is for me to think of you, not you of me."
He tried to look cheerful.

"It was stupid in me. I will be more careful. Your pardon is a sweet
gift to take away.... The Princess is going to Sancta Sophia, and she
may want me. To-morrow--until to-morrow--good-by."

This time he stooped, and kissed her on the forehead; next moment she
was alone.




CHAPTER VI

COUNT CORTI IN SANCTA SOPHIA


The Palace of Julian arose the chief embellishment of a large square
enclosure on the sea front southeast of the landmark at present called
the Burnt Column, and, like other imperial properties of the kind, it
was an aggregation of buildings irregular in form and style, and more or
less ornate and imposing. A garden stretched around it. The founder,
wanting private harborage for his galleys and swarm of lesser boats, dug
a basin just inside the city wall, and flooded it with pure Marmoran
water; then, for ingress and egress at his sovereign will, he slashed
the wall, and of the breach made the _Port of Julian_. [Footnote:
Only a shallow depression in the ground, faintly perpetuating the
outlines of the harbor, now marks the site of this royal residence.]

Count Corti found the Palace well preserved in and out. He had not
purposed hiding himself, yet it was desirable to keep his followers
apart much as possible; and for that a situation more to his wish could
scarcely have been chosen in the capital.

Issuing from the front door, a minute's walk through a section of the
garden brought him to a stairway defended on both sides with massive
balustrading. The flight ended in a spacious paved landing; whence,
looking back and up, he could see two immense columnar pedestals
surmounted by statues, while forward extended the basin, a sheet of
water on which, white and light as a gull, his galley rested. He had but
to call the watchman on its deck, and a small boat would come to him in
a trice. He congratulated himself upon the lodgement.

The portion of the Palace assigned him was in the south end; and,
although he enlisted a number of skilful upholsterers, a week and more
was industriously taken with interior arrangements for himself, and in
providing for the comfort and well-being of his horses; for it is to be
said in passing, he had caught enough of the spirit of the nomadic Turk
to rate the courser which was to bear him possibly through foughten
fields amongst the first in his affections. In this preparation, keeping
the scheme to which his master had devoted him ever present, he required
no teaching to point out the policy of giving his establishment an air
of permanence as well as splendor.

Occupied as he was, he had nevertheless snatched time to look in upon
the Hippodrome, and walk once around the Bucoleon and Sancta Sophia.
From a high pavilion overhanging his quarters, he had surveyed the
stretches of city in the west and southwest, sensible of a lively desire
to become intimately acquainted with the bizarre panorama of hills
behind hills, so wonderfully house and church crowned.

To say truth, however, the Count was anxious to hear from the Sultan
before beginning a career. The man who was to be sent to him might
appear any hour, making it advisable to keep close home. He had a report
of the journey to Italy, and of succeeding events, including his arrival
at Constantinople, ready draughted, and was impatient to forward it. A
word of approval from Mahommed would be to him like a new spirit given.
He counted upon it as a cure for his melancholia.

Viewing the galley one day, he looked across the basin to where the
guard of the Port was being changed, and was struck with the foreign air
of the officer of the relief. This, it happened, was singularly pertinent
to a problem which had been disturbing his active mind--how he could most
safely keep in communication with Mahommed, or, more particularly, how
the Sultan's messenger could come with the most freedom and go with the
least hindrance. A solution now presented itself. If the Emperor
intrusted the guardianship of the gate to one foreigner, why not to
another? In other words, why not have the duty committed to himself and
his people? Not improbably the charge might be proposed to him; he would
wait awhile, and see; if, however, he had to formally request it, could
anything be more plausibly suggestive than the relation between the
captaincy of that Port and residence in the Palace of Julian? The idea
was too natural to be refused; if granted, he was master of the
situation. It would be like holding the keys of the city. He could send
out and admit as need demanded; and then, if flight became imperative,
behold a line of retreat! Here was his galley--yonder the way out.

While he pondered the matter, a servant brought him notice of an officer
from Blacherne in waiting. Responding immediately, he found our ancient
friend the Dean in the reception room, bringing the announcement that
His Majesty the Emperor had appointed audience for him next day at noon;
or, if the hour was not entirely convenient, would the Count be pleased
to designate another? His Majesty was aware of the attention needful to
a satisfactory settlement in strange quarters, and had not interrupted
him earlier; for which he prayed pardon.

The Count accepted the time set; after which he conducted his visitor
through his apartments, omitting none of them; from the kitchen he even
carried him to the stable, whence he had the horses brought one by one.
Hospitality and confidence could go no further, and he was amply
rewarded. The important functionary was pleased with all he saw, and
with nothing more than Corti himself. There could not be a doubt of the
friendliness of the report he would take back to Blacherne. In short,
the Count's training in a court dominated by suspicion to a greater
degree even than the court in Constantinople was drawn upon most
successfully. A glass of wine at parting redolent with the perfume of
the richest Italian vintage fixed the new-comer's standing in the Dean's
heart. If there had been the least insufficiency in the emblazoned
certificate of the Holy Father, here was a swift witness in
confirmation.

The day was destined to be eventful to the Count. While he was
entertaining the Dean, the men on the deck of the galley, unused to
Byzantine customs, were startled by a cry, long, swelling, then
mournfully decadent. Glancing in the direction from which it came, they
saw a black boat sweeping through the water-way of the Port. A man of
dubious complexion, tall and lithe, his scant garments originally white,
now stiff with dirt of many hues, a ragged red head-cloth illy confining
his coarse black hair, stood in the bow shouting, and holding up a
wooden tray covered with fish. The sentinel to whom he thus offered the
stock shook his head, but allowed him to pass. At the galley's side
there was an interchange of stares between the sailors and the
fishermen--such the tenants of the black craft were--leaving it doubtful
which side was most astonished. Straightway the fellow in the bow opened
conversation, trying several tongues, till finally he essayed the
Arabic.

"Who are you?"

"Sailors."

"Where from?"

"Tripoli."

"Children of the Prophet?"

"We believe in Allah and the Last Day, and observe prayer, and pay the
appointed alms, and dread none but Allah; we are among the rightly
guided." [Footnote: Koran, IX. 18.]

"Blessed be Allah! May his name be exalted here and everywhere!" the
fisherman returned; adding immediately: "Whom serve you?"

"A _Scherif_ from Italy."

"How is he called?"

"The Count."

"Where is he?"

"In the Palace yonder."

"A Christian?"

"A Christian with an Eastern tongue; and he knows the hours of prayer,
and observes them."

"Does he reside here?"

"He is Lord of the Palace."

"When did he arrive?"

"Since the moon fulled."

"Does he want fish?"

The men on the ship laughed.

"Go ask him."

"That is his landing there?"

"Yes."

"All men who live down by the sea eat fish--when they can get them," the
dealer said, solemnly. Turning then to his rowers, he bade them:
"Forward to the landing."

There he stepped out, dextrously balanced the tray on his head, ascended
the stairs, and in front of the great house went persistently from door
to door until he came to that of the Count.

"Fish?" he asked the man who answered his knock.

"I will see."

The doorkeeper returned shortly, and said, "No."

"Are you a Moslem?" the fisherman inquired.

"Yes. Blessed be Allah for the right understanding!"

"So am I. Now let me see the master. I want to furnish him with fish for
the season."

"He is engaged."

"I will wait for him. Tell him my catch is this morning's--red mullets
and choice cuts from a royal sword-fish that leaped ten feet in the air
with the spear in his back."

Thereupon he deposited the tray, and took seat by it, much as to say,
Time is of no consequence to me. Ere long the Count appeared with the
Dean. He glanced at the tray, then at the fisherman--to the latter he
gave a second look.

"What beautiful fish!" he said, to the Dean.

"Yes, yes--there are no fish pastures like those of our Bosphorus."

"How do you call this kind?"

"Mullets--red mullets. The old Romans used to fatten them in tanks."

"I thought I had seen their like on our Italian coasts. How do you
prepare them for the table?"

"We fry them, Count, in olive oil--pure oil."

All this time Corti was studying the fisherman.

"What meal, pray, will fashion allow them to me dished?" he went on.

"For breakfast especially; though when you come to dine with His Majesty
do not be surprised to see them early in course."

"Pardon the detention, my Lord--I will make trial of these in the
morning." Then to the fisherman the Count said, carelessly: "Keep thy
place until I return."

Corti saw the Dean out of the eastern gate of the enclosure, and
returned.

"What, still here!" he said, to the dealer. "Well, go with the
doorkeeper to the kitchen. The cook will take what he needs for
to-morrow." Speaking to the doorkeeper then: "Bring the man to me. I am
fond of fishing, and should like to talk with him about his methods.
Sometime he may be willing to take me with him."

By and by the monger was shown into the Count's room, where there was a
table, with books and writing material--a corner room full lighted by
windows in the south and east. When they were alone, the two gazed at
each other.

"Ali, son of Abed-din!" said the Count. "Is it thou?"

"O Emir! All of me that is not fish is the Ali thou hast named."

"God is great!" the first exclaimed.

"Blessed be God!" the other answered.

They were acquaintances of long standing.

Then Ali took the red rag from his head, and from its folds produced a
strip of fine parchment with writing on it impervious to water. "Behold,
Emir! It is for thee."

The Count received the scrip and read:

"This is he I promised to send. He has money for thee. Thou mayst trust
him. Tell me this time of thyself first; then of her; but always after
of her first. My soul is scorching with impatience."

There was no date to the screed nor was it signed; yet the Count put it
to his forehead and lips. He knew the writing as he knew his own hand.

"O Ali!" he said, his eyes aglow. "Hereafter thou shalt be Ali the
Faithful, son of Abed-din the Faithful."

Ali replied with a rueful look: "It is well. What a time I have had
waiting for you! Much I fear my bones will never void the damps blown
into them by the winter winds, and I perched on the cross-sticks of a
floating _dallyan_.... I have money for you, O Emir! and the keeping it
has given me care more than enough to turn another man older than his
mother. I will bring it to-morrow; after which I shall say twenty prayers
to the Prophet--blessed be his name!--where now I say one."

"No, not to-morrow, Ali, but the day after when thou bringest me another
supply of fish. There is danger in coming too often--and for that, thou
must go now. Staying too long is dangerous as coming too often.... But
tell me of our master. Is he indeed the Sultan of Sultans he promised to
be? Is he well? Where is he? What is he doing?"

"Not so fast, O Emir, not so fast, I pray you! Better a double mouthful
of stale porpoise fat, with a fin bone in it, than so many questions at
once."

"Oh, but I have been so long in the slow-moving Christian world without
news!"

"Verily, O Emir, Padishah Mahommed will be greatest of the _Gabour_
eaters since Padishah Othman--that to your first. He is well. His bones
have reached their utmost limit, but his soul keeps growing--that to
your second. He holds himself at Adrianople. Men say he is building
mosques. I say he is building cannon to shoot bullets big as his
father's tomb; when they are fired, the faithful at Medina will hear the
noise, and think it thunder--that to your third. And as to his doing--
getting ready for war, meaning business for everybody, from the
Shiek-ul-Islam to the thieving tax-farmers of Bagdad--to the Kislar-Jinn
of Abad-on with them. He has the census finished, and now the Pachas go
listing the able-bodied, of whom they have half a million, with as many
more behind. They say the young master means to make a _sandjak_ of
unbelieving Europe."

"Enough, Ali!--the rest next time."

The Count went to the table, and from a secret drawer brought a package
wrapped in leather, and sealed carefully.

"This for our Lord--exalted be his name! How wilt thou take it?"

Ali laughed.

"In my tray to the boat, but the fish are fresh, and there are flowers
of worse odor in Cashmere. So, O Emir, for this once. Next time, and
thereafter, I will have a hiding-place ready."

"Now, Ali, farewell. Thy name shall be sweet in our master's ears as a
girl-song to the moon of Ramazan. I will see to it."

Ali took the package, and hid it in the bosom of his dirty shirt. When
he passed out of the front door, it lay undistinguishable under the fish
and fish meat; and he whispered to the Count in going: "I have an order
from the Governor of the White Castle for my unsold stock. God is
great!"

Corti, left alone, flung himself on a chair. He had word from Mahommed--
that upon which he counted so certainly as a charm in counteraction of
the depression taking possession of his spirit. There it was in his hand,
a declaration of confidence unheard of in an Oriental despot. Yet the
effect was wanting. Even as he sat thinking the despondency deepened. He
groped for the reason in vain. He strove for cheer in the big war of
which Ali had spoken--in the roar of cannon, like thunder in Medina--in
Europe a Sultanic _sandjak_. He could only smile at the exaggeration. In
fact, his trouble was the one common to every fine nature in a false
position. His business was to deceive and betray--whom? The degradation
was casting its shadow before. Heaven help when the eclipse should be
full!

For relief he read the screed again: "Tell me this time of thyself
first; then of _her_." ... Ah, yes, the kinswoman of the Emperor!
He must devise a way to her acquaintance, and speedily. And casting
about for it, he became restless, and finally resolved to go out into
the city. He sent for the chestnut Arab, and putting on the steel cap
and golden spurs had from the Holy Father was soon in the saddle.

It was about three o'clock afternoon, with a wind tempered to mildness
by a bright sun. The streets were thronged, while the balconies and
overhanging windows had their groups on the lookout for entertainment
and gossip. As may be fancied the knightly rider and gallant barb,
followed by a dark-skinned, turbaned servant in Moorish costume,
attracted attention. Neither master nor man appeared to give heed to the
eager looks and sometimes over-loud questions with which they were
pursued.

Turning northward presently, the Count caught sight of the dome of
Sancta Sophia. It seemed to him a vast, upturned silver bowl glistening
in the sky, and he drew rein involuntarily, wondering how it could be
upheld; then he was taken with a wish to go in, and study the problem.
Having heard from Mahommed, he was lord of his time, and here was noble
diversion.

In front of the venerable edifice, he gave his horse to the dark-faced
servant, and entered the outer court unattended.

A company, mixed apparently of every variety of persons, soldiers,
civilians, monks, and women, held the pavement in scattered groups; and
while he halted a moment to survey the exterior of the building, cold
and grimly plain from cornice to base, he became himself an object of
remark to them. About the same time a train of monastics, bareheaded,
and in long gray gowns, turned in from the street, chanting monotonously,
and in most intensely nasal tones. The Count, attracted by their pale
faces, hollow eyes and unkept beards, waited for them to cross the court.
Unkept their beards certainly were, but not white. This was the beginning
of the observation he afterward despatched to Mahommed: Only the walls of
Byzantium remain for her defence; the Church has absorbed her young men;
the sword is discarded for the rosary. Nor could he help remarking that
whereas the _frati_ of Italy were fat, rubicund, and jolly, these seemed
in search of death through the severest penitential methods. His thought
recurring to the house again, he remembered having heard how every hour
of every day from five o'clock in the morning to midnight was filled with
religious service of some kind in Sancta Sophia.

A few stone steps the full length of the court led up to five great
doors of bronze standing wide open; and as the train took one of the
latter and began to disappear, he chose another, and walked fast in
order to witness the entry. Brought thus into the immense vestibule, he
stopped, and at once forgot the gray brethren. Look where he might, at
the walls, and now up to the ceiling, every inch of space wore the
mellowed brightness of mosaic wrought in cubes of glass exquisitely
graduated in color. What could he do but stand and gaze at the Christ in
the act of judging the world? Such a cartoon had never entered his
imagination. The train was gone when he awoke ready to proceed.

There were then nine doors also of bronze conducting from the vestibule.
The central and larger one was nearest him. Pushed lightly, it swung
open on noiseless hinges; a step or two, and he stood in the nave or
auditorium of the Holy House.

The reader will doubtless remember how Duke Vlodomir, the grandson of
Olga, the Russian, coming to Constantinople to receive a bride, entered
Sancta Sophia the first time, and from being transfixed by what he saw
and heard, fell down a convert to Christianity. Not unlike was the
effect upon Corti. In a sense he, too, was an unbeliever semi-barbaric
in education. Many were the hours he had spent with Mahommed while the
latter, indulging his taste, built palaces and mosques on paper,
striving for vastness and original splendor. But what was the Prince's
utmost achievement in comparison with this interior? Had it been an
ocean grotto, another Caprian cave, bursting with all imaginable
revelations of light and color, he could not have been more deeply
impressed. Without architectural knowledge; acquainted with few of the
devices employed in edificial construction, and still less with the
mysterious power of combination peculiar to genius groping for effects
in form, dimensions, and arrangement of stone on stone with beautiful
and sublime intent; yet he had a soul to be intensely moved by such
effects when actually set before his eyes. He walked forward slowly four
or five steps from the door, looking with excited vision--not at details
or to detect the composition of any of the world of objects constituting
the view, or with a thought of height, breadth, depth, or value--the
marbles of the floor rich in multiformity and hues, and reflective as
motionless water, the historic pillars, the varied arches, the extending
galleries, the cornices, friezes, balustrades, crosses of gold, mosaics,
the windows and interlacing rays of light, brilliance here, shadows
yonder--the apse in the east, and the altar built up in it starry with
burning candles and glittering with prismatic gleams shot from precious
stones and metals in every conceivable form of grace--lamps, cups,
vases, candlesticks, cloths, banners, crucifixes, canopies, chairs,
Madonnas, Child Christs and Christs Crucified--and over all, over lesser
domes, over arches apparently swinging in the air, broad, high, near yet
far away, the dome of Sancta Sophia, defiant of imitation, like unto
itself alone, a younger sky within the elder--these, while he took those
few steps, merged and ran together in a unity which set his senses to
reeling, and made question and thought alike impossible.

How long the Count stood thus lost to himself in the glory and greatness
of the place, he never knew. The awakening was brought about by a strain
of choral music, which, pouring from the vicinity of the altar
somewhere, flooded the nave, vast as it was, from floor to dome. No
voice more fitting could be imagined; and it seemed addressing itself to
him especially. He trembled, and began to think.

First there came to him a comparison in which the Kaaba was a relative.
He recalled the day he fell dying at the corner under the Black Stone.
He saw the draped heap funereally dismal in the midst of the cloisters.
How bare and poor it seemed to him now! He remembered the visages and
howling of the demoniac wretches struggling to kiss the stone, though
with his own kiss he had just planted it with death. How different the
worship here! ... This, he thought next, was his mother's religion. And
what more natural than that he should see that mother descending to the
chapel in her widow's weeds to pray for him? Tears filled his eyes. His
heart arose chokingly in his throat. Why should not her religion be his?
It was the first time he had put the question to himself directly; and
he went further with it. What though Allah of the Islamite and Jehovah
of the Hebrew were the same?--What though the Koran and the Bible
proceeded from the same inspiration?--What though Mahomet and Christ
were alike Sons of God? There were differences in the worship,
differences in the personality of the worshippers. Why, except to allow
every man a choice according to his ideas of the proper and best in form
and companionship? And the spirit swelled within him as he asked, Who
are my brethren? They who stole me from my father's house, who slew my
father, who robbed my mother of the lights of life, and left her to the
darkness of mourning and the bitterness of ungratified hope--were not
they the brethren of my brethren?

At that moment an old man appeared before the altar with assistants in
rich canonicals. One placed on the elder's head what seemed a crown all
a mass of flaming jewels; another laid upon him a cloak of cloth of
gold; a third slipped a ring over one of his fingers; whereupon the
venerable celebrant drew nearer the altar, and, after a prayer, took up
a chalice and raised it as if in honor to an image of Christ on a cross
in the agonies of crucifixion. Then suddenly the choir poured its
triumphal thunder abroad until the floor, and galleries, and pendant
lamps seemed to vibrate. The assistants and worshippers sank upon their
knees, and ere he was aware the Count was in the same attitude of
devotion.

The posture consisted perfectly with policy, his mission considered.
Soon or late he would have to adopt every form and observance of
Christian worship. In this performance, however, there was no
premeditation, no calculation. In his exaltation of soul he fancied he
heard a voice passing with the tempestuous jubilation of the singers:
"On thy knees, O apostate! On thy knees! God is here!"

But his was a combative nature; and coming to himself, and not
understanding clearly the cause of his prostration, he presently arose.
Of the worshippers in sight, he alone was then standing, and the
sonorous music ringing on, he was beginning to doubt the propriety of
his action, when a number of women, unobserved before, issued from a
shaded corner at the right of the apse, fell into processional order,
and advanced slowly toward him.

One moved by herself in front. A reflection of her form upon the
polished floor lent uncertainty to her stature, and gave her an
appearance of walking on water. Those following were plainly her
attendants. They were all veiled; while a white mantle fell from her
left shoulder, its ends lost in the folds of the train of her gown,
leaving the head, face, and neck bare. Her manner, noticeable in the
distance even, was dignified without hauteur, simple, serious, free of
affectation. She was not thinking of herself.... Nearer--he heard no
foot-fall. Now and then she glided through slanting rays of soft, white
light cast from upper windows, and they seemed to derive ethereality
from her.... Nearer--and he could see the marvellous pose of the head,
and the action of the figure, never incarnation more graceful.... Yet
nearer--he beheld her face, in complexion a child's, in expression a
woman's. The eyes were downcast, the lips moved. She might have been the
theme of the music sweeping around her in acclamatory waves, drowning
the part she was carrying in suppressed murmur. He gazed steadfastly at
the countenance. The light upon the forehead was an increasing radiance,
like a star's refined by passage through the atmospheres of infinite
space. A man insensitive to beauty in woman never was, never will be.
Vows cannot alter nature; neither can monkish garbs nor years; and it is
knowledge of this which makes every woman willing to last sacrifices for
the gift; it is power to her, vulgarizing accessories like wealth,
coronets and thrones. With this confession in mind, words are not needed
to inform the reader of the thrills which assailed the Count while the
marvel approached.

The service was over as to her, and she was evidently seeking to retire
by the main door; but as he stood in front of it, she came within two or
three steps before noticing him. Then she stopped suddenly, astonished
by the figure in shining armor. A flush overspread her face; smiling at
her alarm, she spoke: "I pray pardon, Sir Knight, for disturbing thy
devotions."

"And I, fair lady, am grateful to Heaven that it placed me in thy way to
the door unintentionally."

He stepped aside, and she passed on and out.

The interior of the church, but a minute before so overwhelmingly
magnificent and impressive, became commonplace and dull. The singing
rolled on unheard. His eyes fixed on the door through which she went;
his sensations were as if awakening from a dream in which he had seen a
heavenly visitant, and been permitted to speak to it.

The spell ceased with the music; then, with swift returning sense, he
remembered Mahommed's saying: "Thou wilt know her at sight."

And he knew her--the _Her_ of the screed brought only that day by
Ali.

Nor less distinctly did he recall every incident of the parting with
Mahommed, every word, every injunction--the return of the ruby ring,
even then doubtless upon the imperious master's third finger, a subject
of hourly study--the further speech, "They say whoever looketh at her is
thenceforward her lover"--and the final charge, with its particulars,
concluding: "Forget not that in Constantinople, when I come, I am to
receive her from thy hand peerless in all things as I left her."

His shoes of steel were strangely heavy when he regained his horse at
the edge of the court. For the first time in years, he climbed into the
saddle using the stirrup like a man reft of youth. He would love the
woman--he could not help it. Did not every man love her at sight?

The idea colored everything as he rode slowly back to his quarters.

Dismounting at the door, it plied him with the repetition, _Every man
loves her at sight_.

He thought of training himself to hate her, but none the less through
the hours of the night he heard the refrain, _Every man loves her at
sight_.

In a clearer condition, his very inability to shut her out of mind,
despite his thousand efforts of will, would have taught him that another
judgment was upon him.

HE LOVED HER.





CHAPTER VII

COUNT CORTI TO MAHOMMED


At noon the days are a little more yellow, and the shadows a trifle
longer, while at evening the snows on the far mountains give the air a
coolness gently admonitory of the changing season; with these exceptions
there is scarcely a difference between the September to which we now
come and the closing stages of June.

Count Corti is fully settled in his position. Withal, however, he is
very miserable. A new light has been let in upon his being. He finds it
a severe trial to serve a Mahommedan, knowing himself a Christian born,
and still more difficult trying to be a Turk, knowing himself an
Italian. The stings grow sharper as experience makes it plainer that he
is nefariously helping those whom he ought to regard enemies destroy an
Emperor and people who never gave him offence. Worst of all, most
crushing to spirit, is his passion for the Princess Irene while under
obligations to Mahommed prohibitory of every hope, dream, and
self-promise ordinarily the sweetest incidents of love.

The person with a mental ailment curable by prompt decision, who yet
goes about debating what to do, will ere long find his will power so
weakened as to leave him a confirmed wreck. Count Corti seemed likely to
become an instance in point. The months since his visit to the paternal
castle in Italy, really the beginning of the conflicts tossing him now
here, now there, were full of warnings he could but hear; still he
continued his course.

His reports to Mahommed were frequent, and as they are of importance to
our story, we think it advisable to quote from some of them.

The following is from his first communication after the visit to Sancta
Sophia:

"I cast myself at your feet, O my Lord, praying Allah to keep you in
health, and strengthen the wise designs which occupy you incessantly....
You bade me always speak first of the kinswoman of the Emperor. Yesterday
I rode to the Church supreme in the veneration of the Greeks, erected, it
is said, by the Emperor Justinian. Its vastness amazed me, and, knowing
my Lord's love for such creations, I declare, were there no other
incentive to the conquest of this unbelieving city than the reduction of
Sancta Sophia to the religious usages of Islam, its possession would
alone justify my Lord's best effort, regardless of life and treasure. The
riches accumulated in it through the ages are incalculable; nevertheless
its splendors, dazzling as the sun, varied as a rainbow, sunk out of
sight when the Princess Irene passed me so near that I had a perfect view
of her. Her face is composed of the light of unnumbered stars. The union
of all the graces in her person is so far above words that Hafiz, my
Lord's prince of poets, would have been dumb before her, or, if he had
spoken, it would have been to say, She is the Song of Songs impossible to
verse. She spoke to me as she moved by, and her voice was the voice of
Love. Yet she had the dignity of a Queen governing the world through a
conqueror such as my Lord is to be. Then, the door having closed upon
her, I was ready to declare, as I now do, were there no other incentive
to the conquest of this unbelieving city than the possession of the
womanly perfections belonging to her, she would justify war to the
exhaustion of the universe. O my Lord, thou only art worthy of her! And
how infinite will be my happiness, if the Prophet through his powerful
intercessions with the Most Merciful, permits me to be the servant
instrumental in bringing her safely to thy arms!" This report concluded:

"By appointment of His Majesty, the Emperor, I had audience with him
yesterday at his High Residence, the Palace of Blacherne. The Court was
in full attendance, and, after my presentation to His Majesty, I was
introduced to its members. The ceremony was in charge of the Grand
Chamberlain, that Phranza with whom my Lord is acquainted. Much I feared
lest he should recognize me. Fortunately he is dull and philosophical,
and too much given to study of things abstract and far away to be
mindful of those close under his nose. Duke Notaras was there also. He
conversed with me about Italy. Fortunately I knew more about the
_Gabour_ country than he--its nobles, cities, manners, and present
conditions. He thanked me for information, and when he had my account of
the affair which brought me the invaluable certificate of the Bishop of
Rome he gave over sounding me. I have more reason to be watchful of him
than all the rest of the court; _so has the Emperor_. Phranza is a
man to be spared. Notaras is a man to be bowstrung.... I flatter myself
the Emperor is my friend. In another month I shall be intrenched in his
confidence. He is brave, but weak. An excellent general without
lieutenants, without soldiers, and too generous and trustful for a
politician, too religious for a statesman. His time is occupied entirely
with priests and priestly ceremonies. My Lord will appreciate the resort
which enabled me to encamp myself in his trust. Of the five Arab horses
I brought with me from Aleppo, I gave him one--a gray, superior to the
best he has in his stables. He and his courtiers descended in a body to
look at the barb and admire it."

From the third report:

"A dinner at the High Residence. There were present officers of the army
and navy, members of the Court, the Patriarch, a number of the
Clergy--Hegumen, as they are called--and the Princess Irene, with a
large suite of highborn ladies married and unmarried. His Majesty was
the Sun of the occasion, the Princess was the Moon. He sat on a raised
seat at one side of the table; she opposite him; the company according
to rank, on their right and left. I had eyes for the Moon only, thinking
how soon my Lord would be her source of light, and that her loveliness,
made up of every loveliness else in the world, would then be the fitting
complement of my Lord's glory.... His Majesty did me the honor to lead
me to her, and she did me the higher honor of permitting me to kiss her
hand. In further thought of what she was to my Lord, I was about making
her a salaam, but remembered myself--Italians are not given to that mode
of salutation, while the Greeks reserve it for the Emperor, or Basileus
as he is sometimes called.... She condescended to talk with me. Her
graces of mind are like those of her person--adorable.... I was very
deferent, and yielded the choice of topics. She chose two--religion and
arms. Had she been a man, she would have been a soldier; being a woman,
she is a religious devotee. There is nothing of which she is more
desirous than the restoration of the Holy Sepulchre to the Christian
powers. She asked me if it were true the Holy Father commissioned me to
make war on the Tripolitan pirates, and when I said yes, she replied
with a fervor truly engaging: 'The practice of arms would be the noblest
of occupations if it were given solely to crusading.' ... She then
adverted to the Holy Father. I infer from her speaking of the Bishop of
Rome as the Holy Father that she inclines to the party which believes
the Bishop rightfully the head of the Church. How did he look? Was he a
learned man? Did he set a becoming example to his Clergy? Was he liberal
and tolerant? If great calamity were to threaten Christianity in the
East, would he lend it material help?... My Lord will have a time
winning the Princess over to the Right Understanding; but in the fields
of Love who ever repented him of his labor? When my Lord was a boy, he
once amused himself training a raven and a bird of paradise to talk. The
raven at length came to say, 'O Allah, Allah!' The other bird was beyond
teaching, yet my Lord loved it the best, and excused his partiality:
'Oh, its feathers are so brilliant!'"

Again:

"A few days ago, I rode out of the Golden Gate, and turning to the
right, pursued along the great moat to the Gate St. Romain. The wall, or
rather the walls, of the city were on my right hand, and it is an
imposing work. The moat is in places so cumbered I doubt if it can be
everywhere flooded.... I bought some snow-water of a peddler, and
examined the Gate in and out. Its central position makes it a key of
first importance. Thence I journeyed on surveying the road and adjacent
country up far as the Adrianople gate.... I hope my Lord will find the
enclosed map of my reconnoissance satisfactory. It is at least
reliable."

Again:

"His Majesty indulged us with a hawking party. We rode to the Belgrade
forest from which Constantinople is chiefly though not entirely supplied
with water.... My Lord's Flower of Flowers, the Princess, was of the
company. I offered her my chestnut courser, but she preferred a jennet.
Remembering your instructions, O my Lord, I kept close to her bridle.
She rides wonderfully well; yet if she had fallen, how many prayers to
the Prophet, what amount of alms to the poor, would have availed me with
my Lord?... Riding is a lost art with the Greeks, if the ever possessed
it. The falcon killed a heron beyond a hill which none of them, except
the Emperor, dared cross in their saddles. Some day I will show them how
we of my Lord's loving ride.... The Princess came safely home."

Again:

"O my Lord in duty always!... I paid the usual daily visit to the
Princess, and kissed her hand upon my admission and departing. She has
this quality above other women--she is always the same. The planets
differ from her in that they are sometimes overcast by clouds.... From
her house, I rode to the imperial arsenal, situated in the ground story
of the Hippodrome, northern side. [Footnote: Professor E A Grosvenor.] It
is well stored with implements of offence and defence--mangonels,
balistas, arbalists, rams--cranes for repairing breaches--lances,
javelins, swords, axes, shields, scutums, pavises, armor--timber for
ships--cressets for night work--ironmonger machines--arquebuses, but of
antique patterns--quarrels and arrows in countless sheaves--bows of
every style. In brief, as my Lord's soul is dauntless, as he is an
eagle, which does not abandon the firmament scared by the gleam of a
huntsman's helmet in the valley, he can bear to hear that the Emperor
keeps prepared for the emergencies of war. Indeed, were His Majesty as
watchful in other respects, he would be dangerous. Who are to serve all
these stores? His native soldiers are not enough to make a bodyguard for
my Lord. Only the walls of Byzantium remain for her defence. The Church
has swallowed the young men; the sword is discarded for the rosary.
Unless the warriors of the West succor her, she will be an easy prey."

Again:

"My Lord enjoined me to be royal.... I have just returned from a sail up
the Bosphorus to the Black Sea in my galley. The decks were crowded with
guests. Under a silken pavilion pitched on the roof of my cabin, there
was a throne for the Princess Irene, and she shone as the central jewel
in a kingly crown.... We cast anchor in the bay of Therapia, and went
ashore to her palace and gardens. On the outside face of one of the
gate-columns, she showed me a brass plate. I recognized my Lord's
signature and safeguard, and came near saluting them with a
_rik'rath_, but restraining myself, asked her innocently, 'What it
was?' O my Lord, verily I congratulate you! She blushed, and cast down
her eyes, and her voice trembled while she answered: 'They say the
Prince Mahommed nailed it there.' 'What Prince Mahommed?' 'He who is now
Sultan of the Turks.' 'He has been here, then? Did you see him?' 'I saw
an Arab story-teller.' Her face was the hue of a scarlet poppy, and I
feared to go further than ask concerning the plate: 'What does it mean?'
And she returned: 'The Turks never go by without prostrating themselves
before it. They say it is notice to them that I, and my house and
grounds, are sacred from their intrusion.' And then I said: 'Amongst
peoples of the East and the Desert, down far as the Barbary coast, the
Sultan Mahommed has high fame for chivalry. His bounties to those once
fortunate enough to excite his regard are inexhaustible.' She would have
had me speak further of you, but out of caution, I was driven to declare
I knew nothing beyond the hearsay of the Islamites among whom I had been
here and there cast.... My Lord will not require me to describe the
palace by Therapia. He has seen it.... The Princess remained there. I
was at sore loss, not knowing how I could continue to make report of her
to my Lord, until, to my relief she invited me to visit her."

Again:

"I am glad to say, for my Lord's sake, that the October winds, sweeping
down from the Black Sea, have compelled his Princess to return to her
house in the city, where she will abide till the summer comes again. I
saw her to-day. The country life has retouched her cheeks with a
just-sufficient stain of red roses; her lips are scarlet, as if she had
been mincing fresh-blown bloom of pomegranates; her eyes are clear as a
crooning baby's; her neck is downy--round as a white dove's; in her
movements afoot, she reminds me of the swaying of a lily-stalk brushed
softly by butterflies and humming-birds, attracted to its open cup of
paradisean wax. Oh, if I could but tell her of my Lord!"...

This report was lengthy, and included the account of an episode more
personal to the Sultanic emissary than any before given his master. It
was dated October. The subjoined extracts may prove interesting.

... "Everybody in the East has heard of the Hippodrome, whither I went
one day last week, and again yesterday. It was the mighty edifice in
which Byzantine vanity aired itself through hundreds of years. But
little of it is now left standing. At the north end of an area probably
seventy paces wide, and four hundred long, is a defaced structure with a
ground floor containing the arsenal, and on that, boxes filled with
seats. A lesser building rises above the boxes which is said to have
been a palace called the _Kathisma_, from which the Emperor looked
down upon the various amusements of the people, such as chariot racing,
and battles between the Blue and Green factions. Around the area from
the _Kathisma_ lie hills of brick and marble--enough to build the
Palace as yet hid in my Lord's dreams, and a mosque to becomingly house
our Mohammedan religion. In the midst, marking a line central of the
race-course, are three relics--a square pillar quite a hundred feet
high, bare now, but covered once with plates of brass--an obelisk from
Egypt--and a twisted bronze column, representing three writhing
serpents, their heads in air. [Footnote: The Hippodrome was the popular
pleasure resort in Constantinople. Besides accommodating one hundred
thousand spectators, it was the most complete building for the purposes
of its erection ever known. The world--including old Rome--had been
robbed of statuary for the adornment of this extravaganza. Its enormous
level posed in great part upon a substructure of arches on arches, which
still exist. The opinion is quite general that it was destroyed by the
Turks, and that much of its material went to construct the Mosque
Sulymanie. The latter averment is doubtless correct; but it is only
justice to say that the Crusaders, so called Christians, who encamped in
Constantinople in 1204 were the real vandals. For pastime, merely, they
plied their battle-axes on the carvings, inscriptions, and vast
collection of statuary in marble and bronze found by them on the spinet,
and elsewhere in the edifice. When they departed, the Hippodrome was an
irreparable ruin--a convenient and lawful quarry.]... The present
Emperor does not honor the ruin with his presence; but the people come,
and sitting in the boxes under the KATHISMA, and standing on the heaps
near by, find diversion watching the officers and soldiers exercising
their horses along the area.... My Lord must know, in the next place,
that there is in the city a son of the Orchan who terms himself lawful
heir of Solyman of blessed memory--the Orchan pretender to my Lord's
throne, whom the Greeks have been keeping in mock confinement--the
Orchan who is the subject of the present Emperor's demand on my Lord for
an increase of the stipend heretofore paid for the impostor's support.
The son of the pretender, being a Turk, affects the martial practices
prevalent with us, and enjoys notoriety for accomplishments as a
horseman, and in the tourney play djerid. He is even accredited with an
intention of one day taking the field against my Lord--this when his
father, the old Orchan, dies.... When I entered the Hippodrome one day
last week, Orchan the younger occupied the arena before the Kathisma.
The boxes were well filled with spectators. Some officers of my
acquaintance were present, mounted like myself, and they accosted me
politely, and eulogized the performance. Afterwhile I joined in their
commendation, but ventured to say I had seen better exercise during my
sojourn among the infidels in the Holy Land. They asked me if I had any
skill. 'I cannot call it skill,' I said; 'but my instruction was from a
noble master, the Sheik of the Jordan.' Nothing would rest them then but
a trial. At length I assented on condition that the Turk would engage me
in a tourney or a combat without quarter--bow, cimeter, spear--on
horseback and in Moslem armor. They were astonished, but agreed to carry
the challenge.... Now, O my Lord, do not condemn me. My residence here
has extended into months, without an incident to break the peace. Your
pleasure is still my rule. I keep the custom of going about on horseback
and in armor. Once only--at His Majesty's dinner--I appeared in a
Venetian suit--a red mantle and hose, one leg black, the other yellow--
red-feathered cap, shoes with the long points chained to my knees. Was
there not danger of being mistaken for a strutting bird of show? If my
hand is cunning with weapons, should not the Greeks be taught it? How
better recommend myself to His Majesty of Blacherne? Then, what an
opportunity to rid my Lord of future annoyance! Old Orchan cannot live
much longer, while this cheeping chicken is young.... The son of the
pretender, being told I was an Italian, replied he would try a tourney
with me; if I proved worthy, he would consider the combat.... Yesterday
was the time for the meeting. There was a multitude out as witnesses, the
Emperor amongst others. He did not resort to the _Kathisma,_ but kept his
saddle, with a bodyguard of horsemen at his back. His mount was my gray
Arab.... We began with volting, demi-volting, jumping, wheeling in
retreat, throwing the horse. Orchan was a fumbler.... We took to bows
next, twelve arrows each. At full speed he put two bolts in the target,
and I twelve, all in the white ring.... Then spear against cimeter. I
offered him choice, and he took the spear. In the first career, the
blunted head of his weapon fell to the ground shorn off close behind the
ferrule. The spectators cheered and laughed, and growing angry, Orchan
shouted it was an accident, and challenged me to combat. I accepted, but
His Majesty interposed--we might conclude with the spear and sword in
tourney again.... My antagonist, charged with malicious intent, resolved
to kill me. I avoided his shaft, and as his horse bolted past on my left,
I pushed him with my shield, and knocked him from the saddle. They picked
him up bleeding nose and ears. His Majesty invited me to accompany him to
Blacherne.... I left the Hippodrome sorry not to have been permitted to
fight the vain fool; yet my repute in Constantinople is now undoubtedly
good--I am a soldier to be cultivated."

Again:

"His Majesty has placed me formally in charge of the gate in front of my
quarters. Communication with my Lord is now at all times easy. _The
keys of the city are in effect mine._ Nevertheless I shall continue
to patronize Ali. His fish are the freshest brought to market."

Again:

"O my Lord, the Princess Irene is well and keeps the morning colors in
her cheeks for you. Yet I found her quite distraught. There was
unwelcome news at the Palace from His Majesty's ambassador at
Adrianople. The Sultan had at last answered the demand for increase of
the Orchan stipend--not only was the increase refused, but the stipend
itself was withdrawn, and a peremptory order to that effect sent to the
province whence the fund has been all along collected.... I made a
calculation, with conclusion that my report of the tourney with young
Orchan reached my Lord's hand, and I now am patting myself on the back,
happy to believe it had something to do with my Lord's decision. The
imposition deserved to have its head blown off. Orchan is a dotard. His
son's ears are still impaired. In the fall the ground caught him crown
first. He will never ride again. The pretension is over.... I rode from
the Princess' house directly to Blacherne. The Grand Council was in
session: yet the Prefect of the Palace admitted me.... O my Lord, this
Constantine is a man, a warrior, an Emperor, surrounded by old women
afraid of their shadows. The subject of discussion when I went in was
the news from Adrianople. His Majesty was of opinion that your decision,
coupled with the order discontinuing the stipend, was sign of a hostile
intent. He was in favor of preparing for war. Phranza thought diplomacy
not yet spent. Notaras asked what preparations His Majesty had in mind.
His Majesty replied, buying cannon and powder, stocking the magazines
with provisions for a siege, increasing the navy, repairing the walls,
clearing out the moat. He would also send an embassy to the Bishop of
Rome, and through him appeal to the Christian powers of Europe for
assistance in men and money. Notaras rejoined instantly: 'Rather than a
Papal Legate in Constantinople, he would prefer a turbaned Turk.' The
Council broke up in confusion.... Verily, O my Lord, I pitied the
Emperor. So much courage, so much weakness! His capital and the slender
remnant of his empire are lost unless the _Gabours_ of Venice and
Italy come to his aid. Will they? The Holy Father, using the
opportunity, will try once more to bring the Eastern Church to its
knees, and failing, will leave it to its fate. If my Lord knocked at
these gates to-morrow, Notaras would open one of them, and I another....
Yet the Emperor will fight. He has the soul of a hero."

Again:

"The Princess Irene is inconsolable. Intensely Greek, and patriotic, and
not a little versed in politics, she sees nothing cheering in the
situation of the Empire. The vigils of night in her oratory are leaving
their traces on her face. Her eyes are worn with weeping. I find it
impossible not to sympathize with so much beauty tempered by so many
virtues. When the worst has befallen, perhaps my Lord will know how to
comfort her."

Finally:

"It is a week since I last wrote my Lord. Ali has been sick but keeps in
good humor, and says he will be well when Christian winds cease blowing
from Constantinople. He prays you to come and stop them.... The
diplomatic mishaps of the Emperor have quickened the religious feuds of
his subjects. The Latins everywhere quote the speech of Notaras in the
Council: 'Rather than a Papal Legate in Constantinople, I prefer a
turbaned Turk'--and denounce it as treason to God and the State. It
certainly represents the true feeling of the Greek clergy; yet they are
chary in defending the Duke.... The Princess is somewhat recovered,
although perceptibly paler than is her wont. She is longing for the
return of spring, and promises herself health and happiness in the
palace at Therapia.... To-morrow, she informs me, there is to be a
special grand service in Sancta Sophia. The Brotherhoods here and
elsewhere will be present. I will be there also. She hopes peace and
rest from doctrinal disputes will follow. We will see."

The extracts above given will help the reader to an idea of life in
Constantinople; more especially they portray the peculiar service
rendered by Corti during the months they cover.

There are two points in them deserving special notice: The warmth of
description indulged with respect to the Princess Irene and the betrayal
of the Emperor. It must not be supposed the Count was unaware of his
perfidy. He did his writing after night, when the city and his own
household were asleep; and the time was chosen, not merely for greater
security from discovery, but that no eye might see the remorse he
suffered. How often he broke off in the composition to pray for strength
to rescue his honor, and save himself from the inflictions of
conscience! There were caverns in the mountains and islands off in the
mid-seas: why not fly to them? Alas! He was now in a bondage which made
him weak as water. It was possible to desert Mahommed, but not the
Princess. The dangers thickening around the city were to her as well.
Telling her of them were useless; she would never abandon the old
Capital; and it was the perpetually recurring comparison of her strength
with his own weakness which wrought him his sharpest pangs. Writing of
her in poetic strain was easy, for he loved her above every earthly
consideration: but when he thought of the intent with which he
wrote--that he was serving the love of another, and basely scheming to
deliver her to him--there was no refuge in flight; recollection would go
with him to the ends of the earth--better death. Not yet--not yet--he
would argue. Heaven might send him a happy chance. So the weeks melted
into months, and he kept the weary way hoping against reason,
conspiring, betraying, demoralizing, sinking into despair.





CHAPTER VIII

OUR LORD'S CREED


Proceeding now to the special service mentioned in the extract from the
last report of Count Corti to Mahommed.

The nave of Sancta Sophia was in possession of a multitude composed of
all the Brotherhoods of the city, interspersed with visiting delegations
from the monasteries of the Islands and many of the hermitic colonies
settled in the mountains along the Asiatic shore of the Marmora. In the
galleries were many women; amongst them, on the right-hand side, the
Princess Irene. Her chair rested on a carpeted box a little removed from
the immense pilaster, and raised thus nearly to a level with the top of
the balustrade directly before her, she could easily overlook the floor
below, including the apse. From her position everybody appeared dwarfed;
yet she could see each figure quite well in the light of the forty
arched windows above the galleries.

On the floor the chancel, or space devoted to the altar, was separated
from the body of the nave by a railing of Corinthian brass, inside
which, at the left, she beheld the Emperor, in Basilean regalia, seated
on a throne--a very stately and imposing figure. Opposite him was the
chair of the Patriarch. Between the altar and the railing arose a
baldacchino, the canopy of white silk, the four supporting columns of
shining silver. Under the canopy, suspended by a cord, hung the vessel
of gold containing the Blessed Sacraments; and to the initiated it was a
sufficient publication of the object of the assemblage.

Outside the railing, facing the altar, stood the multitude. To get an
idea of its appearance, the reader has merely to remember the description
of the bands marching into the garden of Blacherne the night of the
_Pannychides_. There were the same gowns black and gray; the same
tonsured heads, and heads shock-haired; the same hoods and glistening
rosaries; the same gloomy, bearded faces; the same banners, oriflammes,
and ecclesiastical gonfalons, each with its community under it in a
distinctive group. Back further towards the entrances from the vestibule
was a promiscuous host of soldiers and civilians; having no part in the
service, they were there as spectators.

The ceremony was under the personal conduct of the Patriarch. Silence
being complete, the choir, invisible from the body of the nave, began
its magnificent rendition of the _Sanctus_--"Holy, holy, holy, Lord
God of Sabaoth. Blessed is He who cometh in the name of the Lord.
Hosanna in the highest"--and during the singing, His Serenity was
clothed for the rite. Over his cassock, the deacons placed the surplice
of white linen, and over that again a stole stiff with gold embroidery.
He then walked slowly to the altar, and prayed; and when he had himself
communicated, he was led to the baldacchino, where he blessed the Body
and the Blood, and mixed them together in chalices, ready for delivery
to the company of servers kneeling about him. The Emperor, who, in
common with the communicants within and without the railing, had been on
his knees, arose now and took position before the altar in a prayerful
attitude; whereupon the Patriarch brought him a chalice on a small
paten, and he put it to his lips, while the choir rang the dome with
triumphal symphony.

His Serenity next returned to the baldacchino, and commenced giving the
cups to the servers; at the same time the gate leading from the chancel
to the nave was thrown open. Nor rustle of garment, nor stir of foot was
heard.

Then a black-gowned figure arose amidst a group not far from the gate,
and said, in a hoarse voice, muffled by the flaps of the hood covering
his head and face:

"We are here, O Serenity, by thy invitation--here to partake of the Holy
Eucharist--and I see thou art about sending it to us. Now not a few
present believe there is no grace in leavened bread, and others hold it
impiety to partake thereof. Wherefore tell us"--

The Patriarch looked once at the speaker; then, delivering the chalice,
signed the servers to follow him; next instant, he stood in the open
gateway, and with raised hands, cried out:

"Holy things to the holy!"

Repeating the ancient formula, he stepped aside to allow the cup-bearers
to pass into the nave; but they stood still, for there came a skurry of
sound not possible of location, so did it at the same moment seem to be
from the dome descending and from the floor going up to the dome. It was
the multitude rising from their knees.

Now the Patriarch, though feeble in body, was stout of soul and
ready-witted, as they usually are whose lives pass in combat and fierce
debate. Regarding the risen audience calmly, he betook himself to his
chair, and spoke to his assistants, who brought a plain chasuble, and
put it on him, covering the golden stole completely. When he again
appeared in the spaceway of the open gate, as he presently did, every
cleric and every layman in the church to whom he was visible understood
he took the interruption as a sacrilege from which he sought by the
change of attire to save himself.

"Whoso disturbs the Sacrament in celebration has need of cause for that
he does; for great is his offence whatever the cause."

The Patriarch's look and manner were void of provocation, except as one,
himself rudely disposed, might discover it in the humility somewhat too
studied.

"I heard my Brother--it would be an untruth to say I did not--and to go
acquit of deceit, I will answer him, God helping me. Let me say first,
while we have some differences in our faith, there are many things about
which we are agreed, the things in agreement outnumbering those in
difference; and of them not the least is the Real Presence once the
Sacraments are consecrated. Take heed, O Brethren! Do any of you deny
the Real Presence in the bread and wine of communion?"

No man made answer.

"It is as I said--not one. Look you, then, if I or you--if any of us be
tempted to anger or passionate speech, and this house, long dedicated to
the worship of God, and its traditions of holiness too numerous for
memory, and therefore of record only in the Books of Heaven, fail the
restraints due them, lo, Christ is here--Christ in Real Presence--Christ
our Lord in Body and Blood!"

The old man stood aside, pointing to the vessel under the baldacchino,
and there were sighs and sobs. Some shouted: "Blessed be the Son of
God!"

The sensation over, the Patriarch continued:

"O my Brother, take thou answer now. The bread is leavened. Is it
therefore less grace-giving?"

"No, no!" But the response was drowned by an affirmative yell so strong
there could be no doubt of the majority. The minority, however, was
obstinate, and ere long the groups disrupted, and it seemed every man
became a disputant. Now nothing serves anger like vain striving to be
heard. The Patriarch in deep concern stood in the gateway, exclaiming:
"Have a care, O Brethren, have a care! For now is Christ here!" And as
the babble kept increasing, the Emperor came to him.

"They are like to carry it to blows, O Serenity."

"Fear not, my son, God is here, and He is separating the wheat from the
chaff."

"But the blood shed will be on my conscience, and the _Panagia_"--

The aged Prelate was inflexible. "Nay, nay, not yet! They are Greeks.
Let them have it out. The day is young; and how often is shame the
miraculous parent of repentance."

Constantine returned to his throne, and remained there standing.

Meantime the tumult went on until, with shouting and gesticulating, and
running about, it seemed the assemblage was getting mad with drink.
Whether the contention was of one or many things, who may say? Well as
could be ascertained, one party, taking cue from the Patriarch,
denounced the interruption of the most sacred rite; the other
anathematized the attempt to impose leavened bread upon orthodox
communicants as a scheme of the devil and his arch-legate, the Bishop of
Rome. Men of the same opinions argued blindly with each other; while
genuine opposition was conducted with glaring eyes, swollen veins,
clinched hands, and voices high up in the leger lines of hate and
defiance. The timorous and disinclined were caught and held forcibly. In
a word, the scene was purely Byzantine, incredible of any other people.

The excitement afterwhile extended to the galleries, where, but that the
women were almost universally of the Greek faction, the same passion
would have prevailed; as it was, the gentle creatures screamed
_azymite, azymite_ in amazing disregard of the proprieties. The
Princess Irene, at first pained and mortified, kept her seat until
appearances became threatening; then she scanned the vast pit long and
anxiously; finally her wandering eyes fell upon the tall figure of
Sergius drawn out of the mass, but facing it from a position near the
gate of the brazen railing. Immediately she settled back in her chair.

To justify the emotion now possessing her, the reader must return to the
day the monk first presented himself at her palace near Therapia. He
must read again the confession, extorted from her by the second perusal
of Father Hilarion's letter, and be reminded of her education in the
venerated Father's religious ideas, by which her whole soul was adherent
to his conceptions of the Primitive Church of the Apostles. Nor less
must the reader suffer himself to be reminded of the consequences to
her--of the judgment of heresy upon her by both Latins and Greeks--of
her disposition to protest against the very madness now enacting before
her--of her longing, Oh, that I were a man!--of the fantasy that Heaven
had sent Sergius to her with the voice, learning, zeal, courage, and
passion of truth to enable her to challenge a hearing anywhere-of the
persistence with which she had since cared for and defended him, and
watched him in his studies, and shared them with him. Nor must the later
incident, the giving him a copy of the creed she had formulated--the
Creed of Nine Words--be omitted in the consideration.

Now indeed the reader can comprehend the Princess, and the emotions with
which she beheld the scene at her feet. The Patriarch's dramatic warning
of the Real Presence found in her a ready second; for keeping strictly
to Father Hilarion's distinction between a right Creed and a form or
ceremony for pious observance, the former essential to salvation, the
latter merely helpful to continence in the Creed, it was with her as if
Christ in glorified person stood there under the baldacchino. What
wonder if, from indignation at the madness of the assembly, the
insensate howling, the blasphemous rage, she passed to exaltation of
spirit, and fancied the time good for a reproclamation of the Primitive
Church?

Suddenly a sharper, fiercer explosion of rage arose from the floor, and
a rush ensued--the factions had come to blows!

Then the Patriarch yielded, and at a sign from the Emperor the choir
sang the _Sanctus_ anew. High and long sustained, the sublime
anthem rolled above the battle and its brutalism. The thousands heard
it, and halting, faced toward the apse, wondering what could be coming.
It even reached into the vortex of combat, and turned all the unengaged
there into peacemakers.

Another surprise still more effective succeeded. Boys with lighted
candles, followed by bearers of smoking censers, bareheaded and in
white, marched slowly from behind the altar toward the open gate,
outside which they parted right and left, and stopped fronting the
multitude. A broad banner hung to a cross-stick of gold, heavy with
fringing of gold, the top of the staff overhung with fresh flowers in
wreaths and garlands, the lower corners stayed by many streaming white
ribbons in the hands of as many holy men in white woollen chasubles
extending to the bare feet, appeared from the same retreat, carried by
two brethren known to every one as janitors of the sacred chapel on the
hill-front of Blacherne.

The Emperor, the Patriarch, the servers of the chalices, the whole body
of assistants inside the railing, fell upon their knees while the banner
was borne through the gate, and planted on the floor there. Its face was
frayed and dim with age, yet the figure of the woman upon it was plain
to sight, except as the faint gray smoke from the censers veiled it in a
vanishing cloud.

Then there was an outburst of many voices:

"The _Panagia!_ The _Panagia!_"

The feeling this time was reactionary.

"O Blessed Madonna!--Guardian of Constantinople!--Mother of God!--Christ
is here!--Hosannas to the Son and to the Immaculate Mother!" With these,
and other like exclamations, the mass precipitated itself forward, and,
crowding near the historic symbol, flung themselves on the floor before
it, grovelling and contrite, if not conquered.

The movement of the candle and censer bearers outside the gate forced
Sergius nearer it; so when the _Panagia_ was brought to a rest, he,
being much taller than its guardians, became an object of general
observation, and wishing to escape it if possible, he took off his high
hat; whereupon his hair, parted in the middle, dropped down his neck and
back fair and shining in the down-beating light.

This drew attention the more. Did any of the prostrate raise their eyes
to the Madonna on the banner, they must needs turn to him next; and
presently the superstitious souls, in the mood for miracles, began
whispering to each other:

"See--it is the Son--it is the Lord himself!"

And of a truth the likeness was startling; although in saying this, the
reader must remember the difference heretofore remarked between the
Greek and Latin ideals.

About that time Sergius looked up to the Princess, whose face shone out
of the shadows of the gallery with a positive radiance, and he was
electrified seeing her rise from her chair, and wave a hand to him.

He understood her. The hour long talked of, long prepared for, was at
last come--the hour of speech. The blood surged to his heart, leaving
him pallid as a dead man. He stooped lower, covered his eyes with his
hands, and prayed the wordless prayer of one who hastily commits himself
to God; and in the darkness behind his hands there was an illumination,
and in the midst of it a sentence in letters each a lambent flame--the
Creed of Father Hilarion and the Princess Irene--our Lord's Creed:

"I BELIEVE IN GOD, AND JESUS CHRIST, HIS SON."

This was his theme!

With no thought of self, no consciousness but of duty to be done,
trusting in God, he stood up, pushed gently through the kneeling boys
and guardians of the _Panagia_, and took position where all eyes
could look at the Blessed Mother slightly above him, and then to
himself, in such seeming the very Son. It might have been awe, it might
have been astonishment, it might have been presentiment; at all events,
the moaning, sobbing, praying, tossing of arms, beating of breasts, with
the other outward signs of remorse, grief and contrition grotesque and
pitiful alike subsided, and the Church, apse, nave and gallery, grew
silent--as if a wave had rushed in, and washed the life out of it.

"Men and brethren," he began, "I know not whence this courage to do
comes, unless it be from Heaven, nor at whose word I speak, if not that
Jesus of Nazareth, worker of miracles which God did by him anciently,
yet now here in Real Presence of Body and Blood, hearing what we say,
seeing what we do."

"Art thou not He?" asked a hermit, half risen in front of him, his wrap
of undressed goatskin fallen away from his naked shoulders.

"No; his servant only am I, even as thou art--his servant who would not
have forsaken him at Gethsemane, who would have given him drink on the
Cross, who would have watched at the door of his tomb until laid to
sleep by the Delivering Angel--his servant not afraid of Death, which,
being also his servant, will not pass me by for the work I now do, if
the work be not by his word."

The voice in this delivery was tremulous, and the manner so humble as to
take from the answer every trace of boastfulness. His face, when he
raised it, and looked out over the audience, was beautiful. The
spectacle offered him in return was thousands of people on their knees,
gazing at him undetermined whether to resent an intrusion or welcome a
messenger with glad tidings.

"Men and brethren," he continued, more firmly, casting the old
Scriptural address to the farthest auditor, "now are you in the anguish
of remorse; but who told you that you had offended to such a degree? See
you not the Spirit, sometimes called the Comforter, in you? Be at ease,
for unto us are repentance and pardon. There were who beat our dear
Lord, and spit upon him, and tore his beard; who laid him on a cross,
and nailed him to it with nails in his hands and feet; one wounded him
in the side with a spear; yet what did he, the Holy One and the Just?
Oh! if he forgave them glorying in their offences, will he be less
merciful to us repentant?"

Raising his head a little higher, the preacher proceeded, with increased
assurance:

"Let me speak freely unto you; for how can a man repent wholly, if the
cause of his sin be not laid bare that he may see and hate it?

"Now before our dear Lord departed out of the world, he left sayings,
simple even to children, instructing such as would be saved unto
everlasting life what they must do to be saved. Those sayings I call our
Lord's Creed, by him delivered unto his disciples, from whom we have
them: 'Verily, verily, I say unto you, he that heareth my word, and
believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life.' So we have the
First Article--belief in God. Again: 'Verily, verily, I say unto you, he
that believeth on me hath everlasting life.' Behold the Second
Article--belief in Christ.

"Now, for that the Son, and he who sent him, are at least in purpose
one, belief in either of them is declared sufficient; nevertheless it
may be simpler, if not safer, for us to cast the Two Articles together
in a single phrase; we have then a Creed which we may affirm was made
and left behind him by our Lord himself:

I BELIEVE IN GOD, AND JESUS CHRIST, HIS SON.

And when we sound it, lo! two conditions in all; and he who embraces
them, more is not required of him; he is already passed from death unto
life--everlasting life.

"This, brethren, is the citadel of our Christian faith; wherefore, to
strengthen it. What was the mission of Jesus Christ our Lord to the
world? Hear every one! What was the mission of our Lord Jesus Christ?
Why was he sent of God, and born into the world? Hearing the question,
take heed of the answer: He was sent of God for the salvation of men.
You have ears, hear; minds, think; nor shall one of you, the richest in
understanding of the Scriptures, in walk nearest the Sinless Example,
ever find another mission for him which is not an arraignment of the
love of his Father.

"Then, if it be true, as we all say, not one denying it, that our Lord
brought to his mission the perfected wisdom of his Father, how could he
have departed from the world leaving the way of salvation unmarked and
unlighted? Or, sent expressly to show us the way, himself the appointed
guide, what welcome can we suppose he would have had from his Father in
Heaven, if he had given the duty over to the angels? Or, knowing the
deceitfulness of the human heart, and its weakness and liability to
temptation, whence the necessity for his coming to us, what if he had
given the duty over to men, so much lower than the angels, and then gone
away? Rather than such a thought of him, let us believe, if the way had
been along the land, he would have planted it with inscribed hills; if
over the seas, he would have sown the seas with pillars of direction
above the waves; if through the air, he would have made it a path
effulgent with suns numerous as the stars. 'I am the Way,' he
said--meaning the way lies through me; and you may come to me in the
place I go to prepare for you, if only you believe in God and me. Men
and brethren, our Lord was true to his mission, and wise in the wisdom
of his Father."

At this the hermit in front of the preacher, uttering a shill cry,
spread his arms abroad, and quivered from head to foot. Many of those
near sprang forward to catch him.

"No, leave him alone," cried Sergius, "leave him alone. The cross he
took was heavy of itself; but upon the cross you heaped conditions
without sanction, making a burden of which he was like to die. At last
he sees how easy it is to go to his Master; that he has only to believe
in God and the Master. Leave him with the truth; it was sent to save,
not to kill."

The excitement over, Sergius resumed:

"I come now, brethren, to the cause of your affliction. I will show it
to you; that is to say, I will show you why you are divided amongst
yourselves, and resort to cruelty one unto another; as if murder would
help either side of the quarrel. I will show your disputes do not come
from anything said or done by our Lord, whose almost last prayer was
that all who believed in him might be made perfect in one.

"It is well known to you that our Lord did not found a Church during his
life on earth, but gave authority for it to his Apostles. It is known to
you also that what his Apostles founded was but a community: for such is
the description: 'And all that believed were together, and had all
things common; and sold their possessions and goods, and parted them to
all men, as every man had need.' [Footnote: Acts ii. 44, 45.] And again:
'And the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and of one
soul: neither said any of them that ought of the things which he
possessed was his own; but they had all things common.' 'Neither was
there any among them that lacked: for as many as were possessors of
lands or houses sold them, and brought the prices of the things that
were sold, and laid them down at the apostles' feet: and distribution
was made unto every man according as he had need.' [Footnote: Acts iv.
32, 34, 35.] But in time this community became known as the Church; and
there was nothing of it except our Lord's Creed, in definition of the
Faith, and two ordinances for the Church--Baptism for the remission of
sins, that the baptized might receive the Comforter, and the Sacraments,
that believers, often as they partook of the Body and Blood of Christ,
might be reminded of him.

"Lo, now! In the space of three generations this Church, based upon this
simple Creed, became a power from Alexandria to Lodinum; and though
kings banded to tread it out; though day and night the smell of the
blood of the righteous spilt by them was an offence to God; though there
was no ingenuity more amongst men except to devise methods for the
torture of the steadfast--still the Church grew; and if you dig deep
enough for the reasons of its triumphant resistance, these are they:
there was Divine Life in the Creed, and the Community was perfect in
one; insomuch that the brethren quarrelled not among themselves; neither
was there jealousy, envy or rivalry among them; neither did they dispute
about immaterial things, such as which was the right mode of baptism, or
whether the bread should be leavened or unleavened, or whence the Holy
Ghost proceeded, whether from the Father or from the Father and Son
together; neither did the elders preach for a price, nor forsake a poor
flock for a rich one that their salaries might be increased, nor engage
in building costly tabernacles for the sweets of vanity in tall spires;
neither did any study the Scriptures seeking a text, or a form, or an
observance, on which to go out and draw from the life of the old
Community that they might set up a new one; and in their houses of God
there were never places for the men and yet other separate places for
the women of the congregation; neither did a supplicant for the mercy of
God look first at the garments of the neighbor next him lest the mercy
might lose a virtue because of a patch or a tatter. The Creed was too
plain for quibble or dispute; and there was no ambition in the Church
except who should best glorify Christ by living most obedient to his
commands. Thence came the perfection of unity in faith and works; and
all went well with the Primitive Church of the Apostles; and the Creed
was like unto the white horse seen by the seer of the final visions, and
the Church was like him who sat upon the horse, with a bow in his hand,
unto whom a crown was given; and he went forth conquering and to
conquer."

Here the audience was stirred uncontrollably; many fell forward upon
their faces; others wept, and the nave resounded with rejoicing. In one
quarter alone there was a hasty drawing together of men with frowning
brows, and that was where the gonfalon of the Brotherhood of the St.
James' was planted. The Hegumen, in the midst of the group, talked
excitedly, though in a low tone.

"I will not ask, brethren," Sergius said, in continuance, "if this
account of the Primitive Church be true; you all do know it true; yet I
will ask if one of you holds that the offending of which you would
repent--the anger, and bitter words, and the blows--was moved by
anything in our Lord's Creed, let him arise, before the Presence is
withdrawn, and say that he thinks. These, lending their ears, will hear
him, and so will God. What, will not one arise?

"It is not necessary that I remind you to what your silence commits you.
Rather suffer me to ask next, which of you will arise and declare, our
Lord his witness, that the Church of his present adherence is the same
Church the Apostles founded? You have minds, think; tongues, speak."

There was not so much as a rustle on the floor.

"It was well, brethren, that you kept silence; for, if one had said his
Church was the same Church the Apostles founded, how could he have
absolved himself of the fact that there are nowhere two parties each
claiming to be of the only true Church? Or did he assert both claimants
to be of the same Church, and it the only true one, then why the refusal
to partake of the Sacraments? Why a division amongst them at all? Have
you not heard the aforetime saying, 'Every kingdom divided against
itself is brought to desolation'?

"Men and brethren, let no man go hence thinking his Church, whichever it
be, is the Church of the Apostles. If he look for the community which
was the law of the old brotherhood, his search will be vain. If he look
for the unity, offspring of our Lord's last prayer, lo! jealousies,
hates, revilements, blows instead. No, your Creed is of men, not Christ,
and the semblance of Christ in it is a delusion and a snare." At this
the gonfalon of the St. James' was suddenly lifted up, and borne forward
to within a few feet of the gate, and the Hegumen, standing in front of
it, cried out:

"Serenity, the preacher is a heretic! I denounce"--

He could get no further; the multitude sprang to foot howling. The
Princess Irene, and the women in the galleries, also arose, she pale and
trembling. Peril to Sergius had not occurred to her when she gave him
the signal to speak. The calmness and resignation with which he looked
at his accuser reminded her of his Master before Pilate, and taking seat
again, she prayed for him, and the cause he was pleading.

At length, the Patriarch, waving his hand, said:

"Brethren, it may be Sergius, to whom we have been listening, has his
impulse of speech from the Spirit, even as he has declared. Let us be
patient and hear him."

Turning to Sergius, he bade him proceed.

"The three hundred Bishops and Presbyters from whom you have your Creeds,
[Footnote: _Encyclopedia Brit.,_ VI. 560.] O men and brethren"--so the
preacher continued--"took the Two Articles from our Lord's Creed, and
then they added others. Thus, which of you can find a text of our Lord
treating of his procession from the substance of God? Again, in what
passage has our Lord required belief in the personage of the Holy Ghost
as an article of faith essential to salvation? [Footnote: Four Creeds are
at present used in the Roman Catholic Church; viz., the Apostles' Creed,
the Nicene, the Athanasian, that of Pius IV--ADD. and AR., _Catholic
Dictionary,_ 232.] 'I am the Way,' said our Lord. 'No,' say the three
hundred, 'we are the way; and would you be saved, you must believe in us
not less than in God and his Son.'"

The auditors a moment before so fierce, even the Hegumen, gazed at the
preacher in a kind of awe; and there was no lessening of effect when his
manner underwent a change, his head slightly drooping and his voice
plaintive.

"The Spirit by whose support and urgency I have dared address you,
brethren, admonishes me that my task is nearly finished."

He took hold of the corner of the _Panagia;_ so all in view were
more than ever impressed with his likeness to their ideal of the Blessed
Master.

"The urgency seemed to me on account of your offence to the Real
Presence so graciously in our midst; for truly when we are in the depths
of penitence it is our nature to listen more kindly to what is imparted
for our good; wherefore, as you have minds, I beg you to think. If our
Lord did indeed leave a Creed containing the all in all for our
salvation, what meant he if not that it should stand in saving purity
until he came again in the glory of his going? And if he so intended,
and yet uninspired men have added other Articles to the simple faith he
asked of us, making it so much the harder for us to go to him in the
place he has prepared for us, are they not usurpers? And are not the
Articles which they have imposed to be passed by us as stratagems
dangerous to our souls?

"Again. The excellence of our Lord's Creed by which it may be always
known when in question, its wisdom superior to the devices of men, is
that it permits us to differ about matters outside of the faith without
weakening our relations to the Blessed Master or imperilling our lot in
his promises. Such matters, for example, as works, which are but
evidences of faith and forms of worship, and the administration of the
two ordinances of the Church, and God and his origin, and whether Heaven
be here or there, or like unto this or that. For truly our Lord knew us,
and that it was our nature to deal in subtleties and speculate of things
not intended we should know during this life; the thought of our minds
being restless and always running, like the waters of a river on their
way to the sea.

"Again, brethren. If the Church of the Apostles brought peace to its
members, so that they dwelt together, no one of them lacking or in need,
do not your experiences of to-day teach you wherein your Churches, being
those built upon the Creed of the three hundred Bishops, are unlike it?
Moreover, see you not if now you have several Churches, some amongst
you, the carping and ambitious, will go out and in turn set up new
Confessions of Faith, and at length so fill the earth with rival
Churches that religion will become a burden to the poor and a byword
with fools who delight in saying there is no God? In a village, how much
better one House of God, with one elder for its service, and always
open, than five or ten, each with a preacher for a price, and closed
from Sabbath to Sabbath? For that there must be discipline to keep the
faithful together, and to carry on the holy war against sin and its
strongholds and captains, how much better one Church in the strength of
unity than a hundred diversely named and divided against themselves?

"The Revelator, even that John who while in the Spirit was bidden.
'Write the things which thou hast seen, and the things which are, and
the things which shall be hereafter,' wrote, and at the end of his book
set a warning: 'If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add
unto him the plagues that are written in this book.' I cannot see,
brethren, wherein that crime is greater than the addition of Articles to
our Lord's Creed; nor do I know any who have more reason to be afraid of
those threatened plagues than the priest or preacher who from pride or
ambition, or dread of losing his place or living, shall wilfully stand
in the way of a return to the Church of the Apostles and its unity.
Forasmuch as I also know what penitential life is, and how your minds
engage themselves in the solitude of your cells, I give you whereof to
think. Men and brethren, peace unto you all!"

The hermit knelt to the preacher, and kissed his hand, sobbing the
while; the auditors stared at each other doubtfully; but the Hegumen's
time was come. Advancing to the gate, he said:

"This man, O Serenity, is ours by right of fraternity. In thy hearing he
hath defamed the Creed which is the rock the Fathers chose for the
foundation of our most holy Church. He hath even essayed to make a Creed
of his own, and present it for our acceptance--thy acceptance, O
Serenity, and that of His Majesty, the only Christian Emperor, as well
as ours. And for those things, and because never before in the history
of our ancient and most notable Brotherhood hath there been an instance
of heresy so much as in thought, we demand the custody of this apostate
for trial and judgment. Give him to us to do with."

The Patriarch clasped his hands, and, shaking like a man struck with
palsy, turned his eyes upward as if asking counsel of Heaven. His doubt
and hesitation were obvious; and neighbor heard his neighbor's heart
beat; so did silence once more possess itself of the great auditorium.
The Princess Irene arose white with fear, and strove to catch the
Emperor's attention; but he, too, was in the bonds waiting on the
Patriarch.

Then from his place behind the Hegumen, Sergius spoke:

"Let not your heart be troubled, O Serenity. Give me to my Brotherhood.
If I am wrong, I deserve to die; but if I have spoken as the Spirit
directed me, God is powerful to save. I am not afraid of the trial."

The Patriarch gazed at him, his withered cheeks glistening with tears;
still he hesitated.

"Suffer me, O Serenity!"--thus Sergius again--"I would that thy
conscience may never be disquieted on my account; and now I ask not that
thou give me to my Brotherhood--I will go with them freely and of my own
accord." Speaking then to the Hegumen, he said: "No more, I pray. See, I
am ready to be taken as thou wilt."

The Hegumen gave him in charge of the brethren; and at his signal, the
gonfalon was raised and carried through the concourse, and out of one of
the doors, followed closely by the Brotherhood.

At the moment of starting, Sergius lifted his hands, and shouted so as
to be heard above the confusion: "Bear witness, O Serenity--and thou, O
Emperor! That no man may judge me an apostate, hear my confession: I
believe in God, and Jesus Christ, his Son."

Many of those present remained and partook of the Sacraments; far the
greater number hurried away, and it was not long until the house was
vacated.





CHAPTER IX

COUNT CORTI TO MAHOMMED


Extract:

"God is God, and Mahomet is his Prophet! May they keep my Lord in
health, and help him to all his heart's desires! ... It is now three days
since my eyes were gladdened by the presence of the Princess Irene; yet
I have been duteously regular in my calls at her house. To my inquiries,
her domestic has returned the same answer: 'The Princess is in her
chapel praying. She is sadly disturbed in mind, and excuses herself to
every one.' Knowing this information will excite my Lord's apprehension,
I beg him to accept the explanation of her ailments which I think most
probable.... My Lord will gratify me by graciously referring to the
account of the special meeting in Sancta Sophia which I had the honor to
forward the evening of the day of its occurrence. The conjecture there
advanced that the celebration of the Sacrament in highest form was a
stratagem of the Patriarch's looking to a reconciliation of the
factions, has been confirmed; and more--it has proved a failure. Its
effect has inflamed the fanaticism of the Greek party as never before.
Notaras, moved doubtless by Gennadius, induced them to suspect His
Majesty and the Patriarch of conniving at the wonderful sermon of the
monk Sergius; and, as the best rebuke in their power, the Brotherhood of
the St. James' erected a Tribunal of Judgment in their monastery last
night, and placed the preacher on trial. He defended himself, and drove
them to admit his points; that their Church is not the Primitive Church
of the Apostles, and that their Creed is an unwarranted enlargement of
the two Articles of Faith left by Jesus Christ for the salvation of the
world. Yet they pronounced him an apostate and a heretic of incendiary
purpose, and condemned him to the old lion in the Cynegion, Tamerlane,
famous these many years as a man-eater.... My Lord should also know of
the rumor in the city which attributes the Creed of Nine Words--'I
believe in God, and Jesus Christ, his Son'--to the Princess Irene; and
her action would seem to justify the story. Directly the meeting in
Sancta Sophia was over, she hastened to the Palace, and entreated His
Majesty to save the monk from his brethren. My Lord may well think the
Emperor disposed to grant her prayer; his feeling for her is warmer than
friendship. The gossips say he at one time proposed marriage to her. At
all events, being a tender-hearted man--too tender indeed for his high
position--it is easy imagining how such unparalleled beauty in tearful
distress must have moved him. Unhappily the political situation holds
him as in a vice. The Church is almost solidly against him; while of the
Brotherhoods this one of the St. James' has been his only stanch
adherent. What shall the poor man do? If he saves the preacher, he is
himself lost. It appears now she has been brought to understand he
cannot interfere. Thrown thus upon the mercy of Heaven, she has buried
herself in her oratory. Oh, the full Moon of full Moons! And alas! that
she should ever be overcast by a cloud, though it be not heavier than
the just-risen morning mist. My Lord--or Allah must come quickly!

       *       *       *       *       *

"O my Lord! In duty again and always!... Ali did not come yesterday. I
suppose the high winds were too unfriendly. So the despatch of that date
remained on my hands; and I now open it, and include a supplement....
This morning as usual I rode to the Princess' door. The servant gave me
the same report--his mistress was not receiving. It befalls therefore
that my Lord must take refuge in his work or in dreams of her--and may I
lay a suggestion at his feet, I advise the latter, for truly, if the
world is a garden, she is its Queen of Roses.... For the sake of the
love my Lord bears the Princess, and the love I bear my Lord, I did not
sleep last night, being haunted with thinking how I could be of service
to her. What is the use of strength and skill in arms if I cannot turn
them to account in her behalf as my Lord would have me?... On my way to
the Princess', I was told that the monk, who is the occasion of her
sorrow, his sentence being on her conscience, is to be turned in with
the lion to-morrow. As I rode away from her house in desperate strait,
not having it in power to tell my Lord anything of her, it occurred to
me to go see the Cynegion, where the judgment is to be publicly
executed. What if the Most Merciful should offer me an opportunity to do
the unhappy Princess something helpful? If I shrank from the lion, when
killing it would save her a grief, my Lord would never forgive me ... .
Here is a description of the Cynegion: The northwest wall of the city
drops from the height of Blacherne into a valley next the harbor or
Golden Horn, near which it meets the wall coming from the east. Right in
the angle formed by the intersection of the walls there is a gate, low,
very strong, and always closely guarded. Passing the gate, I found
myself in an enclosed field, the city wall on the east, wooded hills
south, and the harbor north. How far the enclosure extends up the shore
of the harbor, I cannot say exactly--possibly a half or three quarters
of a mile. The surface is level and grassy. Roads wind in and out of
clumps of selected shrubbery, with here and there an oak tree.
Kiosk-looking houses, generally red painted, are frequent, some with
roofs, some without. Upon examination I discovered the houses were for
the keeping of animals and birds. In one there was an exhibition of fish
and reptiles. But much the largest structure, called the Gallery, is
situated nearly in the centre of the enclosure; and it astonished me
with an interior in general arrangement like a Greek theatre, except it
is entirely circular and without a stage division. There is an arena,
like a sanded floor, apparently fifty paces in diameter, bounded by a
brick wall eighteen or twenty feet in height, and from the top of the
wall seats rise one above another for the accommodation of common
people; while for the Emperor I noticed a covered stand over on the
eastern side. The wall of the arena is broken at regular intervals by
doors heavily barred, leading into chambers anciently dens for ferocious
animals, but at present prisons for criminals of desperate character.
There are also a number of gates, one under the grand stand, the others
forming northern, southern and eastern entrances. From this, I am sure
my Lord can, if he cares to, draught the Cynegion, literally the
Menagerie, comprehending the whole enclosure, and the arena in the
middle of it, where the monk will to-morrow expiate his heresy. Formerly
combats in the nature of wagers of battle were appointed for the place,
and beasts were pitted against each other; but now the only bloody
amusement permitted in it is when a criminal or an offender against God
is given to the lion. On such occasions, they tell me, the open seats
and grand stands are crowded to their utmost capacities.... If the
description is tedious, I hope my Lord's pardon, for besides wishing to
give him an idea of the scene of the execution to-morrow, I thought to
serve him in the day he is looking forward to with so much interest,
when the locality will have to be considered with a view to military
approach. In furtherance of the latter object, I beg to put my Lord in
possession of the accompanying diagram of the Cynegion, observing
particularly its relation to the city; by attaching it to the drawings
heretofore sent him, he will be enabled to make a complete map of the
country adjacent to the landward wall.... Ali has just come in. As I
supposed, he was detained by the high winds. His mullets are perfection.
With them he brings a young sword-fish yet alive. I look at the mess,
and grieve that I cannot send a portion to my Lord for his breakfast.
However, a few days now, and he will come to his own; the sea with its
fish, and the land and all that belongs to it. The child of destiny can
afford to wait."




CHAPTER X

SERGIUS TO THE LION


About ten o'clock the day after the date of Count Corti's last
despatch--ten of the morning--a woman appeared on the landing in front
of Port St. Peter, and applied to a boatman for passage to the Cynegion.

She was thickly veiled, and wore an every-day overcloak of brown stuff
closely buttoned from her throat down. Her hands were gloved, and her
feet coarsely shod. In a word, her appearance was that of a female of
the middle class, poor but respectable.

The landing was thronged at the time. It seemed everybody wanted to get
to the menagerie at once. Boatmen were not lacking. Their craft, of all
known models, lay in solid block yards out, waiting turns to get in; and
while they waited, the lusty, half-naked fellows flirted their oars,
quarrelled with each other in good nature, Greek-like, and yelled
volleys at the slow bargain makers whose turns had arrived.

Twice the woman asked if she could have a seat.

"How many of you are there?" she was asked in reply.

"I am alone."

"You want the boat alone?"

"Yes."

"Well, that can't be. I have seats for several--and wife and four babies
at home told me to make the most I could out of them. It has been some
time since one has tried to look old Tamerlane in the eye, thinking to
scare him out of his dinner. The game used to be common; it's not so
now."

"But I will pay you for all the seats."

"Full five?"

"Yes."

"In advance?"

"Yes."

"Jump in, then--and get out your money--fifty-five noumias--while I push
through these howling water-dogs."

By the time the boat was clear of the pack, truly enough the passenger
was with the fare in hand.

"Look," she said, "here is a bezant."

At sight of the gold piece, the man's countenance darkened, and he
stopped rowing.

"I can't change that. You might as well have no money at all."

"Friend," she returned, "row me swiftly to the first gate of the
Cynegion, and the piece is yours."

"By my blessed patron! I'll make you think you are on a bird, and that
these oars are wings. Sit in the middle--that will do. Now!"

The fellow was stout, skilful, and in earnest. In a trice he was under
headway, going at racing speed. The boats in the harbor were moving in
two currents, one up, the other down; and it was noticeable those in the
first were laden with passengers, those of the latter empty. Evidently
the interest was at the further end of the line, and the day a holiday
to the two cities, Byzantium and Galata. Yet of the attractions on the
water and the shores, the woman took no heed; she said never a word
after the start; but sat with head bowed, and her face buried in her
hands. Occasionally, if the boatman had not been so intent on earning
the gold piece, he might have heard her sob. For some reason, the day
was not a holiday to her.

"We are nearly there," he at length said.

Without lifting the veil, she glanced at a low wall on the left-hand
shore, then at a landing, shaky from age and neglect, in front of a gate
in the wall; and seeing it densely blockaded, she spoke:

"Please put me ashore here. I have no time to lose."

The bank was soft and steep.

"You cannot make it."

"I can if you will give me your oar for a step."

"I will."

In a few minutes she was on land. Pausing then to toss the gold piece to
the boatman, she heard his thanks, and started hastily for the gate.
Within the Cynegion, she fell in with some persons walking rapidly, and
talking of the coming event as if it were a comedy.

"He is a Russian, you say?"

"Yes, and what is strange, he is the very man who got the Prince of
India's negro"--

"The giant?"

"Yes--who got him to drown that fine young fellow Demedes."

"Where is the negro now?"

"In a cell here."

"Why didn't they give him to the lion?"

"Oh, he had a friend--the Princess Irene."

"What is to be done with him?"

"Afterwhile, when the affair of the cistern is forgotten, he will be
given a purse, and set free."

"Pity! For what sport to have seen him in front of the old Tartar!"

"Yes, he's a fighter." In the midst of this conversation, the party came
in sight of the central building, externally a series of arches
supporting a deep cornice handsomely balustraded, and called the
Gallery.

"Here we are!--But see the people on the top! I was afraid we would be
too late. Let us hurry."

"Which gate?"

"The western--it's the nearest."

"Can't we get in under the grand stand?"

"No, it's guarded."

These loquacious persons turned off to make the western gate; but the
woman in brown kept on, and ere long was brought to the grand stand on
the north. An arched tunnel, amply wide, ran under it, with a gate at
the further end admitting directly to the arena. A soldier of the
foreign legion held the mouth of the tunnel.

"Good friend," she began, in a low, beseeching tone, "is the heretic who
is to suffer here yet?"

"He was brought out last night."

"Poor man! I am a friend of his"--her voice trembled--"may I see him?"

"My orders are to admit no one--and I do not know which cell he is in."

The supplicant, sobbing and wringing her hands, stood awhile silent.
Then a roar, very deep and hoarse, apparently from the arena, startled
her and she trembled.

"Tamerlane!" said the soldier.

"O God!" she exclaimed. "Is the lion turned in already?"

"Not yet. He is in his den. They have not fed him for three days."

She stayed her agitation, and asked: "What are your orders?"

"Not to admit any one."

"To the cells?"

"The cells, and the arena also."

"Oh, I see! You can let me stand at the gate yonder?"

"Well--yes. But if you are the monk's friend, why do you want to see him
die?"

She made no reply, but took from a pocket a bezant, and contrived to
throw its yellow gleam in the sentinel's eyes.

"Is the gate locked?"

"No, it is barred on this side."

"Does it open into the arena?"

"Yes."

"I do not ask you to violate your orders," she continued, calmly; "only
let me go to the gate, and see the man when he is brought out."

She offered him the money, and he took it, saying: "Very well. I can see
no harm in that. Go."

The gate in question was open barred, and permitted a view of nearly the
whole circular interior. The spectacle presented was so startling she
caught one of the bars for support. Throwing back the veil, she looked,
breathing sighs which were almost gasps. The arena was clear, and
thickly strewn with wet sand. There were the walls shutting it in, like
a pit, and on top of them, on the ascending seats back to the last
one--was it a cloud she beheld? A second glance, and she recognized the
body of spectators, men, women and children, compacted against the sky.
How many of them there were! Thousands and thousands! She clasped her
hands, and prayed.

Twelve o'clock was the hour for the expiation.

Waiting so wearily there at the gate--praying, sighing, weeping by
turns--the woman was soon forgotten by the sentinel. She had bought his
pity. In his eyes she was only a lover of the doomed monk. An hour
passed thus. If the soldier's theory were correct, if she were indeed a
poor love-lorn creature come to steal a last look at the unfortunate,
she eked small comfort from her study of the cloud of humanity on the
benches. Their jollity, their frequent laughter and hand-clapping
reached her in her retreat. "Merciful God!" she kept crying. "Are these
beings indeed in thy likeness?"

In a moment of wandering thought, she gave attention to the fastenings
of the gate, and observed the ends of the bar across it rested in double
iron sockets on the side toward her; to pass it, she had only to raise
the bar clear of the socket and push.

Afterwhile the door of a chamber nearly opposite her opened, and a man
stood in the aperture. He was very tall, gigantic even; and apparently
surprised by what he beheld, he stepped out to look at the benches,
whereat the light fell upon him and she saw he was black. His appearance
called for a roar of groans, and he retired, closing the door behind
him. Then there was an answering roar from a cell near by at her left.
The occupants of the benches applauded long and merrily, crying,
"Tamerlane! Tamerlane!" The woman shrank back terrified.

A little later another man entered the arena, from the western gate.
Going to the centre he looked carefully around him; as if content with
the inspection, he went next to a cell and knocked. Two persons
responded by coming out of the door; one an armed guardsman, the other a
monk. The latter wore a hat of clerical style, and a black gown dropping
to his bare feet, its sleeves of immoderate length completely muffling
his hands. Instantly the concourse on the benches arose. There was no
shouting--one might have supposed them all suddenly seized with
shuddering sympathy. But directly a word began passing from mouth to
mouth; at first, it was scarcely more than a murmur; soon it was a
byname on every tongue:

"The heretic! The heretic!"

The monk was Sergius.

His guard conducted him to the centre of the field, and, taking off his
hat, left him there. In going he let his gauntlet fall. Sergius picked
it up, and gave it to him; then calm, resigned, fearless, he turned to
the east, rested his hands on his breast palm to palm, closed his eyes,
and raised his face. He may have had a hope of rescue in reserve;
certain it is, they who saw him, taller of his long gown, his hair on
his shoulders and down his back, his head upturned, the sunlight a
radiant imprint on his forehead, and wanting only a nimbus to be the
Christ in apparition, ceased jeering him; it seemed to them that in a
moment, without effort, he had withdrawn his thoughts from this world,
and surrendered himself. They could see his lips move; but what they
supposed his last prayer was only a quiet recitation: "I believe in God,
and Jesus Christ, his Son."

The guard withdrawn, three sharp mots of a trumpet rang out from the
stand. A door at the left of the tunnel gate was then slowly raised;
whereupon a lion stalked out of the darkened depths, and stopped on the
edge of the den thus exposed, winking to accustom his eyes to the
day-splendor. He lingered there very leisurely, turning his ponderous
head from right to left and up and down, like a prisoner questioning if
he were indeed at liberty. Having viewed the sky and the benches, and
filled his deep chest with ample draughts of fresh air, suddenly
Tamerlane noticed the monk. The head rose higher, the ears erected, and,
snuffing like a hound, he fretted his shaggy mane; his yellow eyes
changed to coals alive, and he growled and lashed his sides with his
tail. A majestic figure was he now. "What is it?" he appeared asking
himself. "Prey or combat?" Still in a maze, he stepped out into the
arena, and shrinking close to the sand, inched forward creeping toward
the object of his wonder.

The spectators had opportunity to measure him, and drink their fill of
terror. The monk was a goodly specimen of manhood, young, tall, strong;
but a fig for his chances once this enemy struck him or set its teeth in
his flesh! An ox could not stand the momentum of that bulk of bone and
brawn. It were vain telling how many--not all of them women and
children--furtively studied the height of the wall enclosing the pit to
make sure of their own safety upon the seats.

Sergius meantime remained in prayer and recitation; he was prepared for
the attack, but as a non-resistant; if indeed he thought of battle, he
was not merely unarmed--the sleeves of his gown deprived him of the use
of his hands. From the man to the lion, from the lion to the man, the
multitude turned shivering, unable nevertheless to look away.

Presently the lion stopped, whined, and behaved uneasily. Was he afraid?
Such was the appearance when he began trotting around at the base of the
wall, halting before the gates, and seeking an escape. Under the
urgency, whatever it was, from the trot he broke into a gallop, without
so much as a glance at the monk.

A murmur descended from the benches. It was the people recovering from
their horror, and impatient. Ere long they became positive in
expression; in dread doubtless of losing the catastrophe of the show,
they yelled at the cowardly beast.

In the height of this tempest, the gate of the tunnel under the grand
stand opened quickly, and was as quickly shut. Death brings no deeper
hush than fell upon the assemblage then. A woman was crossing the sand
toward the monk! Round sped the lion, forward she went! Two victims!
Well worth the monster's hunger through the three days to be so
banqueted on the fourth!

There are no laws of behavior for such situations. Impulse and instinct
rush in and take possession. While the thousands held their breath, they
were all quickened to know who the intruder was.

She was robed in white, was bareheaded and barefooted. The dress, the
action, the seraphic face were not infrequent on the water, and
especially in the churches; recognition was instantaneous, and through
the eager crowded ranks the whisper flew:

"God o' Mercy! It is the Princess--the Princess Irene!"

Strong men covered their eyes, women fainted.

The grand stand had been given up to the St. James', and they and their
intimates filled it from the top seat to the bottom; and now directly
the identity became assured, toward them, or rather to the Hegumen
conspicuous in their midst, innumerable arms were outstretched,
seconding the cry: "Save her! Save her! Let the lion be killed!"

Easier said than done. Crediting the Brotherhood with lingering sparks
of humanity, the game was beyond their interference. The brute was lord.
Who dared go in and confront him?

About this time, the black man, of whom we have spoken, looked out of
his cell again. To him the pleading arms were turned. He saw the monk,
the Princess, and the lion making its furious circuit--saw them and
retreated, but a moment after reappeared, attired in the savageries
which were his delight. In the waist-belt he had a short sword, and over
his left shoulder a roll like a fisherman's net. And now he did not
retreat.

The Princess reached Sergius safely, and placing a hand on his arm,
brought him back, as it were, to life and the situation.

"Fly, little mother--by the way you came--fly!" he cried, in mighty
anguish. "O God! it is too late--too late."

Wringing his hands, he gave way to tears.

"No, I will not fly. Did I not bring you to this? Let death come to us
both. Better the quick work of the lion than the slow torture of
conscience. I will not fly! We will die together. I too believe in God
and Jesus Christ his Son."

She reached up, and rested her hand upon his shoulder. The repetition of
the Creed, and her companionship restored his courage, and smiling,
despite the tears on his cheeks, he said:

"Very well, little mother. The army of the martyrs will receive us, and
the dear Lord is at his mansion door to let us in."

The lion now ceased galloping. Stopping over in the west quarter of the
field, he turned his big burning eyes on the two thus resigning
themselves, and crouching, put himself in motion toward them; his mane
all on end; his jaws agape, their white armature whiter of the crimson
tongue lolling adrip below the lips. He had given up escape, and, his
curiosity sated, was bent upon his prey. The charge of cowardice had
been premature. The near thunder of his roaring was exultant and awful.

There was great ease of heart to the people when Nilo--for he it
was--taking position between the devoted pair and their enemy, shook the
net from his shoulder, and proceeded to give an example of his practice
with lions in the jungles of Kash-Cush.

Keeping the brute steadily eye to eye, he managed so that while
retaining the leaden balls tied to its disengaged corners one in each
hand, the net was presently in an extended roll on the ground before
him. Leaning forward then, his hands bent inwardly knuckle to knuckle at
his breast, his right foot advanced, the left behind the right ready to
carry him by a step left aside, he waited the attack--to the beholders,
a figure in shining ebony, giantesque in proportions, Phidian in grace.

Tamerlane stopped. What new wonder was this? And while making the study,
he settled flat on the sand, and sunk his roaring into uneasy whines and
growls.

By this time every one looking on understood Nilo's intent--that he
meant to bide the lion's leap, and catch and entangle him in the net.
What nerve and nicety of calculation--what certainty of eye--what
knowledge of the savage nature dealt with--what mastery of self, limb
and soul were required for the feat!

Just at this crisis there was a tumult in the grand stand. Those who
turned that way saw a man in glistening armor pushing through the
brethren there in most unceremonious sort. In haste to reach the front,
he stepped from bench to bench, knocking the gowned Churchmen right and
left as if they were but so many lay figures. On the edge of the wall,
he tossed his sword and shield into the arena, and next instant leaped
after them. Before astonishment was spent, before the dull of faculties
could comprehend the intruder, before minds could be made up to so much
as yell, he had fitted the shield to his arm, snatched up the sword, and
run to the point of danger. There, with quick understanding of the
negro's strategy, he took place behind him, but in front of the Princess
and the monk. His agility, cumbered though he was, his amazing spirit,
together with the thought that the fair woman had yet another champion
over whom the lion must go ere reaching her, wrought the whole multitude
into ecstasy. They sprang upon the benches, and their shouting was
impossible of interpretation except as an indication of a complete
revulsion of feeling. In fact, many who but a little before had cheered
the lion or cursed him for cowardice now prayed aloud for his victims.

The noise was not without effect on the veteran Tamerlane. He surveyed
the benches haughtily once, then set forward again, intent on Nilo.

The movement, in its sinuous, flexile gliding, resembled somewhat a
serpent's crawl. And now he neither roared nor growled. The lolling
tongue dragged the sand; the beating of the tail was like pounding with
a flail; the mane all erect trebly enlarged the head; and the eyes were
like live coals in a burning bush. The people hushed. Nilo stood firm;
thunder could as easily have diverted a statue; and behind him, not less
steadfast and watchful, Count Corti kept guard. Thirty feet away--
twenty-five--twenty--then the great beast stopped, collected himself,
and with an indescribable roar launched clear of the ground. Up, at the
same instant, and forward on divergent lines, went the leaden balls; the
netting they dragged after them had the appearance of yellow spray blown
suddenly in the air. When the monster touched the sand again, he was
completely enveloped.

The struggle which ensued--the gnashing of teeth, the bellowing, the
rolling and blind tossing and pitching, the labor with the mighty limbs,
the snapping of the net, the burrowing into the sand, the further and
more inextricable entanglement of the enraged brute may be left to
imagination. Almost before the spectators realized the altered
condition, Nilo was stabbing him with the short sword.

The well-directed steel at length accomplished the work, and the pride
of the Cynegion lay still in the bloody tangle--then the benches found
voice.

Amidst the uproar Count Corti went to Nilo.

"Who art thou?" he asked, in admiration.

The King smiled, and signified his inability to hear or speak. Whereupon
the Count led him to the Princess.

"Take heart, fair saint," he said. "The lion is dead, and thou art
safe."

She scarcely heard him.

He dropped upon his knee.

"The lion is dead, O Princess, and here is the hand which slew him--here
thy rescuer."

She looked her gratitude to Nilo--speak she could not.

"And thou, too," the Count continued, to the monk, "must have thanks for
him."

Sergius replied: "I give thee thanks, Nilo--and thou, noble Italian--I
am only a little less obliged to thee--thou wast ready with thy sword."

He paused, glanced at the grand stand, and went on: "It is plain to me,
Count Corti, that thou thinkest my trial happily ended. The beast is
dead truly; but yonder are some not less thirsty for blood. It is for
them to say what I must further endure. I am still the heretic they
adjudged me. Do thou therefore banish me from thy generous mind; then
thou canst give it entirely to her who is most in need of it. Remove the
Princess--find a chair for her, and leave me to God."

"What further can they do?" asked the Count. "Heaven hath decided the
trial in thy favor. Have they another lion?"

The propriety of the monk's suggestion was obvious; it was not becoming
for the Princess to remain in the public eye; besides, under reaction of
spirit, she was suffering.

"Have they another lion?" the Count repeated.

Anxious as he was to assist the Princess, he was not less anxious, if
there was further combat, to take part in it. The Count was essentially
a fighting man. The open door of Nilo's cell speedily attracted his
attention.

"Help me, sir monk. Yonder is a refuge for the Princess. Let us place
her in safety. I will return, and stay with thee. If the reverend
Christians, thy brethren in the grand stand, are not content, by
Allah"--he checked himself--"their cruelty would turn the stomach of a
Mohammedan."

A few minutes, and she was comfortably housed in the cell.

"Now, go to thy place; I will send for a chair, and rejoin thee."

At the tunnel gate, the Count was met by a number of the St. James', and
he forgot his errand.

"We have come," said one of them to Sergius, "to renew thy arrest."

"Be it so," Sergius replied; "lead on."

But Count Corti strode forward.

"By whose authority is this arrest renewed?" he demanded.

"Our Hegumen hath so ordered."

"It shall not be--no, by the Mother of your Christ, it shall not be
unless you bring me the written word of His Majesty making it lawful."

"The Hegumen"--

"I have said it, and I carry a sword"--the Count struck the hilt of the
weapon with his mailed hand, so the clang was heard on the benches. "I
have said it, and my sword says it. Go, tell thy Hegumen."

Then Sergius spoke:

"I pray you interfere not. The Heavenly Father who saved me this once is
powerful to save me often."

"Have done, sir monk," the Count returned, with increasing earnestness.
"Did I not hear thee say the same in thy holy Sancta Sophia, in such
wise that these deserved to cast themselves at thy feet? Instead, lo!
the lion there. And for the truth, which is the soul of the world as God
is its Maker--the Truth and the Maker being the same--it is not interest
in thee alone which moves me. She, thy patroness yonder, is my motive as
well. There are who will say she followed thee hither being thy lover;
but thou knowest better, and so do I. She came bidden by conscience, and
except thou live, there will be no ease of conscience for her--never.
Wherefore, sir monk, hold thy peace. Thou shalt no more go hence of
thine own will than these shall take thee against it.... Return, ye men
of blood--return to him who sent you, and tell him my sword vouches my
word, being so accustomed all these years I have been a man. Bring they
the written word of His Majesty, I will give way. Let them send to him."

The brethren stared at the Count. Had he not been willing to meet old
Tamerlane with that same sword? They turned about, and were near the
tunnel gate going to report, when it was thrown open with great force,
and the Emperor Constantine appeared on horseback, the horse bloody with
spurring and necked with foam. Riding to the Count he drew rein.

"Sir Count, where is my kinswoman?"

Corti kissed his hand.

"She is safe, Your Majesty--she is in the cell yonder."

The Emperor's eye fell upon the carcass of the lion.

"Thou didst it, Count?"

"No--this man did it."

The Emperor gazed at Nilo, thus designated, and taking a golden chain of
fine workmanship from his neck, he threw it over the black King's. At
the door of the cell, he dismounted; within, he kissed the Princess on
the forehead.

"A chair will be here directly."

"And Sergius?" she asked.

"The Brotherhood must forego their claim now. Heaven has signified its
will."

He thereupon entered into explanation. The necessity upon him was sore
and trying, else he had never surrendered Sergius to the Brotherhood. He
expected the Hegumen would subject him to discipline--imprisonment or
penance. He had even signed the order placing the lion at service,
supposing they meant merely a trial of the monk's constancy. Withal the
proceeding was so offensive he had refused to witness it. An officer
came to the palace with intelligence which led him to believe the worst
was really intended. To stop it summarily, he had ordered a horse and a
guard. Another officer reported the Princess in the arena with Sergius
and the lion. With that His Majesty had come at speed. And he was
grateful to God for the issue.

In a short time the sedan was brought, and the Princess borne to her
house.

Summoning the Brotherhood from the grand stand, the Emperor forbade
their pursuing Sergius further; the punishment had already been too
severe. The Hegumen protested. Constantine arose in genuine majesty, and
denouncing all clerical usurpations, he declared that for the future he
would be governed by his own judgment in whatever concerned the lives of
his subjects and the welfare of his empire. The declaration was heard by
the people on the benches.

By his order, Sergius was conducted to Blacherne, and next day installed
a janitor of the imperial Chapel; thus ending his connection with the
Brotherhood of the St. James'.

"Your Majesty," said Count Corti, at the conclusion of the scene in the
arena, "I pray a favor."

Constantine, by this time apprised of the Count's gallantry, bade him
speak.

"Give me the keeping of this negro."

"If you mean his release from prison, Sir Count, take him. He can have
no more suitable guardian. But it is to be remembered he came to the
city with one calling himself the Prince of India, and if at any time
that mysterious person reappears, the man is to be given back to his
master."

The Count regarded Nilo curiously--he was merely recalling the Prince.

"Your Majesty is most gracious. I accept the condition."

The captain of the guard, coming to the tunnel under the grand stand,
was addressed by the sentinel there.

"See--here are a dress, a pair of shoes, and a veil. I found them by the
gate there."

"How came they there?"

"A woman asked me to let her stand by the gate, and see the heretic when
they brought him out, and I gave her permission. She wore these things."

"The Princess Irene!" exclaimed the officer. "Very well. Send them to
me, and I will have her pleasure taken concerning them."

The Cynegion speedily returned to its customary state. But the expiation
remained in the public mind a date to which all manner of events in city
life was referred; none of them, however, of such consequence as the
loss to the Emperor of the allegiance of the St. James'. Thenceforth the
Brotherhoods were united against him.




BOOK VI

CONSTANTINE


CHAPTER I

THE SWORD OF SOLOMON


The current of our story takes us once more to the White Castle at the
mouth of the Sweet Waters of Asia.

It is the twenty-fifth of March, 1452. The weather, for some days cloudy
and tending to the tempestuous, changed at noon, permitting the sun to
show himself in a field of spotless blue. At the edge of the mountainous
steep above Roumeli Hissar, the day-giver lingered in his going down, as
loath to leave the life concentrated in the famous narrows in front of
the old Castle.

On the land, there was an army in waiting; therefore the city of tents
and brushwood booths extending from the shore back to the hills, and the
smoke pervading the perspective in every direction.

On the water, swinging to each other, crowding all the shallows of the
delta of the little river, reaching out into the sweep of the Bosphorus,
boats open and boats roofed--scows, barges, galleys oared and galleys
with masts--ships--a vast conglomerate raft.

About the camp, and to and fro on the raft, men went and came, like ants
in storing time. Two things, besides the locality, identified them--their
turbans, and the crescent and star in the red field of the flags they
displayed.

History, it would appear, takes pleasure in repetition. Full a thousand
years before this, a greater army had encamped on the banks of the same
Sweet Waters. Then it was of Persians; now it is of Turks; and curiously
there are no soldiers to be seen, but only working men, while the
flotilla is composed of carrying vessels; here boats laden with stone;
there boats with lime; yonder boats piled high with timber.

At length the sun, drawing the last ravelling of light after it,
disappeared. About that time, the sea gate in front of the Palace of
Julian down at Constantinople opened, and a boat passed out into the
Marmora. Five men plied the oars. Two sat near the stern. These latter
were Count Corti and Ali, son of Abed-din the Faithful.

Two hours prior, Ali, with a fresh catch of fish, entered the gate, and
finding no purchaser in the galley, pushed on to the landing, and thence
to the Palace.

"O Emir," he said, when admitted to the Count, "the Light of the World,
our Lord Mahommed is arrived."

The intelligence seemed to strike the Count with a sudden ague.

"Where is he?" he asked, his voice hollow as from a closed helmet. Ere
the other could answer, he added a saving clause: "May the love of Allah
be to him a staff of life!"

"He is at the White Castle with Mollahs, Pachas, and engineers a
host.... What a way they were in, rushing here and there, like squealing
swine, and hunting quarters, if but a crib to lie in and blow! Shintan
take them, beards, boots, and turbans! So have they lived on fat things,
slept on divans of down under hangings of silk, breathed perfumed airs
in crowded harems, Heaven knows if now they are even fit to stop an
arrow. They thought the old Castle of Bajazet-Ilderim another Jehan-Numa.
By the delights of Paradise, O Emir--ha, ha, ha!--it was good to see how
little the Light of the World cared for them! At the Castle, he took in
with him for household the ancient _Gabour_ Ortachi-Khalil and a Prince
of India, whom he calls his Messenger of the Stars; the rest were left to
shift for themselves till their tents arrive. Halting the Incomparables,
[Footnote: Janissaries.] out beyond Roumeli-Hissar, he summoned the Three
Tails, [Footnote: Pachas.] nearly dead from fatigue, having been in the
saddle since morning, and rode off with them fast as his Arab could
gallop across the country, and down the long hill behind Therapia,
drawing rein at the gate before the Palace of the Princess Irene."

"The Palace of the Princess Irene," the Count repeated. "What did he
there?"

"He dismounted, looked at the brass plate on the gate-post, went in, and
asked if she were at home. Being told she was yet in the city, he said:
'A message for her to be delivered to-night. Here is a purse to pay for
going. Tell her Aboo-Obeidah, the Singing Sheik'--only the Prophet knows
of such a Sheik--'has been here, bidden by Sultan Mahommed to see if
her house had been respected, and inquire if she has yet her health and
happiness.' With that, he called for his horse, and went through the
garden and up to the top of the promontory; then he returned to Hissar
faster than he went to Therapia; and when, to take boat for the White
Castle, he walked down the height, two of the Three Tails had to be
lifted from their saddles, so nearly dead were they."

Here Ali stopped to laugh.

"Pardon me, O Emir," he resumed, "if I say last what I should have said
first, it being the marrow of the bone I bring you.... Before sitting to
his pilaf, our Lord Mahommed sent me here. 'Thou knowest to get in and
out of the unbelieving city,' he said. 'Go privily to the Emir Mirza,
and bid him come to me to-night.'"

"What now, Ali?"

"My Lord was too wise to tell me."

"It is a great honor, Ali. I shall get ready immediately."

When the night was deep enough to veil the departure, the Count seated
himself in the fisher's boat, a great cloak covering his armor. Half a
mile below the Sweet Waters the party was halted.

"What is this, Ali?"

"The Lord Mahommed's galleys of war are down from the Black Sea. These
are their outlyers."

At the side of one of the vessels, the Count showed the Sultan's signet,
and there was no further interruption.

A few words now with respect to Corti.

He had become a Christian. Next, the bewilderment into which the first
sight of the Princess Irene had thrown him instead of passing off had
deepened into hopeless love.

And farther--Constantine, a genuine knight himself; in fact more knight
than statesman; delighting in arms, armor, hounds, horses, and martial
exercises, including tournaments, hawking, and hunting, found one
abiding regret on his throne--he could have a favorite but never a
comrade. The denial only stimulated the desire, until finally he
concluded to bring the Italian to Court for observation and trial, his
advancement to depend upon the fitness, tact, and capacity he might
develop.

One day an order was placed in the Count's hand, directing him to find
quarters at Blacherne. The Count saw the honor intended, and discerned
that acceptance would place him in better position to get information
for Mahommed, but what would the advantage avail if he were hindered in
forwarding his budget promptly?

No, the mastership of the gate was of most importance; besides which the
seclusion of the Julian residence was so favorable to the part he was
playing; literally he had no one there to make him afraid.

Upon receipt of the order he called for his horse, and rode to
Blacherne, where his argument of the necessity of keeping the Moslem
crew of his galley apart brought about a compromise. His Majesty would
require the Count's presence during the day, but permit him the nights
at Julian. He was also allowed to retain command of the gate.

A few months then found him in Constantine's confidence, the imperial
favorite. Yet more surprising as a coincidence, he actually became to
the Emperor what he had been to Mahommed. He fenced and jousted with
him, instructed him in riding, trained him to sword and bow. Every day
during certain hours he had his new master's life at mercy. With a
thrust of sword, stroke of battle-axe, or flash of an arrow, it was in
his power to rid Mahommed of an opponent concerning whom he wrote: "O my
Lord, I think you are his better, yet if ever you meet him in personal
encounter, have a care."

But the unexpected now happened to the Count. He came to have an
affection for this second lord which seriously interfered with his
obligations to the first one. Its coming about was simple. Association
with the Greek forced a comparison with the Turk. The latter's passion
was a tide before which the better gifts of God to rulers--mercy,
justice, discrimination, recognition of truth, loyalty, services--were
as willows in the sweep of a wave. Constantine, on the other hand, was
thoughtful, just, merciful, tender-hearted, indisposed to offend or to
fancy provocation intended. The difference between a man with and a man
without conscience--between a king all whose actuations are dominated by
religion and a king void of both conscience and religion--slowly but
surely, we say, the difference became apparent to the Count, and had its
inevitable consequences.

Such was the Count's new footing in Blacherne.

The changes wrought in his feeling were forwarded more than he was aware
by the standing accorded him in the reception-room of the Princess
Irene.

After the affair at the Cynegion he had the delicacy not to push himself
upon the attention of the noble lady. In preference he sent a servant
every morning to inquire after her health. Ere long he was the recipient
of an invitation to come in person; after which his visits increased in
frequency. Going to Blacherne, and coming from it, he stopped at her
house, and with every interview it seemed his passion for her
intensified.

Now it were not creditable to the young Princess' discernment to say she
was blind to his feeling; yet she was careful to conceal the discovery
from him, and still more careful not to encourage his hope. She placed
the favor shown him to the account of gratitude; at the same time she
admired him, and was deeply interested in the religious sentiment he was
beginning to manifest.

In the Count's first audience after the rescue from the lion, she
explained how she came to be drawn to the Cynegion. This led to detail
of her relations with Sergius, concluding with the declaration: "I gave
him the signal to speak in Sancta Sophia, and felt I could not live if
he died the death, sent to it by me."

"Princess," the Count replied, "I heard the monk's sermon in Sancta
Sophia, but did not know of your giving the signal. Has any one impugned
your motive in going to the Cynegion? Give me his name. My sword says
you did well."

"Count Corti, the Lord has taken care of His own."

"As you say, Princess Irene. Hear me before addressing yourself to
something else.... I remember the words of the Creed--or if I have them
wrong correct me: 'I believe in God, and Jesus Christ, his Son.'"

"It is word for word."

"Am I to understand you gave him the form?"

"The idea is Father Hilarion's."

"And the Two Articles. Are they indeed sayings of Jesus Christ?"

"Even so."

"Give me the book containing them."

Taking a New Testament from the table, she gave it to him.

"You will find the sayings easily. On the margins opposite them there
are markings illuminated in gold."

"Thanks, O Princess, most humbly. I will return the book."

"No, Count, it is yours."

An expression she did not understand darkened his face.

"Are you a Christian?" she asked.

He flushed deeply, and bowed while answering:

"My mother is a Christian."

That night Count Corti searched the book, and found that the strength of
faith underlying his mother's prayers for his return to her, and the
Princess' determination to die with the monk, were but Christian lights.

"Princess Irene," he said one day, "I have studied the book you gave me;
and knowing now who Christ is, I am ready to accept your Creed. Tell me
how I may know myself a believer?"

A lamp in the hollow of an alabaster vase glows through the
transparency; so her countenance responded to the joy behind it.

"Render obedience to His commands--do His will, O Count--then wilt thou
be a believer in Christ, and know it."

The darkness she had observed fall once before on his face obscured it
again, and he arose and went out in silence.

Brave he certainly was, and strong. Who could strike like him? He loved
opposition for the delight there was in overcoming it; yet in his
chamber that night he was never so weak. He resorted to the book, but
could not read. It seemed to accuse him. "Thou Islamite--thou son of
Mahomet, though born of a Christian, whom servest thou? Judas, what dost
thou in this city? Hypocrite--traitor--which is thy master, Mahomet or
Christ?"

He fell upon his knees, tore at his beard, buried his head in his arms.
He essayed prayer to Christ.

"Jesus--Mother of Jesus--O my mother!" he cried in agony.

The hour he was accustomed to give to Mahommed came round. He drew out
the writing materials. "The Princess"--thus he began a sentence, but
stopped--something caught hold of his heart--the speaking face of the
beloved woman appeared to him--her eyes were reproachful--her lips
moved--she spoke: "Count Corti, I am she whom thou lovest; but what dost
thou? Is it not enough to betray my kinsman? Thy courage--what makest
thou of it but wickedness? ... Write of me to thy master. Come every
day, and contrive that I speak, then tell him of it. Am I sick? Tell him
of it. Do I hold to this or that? Tell him. Am I shaken by visions of
ruin to my country? Tell him of them. What is thy love if not the
servant for hire of his love? Traitor--panderer!"

The Count pushed the table from him, and sprang to foot writhing. To
shut out the word abhorrent above all other words, he clapped his hands
tight over his ears--in vain.

"Panderer!"--he heard with his soul--"Panderer! When thou hast delivered
me to Mahommed, what is he to give thee? How much?"

Thus shame, like a wild dog, bayed at him. For relief he ran out into
the garden. And it was only the beginning of misery. Such the
introduction or first chapter, what of the catastrophe? He could not
sleep for shame.

In the morning he ordered his horse, but had not courage to go to
Blacherne. How could he look at the kindly face of the master he was
betraying? He thought of the Princess. Could he endure her salutation?
She whom he was under compact to deliver to Mahommed? A paroxysm of
despair seized him.

He rode to the Gate St. Romain, and out of it into the country. Gallop,
gallop--the steed was good--his best Arab, fleet and tireless. Noon
overtook him--few things else could--still he galloped. The earth turned
into a green ribbon under the flying hoofs, and there was relief in the
speed. The air, whisked through, was soothing. At length he came to a
wood, wild and interminable, Belgrade, though he knew it not, and
dismounting by a stream, he spent the day there. If now and then the
steed turned its eyes upon him, attracted by his sighs, groans and
prayer, there was at least no accusation in them. The solitude was
restful; and returning after nightfall, he entered the city through the
sortie under the Palace of Blacherne known as the Cercoporta.

It is well pain of spirit has its intermissions; otherwise long life
could not be; and if sleep bring them, so much the better.

Next day betimes, the Count was at Blacherne.

"I pray grace, O my Lord!" he said, speaking to the question in the
Emperor's look. "Yesterday I had to ride. This confinement in the city
deadens me. I rode all day."

The good, easy master sighed: "Would I had been with you, Count."

Thus he dismissed the truancy. But with the Princess it was a lengthy
chapter. If the Emperor was never so gracious, she seemed never so
charming. He wrote to Mahommed in the evening, and walked the garden the
residue of the night.

So weeks and months passed, and March came--even the night of the
twenty-fifth, with its order from the Sultan to the White Castle--an
interval of indecision, shame, and self-indictment. How many plans of
relief he formed who can say? Suicide he put by, a very last resort.
There was also a temptation to cut loose from Mahommed, and go boldly
over to the Emperor. That would be a truly Christian enlistment for the
approaching war; and aside from conformity to his present sympathies, it
would give him a right to wear the Princess' favor on his helmet. But a
fear shook the resort out of mind. Mahommed, whether successful or
defeated, would demand an explanation of him, possibly an accounting. He
knew the Sultan. Of all the schemes presented, the most plausible was
flight. There was the gate, and he its keeper, and beyond the gate, the
sunny Italian shore, and his father's castle. The seas and sailing
between were as green landscapes to a weary prisoner, and he saw in them
only the joy of going and freedom to do. Welcome, and to God the praise!
More than once he locked his portables of greatest value in the cabin of
the galley. But alas! He was in bonds. Life in Constantinople now
comprehended two of the ultimate excellencies to him, Princess Irene and
Christ--and their joinder in the argument he took to be no offence.

From one to another of these projects he passed, and they but served to
hide the flight of time. He was drifting--ahead, and not far, he heard
the thunder of coming events--yet he drifted.

In this condition, the most envied man in Constantinople and the most
wretched, the Sultan's order was delivered to him by Ali.

The time for decision was come. Tired--ashamed--angry with himself, he
determined to force the end.

The Count arrived at the Castle, was immediately admitted to the Sultan;
indeed, had he been less resolute, his master's promptitude would have
been a circumstance of disturbing significance.

Observation satisfied him Mahommed was in the field; for with all his
Epicureanism in times of peace, when a campaign was in progress the
Conqueror resolved himself into a soldierly example of indifference to
luxury. In other words, with respect to furnishment, the interior of the
old Castle presented its every day ruggedness.

One lamp fixed to the wall near the door of the audience chamber
struggled with the murk of a narrow passage, giving to view an assistant
chamberlain, an armed sentinel, and two jauntily attired pages in
waiting. Surrendering his sword to the chamberlain, the Count halted
before the door, while being announced; at the same time, he noticed a
man come out of a neighboring apartment clad in black velvet from head
to foot, followed closely by a servant. It was the Prince of India.

The mysterious person advanced slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor, his
velvet-shod feet giving out no sound. His air indicated deep reflection.
In previous encounters with him, the Count had been pleased; now his
sensations were of repugnance mixed with doubt and suspicion. He had not
time to account for the change. It may have had origin in the higher
prescience sometimes an endowment of the spirit by which we stand
advised of a friend or an enemy; most likely, however, it was a
consequence of the curious tales abroad in Constantinople; for at the
recognition up sprang the history of the Prince's connection with Lael,
and her abandonment by him, the more extraordinary from the evidences of
his attachment to her. Up sprang also the opinion of universal
prevalence in the city that he had perished in the great fire. What did
it all mean? What kind of man was he?

The servant carried a package wrapped in gold-embroidered green silk.

Coming near, the Prince raised his eyes--stopped--smiled--and said:

"Count Corti--or Mirza the Emir--which have I the honor of meeting?"

In spite of the offence he felt, Corti blushed, such a flood of light
did the salutation let in upon the falsity of his position. Far from
losing presence of mind, he perceived at once how intimately the Prince
stood in the councils of the Sultan.

"The Lord Mahommed must be heard before I can answer," he returned,
calmly.

In an instant the Prince became cordial.

"That was well answered," he said. "I am pleased to have my judgment of
you confirmed. Your mission has been a trying one, but you have
conducted it like a master. The Lord Mahommed has thanked me many times
that I suggested you for it. He is impatient to see you. We will go in
together."

Mahommed, in armor, was standing by a table on which were a bare
cimeter, a lamp brightly burning, and two large unrolled maps. In one of
the latter, the Count recognized Constantinople and its environs cast
together from his own surveys.

Retired a few steps were the two Viziers, Kalil Pacha and his rival,
Saganos Pacha, the Mollah Kourani, and the Sheik Akschem-sed-din. The
preaching of the Mollah had powerfully contributed to arousing the
fanatical spirit of the Sultan's Mohammedan subjects. The four were
standing in the attitude usual to Turkish officials in presence of a
superior, their heads bowed, their hands upon their stomachs. In
speaking, if they raised their eyes from the floor it was to shoot a
furtive glance, then drop them again.

"This is the grand design of the work by which you will be governed,"
Mahommed said to the counsellors, laying the finger points of his right
hand upon the map unknown to the Count, and speaking earnestly. "You
will take it, and make copies tonight; for if the stars fail not, I will
send the masons and their workmen to the other shore in the morning."

The advisers saluted--it would be difficult to say which of them with
the greatest unction.

Looking sharply at Kalil, the master asked: "You say you superintended
the running of the lines in person?"

Kalil saluted separately, and returned: "My Lord may depend upon the
survey."

"Very well. I wait now only the indication of Heaven that the time is
ripe for the movement. Is the Prince of India coming?"

"I am here, my Lord."

Mahommed turned as the Prince spoke, and let his eyes rest a moment upon
Count Corti, without a sign of recognition.

"Come forward, Prince," he said. "What is the message you bring me?"

"My Lord," the Prince replied, after prostration, "in the Hebrew
Scriptures there is a saying in proof of the influence the planets have
in the affairs of men: 'Then fought the kings of Canaan in Taanach by
the waters of Megiddo; they fought from heaven; the stars in their
courses fought against Sisera.' Now art thou truly Sultan of Sultans.
To-morrow--the twenty-sixth of March--will be memorable amongst days,
for then thou mayst begin the war with the perfidious Greek. From four
o'clock in the morning the stars which fought against Sisera will fight
for Mahommed. Let those who love him salute and rejoice."

The counsellors, dropping on their knees, fell forward, their faces on
their hands. The Prince of India did the same. Count Corti alone
remained standing, and Mahommed again observed him.

"Hear you," the latter said, to his officers. "Go assemble the masons
and their workmen, the masters of boats, and the chiefs charged with
duties. At four o'clock in the morning I will move against Europe. The
stars have said it, and their permission is my law. Rise!"

As his associates were moving backward with repeated genuflections, the
Prince of India spoke:

"O most favored of men! Let them stay a moment."

At a sign from the Sultan they halted; thereupon the Prince of India
beckoned Syama to come, and taking the package from his hands, he laid
it on the table.

"For my Lord Mahommed," he said.

"What is it?" Mahommed demanded.

"A sign of conquest.... My Lord knows King Solomon ruled the world in
his day, its soul of wisdom. At his death dominion did not depart from
him. The secret ministers in the earth, the air and the waters, obedient
to Allah, became his slaves. My Lord knows of whom I speak. Who can
resist them? ... In the tomb of Hiram, King of Tyre, the friend of King
Solomon, I found a sarcophagus. It was covered with a model in marble of
the Temple of the Hebrew Almighty God. Removing the lid, lo! the mummy
of Hiram, a crown upon its head, and at its feet the sword of Solomon, a
present without price. I brought it away, resolved to give it to him
whom the stars should elect for the overthrow of the superstitions
devised by Jesus, the bastard son of Joseph the carpenter of Nazareth....
Undo the wrappings, Lord Mahommed."

The Sultan obeyed, and laying the last fold of the cloth aside, drew
back staring, and with uplifted hands.

"Kalil--Kourani--Akschem-sed-din--all of you, come look. Tell me what it
is--it blinds me."

The sword of Solomon lay before them; its curved blade a gleam of
splendor, its scabbard a mass of brilliants, its hilt a ruby so pure we
may say it retained in its heart the life of a flame.

"Take it in hand, Lord Mahommed," said the Prince of India.

The young Sultan lifted the sword, and as he did so down a groove in its
back a stream of pearls started and ran, ringing musically, and would
not rest while he kept the blade in motion. He was speechless from
wonder.

"Now may my Lord march upon Constantinople, for the stars and every
secret minister of Solomon will fight for him."

So saying, the Prince knelt before the Sultan, and laid his lips on the
instep of his foot, adding: "Oh, my Lord! with that symbol in hand,
march, and surely as Tabor is among the mountains and Carmel by the sea,
so surely Christ will give place to Mahomet in Sancta Sophia. March at
four o'clock."

And the counsellors left kisses on the same instep, and departed.

Thence through the night the noises of preparation kept the space
between the hills of the narrows alive with echoes. At the hour
permitted by the stars--four o'clock--a cloud of boats cast loose from
the Asiatic shore, and with six thousand laborers, handmen to a thousand
master masons, crossed at racing speed to Europe. "God is God, and
Mahomet is his Prophet," they shouted. The vessels of burden, those with
lime, those with stone, those with wood, followed as they were called,
and unloading, hauled out, to give place to others.

Before sun up the lines of the triangular fort whose walls near
Roumeli-Hissar are yet intact, prospectively a landmark enduring as the
Pyramids, were defined and swarming with laborers. The three Pachas,
Kalil, Sarudje, and Saganos, superintended each a side of the work, and
over them all, active and fiercely zealous, moved Mahommed, the sword of
Solomon in his hand.

And there was no lack of material for the structure extensive as it was.
Asia furnished its quota, and Christian towns and churches on the
Bosphorus were remorselessly levelled for the stones in them; wherefore
the outer faces of the curtains and towers are yet speckled with marbles
in block, capital and column.

Thus Mahommed, taking his first step in the war so long a fervid dream,
made sure of his base of operations.

On the twenty-eighth of August, the work completed, from his camp on the
old Asometon promontory he reconnoitred the country up to the ditch of
Constantinople, and on the first of September betook himself to
Adrianople.




CHAPTER II

MAHOMMED AND COUNT CORTI MAKE A WAGER


Upon the retirement of the Prince of India and the counsellors, Mahommed
took seat by the table, and played with the sword of Solomon, making the
pearls travel up and down the groove in the blade, listening to their
low ringing, and searching for inscriptions. This went on until Count
Corti began to think himself forgotten. At length the Sultan, looking
under the guard, uttered an exclamation--looked again--and cried out:

"O Allah! It is true!--May I be forgiven for doubting him!--Come, Mirza,
come see if my eyes deceive me. Here at my side!"

The Count mastered his surprise, and was presently leaning over the
Sultan's shoulder.

"You remember, Mirza, we set out together studying Hebrew. Against your
will I carried you along with me until you knew the alphabet, and could
read a little. You preferred Italian, and when I brought the learned
men, and submitted to them that Hebrew was one of a family of tongues
more or less alike, and would have sent you with them to the Sidonian
coast for inscriptions, you refused. Do you remember?"

"My Lord, those were the happiest days of my life."

Mahommed laughed. "I kept you three days on bread and water, and let you
off then because I could not do without you.... But for the matter now.
Under this guard--look--are not the brilliants set in the form of
letters?"

Corti examined closely.

"Yes, yes; there are letters--I see them plainly--a name."

"Spell it."

"S-O-L-O-M-O-N."

"Then I have not deceived myself," Mahommed exclaimed. "Nor less has the
Prince of India deceived me." He grew more serious. "A marvellous man! I
cannot make him out. The more I do with him the more incomprehensible he
becomes. The long past is familiar to him as the present to me. He is
continually digging up things ages old, and amazing me with them.
Several times I have asked him when he was born, and he has always made
the same reply: 'I will tell when you are Lord of Constantinople.' ...
How he hates Christ and the Christians! ... This is indeed the sword
of Solomon--and he found it in the tomb of Hiram, and gives it to me as
the elect of the stars now. Ponder it, O Mirza! Now at the mid of the
night in which I whistle up my dogs of war to loose them on the
_Gabour_--How, Mirza--what ails you? Why that change of countenance? Is
he not a dog of an unbeliever? On your knees before me--I have more to
tell you than to ask. No, spurs are troublesome. To the door and bid the
keeper there bring a stool--and look lest the lock have an ear hanging to
it. Old Kalil, going out, though bowing, and lip-handing me, never took
his eyes off you."

The stool brought, Corti was about to sit.

"Take off your cap"--Mahommed spoke sternly--"for as you are not the
Mirza I sent away, I want to see your face while we talk. Sit here, in
the full of the light."

The Count seated, placed his hooded cap on the floor. He was perfectly
collected. Mahommed fingered the ruby hilt while searching the eyes
which as calmly searched his.

"How brave you are!" the Sultan began, but stopped. "Poor Mirza!" he
began again, his countenance softened. One would have said some tender
recollection was melting the shell of his heart. "Poor Mirza! I loved
you better than I loved my father, better than I loved my brothers, well
as I loved my mother--with a love surpassing all I ever knew but one,
and of that we will presently speak. If honor has a soul, it lives in
you, and the breath you draw is its wine, purer than the first expressage
of grapes from the Prophet's garden down by Medina. Your eyes look truth,
your tongue drips it as a broken honey-comb drips honey. You are truth as
God is God."

He was speaking sincerely.

"Fool--fool--that I let you go!--and I would not--no, by the rose-door
of Paradise and the golden stairs to the House of Allah, I would not had
I loved my full moon of full moons less. She was parted from me; and
with whose eyes could I see her so well as with yours, O my falcon? Who
else would report to me so truly her words? Love makes men and lions
mad; it possessed me; and I should have died of it but for your
ministering. Wherefore, O Mirza"--

The Count had been growing restive; now he spoke. "My Lord is about
committing himself to some pledge. He were wise, did he hear me first."

"Perhaps so," the Sultan rejoined, uncertainly, but added immediately:
"I will hear you."

"It is true, as my Lord said, I am not the Mirza he despatched to Italy.
The changes I have undergone are material; and in recounting them I
anticipate his anger. He sees before him the most wretched of men to
whom death would be mercy."

"Is it so bad? You were happy when you went away. Was not the mission to
your content?"

"My Lord's memory is a crystal cup from which nothing escapes--a cup
without a leak. He must recall how I prayed to stay with him."

"Yes, yes."

"My dread was prophetic."

"Tell me of the changes."

"I will--and truly as there is but one God, and he the father of life
and maker of things. First, then, the affection which at my going was my
Lord's, and which gave me to see him as the Light of the World, and the
perfection of glory in promise, is now divided."

"You mean there is another Light of the World? Be it so, and still you
leave me flattered. How far you had to travel before finding the other!
Who is he?"

"The Emperor of the Greeks."

"Constantine? Are his gifts so many and rich? The next."

"I am a Christian."

"Indeed? Perhaps you can tell me the difference between God and Allah.
Yesterday Kourani said they were the same."

"Nay, my Lord, the difference is between Christ and Mahomet."

"The mother of the one was a Jewess, the mother of the other an Arab--I
see. Go on."

The Count did not flinch. "My Lord, great as is your love of the
Princess Irene"--Mahommed half raised his hands, his brows knit, his
eyes filled with fire, but the Count continued composedly--"mine is
greater."

The Sultan recovered himself.

"The proof, the proof!" he said, his voice a little raised. "My love of
her is consuming me, but I see you alive."

"My Lord's demand is reasonable. I came here to make the avowal, and
die. Would my Lord so much?"

"You would die for the Princess?"

"My Lord has said it."

"Is there not something else in the urgency?"

"Yes--honor."

The Count's astonishment was unspeakable. He expected an outburst of
wrath unappeasable, a summons for an executioner; instead, Mahommed's
eyes became humid, and resting his elbow on the table, and his face on
the thumb and forefinger, he said, gazing sorrowfully:

"Ahmed was my little brother. His mother published before my father's
death, that my mother was a slave. She was working for her child
already, and I had him smothered in a bath. Cruel? God forgive me! It
was my duty to provide for the peace of my people. I had a right to take
care of myself; yet will I never be forgiven. Kismet!... I have had many
men slain since. I travel, going to mighty events beckoned by destiny.
The ordinary cheap soul cannot understand how necessary it is that my
path should be smooth and clear; for sometime I may want to run; and he
will amuse or avenge himself by stamping me in history a monster without
a soul. Kismet! ... But you, my poor Mirza, you should know me better.
You are my brother without guile. I am not afraid to love you. I do love
you. Let us see.... Your letters from Constantinople--I have them
all--told me so much more than you intended, I could not suspect your
fidelity. They prepared me for everything you have confessed. Hear how
in my mind I disposed of them point by point.... 'Mirza,' I said,
'pities the _Gabour_ Emperor; in the end he will love him. Loving a
hundred men is less miraculous in a man than loving one. He will make
comparisons. Why not? The _Gabour_ appeals to him through his
weakness, I through my strength. I would rather be feared than pitied.
Moreover, the _Gabour's_ day runs to its close, and as it closes,
mine opens. Pity never justified treason.' ... And I said, too, on
reading the despatch detailing your adventures in Italy: 'Poor Mirza!
now has he discovered he is an Italian, stolen when a child, and having
found his father's castle and his mother, a noble woman, he will become
a Christian, for so would I in his place.' Did I stop there? The wife of
the Pacha who received you from your abductors is in Broussa. I sent to
her asking if she had a keepsake or memento which would help prove your
family and country. See what she returned to me."

From under a cloth at the further end of the table, Mahommed drew a box,
and opening it, produced a collar of lace fastened with a cameo pin. On
the pin there was a graven figure.

"Tell me, Mirza, if you recognize the engraving." The Count took the
cameo, looked at it, and replied, with a shaking voice:

"The arms of the Corti! God be praised!"

"And here--what are these, and what the name on them?"

Mahommed gave him a pair of red morocco half-boots for a child, on
which, near the tops, a name was worked in silk.

"It is mine, my Lord--my name--'Ugo.'"

He cast himself before the Sultan, and embraced his knees, saying, in
snatches as best he could:

"I do not know what my Lord intends--whether he means I am to die or
live--if it be death, I pray him to complete his mercy by sending these
proofs to my mother"--

"Poor Mirza, arise! I prefer to have your face before me."

Directly the Count was reseated, Mahommed continued:

"And you, too, love the Princess Irene? You say you love her more than
I? And you thought I could not endure hearing you tell it? That I would
summon black Hassan with his bowstring? With all your opportunities,
your seeing and hearing her, as the days multiplied from tens to
hundreds, is it for me to teach you she will come to no man except as a
sacrifice? What great thing have you to offer her? While I--well, by
this sword of Solomon, to-morrow morning I set out to say to her: 'For
thy love, O my full Moon of full Moons, for thy love thou shalt have the
redemption of thy Church.'... And besides, did I not foresee your
passion? Courtiers stoop low and take pains to win favor; but no
courtier, not even a professional, intending merely to please me, could
have written of her as you did; and by that sign, O Mirza, I knew you
were in the extremity of passion. Offended? Not so, not so! I sent you
to take care of her--fight for her--die, if her need were so great. Of
whom might I expect such service but a lover? Did I not, the night of
our parting, foretell what would happen?" He paused gazing at the ruby
of the ring on his finger.

"See, Mirza! There has not been a waking hour since you left me but I
have looked at this jewel; and it has kept color faithfully. Often as I
beheld it, I said: 'Mirza loves her because he cannot help it; yet he is
keeping honor with me. Mirza is truth, as God is God. From his hand will
I receive her in Constantinople'"--

"O my Lord"--

"Peace, peace! The night wanes, and you have to return. Of what was I
speaking? Oh, yes"--

"But hear me, my Lord. At the risk of your displeasure I must speak."

"What is it?"

"In her presence my heart is always like to burst, yet, as I am to be
judged in the last great day, I have kept faith with my Lord. Once she
thanked me--it was after I offered myself to the lion--O Heaven! how
nearly I lost my honor! Oh, the agony of that silence! The anguish of
that remembrance! I have kept the faith, my Lord. But day by day now the
will to keep it grows weaker. All that holds me steadfast is my position
in Constantinople. What am I there?"

The Count buried his face in his hands, and through the links in his
surcoat the tremor which shook his body was apparent.

Mahommed waited.

"What am I there? Having come to see the goodness of the Emperor, I must
run daily to betray him. I am a Christian; yet as Judas sold his Master,
I am under compact to sell my religion. I love a noble woman, yet am
pledged to keep her safely, and deliver her to another. O my Lord, my
Lord! This cannot go on. Shame is a vulture, and it is tearing me--my
heart bleeds in its beak. Release me, or give me to death. If you love
me, release me."

"Poor Mirza!"

"My Lord, I am not afraid."

Mahommed struck the table violently, and his eyes glittered. "That ever
one should think I loved a coward! Yet more intolerable, that he whom I
have called brother should know me so little! Can it be, O Mirza, can it
be, you tell me these things imagining them new to me? ... Let me have
done. What we are saying would have become us ten years ago, not now. It
is unmanly. I had a purpose in sending for you.... Your mission in
Constantinople ends in the morning at four o'clock. In other words, O
Mirza, the condition passes from preparation for war with the _Gabour_ to
war. Observe now. You are a fighting man--a knight of skill and courage.
In the rencounters to which I am going--the sorties, the assaults, the
duels single and in force, the exchanges with all arms, bow, arbalist,
guns small and great, the mines and countermines--you cannot stay out.
You must fight. Is it not so?"

Corti's head arose, his countenance brightened.

"My Lord, I fear I run forward of your words--forgive me."

"Yes, give ear.... The question now is, whom will you fight--me or the
_Gabour?_"

"O my Lord"--

"Be quiet, I say. The issue is not whether you love me less. I prefer
you give him your best service."

"How, my Lord?"

"I am not speaking in contempt, but with full knowledge of your
superiority with weapons--of the many of mine who must go down before
you. And that you may not be under restraint of conscience or arm-tied
in the melee, I not only conclude your mission, but release you from
every obligation to me."

"Every obligation!"

"I know my words, Emir, yet I will leave nothing uncertain.... You will
go back to the city free of every obligation to me--arm-free, mind-free.
Be a Christian, if you like. Send me no more despatches advisory of the
Emperor"--

"And the Princess Irene, my Lord?"

Mahommed smiled at the Count's eagerness.

"Have patience, Mirza.... Of the moneys had from me, and the properties
heretofore mine in trust, goods, horses, arms, armor, the galley and its
crew, I give them to you without an accounting. You cannot deliver them
to me or dispose of them, except with an explanation which would weaken
your standing in Blacherne, if not undo you utterly. You have earned
them."

Corti's face reddened.

"With all my Lord's generosity, I cannot accept this favor. Honor"--

"Silence, Emir, and hear me. I have never been careless of your honor.
When you set out for Italy, preparatory to the mission at Constantinople,
you owed me duty, and there was no shame in the performance; but now--so
have the changes wrought--that which was honorable to Mirza the Emir is
scandalous to Count Corti. After four o'clock you will owe me no duty;
neither will you be in my service. From that hour Mirza, my falcon, will
cease to be. He will have vanished. Or if ever I know him more, it will
be as Count Corti, Christian, stranger, and enemy."

"Enemy--my Lord's enemy? Never!"

The Count protested with extended arms.

"Yes, circumstances will govern. And now the Princess Irene."

Mahommed paused; then, summoning his might of will, and giving it
expression in a look, he laid a forcible hand on the listener's
shoulder.

"Of her now.... I have devised a promotion for you, Emir. After to-night
we will be rivals."

Corti was speechless--he could only stare.

"By the rose-door of Paradise--the only oath fit for a lover--or, as
more becoming a knight, by this sword of Solomon, Emir, I mean the
rivalry to be becoming and just. I have an advantage of you. With women
rank and riches are as candles to moths. On the other side your advantage
is double; you are a Christian, and may be in her eyes day after day. And
not to leave you in mean condition, I give you the moneys and property
now in your possession; not as a payment--God forbid!--but for pride's
sake--my pride. Mahommed the Sultan may not dispute with a knight who has
only a sword."

"I have estates in Italy."

"They might as well be in the moon. I shall enclose Constantinople
before you could arrange with the Jews, and have money enough to buy a
feather for your cap. If this were less true, comes then the argument:
How can you dispose of the properties in hand, and quiet the gossips in
the _Gabour's_ palace? 'Where are your horses?' they will ask. What
answer have you? 'Where your galley?' Answer. 'Where your Mohammedan
crew?' Answer."

The Count yielded the debate, saying: "I cannot comprehend my Lord. Such
thing was never heard of before."

"Must men be restrained because the thing they wish to do was never
heard of before? Shall I not build a mosque with five minarets because
other builders stopped with three? ... To the sum of it all now.
Christian or Moslem, are you willing to refer our rivalry for the young
woman to God?"

"My wonder grows with listening to my Lord."

"Nay, this surprises you because it is new. I have had it in mind for
months. It did not come to me easily. It demanded self-denial--something
I am unused to.... Here it is--I am willing to call Heaven in, and let
it decide whether she shall be mine or yours--this lily of Paradise whom
all men love at sight. Dare you as much?"

The soldier spirit arose in the Count.

"Now or then, here or there, as my Lord may appoint. I am ready. He has
but to name his champion."

"I protest. The duel would be unequal. As well match a heron and a hawk.
There is a better way of making our appeal. Listen.... The walls of
Constantinople have never succumbed to attack. Hosts have dashed against
them, and fled or been lost. It may be so with me; but I will march, and
in my turn assault them, and thou defending with thy best might. If I am
beaten, if I retire, be the cause of failure this or that, we--you and
I, O Mirza--will call it a judgment of Heaven, and the Princess shall be
yours; but if I success and enter the city, it shall be a judgment no
less, and then"--Mahommed's eyes were full of fire--"then"--

"What then, my Lord?"

"Thou shalt see to her safety in the last struggle, and conduct her to
Sancta Sophia, and there deliver her to me as ordered by God."

Corti was never so agitated. He turned pale and red--he trembled
visibly.

Mahommed asked mockingly: "Is it Mirza I am treating with, or Count
Corti? Are Christians so unwilling to trust God?"

"But, my Lord, it is a wager you offer me."

"Call it so."

"And its conditions imply slavery for the Princess. Change them, my
Lord--allow her to be consulted and have her will, be the judgment this
or that."

Mahommed clinched his hands.

"Am I a brute? Did ever woman lay her head on my breast perforce?"

The Count replied, firmly:

"Such a condition would be against us both alike."

The Sultan struggled with himself a moment.

"Be it so," he rejoined. "The wager is my proposal, and I will go
through with it. Take the condition, Emir. If I win, she shall come to
me of her free will or not at all."

"A wife, my Lord?"

"In my love first, and in my household first--my Sultana."

The animation which then came to the Count was wonderful. He kissed
Mahommed's hand.

"Now has my Lord outdone himself in generosity. I accept. In no other
mode could the issue be made so absolutely a determination of Heaven."

Mahommed arose.

"We are agreed.--The interview is finished.--Ali is waiting for you."

He replaced the cover on the box containing the collar and the
half-boots.

"I will send these to the Countess your mother; for hereafter you are to
be to me Ugo, Count Corti.... My falcon hath cast its jess and hood.
Mirza is no more. Farewell Mirza."

Corti was deeply moved. Prostrating himself, he arose, and replied:

"I go hence more my Lord's lover than ever. Death to the stranger who in
my presence takes his name in vain."

As he was retiring, Mahommed spoke again:

"A word, Count.... In what we are going to, the comfort and safety of
the Princess Irene may require you to communicate with me. You have
ready wit for such emergencies. Leave me a suggestion."

Corti reflected an instant.

"The signal must proceed from me," he said. "My Lord will pitch his tent
in sight"--

"By Solomon, and this his sword, yes! Every _Gabour_ who dares look
over the wall shall see it while there is a hill abiding."

The Count bowed.

"I know my Lord, and give him this--God helping me, I will make myself
notorious to the besiegers as he will be to the besieged. If at any time
he sees my banderole, or if it be reported to him, let him look if my
shield be black; if so, he shall come himself with a shield the color of
mine, and place himself in my view. My Lord knows I make my own arrows.
If I shoot one black feathered, he must pick it up. The ferrule will be
of hollow lead covering a bit of scrip."

"Once more, Count Corti, the issue is with God. Good night."

Traversing the passage outside the door, the Count met the Prince of
India.

"An hour ago I would have entitled you Emir: but now"--the Prince smiled
while speaking--"I have stayed to thank Count Corti for his kindness to
my black friend Nilo."

"Your servant?"

"My friend and ally--Nilo the King.... If the Count desires to add to
the obligation, he will send the royal person to me with Ali when he
returns to-night."

"I will send him."

"Thanks, Count Corti."

The latter lingered, gazing into the large eyes and ruddy face,
expecting at least an inquiry after Lael. He received merely a bow, and
the words: "We will meet again."

Night was yet over the city, when Ali, having landed the Count, drew out
of the gate with Nilo. The gladness of the King at being restored to his
master can be easily fancied.





CHAPTER III

THE BLOODY HARVEST


In June, a few days after the completion of the enormous work begun by
Mahommed on the Asometon promontory, out of a gate attached to the High
Residence of Blacherne, familiarly known as the Caligaria, there issued
a small troop of horsemen of the imperial military establishment.

The leader of this party--ten in all--was Count Corti. Quite a body of
spectators witnessed the exit, and in their eyes he was the most gallant
knight they had ever seen. They cheered him as, turning to the right
after issuance from the gate, he plunged at a lively trot into the
ravine at the foot of the wall, practically an immense natural fosse.
"God and our Lady of Blacherne," they shouted, and continued shouting
while he was in sight, notwithstanding he did not so much as shake the
banderole on his lance in reply.

Of the Count's appearance this morning it is unnecessary to say more
than that he was in the suit of light armor habitual to him, and as an
indication of serious intent, bore, besides the lance, a hammer or
battle-axe fixed to his saddle-bow, a curved sword considerably longer,
though not so broad as a cimeter, a bow and quiver of arrows at his
back, and a small shield or buckler over the quiver. The favorite
chestnut Arab served him for mount, its head and neck clothed in
flexible mail. The nine men following were equipped like himself in
every particular, except that their heads were protected by
close-fitting conical caps, and instead of armor on their legs, they
wore flowing red trousers.

Of them it may be further remarked, their mode of riding, due to their
short stirrups, was indicative of folk akin to the Bedouin of the
Desert.

Upon returning from the last interview with Mahommed in the White
Castle, the Count had subjected the crew of his galley to rigorous trial
of fitness for land service. Nine of them he found excellent riders
after their fashion, and selecting them as the most promising, he
proceeded to instruct them in the use of the arms they were now bearing.
His object in this small organization was a support to rush in after him
rather than a battle front. That is, in a charge he was to be the
lance's point, and they the broadening of the lance's blade; while he
was engaged, intent on the foe before him, eight of them were to guard
him right and left, and, as the exigencies of combat might demand, open
and close in fan-like movement. The ninth man was a fighter in their
rear. In the simple manoeuvring of this order of battle he had practised
them diligently through the months. The skill attained was remarkable;
and the drilling having been in the Hippodrome, open to the public, the
concourse to see it had been encouraging.

In truth, the wager with Mahommed had supplied the Count with energy of
body and mind. He studied the chances of the contest, knowing how
swiftly it was coming, and believed it possible to defend the city
successfully. At all events, he would do his best, and if the judgment
were adverse, it should not be through default on his part.

The danger--and he discerned it with painful clearness--was in the
religious dissensions of the Greeks; still he fancied the first serious
blow struck by the Turks, the first bloodshed, would bring the factions
together, if only for the common safety.

It is well worth while here to ascertain the views and feelings of the
people whom Count Corti was thus making ready to defend. This may be
said of them generally: It seemed impossible to bring them to believe
the Sultan really intended war against the city.

"What if he does?" they argued. "Who but a young fool would think of
such a thing? If he comes, we will show him the banner of the Blessed
Lady from the walls."

If in the argument there was allusion to the tower on the Asometon
heights, so tall one could stand on its lead-covered roof, and looking
over the intermediate hills, almost see into Constantinople, the
careless populace hooted at the exaggeration: "There be royal idiots as
well as every-day idiots. Staring at us is one thing, shooting at us is
another. Towers with walls thirty feet thick are not movable."

One day a report was wafted through the gates that a gun in the water
battery of the new Turkish fort had sunk a passing ship. "What flag was
the ship flying?" "The Venetian." "Ah, that settles it," the public
cried. "The Sultan wants to keep the Venetians out of the Black Sea. The
Turks and the Venetians have always been at war."

A trifle later intelligence came that the Sultan, lingering at
Basch-Kegan, supposably because the air along the Bosphorus was better
than the air at Adrianople, had effected a treaty by which the Podesta
of Galata bound his city to neutrality; still the complacency of the
Byzantines was in no wise disturbed. "Score one for the Genoese. It is
good to hear of their beating the Venetians."

Occasionally a wanderer--possibly a merchant, more likely a spy--passing
the bazaars of Byzantium, entertained the booth-keepers with stories of
cannon being cast for the Sultan so big that six men tied together might
be fired from them at once. The Greeks only jeered. Some said: "Oh, the
Mahound must be intending a salute for the man in the moon of Ramazan!"
Others decided: "Well, he is crazier than we thought him. There are many
hills on the road to Adrianople, and at the foot of every hill there is
a bridge. To get here he must invent wings for his guns, and even then
it will be long before they can be taught to fly."

At times, too, the old city was set agog with rumors from the Asiatic
provinces opposite that the Sultan was levying unheard-of armies; he had
half a million recruits already, but wanted a million. "Oh, he means to
put a lasting quietus on Huniades and his Hungarians. He is sensible in
taking so many men."

In compliment to the intelligence of the public, this obliviousness to
danger had one fostering circumstance--the gates of the city on land and
water stood open day and night.

"See," it was everywhere said, "the Emperor is not alarmed. Who has more
at stake than he? He is a soldier, if he is an _azymite_. He keeps
ambassadors with the Sultan--what for, if not to be advised?"

And there was a great deal in the argument.

At length the Greek ambassadors were expelled by Mahommed. It was while
he lay at Basch-Kegan. They themselves brought the news. This was
ominous, yet the public kept its spirits. The churches, notably Sancta
Sophia, were more than usually crowded with women; that was all, for the
gates not only remained open, but traffic went in and out of them
unhindered--out even to the Turkish camp, the Byzantines actually
competing with their neighbors of Galata in the furnishment of supplies.
Nay, at this very period every morning a troop of the Imperial guard
convoyed a wagon from Blacherne out to Basch-Kegan laden with the
choicest food and wines; and to the officer receiving them the captain
of the convoy invariably delivered himself: "From His Majesty, the
Emperor of the Romans and Greeks, to the Lord Mahommed, Sultan of the
Turks. Prosperity and long life to the Sultan."

If these were empty compliments, if the relations between the potentates
were slippery, if war were hatching, what was the Emperor about?

Six months before the fort opposite the White Castle was begun,
Constantine had been warned of Mahommed's projected movement against his
capital. The warning was from Kalil Pacha; and whether Kalil was moved
by pity, friendship, or avarice is of no moment; certain it is the
Emperor acted upon the advice. He summoned a council, and proposed war;
but was advised to send a protesting embassy to the enemy. A scornful
answer was returned. Seeing the timidity of his cabinet, cast upon
himself, he resolved to effect a policy, and accordingly expostulated,
prayed, sent presents, offered tribute, and by such means managed to
satisfy his advisers; yet all the time he was straining his resources in
preparation.

In the outset, he forced himself to face two facts of the gravest
import: first, of his people, those of age and thews for fighting were
in frocks, burrowing in monasteries; next, the clergy and their
affiliates were his enemies, many openly preferring a Turk to an
_azymite_. A more discouraging prospect it is difficult to imagine.
There was but one hope left him. Europe was full of professional
soldiers. Perhaps the Pope had influence to send him a sufficient
contingent. Would His Holiness interest himself so far? The brave
Emperor despatched an embassy to Rome, promising submission to the
Papacy, and praying help in Christ's name.

Meantime his agents dispersed themselves through the Aegean, buying
provisions and arms, enginery, and war material of all kinds. This
business kept his remnant of a navy occupied. Every few days a vessel
would arrive with stores for the magazine under the Hippodrome. By the
time the fort at Roumeli Hissar was finished, one of his anxieties was
in a measure relieved. The other was more serious. Then the frequency
with which he climbed the Tower of Isaac, the hours he passed there
gazing wistfully southward down the mirror of the Marmora, became
observable. The valorous, knightly heart, groaning under the humiliations
of the haughty Turk, weary not less of the incapacity of his own people
to perceive their peril, and arise heroically to meet it, found
opportunity to meditate while he was pacing the lofty lookout, and
struggling to descry the advance of the expected succor.

In this apology the reader who has wondered at the inaction of the
Emperor what time the Sultan was perfecting his Asiatic communications
is answered. There was nothing for him but a siege. To that alternative
the last of the Romans was reduced. He could not promise himself enough
of his own subjects to keep the gates, much less take the field.

The country around Constantinople was given to agriculture. During the
planting season, and the growing, the Greek husbandmen received neither
offence nor alarm from the Turks. But in June, when the emerald of the
cornfields was turning to gold, herds of mules and cavalry horses began
to ravage the fields, and the watchmen, hastening from their little huts
on the hills to drive them out, were set upon by the soldiers and
beaten. They complained to the Emperor, and he sent an embassy to the
Sultan praying him to save the crops from ruin. In reply, Mahommed
ordered the son of Isfendiar, a relative, to destroy the harvest. The
peasants resisted, and not unsuccessfully. In the South, and in the
fields near Hissar on the north, there were deaths on both sides.
Intelligence of the affair coming to Constantine, he summoned Count
Corti.

"The long expected has arrived," he said. "Blood has been shed. My
people have been attacked and slain in their fields; their bodies lie
out unburied. The war cannot be longer deferred. It is true the succors
from the Holy Father have not arrived; but they are on the way, and
until they come we must defend ourselves. Cold and indifferent my people
have certainly been. Now I will make a last effort to arouse them. Go
out toward Hissar, and recover the dead. Have the bodies brought in just
as they are. I will expose them in the Hippodrome. Perhaps their bruises
and blood may have an effect; if not, God help this Christian city. I
will give you a force."

"Your Majesty," the Count replied, "such an expedition might provoke an
advance upon the city before you are entirely prepared. Permit me to
select a party from my own men." "As you choose. A guide will accompany
you."

To get to the uplands, so to speak, over which, north of Galata, the
road to Hissar stretched, Corti was conducted past the Cynegion and
through the districts of Eyoub to the Sweet Waters of Europe, which he
crossed by a bridge below the site of the present neglected country
palace of the Sultan. Up on the heights he turned left of Pera, and
after half an hour's rapid movement was trending northward parallel with
the Bosphorus, reaches of which were occasionally visible through
cleftings of the mountainous shore. Straw-thatched farmhouses dotted the
hills and slopes, and the harvest spread right and left in cheerful
prospect.

The adventurer had ample time to think; but did little of it, being too
full of self-gratulation at having before him an opportunity to
recommend himself to the Emperor, with a possibility of earning
distinction creditable in the opinion of the Princess Irene.

At length an exclamation of his guide aroused him to action.

"The Turks, the Turks!"

"Where?"

"See that smoke."

Over a hilltop in his front, the Count beheld the sign of alarm crawling
slowly into the sky.

"Here is a village--to our left, but"--

"Have done," said Corti, "and get me to the fire. Is there a nearer way
than this?"

"Yes, under the hill yonder."

"Is it broken?"

"It narrows to a path, but is clear."

The Count spoke in Arabic to his followers, and taking the gallop,
pushed the guide forward. Shortly a party of terror-stricken peasants
ran down toward him.

"Why do you run? What is the matter?" he asked.

"Oh, the Turks, the Turks!"

"What of them? Stand, and tell me."

"We went to work this morning cutting corn, for it is now ripe enough.
The Mahounds broke in on us. We were a dozen to their fifty or more. We
only escaped, and they set fire to the field. O Christ, and the Most
Holy Mother! Let us pass, or we too will be slain!"

"Are they mounted?"

"Some have horses, some are afoot."

"Where are they now?"

"In the field on the hill."

"Well, go to the village fast as you can, and tell the men there to come
and pick up their dead. Tell them not to fear, for the Emperor has sent
me to take care of them."

With that the Count rode on.

This was the sight presented him when he made the ascent: A wheat field
sloping gradually to the northeast; fire creeping across it crackling,
smoking, momentarily widening; through the cloud a company of Turkish
soldiers halted, mostly horsemen, their arms glinting brightly in the
noon sun; blackened objects, unmistakably dead men, lying here and
there. Thus the tale of the survivors of the massacre was confirmed.

Corti gave his lance with the banderole on it to the guide. By direction
his Berbers drove their lances into the earth that they might leave them
standing, drew their swords, and brought their bucklers forward. Then he
led them into the field. A few words more, directions probably, and he
started toward the enemy, his followers close behind two and two, with a
rear-guardsman. He allowed no outcry, but gradually increased the pace.

There were two hundred and more yards to be crossed, level, except the
slope, and with only the moving line of fire as an impediment. The crop,
short and thin, was no obstacle under the hoofs.

The Turks watched the movement herded, like astonished sheep. They may
not have comprehended that they were being charged, or they may have
despised the assailants on account of their inferiority in numbers, or
they may have relied on the fire as a defensive wall; whatever the
reason, they stood passively waiting.

When the Count came to the fire, he gave his horse the spur, and
plunging into the smoke and through the flame full speed, appeared on
the other side, shouting: "Christ and Our Lady of Blacherne!" His long
sword flashed seemingly brighter of the passage just made. Fleckings of
flame clung to the horses. What the battle-cry of the Berbers we may not
tell. They screamed something un-Christian, echoes of the Desert. Then
the enemy stirred; some drew their blades, some strung their bows; the
footmen amongst them caught their javelins or half-spears in the middle,
and facing to the rear, fled, and kept flying, without once looking over
their shoulders.

One man mounted, and in brighter armor than the others, his steel cap
surmounted with an immense white turban, a sparkling aigrette pinned to
the turban, cimeter in hand, strove to form his companions--but it was
too late. "Christ and our Lady of Blacherne!"--and with that Corti was
in their midst; and after him, into the lane he opened, his Berbers
drove pell-mell, knocking Turks from their saddles, and overthrowing
horses--and there was cutting and thrusting, and wounds given, and souls
rendered up through darkened eyes.

The killing was all on one side; then as a bowl splinters under a
stroke, the Turkish mass flew apart, and went helter-skelter off, each
man striving to take care of himself. The Berbers spared none of the
overtaken.

Spying the man with the showy armor, the Count made a dash to get to
him, and succeeded, for to say truth, he was not an unwilling foeman. A
brief combat took place, scarcely more than a blow, and the Turk was
disarmed and at mercy.

"Son of Isfendiar," said Corti, "the slaying these poor people with only
their harvest knives for weapons was murder. Why should I spare your
life?"

"I was ordered to punish them."

"By whom?"

"My Lord the Sultan."

"Do your master no shame. I know and honor him."

"Yesterday they slew our Moslems."

"They but defended their own.... You deserve death, but I have a message
for the Lord Mahommed. Swear by the bones of the Prophet to deliver it,
and I will spare you."

"If you know my master, as you say, he is quick and fierce of temper,
and if I must die, the stroke may be preferable at your hand. Give me
the message first."

"Well, come with me."

The two remained together until the flight and pursuit were ended; then,
the fire reduced to patches for want of stalks to feed it, the Count led
the way back to the point at which he entered the field. Taking his
lance from the guide, he passed it to the prisoner.

"This is what I would have you do," he said. "The lance is mine. Carry
it to your master, the Lord Mahommed, and say to him, Ugo, Count Corti,
salute him, and prays him to look at the banderole, and fix it in his
memory. He will understand the message, and be grateful for it. Now will
you swear?"

The banderole was a small flag of yellow silk, with a red moon in the
centre, and on the face of the moon a white cross. Glancing at it, the
son of Isfendiar replied:

"Take off the cross, and you show me a miniature standard of the
_Silihdars_, my Lord's guard of the Palace." Then looking the Count
full in the face, he added: "Under other conditions I should salute you
Mirza, Emir of the Hajj."

"I have given you my name and title. Answer."

"I will deliver the lance and message to my Lord--I swear it by the bones
of the Prophet."

Scarcely had the Turk disappeared in the direction of Hissar, when a
crowd of peasants, men and women, were seen coming timorously from the
direction of the village. The Count rode to meet them, and as they were
provided with all manner of litters, by his direction the dead Greeks
were collected, and soon, with piteous lamentations, a funeral cortege
was on the road moving slowly to Constantinople. Anticipating a speedy
reappearance of the Turks, hostilities being now unavoidable, Count
Corti despatched messengers everywhere along the Bosphorus, warning the
farmers and villagers to let their fields go, and seek refuge in the
city. So it came about that the escort of the murdered peasants
momentarily increased until at the bridge over the Sweet Waters of
Europe it became a column composed for the most part of women, children,
and old men. Many of the women carried babies. The old men staggered
under such goods as they could lay their hands on in haste. The
able-bodied straggled far in the rear with herds of goats, sheep, and
cattle; the air above the road rang with cries and prayers, and the road
itself was sprinkled with tears. In a word, the movement was a flight.

Corti, with his Berbers, lingered in the vicinity of the field of fight
watchful of the enemy. In the evening, having forwarded a messenger to
the Emperor, he took stand at the bridge; and well enough, for about
dusk a horde of Turkish militia swept down from the heights in search of
plunder and belated victims. At the first bite of his sword, they took
to their heels, and were not again seen.

By midnight the settlements and farmhouses of the up-country were
abandoned; almost the entire district from Galata to Fanar on the Black
Sea was reduced to ashes. The Greek Emperor had no longer a frontier or
a province--all that remained to him was his capital.

Many of the fugitives, under quickening of the demonstration at the
bridge, threw their burdens away; so the greater part of them at an
early hour after nightfall appeared at the Adrianople gate objects of
harrowing appeal, empty-handed, broken down, miserable.

Constantine had the funeral escort met at the gate by torch-bearers, and
the sextons of the Blacherne Chapel. Intelligence of the massacre, and
that the corpses of the harvesters would be conveyed to the Hippodrome
for public exposure, having been proclaimed generally through the city,
a vast multitude was also assembled at the gate. The sensation was
prodigious.

There were twenty litters, each with a body upon it unwashed and in
bloody garments, exactly as brought in. On the right and left of the
litters the torchmen took their places. The sextons lit their long
candles, and formed in front. Behind trudged the worn, dust-covered,
wretched fugitives; and as they failed to realize their rescue, and that
they were at last in safety, they did not abate their lamentations. When
the innumerable procession passed the gate, and commenced its laborious
progress along the narrow streets, seldom, if ever, has anything of the
kind more pathetic and funereally impressive been witnessed.

Let be said what may, after all nothing shall stir the human heart like
the faces of fellowmen done to death by a common enemy. There was no
misjudgment of the power of the appeal in this instance. It is no
exaggeration to say Byzantium was out assisting--so did the people
throng the thoroughfares, block the street intersections, and look down
from the windows and balconies. Afar they heard the chanting of the
sextons, monotonous, yet solemnly effective; afar they saw the swaying
candles and torches; and an awful silence signalized the approach of the
pageant; but when it was up, and the bodies were borne past, especially
when the ghastly countenances of the sufferers were under eye plainly
visible in the red torchlight, the outburst of grief and rage in every
form, groans, curses, prayers, was terrible, and the amazing voice, such
by unity of utterance, went with the dead, and followed after them until
at last the Hippodrome was reached. There the Emperor, on horseback, and
with his court and guards, was waiting, and his presence lent
nationality to the mournful spectacle.

Conducting the bearers of the litters to the middle of the oblong area,
he bade them lay their burdens down, and summoned the city to the view.

"Let there be no haste," he said, "for, in want of their souls, the
bruised bodies of our poor countrymen shall lie here all tomorrow, every
gaping wound crying for vengeance. Then on the next day it will be for
us to say what we will do--fight, fly, or surrender."

Through the remainder of the night the work of closing the gates and
making them secure continued without cessation. The guards were
strengthened at each of them, and no one permitted to pass out. Singular
to say, a number of eunuchs belonging to the Sultan were caught and
held. Some of the enraged Greeks insisted on their death; but the good
heart of the Emperor prevailed, and the prisoners were escorted to their
master. The embassy which went with them announced the closing of the
gates.

"Since neither oaths, nor treaty, nor submission can secure peace,
pursue your impious warfare"--thus Constantine despatched to Mahommed.
"My trust is in God; if it shall please him to mollify your heart, I
shall rejoice in the change; if he delivers the city in your hands, I
submit without a murmur to his holy will. But until he shall pronounce
between us, it is my duty to live and die in defence of my people."
[Footnote: Gibbon]

Mahommed answered with a formal declaration of war.

It remains to say that the bodies of the harvesters were viewed as
promised. They lay in a row near the Twisted Serpent, and the people
passed them tearfully; in the night they were taken away and buried.

Sadder still, the result did not answer the Emperor's hope. The feeling,
mixed of sorrow and rage, was loudly manifested; but it was succeeded by
fear, and when the organization of companies was attempted, the exodus
was shameful. Thousands fled, leaving about one hundred thousand behind,
not to fight, but firm in the faith that Heaven would take care of the
city.

After weeks of effort, five thousand Greeks took the arms offered them,
and were enrolled.




CHAPTER IV

EUROPE ANSWERS THE CRY FOR HELP


A man in love, though the hero of many battles, shall be afraid in the
presence of his beloved, and it shall be easier for him to challenge an
enemy than to ask her love in return.

Count Corti's eagerness to face the lion in the gallery of the Cynegion
had established his reputation in Constantinople for courage; his recent
defence of the harvesters raised it yet higher; now his name was on
every tongue.

His habit of going about in armor had in the first days of his coming
subjected him to criticism; for the eyes before which he passed belonged
for the most part to a generation more given to prospecting for bezants
in fields of peace than the pursuit of glory in the ruggeder fields of
war. But the custom was now accepted, and at sight of him, mounted and
in glistening armor, even the critics smiled, and showered his head with
silent good wishes, or if they spoke it was to say to each other: "Oh,
that the Blessed Mother would send us more like him!" And the Count knew
he had the general favor. We somehow learn such things without their
being told us.

Up in the empyrean courtly circles his relations were quite as
gratifying. The Emperor made no concealment of his partiality, and again
insisted on bringing him to Blacherne.

"Your Majesty," the Count said one day, "I have no further need of my
galley and its crew. I beg you to do with them as you think best."

Constantine received the offer gratefully.

"The galley is a godsend. I will order payment for it. Duke Notaras, the
Grand Admiral, will agree with you about the price."

"If Your Majesty will permit me to have my way," the Count rejoined,
"you will order the vessel into the harbor with the fleet, and if the
result of the war is with Your Majesty, the Grand Admiral can arrange
for the payment; if otherwise"--he smiled at the alternative--"I think
neither Your Majesty nor myself will have occasion for a ship."

The galley was transferred from the Bay of Julian to anchorage in the
Golden Horn. That night, speaking of the tender, the Emperor said to
Phranza: "Count Corti has cast his lot with us. As I interpret him, he
does not mean to survive our defeat. See that he be charged to select a
bodyguard to accompany me in action."

"Is he to be Captain of the guard?"

"Yes."

The duty brought the Count to Blacherne. In a few days he had fifty men,
including his nine Berbers.

These circumstances made him happy. He found peace of mind also in his
release from Mahommed. Not an hour of the day passed without his
silently thanking the Sultan for his magnanimity.

But no matter for rejoicing came to him like the privilege of freely
attending the Princess Irene.

Not only was her reception-room open to him; whether she went to
Blacherne or Sancta Sophia, he appeared in her train. Often when the
hour of prayer arrived, she invited him as one of her household to
accompany her to the apartment she had set apart for chapel exercises;
and at such times he strove to be devout, but in taking her for his
pattern of conduct--as yet he hardly knew when to arise or kneel, or
cross himself--if his thoughts wandered from the Madonna and Child to
her, if sometimes he fell to making comparisons in which the Madonna
suffered as lacking beauty--nay, if not infrequently he caught himself
worshipping the living woman at the foot of the altar rather than the
divinity above it, few there were who would have been in haste to
condemn him even in that day. There is nothing modern in the world's
love of a lover.

By the treaty with Mahommed he was free to tell the Princess of his
passion; and there were moments in which it seemed he must cast himself
at her feet and speak; but then he would be seized with a trembling, his
tongue would unaccountably refuse its office, and he would quiet himself
with the weakling's plea--another time--to-morrow, to-morrow. And always
upon the passing of the opportunity, the impulse being laid with so many
of its predecessors in the graveyard of broken resolutions--every swain
afraid keeps such a graveyard--always he sallied from her door eager for
an enemy on whom to vent his vexation. "Ah," he would say, with prolonged
emphasis upon the exclamation--"if Mahommed were only at the gate! Is he
never coming?"

One day he dismounted at the Princess' door, and was ushered into the
reception-room by Lysander. "I bring you good news," he said, in course
of the conversation.

"What now?" she asked.

"Every sword counts. I am just from the Port of Blacherne, whither I
accompanied the Grand Equerry to assist in receiving one John Grant, who
has arrived with a following of Free Lances, mostly my own countrymen."

"Who is John Grant?"

"A German old in Eastern service; more particularly an expert in making
and throwing hollow iron balls filled with inflammable liquid. On
striking, the balls burst, after which the fire is unquenchable with
water."

"Oh! our Greek fire rediscovered!"

"So he declares. His Majesty has ordered him the materials he asks, and
that he go to work to-morrow getting a store of his missiles ready. The
man declares also, if His Holiness would only proclaim a crusade against
the Turks. Constantinople has not space on her walls to hold the
volunteers who would hasten to her defence. He says Genoa, Venice, all
Italy, is aroused and waiting."

"John Grant is welcome," the Princess returned; "the more so that His
Holiness is slow."

Afterward, about the first of December, the Count again dismounted at
her door with news.

"What is it now?" she inquired.

"Noble Princess, His Holiness has been heard from."

"At last?"

"A Legate will arrive to-morrow."

"Only a Legate! What is his name?"

"Isidore, Grand Metropolitan of Russia."

"Brings he a following?"

"No soldiers; only a suite of priests high and low."

"I see. He comes to negotiate. Alas!"

"Why alas?"

"Oh, the factions, the factions!" she exclaimed, disconsolately; then,
seeing the Count still in wonder, she added: "Know you not that Isidore,
familiarly called the Cardinal, was appointed Metropolitan of the
Russian Greek Church by the Pope, and, rejected by it, was driven to
refuge in Poland? What welcome can we suppose he will receive here?"

"Is he not a Greek?"

"Yes, truly; but being a Latin Churchman, the Brotherhoods hold him an
apostate. His first demand will be to celebrate mass in Sancta Sophia.
If the world were about shaking itself to pieces, the commotion would be
but little greater than the breaking of things we will then hear. Oh, it
is an ill wind which blows him to our gates!" Meantime the Hippodrome
had been converted into a Campus Martius, where at all hours of the day
the newly enlisted men were being drilled in the arms to which they were
assigned; now as archers, now as slingers; now with balistas and
catapults and arquebuses; now to the small artillery especially
constructed for service on the walls. And as trade was at an end in the
city, as in fact martial preparation occupied attention to the exclusion
of business in the commercial sense, the ancient site was a centre of
resort. Thither the Count hastened to work off the disheartenment into
which the comments of the Princess had thrown him.

That same week, however, he and the loyal population of Constantinople
in general, were cheered by a coming of real importance. Early one
morning some vessels of war hove in sight down the Marmora. Their flags
proclaimed them Christian. Simultaneously the lookouts at Point
Demetrius reported a number of Turkish galleys plying to and fro up the
Bosphorus. It was concluded that a naval battle was imminent. The walls
in the vicinity of the Point were speedily crowded with spectators. In
fact, the anxiety was great enough to draw the Emperor from his High
Residence. Not doubting the galleys were bringing him stores, possibly
reinforcements, he directed his small fleet in the Golden Horn to be
ready to go to their assistance. His conjecture was right; yet more
happily the Turks made no attempt upon them. Turning into the harbor,
the strangers ran up the flags of Venice and Genoa, and never did they
appear so beautiful, seen by Byzantines--never were they more welcome.
The decks were crowded with helmed men who responded vigorously to the
cheering with which they were saluted.

Constantine in person received the newcomers at the Port of Blacherne.
From the wall over the gate the Princess Irene, with an escort of noble
ladies, witnessed the landing.

A knight of excellent presence stepped from a boat, and announced
himself.

"I am John Justiniani of Genoa," he said, "come with two thousand
companions in arms to the succor of the most Christian Emperor
Constantine. Guide me to him, I pray."

"The Emperor is here--I am he."

Justiniani kissed the hand extended to him, and returned with fervor:

"Christ and the Mother be praised! Much have I been disquieted lest we
should be too late. Your Majesty, command me."

"Duke Notaras," said the Emperor, "assist this noble gentleman and his
companions. When they are disembarked, conduct them to me. For the
present I will lodge them in my residence." Then he addressed the
Genoese: "Duke Notaras, High Admiral of the Empire, will answer your
every demand. In God's name, and for the imperilled religion of our
Redeeming Lord, I bid you welcome."

It seemed the waving of scarfs and white hands on the wall, and the
noisy salutations of the people present, were not agreeable to the Duke;
although coldly polite, he impressed Justiniani as an ill second to the
stately but courteous Emperor.

At night there was an audience in the Very High Residence, and
Justiniani assisted Phranza in the presentation of his companions; and
though the banquet which shortly succeeded the audience may not, in the
courses served or in its table splendors, have vied with those Alexis
resorted to for the dazzlement of the chiefs of the first crusade, it
was not entirely wanting in such particulars; for it has often happened,
if the chronicles may be trusted, that the expiring light of great
countries has lingered longest in their festive halls, just as old
families have been known to nurture their pride in sparkling heirlooms,
all else having been swept away. The failings on this occasion, if any
there were, Constantine more than amended by his engaging demeanor.
Soldier not less than Emperor, he knew to win the sympathy and devotion
of soldiers. Of his foreign guests that evening many afterwards died
hardly distinguishing between him and the Holy Cause which led them to
their fate.

The table was long, and without head or foot. On one side, in the
middle, the Emperor presided; opposite him sat the Princess Irene; and
on their right and left, in gallant interspersion, other ladies, the
wives and daughters of senators, nobles, and officials of the court,
helped charm the Western chivalry.

And of the guests, the names of a few have been preserved by history,
together with the commands to which they were assigned in the siege.

There was Andrew Dinia, under Duke Notaras, a captain of galleys.

There was the Venetian Contarino, intrusted with the defence of the
Golden Grate.

There was Maurice Cataneo, a soldier of Genoa, commandant of the walls
on the landward side between the Golden Gate and the Gate Selimbria.

There were two brothers, gentlemen of Genoa,

Paul Bochiardi and Antonin Troilus Bochiardi, defendants of the
Adrianople Gate.

There was Jerome Minotte, Bayle of Venice, charged with safe keeping the
walls between the Adrianople Gate and the Cerco Portas.

There was the artillerist, German John Grant, who, with Theodore
Carystos, made sure of the Gate Charsias.

There was Leonardo de Langasco, another Genoese, keeper of the Wood
Gate.

There was Gabriel Travisan; with four hundred other Venetians, he
maintained the stretch of wall on the harbor front between Point
Demetrius and the Port St. Peter.

There was Pedro Guiliani, the Spanish Consul, assigned to the
guardianship of the wall on the sea side from Point Demetrius to the
Port of Julian.

There also was stout Nicholas Gudelli; with the Emperor's brother, he
commanded the force in reserve.

Now these, or the major part of them, may have been Free Lances; yet
they did not await the motion of Nicholas, the dilatory Pope, and were
faithful, and to-day exemplify the saying:

   "That men may rise on stepping-stones
    Of their dead selves to higher things."




CHAPTER V

COUNT CORTI RECEIVES A FAVOR


"Gracious Princess, the Italian, Count Corti, is at the door. He prays
you to hear a request from him."

"Return, Lysander, and bring the Count."

It was early morning, with February in its last days.

The visitor's iron shoes clanked sharply on the marble floor of the
reception room, and the absence of everything like ornament in his
equipment bespoke preparation for immediate hard service.

"I hope the Mother is keeping you well," she said, presenting her hand
to him.

With a fervor somewhat more marked than common, he kissed the white
offering, and awaited her bidding.

"My attendants are gone to the chapel, but I will hear you--or will you
lend us your presence at the service, and have the audience afterwards?"

"I am in armor, and my steed is at the door, and my men biding at the
Adrianople Gate; wherefore, fair Princess, if it be your pleasure, I
will present my petition now."

In grave mistrust, she returned:

"God help us, Count! I doubt you have something ill to relate. Since the
good Gregory fled into exile to escape his persecutors, but more
especially since Cardinal Isidore attempted Latin mass in Sancta Sophia,
and the madman Gennadius so frightened the people with his senseless
anathemas, [Footnote: The scene here alluded to by the Princess Irene is
doubtless the one so vividly described by Gibbon as having taken place
in Sancta Sophia, the 12th of December, 1452, being the mass celebrated
by Cardinal Isidore in an attempt to reconcile the Latin and Greek
factions.

Enumerating the consequences of the same futile effort at compromise,
Von Hammer says: "Instead of uniting for the common defence, the Greeks
and Latins fled, leaving the churches empty; the priests refused the
sacrament to the dying who were not of their faith; the monks and nuns
repudiated confessors who acknowledged the _henoticon_ (decree
ordaining the reunion of the two churches); a spirit of frenzy took
possession of the convents; one _religieuse_, to the great scandal
of all the faithful, adopted the faith and costume of the Mussulmans,
eating meat and adoring the Prophet. Thus Lent passed." (Vol. II., p.
397.)

To the same effect we read in the Universal History of the Catholic
Church (Vol. XXII., p. 103): "The religious who affected to surpass
others in sanctity of life and purity of faith, following the advice of
Gennadius and their spiritual advisers, as well as that of the preachers
and laity of their party, condemned the decree of union, and
anathematized those who approved or might approve it. The common people,
sallying from the monasteries, betook themselves to the taverns; there
flourishing glasses of wine, they reviled all who had consented to the
union, and drinking in honor of an image of the Mother of God, prayed
her to protect and defend the city against Mahomet, as she had formerly
defended it against Chosroes and the Kagan. We will have nothing to do
with assistance from the Latins or a union with them. Far from us be the
worship of the _azymites_."] I have been beset with forebodings
until I startle at my own thoughts. It were gentle, did you go to your
request at once."

She permitted him to lead her to an armless chair, and, standing before
her, he spoke with decision:

"Princess Irene, now that you have resolved finally to remain in the
city, and abide the issue of the siege, rightly judging it an affair
determinable by God, it is but saying the truth as I see it, that no one
is more interested in what betides us from day to day than you; for if
Heaven frowns upon our efforts at defence, and there comes an assault,
and we are taken, the Conqueror, by a cruel law of war, has at disposal
the property both public and private he gains, and every living thing as
well. We who fight may die the death he pleases; you--alas, most noble
and virtuous lady, my tongue refuses the words that rise to it for
utterance!"

The rose tints in her cheeks faded, yet she answered: "I know what you
would say, and confess it has appalled me. Sometimes it tempts me to fly
while yet I can; then I remember I am a Palaeologus. I remember also my
kinsman the Emperor is to be sustained in the trial confronting him. I
remember too the other women, high and low, who will stay and share the
fortunes of their fighting husbands and brothers. If I have less at
stake than they, Count Corti, the demands of honor are more rigorous
upon me."

The count's eyes glowed with admiration, but next moment the light in
them went out.

"Noble lady," he began, "I hope it will not be judged too great a
familiarity to say I have some days been troubled on your account. I
have feared you might be too confident of our ability to beat the enemy.
It seems my duty to warn you of the real outlook that you may permit us
to provide for your safety while opportunities favor."

"For my flight, Count Corti?"

"Nay, Princess Irene, your retirement from the city."

She smiled at the distinction he made, but replied:

"I will hear you, Count."

"It is for you to consider, O Princess--if reports of the Sultan's
preparation are true--this assault in one feature at least will be
unparalleled. The great guns for which he has been delaying are said to
be larger than ever before used against walls. They may destroy our
defences at once; they may command all the space within those defences;
they may search every hiding-place; the uncertainties they bring with
them are not to be disregarded by the bravest soldier, much less the
unresisting classes.... In the next place, I think it warrantable from
the mass of rumors which has filled the month to believe the city will
be assailed by a force much greater than was ever drawn together under
her walls. Suffer me to refer to them, O Princess... The Sultan is yet
at Adrianople assembling his army. Large bodies of footmen are crossing
the Hellespont at Gallipolis and the Bosphorus at Hissar; in the region
of Adrianople the country is covered with hordes of horsemen speaking
all known tongues and armed with every known weapon--Cossacks from the
north, Arabs from the south, Koords and Tartars from the east,
Roumanians and Slavs from beyond the Balkans. The roads from the
northwest are lined with trains bringing supplies and siege-machinery.
The cities along the shores of the Black Sea have yielded to Mahommed;
those which defied him are in ruins. An army is devastating Morea. The
brother whom His Majesty the Emperor installed ruler there is dead or a
wanderer, no man can say in what parts. Assistance cannot be expected
from him. Above us, far as the sea, the bays are crowded with ships of
all classes; four hundred hostile sail have been counted from the
hill-tops. And now that there is no longer a hope of further aid from
the Christians of Europe, the effect of the news upon our garrison is
dispiriting. Our garrison! Alas, Princess, with the foreigners come to
our aid, it is not sufficient to man the walls on the landward side
alone."

"The picture is gloomy, Count, but if you have drawn it to shake my
purpose, it is not enough. I have put myself in the hands of the Blessed
Mother. I shall stay, and be done with as God orders."

Again the Count's face glowed with admiration.

"I thought as much, O Princess," he said warmly; "yet it seemed to me a
duty to advise you of the odds against us; and now, the duty done, I
pray you hear me as graciously upon another matter.... Last night,
seeing the need of information of the enemy, I besought His Majesty to
allow me to ride toward Adrianople. He consented, and I set out
immediately; but before going, before bidding you adieu, noble Princess
and dear lady, I have a prayer to offer you."

He hesitated; then plucking courage from the embarrassment of silence,
went on:

"Dear lady, your resolution to stay and face the dangers of the siege
and assault fills me with alarm for your safety."

He cast himself upon his knees, and stretched his hands to her.

"Give me permission to protect you. I devote my sword to you, and the
skill of my hands--my life, my soul. Let me be your knight."

She arose, but he continued:

"Some day, deeds done for your country and religion may give me courage
to speak more boldly of what I feel and hope; but now I dare go no
further than ask what you have just heard. Let me be your protector and
knight through the perils of the siege at least."

The Princess was pleased with the turn his speech had taken. She thought
rapidly. A knight in battle, foremost in the press, her name a conquering
cry on his lips were but the constituents of a right womanly ambition.
She answered:

"Count Corti, I accept thy offer."

Taking the hand she extended, he kissed it reverently, and said:

"I am happy above other men. Now, O Princess, give me a favor--a glove, a
scarf--something I may wear, to prove me thy knight."

She took from her neck a net of knitted silk, pinkish in hue, and large
enough for a kerchief or waist sash.

"If I go about this gift," she said, her face deeply suffused, "in a way
to provoke a smile hereafter; if in placing it around thy neck with my
own hands"--with the words, she bent over him, and dropped the net
outside the hood so the ends hung loosely down his breast--"I overstep
any rule of modesty, I pray you will not misunderstand me. I am thinking
of my country, my kinsman, of religion and God, and the service even
unto noble deeds thou mayst do them. Rise, Count Corti. In the ride
before thee now, in the perils to come, thou shalt have my prayers."

The Count arose, but afraid to trust himself in further speech, he
carried her hand to his lips again, and with a simple farewell, hurried
out, and mounting his horse rode at speed for the Adrianople Gate.

Four days after, he reentered the gate, bringing a prisoner, and passing
straight to the Very High Residence, made report to the Emperor,
Justiniani and Duke Notaras in council.

"I have been greatly concerned for you, Count," said Constantine; "and
not merely because a good sword can be poorly spared just now."

The imperial pleasure was unfeigned.

"Your Majesty's grace is full reward for my performance," the Count
replied, and rising from the salutation, he began his recital.

"Stay," said the Emperor, "I will have a seat brought that you may be at
ease."

Corti declined: "The Arabs have a saying, Your Majesty--'A nest for a
setting bird, a saddle for a warrior.' The jaunt has but rested me, and
there was barely enough danger in it.... The Turk is an old acquaintance.
I have lived with him, and been his guest in house and tent, and as a
comrade tempted Providence at his side under countless conditions, until
I know his speech and usages, himself scarcely better. My African Berbers
are all Mohammedans who have performed the Pilgrimage. One of them is a
muezzin by profession; and if he can but catch sight of the sun, he will
never miss the five hours of prayer. None of them requires telling the
direction to Mecca.... I issued from Your Majesty's great gate about the
third hour, and taking the road to Adrianople, journeyed till near midday
before meeting a human being. There were farms and farmhouses on my right
and left, and the fields had been planted in good season; but the growing
grain was wasted; and when I sought the houses to have speech with their
tenants they were forsaken. Twice we were driven off by the stench of
bodies rotting before the doors."

"Greeks?"

"Greeks, Your Majesty.... There were wild hogs in the thickets which
fled at sight of us, and vultures devouring the corpses."

"Were there no other animals, no horses or oxen?" asked Justiniani.

"None, noble Genoese--none seen by us, and the swine were spared, I
apprehend, because their meat is prohibited to the children of Islam....
At length Hadifah, whom I have raised to be a Sheik--Your Majesty
permitting--and whose eyes discover the small things with which space is
crowded as he were a falcon making circles up near the sun--Hadifah saw
a man in the reeds hiding; and we pursued the wretch, and caught him,
and he too was a Greek; and when his fright allowed him to talk, he told
us a band of strange people, the like of whom he had never seen,
attacked his hut, burned it, carried off his goats and she buffaloes;
and since that hour, five weeks gone, he had been hunting for his wife
and three girl-children. God be merciful to them! Of the Turks he could
tell nothing except that now, everything of value gone, they too had
disappeared. I gave the poor man a measure of oaten cakes, and left him
to his misery. God be merciful to him also!"

"Did you not advise him to come to me?"

"Your Majesty, he was a husband and father seeking his family; with all
humility, what else is there for him to do?"

"I give your judgment credit, Count. There is nothing else."

"I rode on till night, meeting nobody, friend or foe--on through a wide
district, lately inhabited, now a wilderness. The creatures of the
Sultan had passed through it, and there was fire in their breath. We
discovered a dried-up stream, and by sinking in its bed obtained water
for our horses. There, in a hollow, we spent the night.... Next morning,
after an hour's ride, we met a train of carts drawn by oxen. The
groaning and creaking of the distraught wheels warned me of the
encounter before the advance guard of mounted men, quite a thousand
strong, were in view. I did not draw rein"--

"What!" cried Justiniani, astonished. "With but a company of nine?"

The Count smiled.

"I crave your pardon, gallant Captain. In my camp the night before, I
prepared my Berbers for the meeting."

"By the bones of the saints, Count Corti, thou dost confuse me the more!
With such odds against thee, what preparations were at thy command?"

"'There was never amulet like a grain of wit in a purse under thy cap.'
Good Captain, the saying is not worse of having proceeded from a
Persian. I told my followers we were likely at any moment to be
overtaken by a force too strong for us to fight; but instead of running
away, we must meet them heartily, as friends enlisted in the same cause;
and if they asked whence we were, we must be sure of agreement in our
reply. I was to be a Turk; they, Egyptians from west of the Nile. We had
come in by the new fortress opposite the White Castle, and were going to
the mighty Lord Mahommed in Adrianople. Beyond that, I bade them be
silent, leaving the entertainment of words to me."

The Emperor and Justiniani laughed, but Notaras asked: "If thy Berbers
are Mohammedans, as thou sayest, Count Corti, how canst thou rely on
them against Mohammedans?"

"My Lord the High Admiral may not have heard of the law by which, if one
Arab kills another, the relatives of the dead man are bound to kill him,
unless there be composition. So I had merely to remind Hadifah and his
companions of the Turks we slew in the field near Basch-Kegan."

Corti continued: "After parley with the captain of the advance guard, I
was allowed to ride on; and coming to the train, I found the carts
freighted with military engines and tools for digging trenches and
fortifying camps. There were hundreds of them, and the drivers were a
multitude. Indeed, Your Majesty, from head to foot the caravan was miles
in reach, its flanks well guarded by groups of horsemen at convenient
intervals."

This statement excited the three counsellors.

"After passing the train," the Count was at length permitted to resume,
"my way was through bodies of troops continuously--all irregulars. It
must have been about three o'clock in the afternoon when I came upon the
most surprising sight. Much I doubt if ever the noble Captain
Justiniani, with all his experience, can recall anything like it.

"First there was a great company of pioneers with tools for grading the
hills and levelling the road; then on a four-wheeled carriage two men
stood beating a drum; their sticks looked like the enlarged end of a
galley oar. The drum responded to their blows in rumbles like dull
thunder from distant clouds. While I sat wondering why they beat it,
there came up next sixty oxen yoked in pairs. Your Majesty can in fancy
measure the space they covered. On the right and left of each yoke
strode drivers with sharpened goads, and their yelling harmonized
curiously with the thunder of the drum. The straining of the brutes was
pitiful to behold. And while I wondered yet more, a log of bronze was
drawn toward me big at one end as the trunk of a great plane tree, and
so long that thirty carts chained together as one wagon, were required
to support it laid lengthwise; and to steady the piece on its rolling
bed, two hundred and fifty stout laborers kept pace with it unremittingly
watchful. The movement was tedious, but at last I saw"--

"A cannon!" exclaimed the Genoese.

"Yes, noble Captain, the gun said to be the largest ever cast."

"Didst thou see any of the balls?"

"Other carts followed directly loaded with gray limestones chiselled
round; and to my inquiry what the stones were for, I was told they were
bullets twelve spans in circumference, and that the charge of powder
used would cast them a mile."

The inquisitors gazed at each other mutely, and their thoughts may be
gathered from the action of the Emperor. He touched a bell on a table,
and to Phranza, who answered the call, he said: "Lord Chamberlain, have
two men well skilled in the construction of walls report to me in the
morning. There is work for them which they must set about at once. I
will furnish the money." [Footnote: Before the siege by the Turks, two
monks, Manuel Giagari and Neophytus of Rhodes, were charged with
repairing the walls, but they buried the sums intrusted to them for
these works; and in the pillage of the city seventy thousand pieces of
gold thus advanced by the Emperor were unearthed.--VON HAMMER, Vol. II.,
p. 417.]

"I have but little more of importance to engage Your Majesty's
attention.... Behind the monster cannon, two others somewhat smaller
were brought up in the same careful manner. I counted seventeen pieces
all brass, the least of them exceeding in workmanship and power the best
in the Hippodrome."

"Were there more?" Justiniani asked.

"Many more, brave Captain, but ancient, and unworthy mention.... The day
was done when, by sharp riding, I gained the rear of the train. At
sunrise on the third day, I set out in return.... I have a prisoner whom
this august council may examine with profit. He will, at least, confirm
my report."

"Who is he?"

"The captain of the advance guard."

"How came you by him?"

"Your Majesty, I induced him to ride a little way with me, and at a
convenient time gave his bridle rein to Hadifah. In his boyhood the
Sheik was trained to leading camels, and he assures me it is much easier
to lead a horse."

The sally served to lighten the sombre character of the Count's report,
and in the midst of the merriment, he was dismissed. The prisoner was
then brought in, and put to question; next day the final preparation for
the reception of Mahommed was begun.

With a care equal to the importance of the business, Constantine divided
the walls into sections, beginning on the landward side of the Golden
Gate or Seven Towers, and ending at the Cynegion. Of the harbor front he
made one division, with the Grand Gate of Blacherne and the Acropolis or
Point Serail for termini; from Point Serail to the Seven Towers he
stationed patrols and lookouts, thinking the sea and rocks sufficient to
discourage assault in that quarter.

His next care was the designation of commandants of the several
divisions. The individuals thus honored have been already mentioned;
though it may be well to add how the Papal Legate, Cardinal Isidore,
doffing his frock and donning armor, voluntarily accepted chief
direction along the harbor--an example of martial gallantry which ought
to have shamed the lukewarm Greeks morosely skulking in their cells.

Shrewdly anticipating a concentration of effort against the Gate St.
Romain, and its two auxiliary towers, Bagdad and St. Romain, the former
on the right hand and the latter on the left, he assigned Justiniani to
its defence.

Upon the walls, and in the towers numerously garnishing them, the
gallant Emperor next brought up his guns and machines, with profuse
supplies of missiles.

Then, after flooding the immense ditch, he held a review in the
Hippodrome, whence the several detachments marched to their stations.

Riding with his captains, and viewing the walls, now gay with banners
and warlike tricking, Constantine took heart, and told how Amurath, the
peerless warrior, had dashed his Janissaries against them, and rued the
day.

"Is this boy Mahommed greater than his father?" he asked.

"God knows," Isidore responded, crossing himself breast and forehead.

And well content, the cavalcade repassed the ponderous Gate St. Romain.
All that could be done had been done. There was nothing more but to
wait.




CHAPTER VI

MAHOMMED AT THE GATE ST. ROMAIN


In the city April seemed to have borrowed from the delays of Mahommed;
never month so slow in coming. At last, however, its first day, dulled
by a sky all clouds, and with winds from the Balkans.

The inertness of the young Sultan was not from want of will or zeal. It
took two months to drag his guns from Adrianople; but with them the army
moved, and as it moved it took possession, or rather covered the land.
At length, he too arrived, bringing, as it were, the month with him; and
then he lost no more time.

About five miles from the walls on the south or landward side, he drew
his hordes together in the likeness of a line of battle, and at a
trumpet call they advanced in three bodies simultaneously. So a tidal
wave, far extending, broken, noisy, terrible, rises out of the deep, and
rolls upon a shore of stony cliffs.

Near ten o'clock in the forenoon of the sixth of April the Emperor
mounted the roof of the tower of St. Romain, mentioned as at the left of
the gate bearing the same name. There were with him Justiniani, the
Cardinal Isidore, John Grant, Phranza, Theophilus Palaeologus, Duke
Notaras, and a number of inferior persons native and foreign. He had
come to see all there was to be seen of the Turks going into position.

The day was spring-like, with just enough breeze to blow the mists away.

The reader must think of the roof as an immense platform accessible by
means of a wooden stairway in the interior of the tower, and
battlemented on the four sides, the merlons of stone in massive blocks,
and of a height to protect a tall man, the embrasures requiring
banquettes to make them serviceable. In arrangement somewhat like a
ship's battery, there are stoutly framed arbalists and mangonels on the
platform, and behind them, with convenient spaces between, arquebuses on
tripods, cumbrous catapults, and small cannon on high axles ready for
wheeling into position between the merlons. Near each machine its
munitions lie in order. Leaning against the walls there are also spears,
javelins, and long and cross bows; while over the corner next the gate
floats an imperial standard, its white field emblazoned with the
immemorial Greek cross in gold. The defenders of the tower are present;
and as they are mostly Byzantines, their attitudes betray much more than
cold military respect, for they are receiving the Emperor, whom they
have been taught to regard worshipfully.

They study him, and take not a little pride in observing that, clad in
steel cap-a-pie, he in no wise suffers by comparison with the best of
his attendants, not excepting Justiniani, the renowned Genoese captain.
Not more to see than be seen, the visor of his helmet is raised; and
stealing furtive glances at his countenance, noble by nature, but just
now more than ordinarily inspiring, they are better and stronger for
what they read in it.

On the right and left the nearest towers obstruct the view of the walls
in prolongation; but southward the country spreads before the party a
campania rolling and fertile, dotted with trees scattered and in thin
groves, and here and there an abandoned house. The tender green of
vegetation upon the slopes reminds those long familiar with them that
grass is already invading what were lately gardens and cultivated
fields. Constantine makes the survey in silence, for he knows how soon
even the grass must disappear. Just beyond the flooded ditch at the foot
of the first or outward wall is a road, and next beyond the road a
cemetery crowded with tombs and tombstones, and brown and white
mausolean edifices; indeed, the chronicles run not back to a time when
that marginal space was unallotted to the dead. From the far skyline the
eyes of the fated Emperor drop to the cemetery, and linger there.

Presently one of his suite calls out: "Hark! What sound is that?"

They all give attention.

"It is thunder."

"No--thunder rolls. This is a beat."

Constantine and Justiniani remembered Count Corti's description of the
great drum hauled before the artillery train of the Turks, and the
former said calmly:

"They are coming."

Almost as he spoke the sunlight mildly tinting the land in the farness
seemed to be troubled, and on the tops of the remote hillocks there
appeared to be giants rolling them up, as children roll snow-balls--and
the movement was toward the city.

The drum ceased not its beating or coming. Justiniani by virtue of his
greater experience, was at length able to say:

"Your Majesty, it is here in front of us; and as this Gate St. Romain
marks the centre of your defences, so that drum marks the centre of an
advancing line, and regulates the movement from wing to wing."

"It must be so, Captain; for see--there to the left--those are bodies of
men."

"And now, Your Majesty, I hear trumpets."

A little later some one cried out:

"Now I hear shouting."

And another: "I see gleams of metal."

Ere long footmen and horsemen were in view, and the Byzantines, brought
to the wall by thousands, gazed and listened in nervous wonder; for look
where they might over the campania, they saw the enemy closing in upon
them, and heard his shouting, and the neighing of horses, the blaring of
horns, and the palpitant beating of drums.

"By our Lady of Blacherne," said the Emperor, after a long study of the
spectacle, "it is a great multitude, reaching to the sea here on our
left, and, from the noise, to the Golden Horn on our right; none the
less I am disappointed. I imagined much splendor of harness and shields
and banners, but see only blackness and dust. I cannot make out amongst
them one Sultanic flag. Tell me, most worthy John Grant--it being
reported that thou hast great experience combating with and against
these hordes--tell me if this poverty of appearance is usual with them."

The sturdy German, in a jargon difficult to follow, answered: "These at
our left are the scum of Asia. They are here because they have nothing;
their hope is to better their condition, to return rich, to exchange
ragged turbans for crowns, and goatskin jackets for robes of silk. Look,
Your Majesty, the tombs in front of us are well kept; to-morrow if there
be one left standing, it will have been rifled. Of the lately buried
there will not be a ring on a finger or a coin under a tongue. Oh, yes,
the ghouls will look better next week! Only give them time to convert
the clothes they will strip from the dead into fresh turbans. But when
the Janissaries come Your Majesty will not be disappointed. See--their
advance guard now--there on the rising ground in front of the gate."

There was a swell of ground to the right of the gate rather than in
front of it, and as the party looked thither, a company of horsemen were
seen riding slowly but in excellent order, and the sheen of their arms
and armor silvered the air about them. Immediately other companies
deployed on the right and left of the first one; then the thunderous
drum ceased; whereat, from the hordes out on the campania, brought to a
sudden standstill, detachments dashed forward at full speed, and
dismounting, began digging a trench.

"Be this Sultan like or unlike his father, he is a soldier. He means to
cover his army, and at the same time enclose us from sea to harbor.
To-morrow, my Lord, only high-flying hawks can communicate with us from
the outside."

This, from Justiniani to the Emperor, was scarcely noticed, for behind
the deploying Janissaries, there arose an outburst of music in deep
volume, the combination of clarions and cymbals so delightful to
warriors of the East; at the same instant a yellow flag was displayed.
Then old John Grant exclaimed:

"The colors of the _Silihdars!_ Mahommed is not far away. Nay, Your
Majesty, look--the Sultan himself!"

Through an interval of the guard, a man in chain mail shooting golden
sparkles, helmed, and with spear in hand and shield at his back, trotted
forth, his steed covered with flowing cloths. Behind him appeared a
suite mixed of soldiers and civilians, the former in warlike panoply,
the latter in robes and enormous turbans. Down the slope the foremost
rider led as if to knock at the gate. On the tower the cannon were
loaded, and run into the embrasures.

"Mahommed, saidst thou, John Grant?"

"Mahommed, Your Majesty."

"Then I call him rash; but as we are not ashamed of our gates and walls,
let him have his look in peace.... Hear you, men, let him look, and go
in peace."

The repetition was in restraint of the eager gunners.

Further remark was cut short by a trumpet sounded at the foot of the
tower. An officer peered over the wall, and reported: "Your Majesty, a
knight just issued from the gate is riding forth. I take him to be the
Italian, Count Corti."

Constantine became a spectator of what ensued.

Ordinarily the roadway from the country was carried over the deep moat
in front of the Gate St. Romain by a floor of stout timbers well
balustraded at the sides, and resting on brick piers. Of the bridge
nothing now remained but a few loose planks side by side ready to be
hastily snatched from their places. To pass them afoot was a venture;
yet Count Corti, when the Emperor looked at him from the height, was
making the crossing mounted, and blowing a trumpet as he went.

"Is the man mad?" asked the Emperor, in deep concern.

"Mad? No, he is challenging the Mahounds to single combat; and, my lords
and gentlemen, if he be skilful as he is bold, then, by the Three Kings
of Cologne, we will see some pretty work in pattern for the rest of us."

Thus Grant replied.

Corti made the passage safely, and in the road beyond the moat halted,
and drove the staff of his banderole firmly in the ground. A broad
opening through the cemetery permitted him to see and be seen by the
Turks, scarcely a hundred yards away. Standing in his stirrups, he
sounded the trumpet again--a clear call ringing with defiance.

Mahommed gave over studying the tower and deep-sunken gate, and
presently beckoned to his suite.

"What is the device on yon pennon?" he asked.

"A moon with a cross on its face."

"Say you so?"

Twice the defiance was repeated, and so long the young Sultan, sat
still, his countenance unusually grave. He recognized the Count; only he
thought of him by the dearer Oriental name, Mirza. He knew also how much
more than common ambition there was in the blatant challenge--that it
was a reminder of the treaty between them, and, truly interpreted, said,
in effect: "Lo, my Lord! she is well, and for fear thou judge me
unworthy of her, send thy bravest to try me." And he hesitated--an
accident might quench the high soul. Alas, then, for the Princess Irene
in the day of final assault! Who would deliver her to him? The hordes,
and the machinery, all the mighty preparation, were, in fact, less for
conquest and glory than love. Sore the test had there been one in
authority to say to him: "She is thine, Lord Mahommed; thine, so thou
take her, and leave the city."

A third time the challenge was delivered, and from the walls a taunting
cheer descended. Then the son of Isfendiar, recognizing the banderole,
and not yet done with chafing over his former defeat, pushed through the
throng about Mahommed, and prayed:

"O my Lord, suffer me to punish yon braggart."

Mahommed replied: "Thou hast felt his hand already, but go--I commend
thee to thy houris."

He settled in his saddle smiling. The danger was not to the Count.

The arms, armor, weapons, and horse-furniture of the Moslem were
identical with the Italian's; and it being for the challenged party to
determine with what the duel should be fought, whether with axe, sword,
lance or bow, the son of Isfendiar chose the latter, and made ready
while advancing. The Count was not slow in imitating him.

Each held his weapon--short for saddle service--in the left hand, the
arrow in place, and the shield on the left forearm.

No sooner had they reached the open ground in the cemetery than they
commenced moving in circles, careful to keep the enemy on the shield
side at a distance of probably twenty paces. The spectators became
silent. Besides the skill which masters in such affrays should possess,
they were looking for portents of the result.

Three times the foemen encircled each other with shield guard so well
kept that neither saw an opening to attack; then the Turk discharged his
arrow, intending to lodge it in the shoulder of the other's horse, the
buckling attachments of the neck mail being always more or less
imperfect. The Count interposed his shield, and shouted in Osmanli: "Out
on thee, son of Isfendiar! I am thy antagonist, not my horse. Thou shalt
pay for the cowardice."

He then narrowed the circle of his movement, and spurring full speed,
compelled the Turk to turn on a pivot so reduced it was almost a halt.
The exposure while taking a second shaft from the quiver behind the
right shoulder was dangerously increased. "Beware!" the Count cried
again, launching his arrow through the face opening of the hood.

The son of Isfendiar might never attain his father's Pachalik. There was
not voice left him for a groan. He reeled in his saddle, clutching the
empty air, then tumbled to the earth.

The property of the dead man, his steed, arms, and armor, were lawful
spoils; but without heeding them, the Count retired to his banderole,
and, amidst the shouts of the Greeks on the walls and towers, renewed
the challenge. A score of chiefs beset the Sultan for permission to
engage the insolent _Gabour_.

To an Arab Sheik, loudest in importunity, he said: "What has happened
since yesterday to dissatisfy thee with life?"

The Sheik raised a lance with a flexible shaft twenty feet in length,
made of a cane peculiar to the valley of the Jordan, and shaking it
stoutly, replied:

"Allah, and the honor of my tribe!"

Perceiving the man's reliance in his weapon, Mahommed returned: "How
many times didst thou pray yesterday?"

"Five times, my Lord."

"And to-day?"

"Twice."

"Go, then; but as yon champion hath not a lance to put him on equality
with thee, he will be justified in taking to the sword."

The Sheik's steed was of the most precious strain of El-Hejaz; and
sitting high in the saddle, a turban of many folds on his head, a
striped robe drawn close to the waist, his face thin, coffee-colored,
hawk-nosed, and lightning-eyed, he looked a king of the desert.
Galloping down on the Christian, he twirled the formidable lance
dextrously, until it seemed not more than a stalk of dried papyrus.

The Count beheld in the performance a trick of the _djerid_ he had
often practised with Mahommed. Uncertain if the man's robe covered
armor, he met him with an arrow, and seeing it fall off harmless, tossed
the bow on his back, drew sword, and put his horse in forward movement,
caracoling right and left to disturb the enemy's aim. Nothing could be
more graceful than this action.

Suddenly the Sheik stopped playing, and balancing the lance overhead,
point to the foe, rushed with a shrill cry upon him. Corti's friends on
the tower held their breath; even the Emperor said: "It is too unequal.
God help him!" At the last moment, however--the moment of the thrust--
changing his horse to the right, the Count laid himself flat upon its
side, under cover of his shield. The thrust, only a little less quick,
passed him in the air, and before the Sheik could recover or shorten his
weapon, the trained foeman was within its sweep. In a word, the Arab was
at mercy. Riding with him side by side, hand on his shoulder, the Count
shouted: "Yield thee!"

"Dog of a Christian, never! Do thy worst."

The sword twirled once--a flash--then it descended, severing the lance
in front of the owner's grip. The fragment fell to the earth.

"Now yield thee!"

The Sheik drew rein.

"Why dost thou not kill me?"

"I have a message for thy master yonder, the Lord Mahommed."

"Speak it then."

"Tell him he is in range of the cannon on the towers, and only the
Emperor's presence there restrains the gunners. There is much need for
thee to haste."

"Who art thou?"

"I am an Italian knight who, though thy Lord's enemy, hath reason to
love him. Wilt thou go?"

"I will do as thou sayest."

"Alight, then. Thy horse is mine."

"For ransom?"

"No."

The Sheik dismounted grumblingly, and was walking off when the cheering
of the Greeks stung him to the soul.

"A chance--O Christian, another chance--to-day--to-morrow!"

"Deliver the message; it shall he as thy Lord may then appoint. Bestir
thyself."

The Count led the prize to the banderole, and flinging the reins over
it, faced the gleaming line of Janissaries once more, trumpet at mouth.
He saw the Sheik salute Mahommed; then the attendants closed around
them. "A courteous dog, by the Prophet!" said the Sultan. "In what
tongue did he speak?"

"My Lord, he might have been bred under my own tent."

The Sultan's countenance changed.

"Was there not more of his message?"

He was thinking of the Princess Irene.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Repeat it."

"He will fight me again to-day or to-morrow, as my Lord may appoint--and
I want my horse. Without him, El-Hejaz will be a widow."

A red spot appeared on Mahommed's forehead.

"Begone!" he cried angrily. "Seest thou not, O fool, that when we take
the city we will recover thy horse? Fight thou shalt not, for in that
day I shall have need of thee."

Thereupon he bade them open for him, and rode slowly back up the
eminence, and when he disappeared Corti was vainly sounding his trumpet.

The two horses were led across the dismantled bridge, and into the gate.

"Heaven hath sent me a good soldier," said the Emperor to the Count,
upon descending from the tower.

Then Justiniani asked: "Why didst thou spare thy last antagonist?"

Corti answered truthfully.

"It was well done," the Genoese returned, offering his hand.

"Ay," said Constantine, cordially, "well done. But mount now, and ride
with us."

"Your Majesty, a favor first.... A man is in the road dead. Let his body
be placed on a bier, and carried to his friends."

"A most Christian request! My Lord Chamberlain, attend to it."

The cavalcade betook itself then to other parts, the better to see the
disposition of the Turks; and everywhere on the landward side it was the
same--troops in masses, and intrenchments in progress. Closing the
inspection at set of sun, the Emperor beheld the sea and the Bosphorus
in front of the Golden Horn covered with hundreds of sails.

"The leaguer is perfected," said the Genoese.

"And the issue with God," Constantine replied. "Let us to Hagia St.
Sophia."




CHAPTER VII

THE GREAT GUN SPEAKS


The first sufficient gleam of light next morning revealed to the
watchmen on the towers an ominous spectacle. Through the night they had
heard a medley of noises peculiar to a multitude at work with all their
might; now, just out of range of their own guns, they beheld a
continuous rampart of fresh earth grotesquely spotted with marbles from
the cemetery.

In no previous siege of the Byzantine capital was there reference to
such a preliminary step. To the newly enlisted, viewing for the first
time an enemy bodily present, it seemed like the world being pared down
to the smallest dimensions; while their associate veterans, to whom they
naturally turned for comfort, admitted an appreciable respect for the
Sultan. Either he had a wise adviser, they said, or he was himself a
genius.

Noon--and still the workmen seemed inexhaustible--still the rampart grew
in height--still the hordes out on the campania multiplied, and the
horizon line west of the Gate St. Romain was lost in the increasing
smoke of a vast bivouac.

Nightfall--and still the labor.

About midnight, judging by the sounds, the sentinels fancied the enemy
approached nearer the walls; and they were not mistaken. With the advent
of the second morning, here and there at intervals, ill-defined mounds
of earth were seen so much in advance of the intrenched line that, by a
general order, a fire of stones and darts was opened upon them; and
straightway bodies of bowmen and slingers rushed forward, and returned
the fire, seeking to cover the mound builders. This was battle.

Noon again--and battle.

In the evening--battle.

The advantage of course was with the besieged.

The work on the mounds meanwhile continued, while the campania behind
the intrenchment was alive with a creaking of wheels burdened by
machinery, and a shouting of ox-drivers; and the veterans on the walls
said the enemy was bringing up his balistas and mangonels.

The third morning showed the mounds finished, and crowned with mantelets,
behind which, in working order and well manned, every sort of engine
known in sieges from Alexander to the Crusaders was in operation.
Thenceforward, it is to be observed, the battle was by no means
one-sided.

In this opening there was no heat or furore of combat; it was rather the
action of novices trying their machines, or, in modern artillery
parlance, finding the range. Many minutes often intervened between
shots, and as the preliminary object on the part of the besiegers was to
destroy the merlons sheltering the warders, did a stone strike either
wall near the top, the crash was saluted by cheers.

Now the foreigners defending were professionals who had graduated in all
the arts of town and castle taking. These met the successes of their
antagonists with derision. "Apprentices," they would say, "nothing but
apprentices."... "See those fellows by the big springal there turning
the winch the wrong way!" ... "The turbaned sons of Satan! Have they
no eyes? I'll give them a lesson. Look!" And if the bolt fell truly,
there was loud laughter on the walls.

The captains, moreover, were incessantly encouraging the raw men under
them. "Two walls, and a hundred feet of flooded ditch! There will be
merry Christmas in the next century before the Mahounds get to us at the
rate they are coming. Shoot leisurely, men--leisurely. An infidel for
every bolt!"

Now on the outer wall, which was the lower of the two, and naturally
first to draw the enemy's ire, and then along the inner, the Emperor
went, indifferent to danger or fatigue, and always with words of cheer.

"The stones under our feet are honest," he would say. "The Persian came
thinking to batter them down, but after many days he fled; and search as
we will, no man can lay a finger on the face of one of them, and say,
'Here Chosroes left a scar.' So Amurath, sometimes called Murad, this
young man's father, wasted months, and the souls of his subjects without
count; but when he fled not a coping block had been disturbed in its
bed. What has been will be again. God is with us."

When the three days were spent, the Greeks under arms began to be
accustomed to the usage, and make merry of it, like the veterans.

The fourth day about noon the Emperor, returning from a round of the
walls, ascended the Bagdad tower mentioned as overlooking the Gate St.
Romain on the right hand; and finding Justiniani on the roof, he said to
him: "This fighting, if it may be so called, Captain, is without heart.
But two of our people have been killed; not a stone is shaken. To me it
seems the Sultan is amusing us while preparing something more serious."

"Your Majesty," the Genoese returned, soberly, "now has Heaven given you
the spirit of a soldier and the eyes as well. Old John Grant told me
within an hour that the yellow flag on the rising ground before us
denotes the Sultan's quarters in the field, and is not to be confounded
with his battle flag. It follows, I think, could we get behind the
Janissaries dismounted on the further slope of the rise, yet in position
to meet a sally, we would discover the royal tent not unwisely pitched,
if, as I surmise, this gate is indeed his point of main attack. And
besides here are none of the old-time machines as elsewhere along our
front; not a catapult, or bricole, or bible--as some, with wicked
facetiousness, have named a certain invention for casting huge stones;
nor have we yet heard the report of a cannon, or arquebus, or bombard,
although we know the enemy has them in numbers. Wherefore, keeping in
mind the circumstance of his presence here, the omissions satisfy me the
Sultan relies on his great guns, and that, while amusing us, as Your
Majesty has said, he is mounting them. To-morrow, or perhaps next day,
he will open with them, and then"--

"What then?" Constantine asked.

"The world will have a new lesson in warfare."

The Emperor's countenance, visible under his raised visor, knit hard.

"Dear, dear God!" he said, half to himself. "If this old Christian
empire should be lost through folly of mine, who will there be to
forgive me if not Thou?"

Then, seeing the Genoese observing him with surprise, he continued:

"It is a simple tale, Captain.... A Dacian, calling himself Urban, asked
audience of me one day, and being admitted, said he was an artificer of
cannon; that he had plied his art in the foundries of Germany, and from
study of powder was convinced of the practicality of applying it to guns
of heavier calibre than any in use. He had discovered a composition of
metals, he said, which was his secret, and capable, when properly cast,
of an immeasurable strain. Would I furnish him the materials, and a
place, with appliances for the work such as he would name, I might
collect the machines in my arsenal, and burn them or throw them into the
sea. I might even level my walls, and in their stead throw up ramparts
of common earth, and by mounting his guns upon them secure my capital
against the combined powers of the world. He refused to give me details
of his processes. I asked him what reward he wanted, and he set it so
high I laughed. Thinking to sound him further, I kept him in my service
a few days; but becoming weary of his importunities, I dismissed him. I
next heard of him at Adrianople. The Sultan Mahommed entertained his
propositions, built him a foundry, and tried one of his guns, with
results the fame of which is a wonder to the whole East. It was the log
of bronze Count Corti saw on the road--now it is here--and Heaven sent it
to me first."

"Your Majesty," returned the Genoese, impressed by the circumstance, and
the evident remorse of the Emperor, "Heaven does not hold us accountable
for errors of judgment. There is not a monarch in Europe who would have
accepted the man's terms, and it remains to be seen if Mahommed, as yet
but a callow youth, has not been cheated. But look yonder!"

As he spoke, the Janissaries in front of the gate mounted and rode
forward, probably a hundred yards, pursued by a riotous shouting and
cracking of whips. Presently a train of buffaloes, yoked and tugging
laboriously at something almost too heavy for them, appeared on the
swell of earth; and there was a driver for every yoke, and every driver
whirled a long stick with a longer lash fixed to it, and howled lustily.

"It is the great gun," said Constantine. "They are putting it in
position."

Justiniani spoke to the men standing by the machines: "Make ready bolt
and stone."

The balistiers took to their wheels eagerly, and discharged a shower of
missiles at the Janissaries and ox-drivers.

"Too short, my men--more range."

The elevation was increased; still the bolts fell short.

"Bring forward the guns!" shouted Justiniani.

The guns were small bell-mouthed barrels of hooped iron, muzzle loading,
mounted on high wheels, and each shooting half a dozen balls of lead
large as walnuts. They were carefully aimed. The shot whistled and sang
viciously.

"Higher, men!" shouted the Genoese, from a merlon. "Give the pieces
their utmost range."

The Janissaries replied with a yell. The second volley also failed. Then
Justiniani descended from his perch.

"Your Majesty," he said, "to stop the planting of the gun there is
nothing for us but a sally."

"We are few, they are many," was the thoughtful reply. "One of us on the
wall is worth a score of them in the field. Their gun is an experiment.
Let them try it first."

The Genoese replied: "Your Majesty is right."

The Turks toiled on, backing and shifting their belabored trains, until
the monster at last threatened the city with its great black Cyclopean
eye.

"The Dacian is not a bad engineer," said the Emperor.

"See, he is planting other pieces."

Thus Justiniani; for oxen in trains similar to the first one came up
tugging mightily, until by mid-afternoon on each flank of the first
monster three other glistening yellow logs lay on their carriages in a
like dubious quiet, leaving no doubt that St. Romain was to be
overwhelmed, if the new agencies answered expectations.

If there was anxiety here, over the way there was impatience too fierce
for control. Urban, the Dacian, in superintendency of the preparation,
was naturally disposed to be careful, so much, in his view, depended on
the right placement of the guns; but Mahommed, on foot, and whip in
hand, was intolerant, and, not scrupling to mix with the workmen, urged
them vehemently, now with threats, now with promises of reward.

"Thy beasts are snails! Give me the goad," he cried, snatching one from
a driver. Then to Urban: "Bring the powder, and a bullet, for when the
sun goes down thou shalt fire the great gun. Demur not. By the sword of
Solomon, there shall be no sleep this night in yon _Gabour_ city,
least of all in the palace they call Blacherne."

The Dacian brought his experts together. The powder in a bag was rammed
home; with the help of a stout slab, a stone ball was next rolled into
the muzzle, then pushed nakedly down on the bag. Of a truth there was
need of measureless strength in the composition of the piece. Finally
the vent was primed, and a slow-match applied, after which Urban
reported:

"The gun is ready, my Lord."

"Then watch the sun, and--_Bismillah!_--at its going down, fire....
Aim at the gate--this one before us--and if thou hit it or a tower on
either hand, I will make thee a _begler-bey_."

The gun-planting continued. Finally the sun paused in cloudy splendor
ready to carry the day down with it. The Sultan, from his tent of many
annexes Bedouin fashion, walked to where Urban and his assistants stood
by the carriage of the larger piece.

"Fire!" he said.

Urban knelt before him.

"Will my Lord please retire?"

"Why should I retire?"

"There is danger."

Mahommed smiled haughtily.

"Is the piece trained on the gate?"

"It is; but I pray"--

"Now if thou wilt not have me believe thee a dog not less than an
unbeliever, rise, and do my bidding."

The Dacian, without more ado, put the loose end of the slow-match into a
pot of live coals near by, and when it began to spit and sputter, he
cast it off. His experts fled. Only Mahommed remained with him; and no
feat of daring in battle could have won the young Padishah a name for
courage comparable to that the thousands looking on from a safe distance
now gave him.

"Will my Lord walk with me a little aside? He can then see the ball
going."

Mahommed accepted the suggestion.

"Look now in a line with the gate, my Lord."

The match was at last spent. A flash at the vent--a spreading white
cloud--a rending of the air--the rattle of wheels obedient to the recoil
of the gun--a sound thunder in volume, but with a crackle sharper than
any thunder--and we may almost say that, with a new voice, and an
additional terror, war underwent a second birth.

Mahommed's ears endured a wrench, and for a time he heard nothing; but
he was too intent following the flight of the ball to mind whether the
report of the gun died on the heights of Galata or across the Bosphorus
at Scutari. He saw the blackened sphere pass between the towers flanking
the gate, and speed on into the city--how far, or with what effect, he
could not tell, nor did he care.

Urban fell on his knees.

"Mercy, my Lord, mercy!"

"For what? That thou didst not hit the gate? Rise, man, and see if the
gun is safe." And when it was so reported, he called to Kalil, the
Vizier, now come up: "Give the man a purse, and not a lean one, for, by
Allah! he is bringing Constantinople to me."

And despite the ringing in his ears, he went to his tent confident and
happy. On the tower meantime Constantine and the Genoese beheld the
smoke leap forth and curtain the gun, and right afterward they heard the
huge ball go tearing past them, like an invisible meteor. Their eyes
pursued the sound--where the missile fell they could not say--they heard
a crash, as if a house midway the city had been struck--then they gazed
at each other, and crossed themselves.

"There is nothing for us now but the sally," said the Emperor.

"Nothing," replied Justiniani. "We must disable the guns."

"Let us go and arrange it."

There being no indication of further firing, the two descended from the
tower.

The plan of sortie agreed upon was not without ingenuity. The gate under
the palace of Blacherne called _Cercoporta_ was to be opened in the
night. [Footnote: In the basement of the palace of Blacherne there was an
underground exit, Cercoporta or gate of the Circus; but Isaac Comnenus
had walled it up in order to avoid the accomplishment of a prediction
which announced that the Emperor Frederick would enter Constantinople
through it.... But before the siege by Mahommed the exit was restored,
and it was through it the Turks passed into the city.--VON HAMMER,
_Hist. de l'Empire Ottoman._] Count Corti, with the body-guard
mounted, was to pass out by it, and surprise the Janissaries defending
the battery. Simultaneously Justiniani should sally by the Gate St.
Romain, cross the moat temporarily bridged for the purpose, and, with
the footmen composing the force in reserve, throw himself upon the guns.

The scheme was faithfully attempted. The Count, stealing out of the
ancient exit in the uncertain light preceding the dawn, gained a
position unobserved, and charged the careless Turks. By this time it had
become a general report that the net about his neck was a favor of the
Princess Irene, and his battle cry confirmed it--_For God and
Irene!_ Bursting through the half-formed opposition, he passed to the
rear of the guns, and planted his banderole at the door of Mahommed's
tent. Had his men held together, he might have returned with a royal
prisoner.

While attention was thus wholly given the Count, Justiniani overthrew
the guns by demolishing the carriages. A better acquaintance with the
operation known to moderns as "spiking a piece," would have enabled him
to make the blow irreparable. The loss of Janissaries was severe; that
of the besieged trifling. The latter, foot and horse, returned by the
Gate St. Romain unpursued.

Mahommed, aroused by the tumult, threw on his light armor, and rushed
out in time to hear the cry of his assailant, and pluck the banderole
from its place. At sight of the moon with the cross on its face, his
wrath was uncontrollable. The Aga in command and all his assistants were
relentlessly impaled.

There were other sorties in course of the siege, but never another
surprise.




CHAPTER VIII

MAHOMMED TRIES HIS GUNS AGAIN


Hardly had the bodies making the sortie retired within the gate when the
Janissaries on the eminence were trebly strengthened, and the noises in
that quarter, the cracking of whips, the shouting of ox-drivers, the
hammering betokened a prodigious activity. The besieged, under delusion
that the guns had been destroyed, could not understand the enemy. Not
until the second ensuing morning was the mystery solved. The watchmen on
the towers, straining to pierce the early light, then beheld the great
bronze monster remounted and gaping at them through an embrasure, and
other monsters of a like kind on either side of it, fourteen in all,
similarly mounted and defended.

The warders on the towers, in high excitement, sent for Justiniani, and
he in turn despatched a messenger to the Emperor. Together on the Bagdad
tower the two discussed the outlook.

"Your Majesty," said the Genoese, much chagrined, "the apostate Dacian
must be master of his art. He has restored the cannon I overthrew."

After a time Constantine replied: "I fear we have underrated the new
Sultan. Great as a father may be, it is possible for a son to be
greater."

Perceiving the Emperor was again repenting the dismissal of Urban, the
Captain held his peace until asked: "What shall we now do?"

"Your Majesty," he returned, "it is apparent our sally was a failure. We
slew a number of the infidels, and put their master--may God confound
him!--to inconvenience, and nothing more. Now he is on guard, we may not
repeat our attempt. My judgment is that we let him try his armament upon
our walls. They may withstand his utmost effort."

The patience this required was not put to a long test. There was a
sudden clamor of trumpets, and the Janissaries, taking to their saddles,
and breaking right and left into divisions, cleared the battery front.
Immediately a vast volume of smoke hid the whole ground, followed by a
series of explosions. Some balls passing over the defences ploughed into
the city; and as definitions of force, the sounds they made in going
were awful; yet they were the least of the terrors. Both the towers were
hit, and they shook as if an earthquake were wrestling with them. The
air whitened with dust and fragments of crushed stone. The men at the
machines and culverins cowered to the floor. Constantine and the Genoese
gazed at each other until the latter bethought him, and ordered the fire
returned. And it was well done, for there is nothing which shall bring
men round from fright like action.

Then, before there could be an exchange of opinion between the high
parties on the tower, a man in half armor issued from the slowly rising
cloud, and walked leisurely forward. Instead of weapons, he carried an
armful of stakes, and something which had the appearance of a heavy
gavel. After a careful examination of the ground to the gate, he halted
and drove a stake, and from that point commenced zigzagging down the
slope, marking each angle.

Justiniani drew nearer the Emperor, and said, in a low voice: "With new
agencies come new methods. The assault is deferred."

"Nay, Captain, our enemy must attack; otherwise he cannot make the moat
passable."

"That, Your Majesty, was the practice. Now he will gain the ditch by a
trench."

"With what object?"

"Under cover of the trench, he will fill the ditch."

Constantine viewed the operation with increased gravity. He could see
how feasible it was to dig a covered way under fire of the guns, making
the approach and the bombardment simultaneous; and he would have
replied, but that instant a mob of laborers--so the spades and picks
they bore bespoke them--poured from the embrasure of the larger gun,
and, distributing themselves at easy working intervals along the staked
line, began throwing up the earth on the side next the city. Officers
with whips accompanied and stood over them.

The engineer--if we may apply the modern term--was at length under fire
of the besieged; still he kept on; only when he exhausted his supply of
stakes did he retire, leaving it inferrible that the trench was to run
through the opening in the cemetery to the bridge way before the gate.

At noon, the laborers being well sunk in the ground, the cannon again
vomited fire and smoke, and with thunderous reports launched their heavy
bullets at the towers. Again the ancient piles shook from top to base.
Some of the balistiers were thrown down. The Emperor staggered under the
shock. One ball struck a few feet below a merlon of the Bagdad, and when
the dust blew away, an ugly crack was seen in the exposed face of the
wall, extending below the roof.

While the inspection of damages immediately ordered is in progress, we
take the liberty of transporting the reader elsewhere, that he may see
the effect of this amazing warfare on other parties of interest in the
tragedy.

Count Corti was with his guard at the foot of the tower when the first
discharge of artillery took place. He heard the loud reports and the
blows of the shot which failed not their aim; he heard also the sound of
the bullets flying on into the city, and being of a quick imagination,
shuddered to think of the havoc they might inflict should they fall in a
thickly inhabited district. Then it came to him that the residence of
the Princess Irene must be exposed to the danger. Like a Christian and a
lover, he, sought to allay the chill he felt by signing the cross
repeatedly, and with unction, on brow and breast. The pious performance
brought no relief. His dread increased. Finally he sent a man with a
message informing the Emperor that he was gone to see what damage the
guns had done in the city.

He had not ridden far when he was made aware of the prevalence of an
extraordinary excitement. It seemed the entire population had been
brought from their houses by the strange thunder, and the appalling
flight of meteoric bodies over their roofs. Men and women were running
about asking each other what had happened. At the corners he was
appealed to:

"Oh, for Christ's sake, stop, and tell us if the world is coming to an
end!" Arid in pity lie answered: "Do not be so afraid, good people. It
is the Turks. They are trying to scare us by making a great noise. Go
back into your houses."

"But the bullets which passed over us. What of them?"

"Where did they strike?"

"On further. God help the sufferers!"

One cry he heard so often it made an impression upon him:

"The _Panagia!_ Tell His Majesty, as he is a Christian, to bring
the Blessed Madonna from the Chapel."

With each leap of his horse he was now nearing the alighting places of
the missiles, and naturally the multiplying signs of terror he observed,
together with a growing assurance that the abode of the Princess was in
the range of danger, quickened his alarm for her. The white faces of the
women he met and passed without a word reminded him the more that she
was subject to the same peril, and in thought of her he forgot to
sympathize with them.

In Byzantium one might be near a given point yet far away; so did the
streets run up and down, and here and there, their eccentricities in
width and direction proving how much more accident and whim had to do
with them originally than art or science. Knowing this, the Count was
not sparing of his horse, and as his blood heated so did his fancy. If
the fair Princess were unhurt, it was scarcely possible she had escaped
the universal terror. He imagined her the object of tearful attention
from her attendants. Or perhaps they had run away, and left her in
keeping of the tender Madonna of Blacherne.

At last he reached a quarter where the throng of people compelled him to
slacken his gait, then halt and dismount. It was but a few doors from
the Princess'. One house--a frame, two stories--appeared the object of
interest.

"What has happened?" he asked, addressing a tall man, who stood trembling
and praying to a crucifix in his hand.

"God protect us, Sir Knight! See how clear the sky is, but a great
stone--some say it was a meteor--struck this house. There is the hole it
made. Others say it was a bullet from the Turks.--Save us, O Son of
Mary!" and he fell to kissing the crucifix.

"Was anybody hurt?" the Count asked, shaking the devotee.

"Yes--two women and a child were killed.--Save us, O Son of God! Thou
hast the power from the Father."

The Count picked his way toward the house till he could get no further,
so was it blocked by a mass of women on their knees, crying, praying,
and in agony of fright. There, sure enough, was a front beaten in,
exposing the wrecked interior. But who was the young woman at the door
calmly directing some men bringing out the body of one apparently dead?
Her back was to him, but the sunlight was tangled in her uncovered hair,
making gold of it. Her figure was tall and slender, and there was a
marvellous grace in her action. Who was she? The Count's heart was
prophetic. He gave the bridle rein to a man near by, and holding his
sword up, pushed through the kneeling mass. He might have been more
considerate in going; but he was in haste, and never paused until at the
woman's side. "God's mercy, Princess Irene!" he cried, "what dost thou
here? Are there not men to take this charge upon them?"

And in his joy at finding her safe, he fell upon his knees, and, without
waiting for her to offer the favor, took one of her hands, and carried
it to his lips.

"Nay, Count Corti, is it not for me to ask what thou dost here?"

Her face was solemn, and he could hardly determine if the eyes she
turned to him were not chiding; yet they were full of humid violet
light, and she permitted him to keep the hand while he replied:

"The Turk is for the time having his own way. We cannot get to him.... I
came in haste to--to see what his guns have done--or--why should I not
say it? Princess, I galloped here fearing thou wert in need of
protection and help. I remembered that I was thy accepted knight."

She understood him perfectly, and, withdrawing her hand, returned:
"Rise, Count Corti, thou art in the way of these bearing the dead."

He stood aside, and the men passed him with their burden--a woman
drenched in blood.

"Is this the last one?" she asked them.

"We could find no other."

"Poor creature! ... Yet God's will be done! ... Bear her to my house, and
lay her with the others." Then to the Count she said: "Come with me."

The Princess set out after the men. Immediately the women about raised a
loud lamentation; such as were nearest her cried out: "Blessings on
you!" and they kissed the hem of her gown, and followed her moaning and
weeping. The body was borne into the house, and to the chapel, and all
who wished went in. Before the altar, two others were lying lifeless on
improvised biers, an elderly woman and a half-grown girl. The Lady in
picture above the altar looked down on them, as did the Holy Child in
her arms; and there was much comfort to the spectators in the look.
Then, when the third victim was decently laid out, Sergius began the
service for the dead. The Count stood by the Princess, her attendants in
group a little removed from them.

In the midst of the holy ministration, a sound like distant rolling
thunder penetrated the chapel. Every one present knew what it was by
this time--knew at least it was not thunder--and they cried out, and
clasped each other--from their knees many fell grovelling on the floor.
Sergius' voice never wavered. Corti would have extended his arms to give
the Princess support; but she did not so much as change color; her hands
holding a silver triptych remained firm. The deadly bullets were in the
air and might alight on the house; yet her mind was too steadfast, her
soul too high, her faith too exalted for alarm; and if the Count had
been prone to love her for her graces of person, now he was prompted to
adore her for her courage.

Outside near by, there was a crash as of a flying solid smiting another
dwelling, and, without perceptible interval, an outcry so shrill and
unintermitted it required no explanation.

The Princess was the first to speak.

"Proceed, Sergius," she said; nor might one familiar with her voice have
perceived any alteration in it from the ordinary; then to the Count
again: "Let us go out; there may be others needing my care."

At the door Corti said: "Stay, O Princess--a word, I pray."

She had only to look at his face to discover he was the subject of a
fierce conflict of spirit.

"Have pity on me, I conjure you. Honor and duty call me to the gate; the
Emperor may be calling me; but how can I go, leaving you in the midst of
such peril and horrors?"

"What would you have me do?"

"Fly to a place of safety."

"Where?"

"I will find a place; if not within these walls, then"--

He stopped, and his eyes, bright with passion, fell before hers; for the
idea he was about giving his tongue would be a doubly dishonorable
coinage, since it included desertion of the beleaguered city, and
violation of his compact with Mahommed.

"And then?" she asked.

And love got the better of honor.

"I have a ship in the harbor, O Princess Irene, and a crew devoted to
me, and I will place you on its deck, and fly with you. Doubt not my
making the sea; there are not Christians and Mohammedans enough to stay
me once my anchor is lifted, and my oars out; and on the sea freedom
lives, and we will follow the stars to Italy, and find a home."

Again he stopped, his face this time wrung with sudden anguish; then he
continued:

"God forgive, and deal with me mercifully! I am mad! ... And thou, O
Princess--do thou forgive me also, and my words and weakness. Oh, if not
for my sake, then for that which carried me away! Or if thou canst not
forget, pity me, pity me, and think of the wretchedness now my portion.
I had thy respect, if not thy love; now both are lost--gone after my
honor. Oh! I am most miserable--miserable!"

And wringing his hands, he turned his face from her.

"Count Corti," she replied gently, "thou hast saved thyself. Let the
affair rest here. I forgive the proposal, and shall never remind thee of
it. Love is madness. Return to duty; and for me"--she hesitated--"I hold
myself ready for the sacrifice to which I was born. God is fashioning
it; in His own time, and in the form He chooses, He will send it to
me.... I am not afraid, and be thou not afraid for me. My father was a
hero, and he left me his spirit. I too have my duty born within the
hour--it is to share the danger of my kinsman's people, to give them my
presence, to comfort them all I can. I will show thee what thou seemest
not to have credited--that a woman can be brave as any man. I will
attend the sick, the wounded, and suffering. To the dying I will carry
such consolation as I possess--all of them I can reach--and the dead
shall have ministration. My goods and values have long been held for the
poor and unfortunate; now to the same service I consecrate myself, my
house, my chapel, and altar.... There is my hand in sign of forgiveness,
and that I believe thee a true knight. I will go with thee to thy
horse."

He bowed his head, and silently struggling for composure, carried the
hand to his lips.

"Let us go now," she said.

They went out together.

Another dwelling had been struck; fortunately it was unoccupied.

In the saddle, he stayed to say: "Thy soul, O Princess Irene, is angelic
as thy face. Thou hast devoted thyself to the suffering. Am I left out?
What word wilt thou give me?"

"Be the true knight thou art, Count Corti, and come to me as before."

He rode away with a revelation; that in womanly purity and goodness
there is a power and inspiration beyond the claims of beauty.

The firing continued. Seven times that day the Turks assailed the Gate
St. Romain with their guns; and while a few of the stones discharged
flew amiss into the city, there were enough to still further terrorize
the inhabitants. By night all who could had retreated to vaults,
cellars, and such hiding-places as were safe, and took up their abodes
in them. In the city but one woman went abroad without fear, and she
bore bread and medicines, and dressed wounds, and assuaged sorrows, and
as a Madonna in fact divided worship with the Madonna in the chapel up
by the High Residence. Whereat Count Corti's love grew apace, though the
recollection of the near fall he had kept him humble and circumspect.

The same day, but after the second discharge of the guns, Mahommed
entered the part of his tent which, with some freedom, may be termed his
office and reception-room, since it was furnished with seats and a large
table, the latter set upon a heavily tufted rug, and littered over with
maps and writing and drawing materials. Notable amongst the litter was
the sword of Solomon. Near it lay a pair of steel gauntlets elegantly
gilt. One stout centre-tree, the main support of the roof of camel's
hair, appeared gayly dressed with lances, shields, arms, and armor; and
against it, strange to say, the companion of a bright red battle-flag,
leant the banderole Count Corti had planted before the door the morning
of the sally. A sliding flap overhead, managed by cords in the interior,
was drawn up, admitting light and air.

The office, it may be added, communicated by gay portieres with four
other apartments, each having its separate centre-tree; one occupied by
Kalil, the Vizier; one, a bed-chamber, so to speak; one, a stable for
the imperial stud; the fourth belonged to no less a person than our
ancient and mysterious acquaintance, the Prince of India.

Mahommed was in half-armor; that is, his neck, arms, and body were in
chain mail, the lightest and most flexible of the East, exquisitely
gold-washed, and as respects fashion exactly like the suit habitually
affected by Count Corti. His nether limbs were clad in wide trousers of
yellow silk, drawn close at the ankles. Pointed shoes of red leather
completed his equipment, unless we may include a whip with heavy handle
and long lash. Could Constantine have seen him at the moment, he would
have recognized the engineer whose performance in tracing the trench he
had witnessed with so much interest in the morning.

The Grand Chamberlain received him with the usual prostration, and in
that posture waited his pleasure.

"Bring me water. I am thirsty."

The water was brought.

"The Prince of India now."

Presently the Prince appeared in the costume peculiar to him--a cap and
gown of black velvet, loose trousers, and slippers. His hair and beard
were longer than when we knew him a denizen of Constantinople, making
his figure seem more spare and old; otherwise he was unchanged. He too
prostrated himself; yet as he sank upon his knees, he gave the Sultan a
quick glance, intended doubtless to discover his temper more than his
purpose.

"You may retire."

This to the Chamberlain.

Upon the disappearance of the official, Mahommed addressed the Prince,
his countenance flushed, his eyes actually sparkling.

"God is great. All things are possible to him. Who shall say no when he
says yes? Who resist when he bids strike? Salute me, and rejoice with
me, O Prince. He is on my side. It was he who spoke in the thunder of my
guns. Salute me, and rejoice. Constantinople is mine! The towers which
have outlasted the ages, the walls which have mocked so many conquerors--
behold them tottering to their fall! I will make dust of them. The city
which has been a stumbling-block to the true faith shall be converted in
a night. Of the churches I will make mosques. Salute me and rejoice! How
may a soul contain itself knowing God has chosen it for such mighty
things? Rise, O Prince and rejoice with me!"

He caught up the sword of Solomon, and in a kind of ecstasy strode about
flourishing it.

The Prince, arisen, replied simply: "I rejoice with my Lord;" and
folding his arms across his breast, he waited, knowing he had been
summoned for something more serious than to witness an outburst so
wild--that directly this froth would disappear, as bubbles vanish from
wine just poured. The most absolute of men have their ways--this was one
of Mahommed's. And behind his composed countenance the Jew smiled, for,
as he read it, the byplay was an acknowledgment of his influence over
the chosen of God.

And he was right. Suddenly Mahommed replaced the sword, and standing
before him, asked abruptly:

"Tell me, have the stars fixed the day when I may assault the Gabours?"

"They have, my Lord."

"Give it to me."

The Prince returned to his apartment, and came back with a horoscope.

"This is their decision, my Lord."

In his character of Messenger of the Stars, the Prince of India
dispensed with every observance implying inferiority.

Without looking at the Signs, or at the planets in their Houses; without
noticing the calculations accompanying the chart; glancing merely at the
date in the central place, Mahommed frowned, and said:

"The twenty-ninth of May! Fifty-three days! By Allah and Mahomet arid
Christ--all in one--if by the compound the oath will derive an extra
virtue--what is there to consume so much time? In three days I will have
the towers lording this gate they call St. Romain in the ditch, and the
ditch filled. In three days, I say."

"Perhaps my Lord is too sanguine--perhaps he does not sufficiently credit
the skill and resources of the enemy behind the gate--perhaps there is
more to do than he has admitted into his anticipations."

Mahommed darted a look at the speaker.

"Perhaps the stars have been confidential with their messenger, and told
him some of the things wanting to be done."

"Yes, my Lord." The calmness of the Prince astonished Mahommed.

"And art thou permitted to be confidential with me?" he asked.

"My Lord must break up this collection of his guns, and plant some of
them against the other gates; say two at the Golden Gate, one at the
Caligaria, and before the Selimbria and the Adrianople two each. He will
have seven left.... Nor must my Lord confine his attack to the landward
side; the weakest front of the city is the harbor front, and it must be
subjected. He should carry there at least two of his guns."

"Sword of Solomon!" cried Mahommed. "Will the stars show me a road to
possession of the harbor? Will they break the chain which defends its
entrance? Will they sink or burn the enemy's fleet?"

"No; those are heroisms left for my Lord's endeavor."

"Thou dost taunt me with the impossible."

The Prince smiled.

"Is my Lord less able than the Crusaders? I know he is not too proud to
be taught by them. Once, marching upon the Holy City, they laid siege to
Nicea, and after a time discovered they could not master it without
first mastering Lake Ascanius. Thereupon they hauled their ships three
leagues overland, and launched them in the lake." [Footnote: VON HAMMER,
_Hist. de l'Emp. Ottoman._]

Mahommed became thoughtful.

"If my Lord does not distribute the guns; if he confines his attack to
St. Romain, the enemy, in the day of assault, can meet him at the breach
with his whole garrison. More serious, if the harbor is left to the
Greeks, how can he prevent the Genoese in Galata from succoring them? My
Lord derives information from those treacherous people in the day; does
he know of the intercourse between the towns by boats in the night? If
they betray one side, will they be true to the other? My Lord, they are
Christians; so are these with whom we are at war."

The Sultan sank into a seat; and satisfied with the impression he had
made, the Prince wisely allowed him his thoughts.

"It is enough!" said the former, rising. Then fixing his eye on his
confederate, he asked: "What stars told thee these things, O Prince?"

"My Lord, the firmament above is God's, and the sun and planets there
are his mercifully to our common use. But we have each of us a firmament
of our own. In mine, Reason is the sun, and of its stars I mention
two--Experience and Faith. By the light of the three, I succeed; when I
refuse them, one or all, I surrender to chance."

Mahommed caught up the sword, and played with its ruby handle, turning
it at angles to catch its radiations; at length he said:

"Prince of India, thou hast spoken like a Prophet. Go call Kalil and
Saganos."




CHAPTER IX

THE MADONNA TO THE RESCUE


We have given the opening of the siege of Byzantium by Mahommed with
dangerous minuteness, the danger of course being from the critic. We
have posted the warders on their walls, and over against them set the
enemy in an intrenched line covering the whole landward side of the
city. We have planted Mahommed's guns, and exhibited their power, making
it a certainty that a breach in the wall must be sooner or later
accomplished. We have shown the effect of the fire of the guns, not only
on the towers abutting the gate which was the main object of attack, but
on the non-combatants, the women and children, in their terror seeking
safety in cellars, vaults, and accessible underground retreats. We have
carefully assembled and grouped those of our characters who have
survived to this trying time; and the reader is informed where they are,
the side with which their fortunes are cast, their present relations to
each other, and the conditions which environ them. In a word, the reader
knows their several fates are upon them, and the favors we now most
earnestly pray are to be permitted to pass the daily occurrences of the
siege, and advance quickly to the end. Even battles can become
monotonous in narrative.

The Sultan, we remark, adopted the suggestions of the Prince of India.
He distributed his guns, planting some of them in front of the several
gates of the city. To control the harbor, he, in modern parlance,
erected a battery on a hill by Galata; then in a night, he drew a part
of his fleet, including a number of his largest vessels, from
Besich-tasch on the Bosphorus over the heights and hollows of Pera, a
distance of about two leagues, and dropped them in the Golden Horn.
These Constantine attacked. Justiniani led the enterprise, but was
repulsed. A stone bullet sunk his ship, and he barely escaped with his
life. Most of his companions were drowned; those taken were pitilessly
hung. Mahommed next collected great earthen jars--their like may yet be
seen in the East--and, after making them air-tight, laid a bridge upon
them out toward the single wall defending the harbor front. At the
further end of this unique approach he placed a large gun; and so
destructive was the bombardment thus opened that fire-ships were sent
against the bridge and battery. But the Genoese of Galata betrayed the
scheme, and it was baffled. The prisoners captured were hanged in view
of the Greeks, and in retaliation Constantine exposed the heads of a
hundred and sixty Turks from the wall.

On the landward side Mahommed was not less fortunate. The zigzag trench
was completed, and a footing obtained for his men in the moat, whence
they strove to undermine the walls.

Of the lives lost during these operations no account was taken, since
the hordes were the victims. Their bodies were left as debris in the
roadway so expensively constructed. Day after day the towers Bagdad and
St. Romain were more and more reduced. Immense sections of them tumbling
into the ditch were there utilized. Day after day the exchange of
bullets, bolts, stones, and arrows was incessant. The shouting in many
tongues, heating of drums, and blowing of horns not seldom continued far
into the night.

The Greeks on their side bore up bravely. Old John Grant plied the
assailants with his inextinguishable fire. Constantine, in seeming
always cheerful, never shirking, visited the walls; at night, he
seconded Justiniani in hastening needful repairs. Finally the steady
drain upon the stores in magazine began to tell. Provisions became
scarce, and the diminution of powder threatened to silence the culverins
and arquebuses. Then the Emperor divided his time between the defences
and Sancta Sophia--between duty as a military commander, and prayer as a
Christian trustful in God. And it was noticeable that the services at
which he assisted in the ancient church were according to Latin rites;
whereat the malcontents in the monasteries fell into deeper sullenness,
and refused the dying the consolation of their presence. Gennadius
assumed the authority of the absent Patriarch, and was influential as a
prophet. The powerful Brotherhood of the St. James', composed of
able-bodied gentry and nobles who should have been militant at the
gates, regarded the Emperor as under ban. Notaras and Justiniani
quarrelled, and the feud spread to their respective followers.

One day, about the time the Turkish ships dropped, as it were, from the
sky into the harbor, when the store of powder was almost exhausted, and
famine menaced the city, five galleys were reported in the offing down
the Marmora. About the same time the Turkish flotilla was observed
making ready for action. The hungry people crowded the wall from the
Seven Towers to Point Serail. The Emperor rode thither in haste, while
Mahommed betook himself to the shore of the sea. A naval battle ensued
under the eyes of the two. [Footnote: The following is a translation of
Von Hammer's spirited account of this battle:

"The 15th of April, 1453, the Turkish fleet, of more than four hundred
sails, issued from the bay of Phidalia, and directing itself toward the
mouth of the Bosphorus on the western side, cast anchor near the two
villages to-day Besich-tasch. A few days afterward five vessels appeared
in the Marmora, one belonging to the Emperor, and four to the Genoese.
During the month of March they had been unable to issue from Scio; but a
favorable wind arising, they arrived before Constantinople, all their
sails unfurled. A division of the Turkish fleet, more than a hundred and
fifty in number, advanced to bar the passage of the Christian squadron
and guard the entrance to the harbor. The sky was clear, the sea
tranquil, the walls crowded with spectators. The Sultan himself was on
the shore to enjoy the spectacle of a combat in which the superiority of
his fleet seemed to promise him a certain victory. But the eighteen
galleys at the head of the division, manned by inexperienced soldiers,
and too low at the sides, were instantly covered with arrows, pots of
Greek fire, and a rain of stones launched by the enemy. They were twice
repulsed. The Greeks and the Genoese emulated each other in zeal.
Flectanelli, captain of the imperial galley, fought like a lion;
Cataneo, Novarro, Balaneri, commanding the Genoese, imitated his
example. The Turkish ships could not row under the arrows with which the
water was covered; they fouled each other, and two took fire. At this
sight Mahommed could not contain himself; as if he would arrest the
victory of the Greeks, he spurred his horse in the midst of the ships.
His officers followed him trying to reach the vessels combating only a
stone's throw away. The soldiers, excited by shame or by fear, renewed
the attack, but without success, and the five vessels, favored by a
rising wind, forced a passage through the opposition, and happily
entered the harbor."] The Christian squadron made the Golden Horn, and
passed triumphantly behind the chain defending it. They brought supplies
of corn and powder. The relief had the appearance of a merciful
Providence, and forthwith the fighting was renewed with increased ardor.
Kalil the Vizier exhorted Mahommed to abandon the siege.

"What, retire now? Now that the gate St. Romain is in ruins and the
ditch filled?" the Sultan cried in rage. "No, my bones to Eyoub, my soul
to Eblis first. Allah sent me here to conquer."

Those around attributed his firmness, some to religious zeal, some to
ambition; none of them suspected how much the compact with Count Corti
had to do with his decision.

To the lasting shame of Christian Europe, the arrival of the five
galleys, and the victory they achieved, were all of succor and cheer
permitted the heroic Emperor.

But the unequal struggle wore on, and with each set of sun Mahommed's
hopes replumed themselves. From much fondling and kissing the sword of
Solomon, and swearing by it, the steel communicated itself to his will;
while on the side of the besieged, failures, dissensions, watching and
labor, disparity in numbers, inferiority in arms, the ravages of death,
and the neglect of Christendom, slowly but surely invited despair.

Weeks passed thus. April went out; and now it is the twenty-third of
May. On the twenty-ninth--six days off--the stars, so we have seen, will
permit an assault.

And on this day the time is verging midnight. Between the sky and the
beleaguered town a pall of clouds is hanging thick. At intervals light
showers filter through the pall, and the drops fall perpendicularly, for
there is no wind. And the earth has its wrap of darkness, only over the
seven hills of the old capital it appears to be in double folds
oppressively close. Darkness and silence and vacancy, which do not
require permission to enter by a gate, have possession of the streets
and houses; except that now and then a solitary figure, gliding swiftly,
turns a corner, pauses to hear, moves on again, and disappears as if it
dropped a curtain behind it. Desertion is the rule. The hush is awful.
Where are the people?

To find each other friends go from cellar to cellar. There are vaults
and arched passages, crypts under churches and lordly habitations, deep,
damp, mouldy, and smelling of rotten air, sheltering families. In many
districts all life is underground. Sociality, because it cannot exist
under such conditions save amongst rats and reptiles, ceased some time
ago. Yet love is not dead--thanks, O Heaven, for the divine impulse!--it
has merely taken on new modes of expression; it shows itself in tears,
never in laughter; it has quit singing, it moans; and what moments
mothers are not on their knees praying, they sit crouched, and clasping
their little ones, and listen pale with fear and want. Listening is the
universal habit; and the start and exclamation with which in the day the
poor creatures recognize the explosive thunder of Mahommed's guns
explain the origin of the habit.

At this particular hour of the twenty-third of May there are two notable
exceptions to the statement that darkness, silence and vacancy have
possession of the streets and houses.

By a combination of streets most favorable for the purpose, a
thoroughfare had come into use along which traffic preferably drove its
bulky commodities from St. Peter's on the harbor to the Gates St. Romain
and Adrianople; its greater distance between terminal points being
offset by advantages such as solidity, width and gentler grades. In one
of the turns of this very crooked way there is now a murky flush cast by
flambeaux sputtering and borne in hand. On either side one may see the
fronts of houses without tenants, and in the way itself long lines of
men tugging with united effort at some cumbrous body behind them. There
is no clamor. The labor is heavy, and the laborers in earnest. Some of
them wear round steel caps, but the majority are civilians with here and
there a monk, the latter by the Latin cross at his girdle an _azymite_.
Now and then the light flashes back from a naked torso streaming with
perspiration. One man in armor rides up and down the lines on horseback.
He too is in earnest. He speaks low when he has occasion to stop and give
a direction, but his face seen in flashes of the light is serious, and
knit with purpose. The movement of the lines is slow; at times they come
to a dead stand-still. If the halt appears too long the horseman rides
back and comes presently to the black hull of a dismantled galley on
rollers. The stoppages are to shift the rollers forward. When the
shifting is done, he calls out: "Make ready, men!" Whereupon every one in
the lines catches hold of a rope, and at his "Now--for love of Christ!"
there follows a pull with might, and the hull drags on.

In these later days of the siege there are two persons actively engaged
in the defence who are more wrought upon by the untowardness of the
situation than any or all their associates--they are the Emperor and
Count Corti.

There should be no difficulty in divining the cause of the former's
distress. It was too apparent to him that his empire was in desperate
straits; that as St. Romain underwent its daily reduction so his remnant
of State and power declined. And beholding the dissolution was very like
being an enforced witness of his own dying.

But Count Corti with the deepening of the danger only exerted himself
the more. He seemed everywhere present--now on the ruins of the towers,
now in the moat, now foremost in a countermine, and daily his
recklessness increased. His feats with bow and sword amazed his friends.
He became a terror to the enemy. He never tired. No one knew when he
slept. And as note was taken of him, the question was continually on the
lip, What possesses the man? He is a foreigner--this is not his home--he
has no kindred here--what can be his motive? And there were who said it
was Christian zeal; others surmised it was soldier habit; others again,
that for some reason he was disgusted with life; yet others, themselves
of sordid natures, said the Emperor affected him, and that he was
striving for a great reward in promise. As in the camps of the besiegers
none knew the actual reason of Mahommed's persistence, so here the
secret of the activity which left the Count without a peer in
performance and daring went without explanation.

A few--amongst them the Emperor--were aware of the meaning of the red
net about the Italian's neck--it shone so frequently through the smoke
and dust of hourly conflict as to have become a subject of general
observation--yet in the common opinion he was only the lady's knight;
and his battle cry, _For Christ and Irene--Now!_ did but confirm
the opinion. Time and time again, Mahommed beheld the doughty deeds of
his rival, heard his shout, saw the flash of his blade, sometimes near,
sometimes afar, but always where the press was thickest. Strange was it
that of the two hosts he alone understood the other's inspiration? He
had only to look into his own heart, and measure the force of the
passion there.

The horseman we see in charge of the removal of the galley-hulk this
night of the twenty-third of May is Count Corti. It is wanted at St.
Romain. The gate is a hill of stone and mortar, without form; the moat
almost level from side to side; and Justiniani has decided upon a
barricade behind a new ditch. He will fill the hull with stones, and
defend from its deck; and it must be on the ground by break of day.

Precisely as Count Corti was bringing the galley around the turn of the
thoroughfare, Constantine was at the altar in Sancta Sophia where
preparations for mass were making; that is, the priests were changing
their vestments, and the acolytes lighting the tall candles. The Emperor
sat in his chair of state just inside the brass railing, unattended
except by his sword-bearer. His hands were on his knees, his head bowed
low. He was acknowledging a positive need of prayer. The ruin at the
gate was palpable; but God reigned, and might be reserving his power for
a miraculous demonstration.

The preparation was about finished when, from the entrances of the
Church opposite the nave, a shuffling of many feet was heard. The light
in that quarter was weak, and some moments passed before the Emperor
perceived a small procession advancing, and arose. The garbs were of
orthodox Brotherhoods which had been most bitter in their denunciation.
None of them had approached the door of the holy house for weeks.

The imperial mind was greatly agitated by the sight. Were the brethren
recanting their unpatriotic resolutions? Had Heaven at last given them
an understanding of the peril of the city? Had it brought to them a
realization of the consequences if it fell under the yoke of the
Turk?--That the whole East would then be lost to Christendom, with no
date for its return? A miracle!--and to God the glory! And without a
thought of himself the devoted man walked to the gate of the railing,
and opening it, waited to receive the penitents.

Before him in front of the gate they knelt--in so far they yielded to
custom.

"Brethren," he said, "this high altar has not been honored with your
presence for many days. As Basileus, I bid you welcome back, and dare
urge the welcome in God's holy name. Reason instructs me that your
return is for a purpose in some manner connected with the unhappy
condition in which our city and empire, not to mention our religion, are
plunged. Rise, one of you, and tell me to what your appearance at this
solemn hour is due."

A brother in gray, old and stooped, arose, and replied:

"Your Majesty, it cannot be that you are unacquainted with the traditions
of ancient origin concerning Constantinople and Hagia Sophia; forgive us,
however, if we fear you are not equally well informed of a more recent
prophecy, creditably derived, we think, and presume to speak of its
terms. 'The infidels'--so the prediction runs--'will enter the city; but
the instant they arrive at the column of Constantine the Great, an angel
will descend from Heaven, and put a sword in the hands of a man of low
estate seated at the foot of the column, and order him to avenge the
people of God with it. Overcome by sudden terror, the Turks will then
take to flight, and be driven, not only from the city, but to the
frontier of Persia.' [Footnote: Von Hammer.] This prediction relieves us,
and all who believe in it, from fear of Mahommed and his impious hordes,
and we are grateful to Heaven for the Divine intervention. But, Your
Majesty, we think to be forgiven, if we desire the honor of the
deliverance to be accounted to the Holy Mother who has had our fathers in
care for so many ages, and redeemed them miraculously in instances within
Your Majesty's knowledge. Wherefore to our purpose.... We have been
deputed by the Brotherhoods in Constantinople, united in devotion to the
Most Blessed Madonna of Blacherne, to pray your permission to take the
_Panagia_ from the Church of the Virgin of Hodegetria, where it has been
since the week of the Passover, and intrust it to the pious women of the
city. To-morrow at noon, Your Majesty consenting, they will assemble at
the Acropolis, and with the banner at their head, go in procession along
the walls and to every threatened gate, never doubting that at the sight
of it the Sultan and his unbaptized hordes will be reft of breath of body
or take to flight.... This we pray of Your Majesty, that the Mother of
God may in these degenerate days have back the honor and worship accorded
her by the Emperors and Greeks of former times."

The old man ceased, and again fell upon his knees, while his associate
deputies rang the space with loud _Amens_.

It was well the light was dim, and the Emperor's face in shadow; it was
well the posture of the petitioners helped hide him from close study; a
feeling mixed of pity, contempt, and unutterable indignation seized him,
distorting his features, and shaking his whole person. Recantation and
repentance!--Pledge of loyalty!--Offer of service at the gates and on
the shattered walls!--Heaven help him! There was no word of apology for
their errors and remissness--not a syllable in acknowledgment of his
labors and services--and he about to pray God for strength to die if the
need were, as became the Emperor of a brave and noble people!

An instant he stood gazing at them--an instant of grief, shame,
mortification, indignation, all heightened by a burning sense of
personal wrong. Ay, God help him!

"Bear with me a little," he said quietly, and passing the waiting
priests, went and knelt upon a step of the altar in position to lay his
head upon the upper step. Minutes passed thus. The deputies supposed him
praying for the success of the morrow's display; he was in fact praying
for self-possession to answer them as his judgment of policy demanded.

At length he arose, and returned to them, and had calmness to say:

"Arise, brethren, and go in peace. The keeper of the Church will deliver
the sacred banner to the pious women. Only I insist upon a condition; if
any of them are slain by the enemy, whom you and they know to have been
bred in denial of womanly virtue, scorning their own mothers and wives,
and making merchandise of their daughters--if any of them be slain, I
say, then you shall bear witness to those who sent you to me that I am
innocent of the blood-guilt. Arise, and go in peace."

They marched out of the Church as they had come in, and he proceeded
with the service.

Next day about ten o'clock in the morning there was a lull in the
fighting at the Gate St. Romain. It were probably better to say the
Turks for some reason rested from their work of bringing stones,
tree-trunks, earth in hand carts, and timbers wrenched from
houses--everything, in fact, which would serve to substantially fill the
moat in that quarter. Then upon the highest heap of what had been the
tower of Bagdad Count Corti appeared, a black shield on his arm, his bow
in one hand, his banderole in the other.

"Have a care, have a care!" his friends halloed. "They are about firing
the great gun."

Corti seemed not to hear, but deliberately planted the banderole, and
blowing his trumpet three times, drew an arrow from the quiver at his
back. The gun was discharged, the bullet striking below him. When the
dust cleared away, he replied with his trumpet. Then the Turks, keeping
their distance, set up a cry. Most of the arrows shot at him fell short.
Seeing their indisposition to accept his challenge, he took seat upon a
stone.

Not long then until a horseman rode out from the line of Janissaries
still guarding the eminence, and advanced down the left of the zigzag
galloping.

He was in chain mail glistening like gold, but wore flowing yellow
trousers, while his feet were buried in shoe-stirrups of the royal
metal. Looking over the small round black shield on his left arm, and
holding a bow in the right hand, easy in the saddle, calm, confident,
the champion slackened speed when within arrow flight, but commenced
caracoling immediately. A prolonged hoarse cry arose behind him. Of the
Christians, the Count alone recognized the salute of the Janissaries,
still an utterance amongst Turkish soldiers, in literal translation:
_The Padishah! Live the Padishah!_ The warrior was Mahommed
himself!

Arising, the Count placed an arrow at the string, and shouted, "_For
Christ and Irene--Now!_" With the last word, he loosed the shaft.

Catching the missile lightly on his shield, Mahommed shouted back:
"_Allah-il-Allah!_" and sent a shaft in return. The exchange continued
some minutes. In truth, the Count was not a little proud of the enemy's
performance. If there was any weakness on his part, if his clutch of the
notch at the instant of drawing the string was a trifle light, the fault
was chargeable to a passing memory. This antagonist had been his pupil.
How often in the school field, practising with blunted arrows, the two
had joyously mimicked the encounter they were now holding. At last a
bolt, clanging dully, dropped from the Sultan's shield, and observing
that it was black feathered, he swung from his seat to the ground, and,
shifting the horse between him and the foe, secured the missile, and
remounted.

_"Allah-il-Allah!"_ he cried, slowly backing the charger out of range.

The Count repeated the challenge through his trumpet, and sat upon the
stone again; but no other antagonist showing himself, he at length
descended from the heap.

In his tent Mahommed examined the bolt; and finding the head was of
lead, he cut it open, and extracted a scrip inscribed thus:

"To-day at noon a procession of women will appear on the walls. You may
know it by the white banner a monk will bear, with a picture of the
Madonna painted on it. _The Princess Irene marches next after the
banner._"

Mahommed asked for the time. It was half after ten o'clock. In a few
minutes the door was thronged by mounted officers, who, upon receiving a
verbal message from him, sped away fast as they could go.

Thereupon the conflict was reopened. Indeed, it raged more fiercely than
at any previous time, the slingers and bowmen being pushed up to the
outer edge of the moat, and the machines of every kind plied over their
heads. In his ignorance of the miracle expected of the Lady of the
Banner, Mahommed had a hope of deterring the extraordinary march.

Nevertheless at the appointed hour, ten o'clock, the Church of the
Virgin of Hodegetria was surrounded by nuns and monks; and presently the
choir of Sancta Sophia issued from the house, executing a solemn chant;
the Emperor followed in Basilean vestments; then the _Panagia_ appeared.

At sight of the picture of the Very Holy Virgin painted front view, the
eyes upraised, the hands in posture of prayer, the breast covered by a
portrait of the Child, the heads encircled by the usual nimbus, the mass
knelt, uttering cries of adoration.

The Princess Irene, lightly veiled and attired in black, advanced, and,
kissing the fringed corners of the hallowed relic, gathered the white
staying ribbons in her hands; thereupon the monk appointed to carry it
moved after the choir, and the nuns took places. And there were tears
and sighs, but not of fear. The Mother of God would now assume the
deliverance of her beloved capital. As it had been to the Avars, and
later to the Russians under Askold and Dir, it would be now to Mahommed
and his ferocious hordes--all Heaven would arm to punish them. They
would not dare look at the picture twice, or if they did--well, there
are many modes of death, and it will be for the dear Mother to choose.
Thus the women argued. Possibly a perception of the failure in the
defence, sharpened by a consciousness of the horrors in store for them
if the city fell by assault, turned them to this. There is no relief
from despair like faith.

From the little church, the devotees of the Very Holy Virgin took their
way on foot to the southeast, chanting as they went, and as they went
their number grew. Whence the accessions, none inquired.

They first reached a flight of steps leading to the banquette or footway
along the wall near the Golden Gate. The noise of the conflict, the
shouting and roar of an uncounted multitude of men in the heat and fury
of combat, not to more than mention the evidences of the
conflict--arrows, bolts, and stones in overflight and falling in
remittent showers--would have dispersed them in ordinary mood; but they
were under protection--the Madonna was leading them--to be afraid was to
deny her saving grace. And then there was no shrinking on the part of
the Princess Irene. Even as she took time and song from the choir, they
borrowed of her trust.

At the foot of the steps the singers turned aside to allow the _Panagia_
to go first. The moment of miracle was come! What form would the
manifestation take? Perhaps the doors and windows of Heaven would open
for a rain of fire--perhaps the fighting angels who keep the throne of
the Father would appear with swords of lightning--perhaps the Mother and
Son would show themselves. Had they not spared and converted the Khagan
of the Avars? Whatever the form, it were not becoming to stand between
the _Panagia_ and the enemy.

The holy man carrying the ensign was trustful as the women, and he
ascended the steps without faltering. Gathering the ribbons a little
more firmly in her hands, the Princess kept her place. Up--up they were
borne--Mother and Son. Then the white banner was on the height--seen
first by the Greeks keeping the wall, and in the places it discovered
them, they fell upon their faces, next by the hordes. And they--oh, a
miracle, a miracle truly!--they stood still. The bowman drawing his bow,
the slinger whirling his sling, the arquebusers taking aim matches in
hand, the strong men at the winches of the mangonels, all stopped--an
arresting hand fell on them--they might have been changed to pillars of
stone, so motionlessly did they stand and look at the white apparition.
_Kyrie Eleison_, thrice repeated, then _Christie Eleison_, also thrice
repeated, descended to them in the voices of women, shrilled by
excitement.

And the banner moved along the wall, not swiftly as if terror had to do
with its passing, but slowly, the image turned outwardly, the Princess
next it, the ribbons in her hands; after her the choir in full chant;
and then the long array of women in ecstasy of faith and triumph; for
before they were all ascended, the hordes at the edge of the moat, and
those at a distance--or rather such of them as death or wounds would
permit--were retreating to their entrenchment. Nor that merely--the
arrest which had fallen at the Golden Gate extended along the front of
leaguerment from the sea to Blacherne, from Blacherne to the Acropolis.

So it happened that in advance of the display of the picture, without
waiting for the _Kyrie Eleison_ of the glad procession, the Turks
took to their defences; and through the city, from cellar, and vault,
and crypt, and darkened passage, the wonderful story flew; and there
being none to gainsay or explain it, the miracle was accepted, and the
streets actually showed signs of a quick return to their old life. Even
the very timid took heart, and went about thanking God and the _Panagia
Blachernitissa_.

And here and there the monks passed, sleek and blithe, and complacently
twirling the Greek crosses at the whip-ends of their rosaries of polished
horn buttons large as walnuts, saying:

"The danger is gone. See what it is to have faith! Had we kept on
trusting the _azymites_, whether Roman cardinal or apostate Emperor, a
muezzin would ere long, perhaps to-morrow, be calling to prayer from the
dome of Hagia Sophia. Blessed be the _Panagia!_ To-night let us sleep;
and then--then we will dismiss the mercenaries with their Latin tongues."

But there will be skeptics to the last hour of the last day; so is the
world made of kinds of men. Constantine and Justiniani did not disarm or
lay aside their care. In unpatriotic distrust, they kept post behind the
ruins of St. Romain, and saw to it that the labor of planting the hull
of the galley for a new wall, strengthened with another ditch of
dangerous depth and width, was continued.

And they were wise; for about four o'clock in the afternoon, there was a
blowing of horns on the parapet by the monster gun, and five heralds in
tunics stiff with gold embroidery, and trousers to correspond--splendid
fellows, under turbans like balloons, each with a trumpet of shining
silver--set out for the gate, preceding a stately unarmed official.

The heralds halted now and then to execute a flourish. Constantine,
recognizing an envoy, sent Justiniani and Count Corti to meet him beyond
the moat, and they returned with the Sultan's formal demand for the
surrender of the city. The message was threatening and imperious. The
Emperor replied offering to pay tribute. Mahommed rejected the proposal,
and announced an assault.

The retirement of the hordes at sight of the _Panagia_ on the wall was by
Mahommed's order. His wilfulness extended to his love--he did not intend
the Princess Irene should suffer harm.




CHAPTER X

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE ASSAULT


The artillery of Mahommed had been effective, though not to the same
degree, elsewhere than at St. Romain. Jerome the Italian and Leonardo di
Langasco the Genoese, defending the port of Blacherne in the lowland,
had not been able to save the Xiloporta or Wood Gate on the harbor front
harmless; under pounding of the floating battery it lay in the dust,
like a battered helmet.

John Grant and Theodore de Carystos looked at the green hills of Eyoub
in front of the gate Caligaria or Charsias, assigned to them, through
fissures and tumbles-down which made their hearts sore. The Bochiardi
brothers, Paul and Antonin, had fared no better in their defence of the
gate Adrianople. At the gate Selimbria, Theophilus Palaeologus kept the
Imperial flag flying, but the outer faces of the towers there were in
the ditch serving the uses of the enemy. Contarino the Venetian, on the
roof of the Golden Gate, was separated from the wall reaching northward
to Selimbria by a breach wide enough to admit a chariot. Gabriel
Trevisan, with his noble four hundred Venetians, kept good his grip on
the harbor wall from the Acropolis to the gate of St. Peter's. Through
the incapacity or treason of Duke Notaras, the upper portion of the
Golden Horn was entirely lost to the Christians. From the Seven Towers
to Galata the Ottoman fleet held the wall facing the Marmora as a net of
close meshes holds the space of water it is to drag. In a word, the hour
for assault had arrived, and from the twenty-fourth to evening of the
twenty-eighth of May Mahommed diligently prepared for the event.

The attack he reduced to a bombardment barely sufficient to deter the
besiegers from systematic repairs. The reports of his guns were but
occasionally heard. At no time, however, was the energy of the man more
conspicuous. Previously his orders to chief officers in command along
the line had been despatched to them; now he bade them to personal
attendance; and, as may be fancied, the scene at his tent was orientally
picturesque from sunrise to sunset. Such an abounding of Moslem princes
and princes not Moslem, of Pachas, and Beys, and Governors of Castles,
of Sheiks, and Captains of hordes without titles; such a medley of
costumes, and armor, and strange ensigns; such a forest of tall shafts
flying red horse-tails; such a herding of caparisoned steeds; such a
company of trumpeters and heralds--had seldom if ever been seen. It
seemed the East from the Euphrates and Red Sea to the Caspian, and the
West far as the Iron Gates of the Danube, were there in warlike
presence. Yet for the most part these selected lions of tribes kept in
separate groups and regarded each other askance, having feuds and
jealousies amongst themselves; and there was reason for their good
behavior--around them, under arms, were fifteen thousand watchful
Janissaries, the flower of the Sultan's host, of whom an old chronicler
has said, Each one is a giant in stature, and the equal of ten ordinary
men.

Throughout those four days but one man had place always at Mahommed's
back, his confidant and adviser--not Kalil, it is to be remarked, or
Saganos, or the Mollah Kourani, or Akschem-sed-din the Dervish.

"My Lord," the Prince of India had argued when the Sultan resolved to
summon his vassal chiefs to personal conference, "all men love splendor;
pleasing the eye is an inducement to the intelligent; exciting the
astonishment of the vulgar disposes them to submit to superiority in
another without wounding their vanity. The Rajahs in my country practise
this philosophy with a thorough understanding. Having frequently to hold
council with their officials, into the tent or hall of ceremony they
bring their utmost riches. The lesson is open to my Lord."

So when his leaders of men were ushered into the audience, the interior
of Mahommed's tent was extravagantly furnished, and their prostrations
were at the step of a throne. Nevertheless in consenting to the
suggestion, the Sultan had insisted upon a condition.

"They shall not mistake me for something else than a warrior--a
politician or a diplomatist, for instance--or think the heaviest blow I
can deal is with the tongue or a pen. Art thou hearing, Prince?"

"I hear, my Lord."

"So, by the tomb of the Prophet--may his name be exalted!--my household,
viziers and all, shall stand at my left; but here on my right I will
have my horse in panoply; and he shall bear my mace and champ his golden
bit, and be ready to tread on such of the beggars as behave unseemly."

And over the blue and yellow silken rugs of Khorassan, with which the
space at the right of the throne was spread, the horse, bitted and house
led, had free range, an impressive reminder of the master's business of
life.

As they were Christians or Moslems, Mahommed addressed the vassals
honored by his summons, and admitted separately to his presence; for the
same arguments might not be pleasing to both.

"I give you trust," he would say to the Christian, "and look for brave
and loyal service from you.... I shall be present with you, and as an
eyewitness judge of your valor, and never had men such incentives. The
wealth of ages is in the walls before us, and it shall be yours--money,
jewels, goods and people--all yours as you can lay hands on it. I
reserve only the houses and churches. Are you poor, you may go away
rich; if rich, you may be richer; for what you get will be honorable
earnings of your right hand of which none shall dispossess you--and to
that treaty I swear.... Rise now, and put your men in readiness. The
stars have promised me this city, and their promises are as the breath
of the God we both adore."

Very different in style and matter were his utterances to a Moslem.

"What is that hanging from thy belt?"

"It is a sword, my Lord."

"God is God, and there is no other God--_Amin!_ And he it was who
planted iron in the earth, and showed the miner where it was hid, and
taught the armorer to give it form, and harden it, even the blade at thy
belt; for God had need of an instrument for the punishment of those who
say 'God hath partners.' ... And who are they that say 'God hath
partners--a Son and his Mother'? Here have they their stronghold; and
here have we been brought to make roads through its walls, and turn
their palaces of unbelief into harems. For that thou hast thy sword, and
I mine--_Amin!_... It is the will of God that we despoil these _Gabours_
of their wealth and their women; for are they not of those of whom it is
said: 'In their hearts is a disease, and God hath increased their
disease, and for them is ordained a painful punishment, because they have
charged the Prophet of God with falsehood'? That they who escape the
sharpness of our swords shall be as beggars, and slaves, and homeless
wanderers--such is the punishment, and it is the judgment of God--_Amin!_
... That they shall leave all they have behind them--so also hath God
willed, and I say it shall be. I swear it. And that they leave behind
them is for us who were appointed from the beginning of the world to take
it; that also God wills, and I say it shall be. I swear it. _Amin!_ ...
What if the way be perilous, as I grant it is? Is it not written: 'A soul
cannot die except by permission of God, according to a writing of God,
definite as to time'? And if a man die, is it not also written: 'Repute
not those slain in God's cause to be dead; nay, alive with God, they are
provided for'? They are people of the 'right hand,' of whom it is
written: 'They shall be brought nigh God in the gardens of delight, upon
inwrought couches reclining face to face. Youths ever young shall go unto
them round about with goblets and ewers, and a cup of flowing wine; and
fruits of the sort which they shall choose, and the flesh of birds of the
kind which they shall desire, and damsels with eyes like pearls laid up,
we will give them as a reward for that which they have done.' ... But the
appointed time is not yet for all of us--nay, it is for the fewest--
_Amin!_ ... And when the will of God is done, then for such as live, lo!
over the walls yonder are gold refined and coined, and gold in vessels,
and damsels on silken couches, their cheeks like roses of Damascus, their
arms whiter and cooler than lilies, and as pearls laid up are their eyes,
and their bodies sweeter than musk on the wings of the south wind in a
grove of palms. With the gold we can make gardens of delight; and the
damsels set down in the gardens, ours the fault if the promise be not
made good as it was spoken by the Prophet--'Paradise shall be brought
near unto the pious, to a place not distant from them, so they shall see
it!' ... Being of those who shall 'receive their books in the right
hand,' more need not be said unto you. I only reserve for myself the
houses when you have despoiled them, and the churches. Make ready
yourself and your people, and tell them faithfully what I say, and swear
to. I will come to you with final orders. Arise!" [Footnote: For the
quotations in this speech, see _Selections from the Koran_, by EDWARD
WILLIAM LANE.]

From sunrise to sunset of the twenty-seventh Mahommed was in the saddle
going with the retinue of a conqueror from chief to chief. From each he
drew a detachment to be held in reserve. One hundred thousand men were
thus detached.

"See to it," he said finally, "that you direct your main effort against
the gate in front of you.... Put the wild men in the advance. The dead
will be useful in the ditch.... Have the ladders at hand.... At the
sound of my trumpets, charge.... Proclaim for me that he who is first
upon the walls shall have choice of a province. I will make him
governor. God is God. I am his servant, ordering as he has ordered."

On the twenty-eighth, he sent all the dervishes in camp to preach to the
Moslems in arms; and of such effect were their promises of pillage and
Paradise that after the hour of the fifth prayer, the multitude, in all
quite two hundred and fifty thousand, abandoned themselves to transports
of fanaticism. Of their huts and booths they made heaps, and at night
set fire to them; and the tents of the Pachas and great officers being
illuminated, and the ships perfecting the blockade dressed in lights,
the entrenchment from Blacherne to the Seven Towers, and the sea thence
to the Acropolis, were in a continued brilliance reaching up to the sky.
Even the campania was invaded by the dazzlement of countless bonfires.

And from the walls the besieged, if they looked, beheld the antics of
the hordes; if they listened, they heard the noise, in the distance, a
prolonged, inarticulate, irregular clamor of voices, near by, a
confusion of songs and cries. At times the bray of trumpets and the roll
of drums great and small shook the air, and smothered every rival sound.
And where the dervishes came, in their passage from group to group, the
excitement arose out of bounds, while their dancing lent diablerie to
the scene.

Assuredly there was enough in what they beheld to sink the spirit of the
besieged, even the boldest of them. The cry _Allah-il-Allah_ shouted from
the moat was trifling in comparison with what they might have overheard
around the bonfires.

"Why do you burn your huts?" asked a prudent officer of his men.

"Because we will not need them more. The city is for us to-morrow. The
Padishah has promised and sworn."

"Did he swear it?"

"Ay, by the bones of the Three in the Tomb of the Prophet."

At another fire, the following:

"Yes, I have chosen my palace already. It is on the hill over there in
the west."

And again:

"Tell us, O son of Mousa, when we are in the town what will you look
for?"

"The things I most want."

"Well, what things?"

"May the Jinn fill thy stomach with green figs for such a question of my
mother's son! What things? Two horses out of the Emperor's stable. And
thou--what wilt thou put thy hand to first?"

"Oh, I have not made up my mind! I am thinking of a load of gold for my
camel--enough to take my father and his three wives to Mecca, and buy
water for them from the Zem-zem. Praised be Allah!"

"Bah! Gold will be cheap."

"Yes, as bezants; but I have heard of a bucket the unbelieving Greeks
use at times for mixing wine and bread in. It is when they eat the body
of their God. They say the bucket is so big it takes six fat priests to
lift it."

"It is too big. I'll gather the bezants."

"Well," said a third, with a loud Moslem oath, "keep to your gold,
whether in pots or coin. For me--for me"--

"Ha, ha!--he don't know."

"Don't I? Thou grinning son of a Hindoo ape."

"What is it, then?"

"The thing which is first in thy mind."

"Name it."

"A string of women."

"Old or young?"

"An _hoo-rey-yeh_ is never old."

"What judgment!" sneered the other. "I will take some of the old ones as
well."

"What for?"

"For slaves to wait on the young. Was it not said by a wise man, 'Sweet
water in the jar is not more precious than peace in the family'?"

Undoubtedly the evil genius of Byzantium in this peril was the Prince of
India.

"My Lord," he had said, cynically, "of a truth a man brave in the day
can be turned into a quaking coward at night; you have but to present
him a danger substantial enough to quicken his imagination. These Greeks
have withstood you stoutly; try them now with your power a vision of
darkness."

"How, Prince?"

"In view and hearing from the walls let the hordes kindle fires
to-night. Multiply the fires, if need be, and keep the thousands in
motion about them, making a spectacle such as this generation has not
seen; then"--

The singular man stopped to laugh.

Mahommed gazed at him in silent wonder.

"Then," he continued, "so will distorted fancy do its work, that by
midnight the city will be on its knees praying to the Mother of God, and
every armed man on the walls who has a wife or daughter will think he
hears himself called to for protection. Try it, my Lord, and thou mayst
whack my flesh into ribbons if by dawn the general fear have not left
but a half task for thy sword."

It was as the Jew said.

Attracted by the illumination in the sky, suggestive of something vast
and terrible going on outside the walls, and still full of faith in a
miraculous deliverance, thousands hastened to see the mercy. What an
awakening was in store for them! Enemies seemed to have arisen out of
the earth--devils, not men. The world to the horizon's rim appeared
oppressed with them. Nor was it possible to misapprehend the meaning of
what they beheld. "To-morrow--to-morrow"--they whispered to each
other--"God keep us!" and pouring back into the streets, they became
each a preacher of despair. Yet--marvelous to say--the monks sallied
from their cells with words of cheer.

"Have faith," they said. "See, we are not afraid. The Blessed Mother has
not deserted her children. Believe in her. She is resolved to allow the
_azymite_ Emperor to exhaust his vanity that in the last hour he
and his Latin myrmidons may not deny her the merit of the salvation.
Compose yourselves, and fear not. The angel will find the poor man at
the column of Constantine."

The ordinary soul beset with fears, and sinking into hopelessness, is
always ready to accept a promise of rest. The people listened to the
priestly soothsayers. Nay, the too comforting assurance made its way to
the defenders at the gates, and hundreds of them deserted their posts;
leaving the enemy to creep in from the moat, and, with hooks on long
poles, actually pull down some of the new defences.

It scarcely requires telling how these complications added weight to the
cares with which the Emperor was already overladen. Through the
afternoon he sat by the open window of a room above the Cercoporta, or
sunken gate under the southern face of his High Residence, [Footnote:
This room is still to be seen. The writer once visited it. Arriving
near, his Turkish _cavass_ requested him to wait a moment. The man
then advanced alone and cautiously, and knocked at the door. There was a
conference, and a little delay; after which the _cavass_ announced
it was safe to go in. The mystery was revealed upon entering. A half
dozen steaming tubs were scattered over the paved floor, and by each of
them stood a scantily attired woman with a dirty _yashmak_ covering
her face. The chamber which should have been very sacred if only because
there the last of the Byzantine Emperors composedly resigned himself to
the inevitable, had become a filthy den devoted to one of the most
ignoble of uses. The shame is, of course, to the Greeks of
Constantinople.] watching the movements of the Turks. The subtle prophet
which sometimes mercifully goes before death had discharged its office
with him. He had dismissed his last hope. Beyond peradventure the
hardest task to one pondering his fate uprisen and standing before him
with all its attending circumstances, is to make peace with himself;
which is simply viewing the attractions of this life as birds of plumage
in a golden cage, and deliberately opening the door, and letting them
loose, knowing they can never return. This the purest and noblest of the
imperial Greeks--the evil times in which his race as a ruler was run
prevent us from terming him the greatest--had done.

He was in armor, and his sword rested against the cheek of a window. His
faithful attendants came in occasionally, and spoke to him in low tones;
but for the most part he was alone.

The view of the enemy was fair. He could see their intrenchment, and the
tents and ruder quarters behind it. He could see the standards, many of
them without meaning to him, the detachments on duty and watchful, the
horsemen coming and going, and now and then a column in movement. He
could hear the shouting, and he knew the meaning of it all--the final
tempest was gathering.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, Phranza entered the room, and going
to his master's right hand, was in the act of prostrating himself.

"No, my Lord," said the Emperor, reaching out to stay him, and smiling
pleasantly, "let us have done with ceremony. Thou hast been true servant
to me--I testify it, God hearing--and now I promote thee. Be as my other
self. Speak to me standing. To-morrow is my end of days. In death no man
is greater than another. Tell me what thou bringest."

On his knees, the Grand Chamberlain took the steel-gloved hand nearest
him, and carried it to his lips.

"Your Majesty, no servant had ever a more considerate and loving
master."

An oppressive silence followed. They were both thinking the same
thought, and it was too sad for speech.

"The duty Your Majesty charged me with this morning "--thus Phranza upon
recovery of his composure--"I attended to."

"And you found it?"

"Even as Your Majesty had warning. The Hegumens of the Brotherhoods"--

"All of them, O Phranza?"

"All of them, Your Majesty--assembled in a cloister of the Pantocrator."

"Gennadius again!"

The Emperor's hands closed, and there was an impatient twitching of his
lips.

"Though why should I be astonished? Hark, my friend! I will tell thee
what I have as yet spoken to no man else. Thou knowest Kalil the Vizier
has been these many years my tributary, and that he hath done me many
kindly acts, not always in his master's interest. The night of the day
our Christian ships beat the Turks the Grand Vizier sent me an account
of a stormy scene in Mahommed's tent, and advised me to beware of
Gennadius. Ah, I had fancied myself prepared to drink the cup Heaven
hath in store for me, lees and all, without a murmur, but men will be
men until their second birth. It is nature! ... Oh, my Phranza, what
thinkest thou the false monk is carrying under his hood?"

"Some egg of treason, I doubt not."

"Having driven His Serenity, the pious and venerable Gregory, into
exile, he aspires to succeed him."

"The hypocrite!--the impostor!--the perjured!--He, Patriarch!" cried
Phranza, with upraised eyes.

"And from whose hands thinkest thou he dreams of deriving the honor?"

"Not Your Majesty's."

The Emperor smiled faintly. "No--he regards Mahommed the Sultan a better
patron, if not a better Christian."

"Forbid it Heaven!" and Phranza crossed himself repeatedly.

"Nay, good friend, hear his scheme, then thou mayst call the forbidding
powers with undeniable reason....He undertook--so Kalil privily
declared--if Mahommed would invest him with the Patriarchate, to deliver
Constantinople to him."

"By what means? He has no gate in keeping--he is not even a soldier."

"My poor Phranza! Hast thou yet to learn that perfidy is not a trait of
any class? This gowned traitor hath a key to all the gates. Hear him--I
will ply the superstition of the Greeks, and draw them from the walls
with a prophecy."

Phranza was able to cry out: "Oh! that so brave a prince, so good a
master should be at the mercy of--of such a"--

"With all thy learning, I see thou lackest a word. Let it pass, let it
pass--I understand thee....But what further hast thou from the meeting?"

Phranza caught the hand again, and laid his forehead upon it while he
replied: "To-night the Brotherhoods are to go out, and renew the story
of the angel, and the man at the foot of the column of Constantine." The
calmness of the Emperor was wonderful. He gazed at the Turks through the
window, and, after reflection, said tranquilly:

"I would have saved it--this old empire of our fathers; but my utmost
now is to die for it--ay, as if I were blind to its unworthiness. God's
will be done, not mine!"

"Talk not of dying--O beloved Lord and master, talk not so! It is not
too late for composition. Give me your terms, and I will go with them
to"--

"Nay, friend, I have done better--I have made peace with myself.... I
shall be no man's slave. There is nothing more for me--nothing except an
honorable death. How sweet a grace it is that we can put so much glory
in dying! A day of Greek regeneration may come--then there may be some
to do me honor--some to find worthy lessons in my life--perchance
another Emperor of Byzantium to remember how the last of the Palaeologae
accepted the will of God revealed to him in treachery and treason....
But there is one at the door knocking as he were in haste. Let him
enter."

An officer of the guard was admitted.

"Your Majesty," he said, after salutation, "the Captain Justiniani, and
the Genoese, his friends, are preparing to abandon the gates."

Constantine seized his sword, and arose.

"Tell me about it," he said, simply.

"Justiniani has the new ditch at St. Romain nearly completed, and
wanting some cannon, he made request for them of the High Admiral, who
refused, saying, 'The foreign cowards must take care of themselves.'"

"Ride, sir, to the noble Captain, and tell him I am at thy heels."

"Is the Duke mad?" Constantine continued, the messenger having departed.
"What can he want? He is rich, and hath a family--boys verging on
manhood, and of excellent promise. Ah, my dear friend in need, what
canst thou see of gain for him from Mahommed?"

"Life, your Majesty--life, and greater riches."

"How? I did not suppose thou thoughtest so ill of men."

"Of some--of some--not all." Then Phranza raised his head, and asked,
bitterly: "If five galleys won the harbor, every Moslem sail opposing,
why could not twelve or more do better? Does not Mahommed draw his
supplies by sea?"

The Emperor looked out of the window again, but not at the Turks.

"Lord Phranza," he said, presently, "thou mayst survive to-morrow's
calamity; if so, being as thou art skilful with the pen, write of me in
thy day of leisure two things; first, I dared not break with Duke
Notaras while Mahommed was striving for my gates--he could and would
have seized my throne--the Church, the Brotherhoods, and the people are
with him--I am an _azymite._ Say of me next that I have always held
the decree of union proclaimed by the Council of Florence binding upon
Greek conscience, and had I lived, God helping me roll back this flood
of Islam, it should have been enforced.... Hither--look hither, Lord
Phranza"--he pointed out of the window--"and thou wilt see an argument
of as many divisions as there are infidels beleaguering us why the
Church of Christ should have one head; and as to whether the head should
be Patriarch or Bishop, is it not enough that we are perishing for want
of Western swords?"--He would have fallen into silence again, but roused
himself: "So much for the place I would have in the world's memory....
But to the present affair. Reparation is due Justiniani and his
associates. Do thou prepare a repast in the great dining hall. Our
resources are so reduced I may not speak of it as a banquet; but as thou
lovest me do thy best with what we have. For my part, I will ride and
summon every noble Greek in arms for Church and State, and the foreign
captains. In such cheer, perhaps, we can heal the wounds inflicted by
Notaras. We can at least make ready to die with grace."

He went out, and taking horse, rode at speed to the Gate St. Romain, and
succeeded in soothing the offended Genoese.

At ten o'clock the banquet was held. The chroniclers say of it that
there were speeches, embraces, and a fresh resolution to fight, and
endure the worst or conquer. And they chose a battle-cry--_Christ and
Holy Church._ At separating, the Emperor, with infinite tenderness,
but never more knightly, prayed forgiveness of any he might have wronged
or affronted; and the guests came one by one to bid him adieu, and he
commended them to God, and the gratitude of Christians in the ages to
come, and his hands were drenched with their tears.

From the Very High Residence he visited the gates, and was partially
successful in arresting the desertions actually in progress.

Finally, all other duties done, his mind turning once more to God, he
rode to Sancta Sophia, heard mass, partook of the Communion, and
received absolution according to Latin rite; after which the morrow
could hold no surprise for him. And he found comfort repeating his own
word: How sweet a grace it is that we can put so much glory in dying.




CHAPTER XI

COUNT CORTI IN DILEMMA


From the repast at Blacherne--festive it was in no sense--Count Corti
escorted the Emperor to the door of Sancta Sophia; whence, by
permission, and taking with him his nine Berbers, he rode slowly to the
residence of the Princess Irene. Slowly, we say, for nowhere in the pent
area of Byzantium was there a soul more oppressed.

If he looked up, it was to fancy all the fortunate planets seated in
their Houses helping Mahommed's star to a fullest flood of splendor; if
he looked down, it was to see the wager--and his soul cried out, Lost!
Lost! Though one be rich, or great, or superior in his calling, wherein
is the profit of it if he have lost his love?

Besides the anguish of a perception of his rival's better fortune, the
Count was bowed by the necessity of deciding certain consequences
unforeseen at the time the wager was made. The place of the surrender of
the Princess was fixed. Thinking forward now, he could anticipate the
scene in the great church--the pack of fugitives, their terror and
despair, the hordes raging amongst them. How was he single-handed to
save her unharmed in the scramble of the hour? Thoughts of her youth,
beauty, and rank, theretofore inspirations out of Heaven, set him to
shivering with an ague more like fear than any he had ever known.

Nor was this all. The surrender was by the terms to be to Mahommed
himself. The Sultan was to demand her of him. He groaned aloud: "Oh,
dear God and Holy Mother, be merciful, and let me die!" For the first
time it was given him to see, not alone that he might lose the woman to
his soul all the sun is to the world, but her respect as well. By what
management was he to make the surrender without exposing the
understanding between the conqueror and himself? She would be
present--she would see what took place--she would hear what was said.
And she would not be frightened. The image of the Madonna above the
altar in the nave would not be more calm. The vaguest suspicion of a
compact, and she the subject, would put her upon inquiry; then--"Oh,
fool--idiot--insensate as my sword-grip!" Thus, between groans, he
scourged himself.

It was late, but her home was now a hospital filled with wounded men,
and she its sleepless angel. Old Lysander admitted him.

"The Princess Irene is in the chapel."

Thus directed, the Count went thither well knowing the way.

A soldier just dead was the theme of a solemn recital by Sergius. The
room was crowded with women in the deepest excitement of fear. Corti
understood the cause. Poor creatures! They had need of religious
comfort. A thousand ghosts in one view could not have overcome them as
did the approach of the morrow.

At the right of the altar, he discovered the Princess in the midst of
her attendants, who kept close to her, like young birds to the mother in
alarm. She was quiet and self-contained. Apparently she alone heard the
words of the reader; and whereas the Count came in a penitent--doubtful--
in a maze--unknowing what to do or where to turn, one glance at her face
restored him. He resolved to tell her his history, omitting only the
character in which he entered her kinsman's service, and the odious
compact with Mahommed. Her consent to accompany him to Sancta Sophia must
be obtained; for that he was come.

His presence in the chapel awakened a suppressed excitement, and
directly the Princess came to him.

"What has happened, Count Corti? Why are you here?"

"To speak with you, O Princess Irene'

"Go with me, then."

She conducted him into a passage, and closed the door behind them.

"The floor of my reception room is overlaid with the sick and suffering--
my whole house is given up to them. Speak here; and if the news be bad,
dear Count, it were mercy not to permit the unfortunates to hear you."

She was not thinking of herself. He took the hand extended to him, and
kissed it--to him it was the hand of more than the most beautiful woman
in the world--it was the hand of a saint in white transfigurement.

"Thy imperial kinsman, O Princess, is at the church partaking of the
Holy Communion, and receiving absolution."

"At this hour? Why is he there, Count?"

Corti told her of the repast at the palace, and recounted the scene at
parting.

"It looks like despair. Can it be the Emperor is making ready to die?
Answer, and fear not for me. My life has been a long preparation. He
believes the defence is lost--the captains believe so--and thou?"

"O Princess, it is terrible saying, but I too expect the judgment of God
in the morning."

The hall was so dimly lighted he could not see her face; but the nerve
of sympathy is fine--he felt she trembled. Only a moment--scarcely
longer than taking a breath--then she answered:

"Judgment is for us all. It will find me here."

She moved as if to return to the chapel; but he stepped before her, and
drawing out a chair standing by the door, said, firmly, yet tenderly:

"You are weary. The labor of helping the unfortunate these many
days--the watching and anxiety--have been trying upon you. Sit, I pray,
and hear me."

She yielded with a sigh.

"The judgment which would find you here, O Princes, would not be death,
but something more terrible, so terrible words burn in thinking of it. I
have sworn to defend you: and the oath, and the will to keep it, give me
the right to determine where and how the defence shall be made. If there
are advantages, I want them, for your sweet sake"

He stopped to master his feeling.

"You have never stood on the deck of a ship in wreck, and seen the sea
rush in to overwhelm it," he went on presently: "I have; and I declare
to you, O beloved lady, nothing can be so like to-morrow when the hordes
break into the city, as that triumph of waters; and as on the deck there
was no place of safety for the perishing crew, neither will there be
place of safety for man, woman, or child in Byzantium then--least of all
for the kinswoman of the Emperor--for her--permit me to say it--whose
loveliness and virtue are themes for story-tellers throughout the East.
As a prize--whether for ransom or dishonor--richer than the churches and
the palaces, and their belongings, be they jewels or gold, or anointed
crown, or bone of Saint, or splinter of the True Cross, or shred from
the shirt of Christ--to him who loves her, a prize of such excellence
that glory, even the glory Mahommed is now dreaming of when he shall
have wrenched the keys of the gates from their rightful owner dead in
the bloody breach, would pale if set beside it for comparison, and sink
out of sight--think you she will not be hunted? Or that the painted
Mother above the altar, though it spoke through a miraculous halo, could
save her when found? No, no, Princess, not here, not here!... You know
I love you; in an unreasoning moment I dared tell you so; and you may
think me passion-blind, and that I hung the vow to defend you upon my
soul's neck, thinking it light as this favor you were pleased to give
me; that love being a braggart, therefore I am a braggart. Let me set
myself right in your opinion--your good opinion, O Princess, for it is
to me a world of such fair shining I dream of it as of a garden in
Paradise.... If you do not know how hardly I have striven in this war,
send, I pray, and ask any of the captains, or the most Christian
sovereign I have just left making his peace with God. Some of them
called me mad, but I pardoned them--they did not know the meaning of my
battle-cry--'For Christ and Irene'--that I was venturing life less for
Constantinople, less for religion--I almost said, less for Christ--than
for you, who are all things in one to me, the fairest on earth, the best
in Heaven.... At last, at last I am driven to admit we may fail--that
to-morrow, whether I am here or there, at your side or under the
trampling, you may be a prisoner at mercy."

At these words, of infinite anguish in utterance, the Princess
shuddered, and looked up in silent appeal.

"Attend me now. You have courage above the courage of women; therefore I
may speak with plainness.... What will become of you--I give the
conclusion of many wrangles with myself--what will become of you depends
upon the hands which happen to be laid on you first. O Princess, are you
giving me heed? Do you comprehend me?"

"The words concern me more than life, Count."

"I may go on then.... I have hope of saving your life and honor. You
have but to do what I advise. If you cannot trust me, further speech
were idleness, and I might as well take leave of you. Death in many
forms will be abroad to-morrow--nothing so easily found."

"Count Corti," she returned, "if I hesitate pledging myself, it is not
because of distrust. I will hear you."

"It is well said, dear lady."

He stopped--a pleasant warmth was in his heart--a perception, like dim
light, began breaking through the obscurities in his mind. To this
moment, in fact, he had trouble gaining his own consent to the proposal
on his tongue; it seemed so like treachery to the noble woman--so like a
cunning inveiglement to deliver her to Mahommed under the hated compact.
Now suddenly the proposal assumed another appearance--it was the best
course--the best had there been no wager, no compact, no obligation but
knightly duty to her. As he proceeded, this conviction grew clearer,
bringing him ease of conscience and the subtle influence of a master
arguing right. He told her his history then, holding nothing back but
the two points mentioned. Twice only she interrupted him.

"Your mother, Count Corti--poor lady--how she has suffered! But what
happiness there is in store for her!" And again: "How wonderful the
escape from the falsehoods of the Prophet! There is no love like
Christ's love unless--unless it be a mother's."

At the conclusion, her chin rested in the soft palm of her hand, and the
hand, unjewelled, was white as marble just carven, and, like the arm, a
wonder of grace. Of what was she thinking?--Of him? Had he at last made
an impression upon her? What trifles serve the hope of lovers! At length
she asked:

"Then, O Count, thou wert his playmate in childhood?"

A bitter pang struck him--that pensiveness was for Mahommed--yet he
answered: "I was nearest him until he took up his father's sword."

"Is he the monster they call him?"

"To his enemies, yes--and to all in the road to his desires, yes--but to
his friends there was never such a friend."

"Has he heart to"--

The omission, rather than the question, hurt him--still he returned:

"Yes, once he really loves."

Then she appeared to awake.

"To the narrative now--Forgive my wandering."

The opportunity to return was a relief to him, and he hastened to
improve it.

"I thank you for grace, O Princess, and am reminded of the pressure of
time. I must to the gate again with the Emperor.... This is my proposal.
Instead of biding here to be taken by some rapacious hordesman, go with
me to Sancta Sophia, and when the Sultan comes thither--as he certainly
will--deliver yourself to him. If, before his arrival, the plunderers
force the doors of the holy house, I will stand with you, not, Princess,
as Count Corti the Italian, but Mirza the Emir and Janissary, appointed
by the Sultan to guard you. My Berbers will help the assumption."

He had spoken clearly, yet she hesitated.

"Ah," he said, "you doubt Mahommed. He will be upon honor. The
glory-winners, Princess, are those always most in awe of the judgment of
the world."

Yet she sat silent.

"Or is it I who am in your doubt?"

"No, Count. But my household--my attendants--the poor creatures are
trembling now--some of them, I was about saying, are of the noblest
families in Byzantium, daughters of senators and lords of the court. I
cannot desert them--no, Count Corti, not to save myself. The baseness
would be on my soul forever. They must share my fortune, or I their
fate."

Still she was thinking of others!

More as a worshipper than lover, the Count replied: "I will include them
in my attempt to save you. Surely Heaven will help me, for your sake, O
Princess."

"And I can plead for them with him. Count Corti, I will go with you."

The animation with which she spoke faded in an instant.

"But thou--O my friend, if thou shouldst fall?"

"Nay, let us be confident. If Heaven does not intend your escape, it
would be merciful, O beloved lady, did it place me where no report of
your mischance and sorrows can reach me. Looking at the darkest side,
should I not come for you, go nevertheless to the Church. Doubt not
hearing of the entry of the Turks. Seek Mahommed, if possible, and
demand his protection. Tell him, I, Mirza the Emir, counselled you. On
the other side, be ready to accompany me. Make preparation to-night--have
a chair at hand, and your household assembled--for when I come, time will
be scant.... And now, God be with you! I will not say be brave--be
trustful."

She extended her hand, and he knelt, and kissed it.

"I will pray for you, Count Corti."

"Heaven will hear you."

He went out, and rejoining the Emperor, rode with him from the Church to
Blacherne.




CHAPTER XII

THE ASSAULT


The bonfires of the hordes were extinguished about the time the
Christian company said their farewells after the last supper in the Very
High Residence, and the hordes themselves appeared to be at rest,
leaving Night to reset her stars serenely bright over the city, the sea,
and the campania.

To the everlasting honor of that company, be it now said, they could
under cover of the darkness have betaken themselves to the ships and
escaped; yet they went to their several posts. Having laid their heads
upon the breast of the fated Emperor, and pledged him their lives, there
is no account of one in craven refuge at the break of day. The Emperor's
devotion seems to have been a communicable flame.

This is the more remarkable when it is remembered that in the beginning
the walls were relied upon to offset the superiority of the enemy in
numbers, while now each knight and man-at-arms knew the vanity of that
reliance--knew himself, in other words, one of scant five thousand
men--to such diminished roll had the besieged been reduced by wounds,
death and desertion--who were to muster on the ruins of the outer wall,
or in the breaches of the inner, and strive against two hundred and
fifty thousand goaded by influences justly considered the most powerful
over ferocious natures--religious fanaticism and the assurance of booty
without limit. The silence into which the Turkish host was sunk did not
continue a great while. The Greeks on the landward walls became aware of
a general murmur, followed shortly by a rumble at times vibrant--so the
earth complains of the beating it receives from vast bodies of men and
animals in hurried passage.

"The enemy is forming," said John Grant to his associate Carystos, the
archer.

Minotle, the Venetian bayle, listening from the shattered gate of
Adrianople, gave order: "Arouse the men. The Turks are coming."

Justiniani, putting the finishing touches upon his masked repairs behind
what had been the alley or passage between the towers Bagdad and St.
Romain, was called to by his lookout: "Come up, Captain--the infidels
are stirring--they seem disposed to attack."

"No," the Captain returned, after a brief observation, "they will not
attack to-night--they are getting ready."

None the less, without relieving his working parties, he placed his
command in station.

At Selimbria and the Golden Gate the Christians stood to arms. So also
between the gates. Then a deep hush descended upon the mighty works--
mighty despite the slugging they had endured--and the silence was
loaded with anxiety.

For such of my readers as have held a night-watch expectant of battle at
disadvantage in the morning it will be easy putting themselves in the
place of these warders at bay; they can think their thoughts, and hear
the heavy beating of their hearts; they will remember how long the hours
were, and how the monotony of the waiting gnawed at their spirits until
they prayed for action, action. On the other hand, those without the
experience will wonder how men can bear up bravely in such conditions--
and that is a wonder.

In furtherance of his plan, Mahommed drew in his irregulars, and massed
them in the space between the intrenchment and the ditch; and by
bringing his machines and small guns nearer the walls, he menaced the
whole front of defence with a line amply provided with scaling ladders
and mantelets. Behind the line he stationed bodies of horsemen to arrest
fugitives, and turn them back to the fight. His reserves occupied the
intrenchments. The Janissaries were retained at his quarters opposite
St. Romain.

The hordes were clever enough to see what the arrangement portended for
them, and they at first complained.

"What, grumble, do they?" Mahommed answered. "Ride, and tell them I say
the first choice in the capture belongs to the first over the walls.
Theirs the fault if the city be not an empty nest to all who come after
them."

The earth in its forward movement overtook the moon just before
daybreak; then in the deep hush of expectancy and readiness, the light
being sufficient to reveal to the besieged the assault couchant below
them, a long-blown flourish was sounded by the Turkish heralds from the
embrasure of the great gun.

Other trumpeters took up the signal, and in a space incredibly short it
was repeated everywhere along the line of attack. A thunder of drums
broke in upon the music. Up rose the hordes, the archers and slingers,
and the ladder bearers, and forward, like a bristling wave, they rushed,
shouting every man as he pleased. In the same instant the machines and
light guns were set in operation. Never had the old walls been assailed
by such a tempest of bolts, arrows, stones and bullets--never had their
echoes been awakened by an equal explosion of human voices, instruments
of martial music, and cannon. The warders were not surprised by the
assault so much as by its din and fury; and when directly the missiles
struck them, thickening into an uninterrupted pouring rain, they cowered
behind the merlons, and such other shelters as they could find.

This did not last long--it was like the shiver and gasp of one plunged
suddenly into icy water. The fugitives were rallied, and brought back to
their weapons, and to replying in kind; and having no longer to shoot
with care, the rabble fusing into a compact target, especially on the
outer edge of the ditch, not a shaft, or bolt, or stone, or ball from
culverin went amiss. Afterwhile, their blood warming with the work, and
the dawn breaking, they could see their advantage of position, and the
awful havoc they were playing; then they too knew the delight in killing
which more than anything else proves man the most ferocious of brutes.

The movement of the hordes was not a dash wholly without system--such an
inference would be a great mistake. There was no pretence of alignment
or order--there never is in such attacks--forlorn hopes, receiving the
signal, rush on, each individual to his own endeavor; here, nevertheless,
the Pachas and Beys directed the assault, permitting no blind waste of
effort. They hurled their mobs at none but the weak places--here a
breach, there a dismantled gate.

Thousands were pushed headlong into the moat. The ladders then passed
down to such of them as had footing were heavy, but they were caught
willingly; if too short, were spliced; once planted so as to bring the
coping of the wall in reach, they swarmed with eager adventurers, who,
holding their shields and pikes overhead, climbed as best they could.
Those below cheered their comrades above, and even pushed them up.

"The spoils--think of the spoils--the gold, the women!...
_Allah-il-Allah!_... Up, up--it is the way to Paradise!"

Darts and javelins literally cast the climbers in a thickened shade.
Sometimes a ponderous stone plunging down cleaned a ladder from top to
bottom; sometimes, waiting until the rounds were filled, the besieged
applied levers, and swung a score and more off helpless and shrieking.
No matter--_Allah-il-Allah!_ The living were swift to restore and
attempt the fatal ascents.

Every one dead and every one wounded became a serviceable clod; rapidly
as the dump and cumber of humanity filled the moat the ladders extended
their upward reach; while drum-beat, battle-cry, trumpet's blare, and
the roar of cannon answering cannon blent into one steady all-smothering
sound.

In the stretches of space between gates, where the walls and towers were
intact, the strife of the archers and slingers was to keep the Greeks
occupied, lest they should reenforce the defenders hard pressed
elsewhere.

During the night the blockading vessels had been warped close into the
shore, and, the wall of the seafront being lower than those on the land
side, the crews, by means of platforms erected on the decks, engaged the
besieged from a better level. There also, though attempts at escalade
were frequent, the object was chiefly to hold the garrison in place.

In the harbor, particularly at the Wood Gate, already mentioned as
battered out of semblance to itself by the large gun on the floating
battery, the Turks exerted themselves to effect a landing; but the
Christian fleet interposed, and there was a naval battle of varying
fortune.

So, speaking generally, the city was wrapped in assault; and when the
sun at last rode up into the clear sky above the Asiatic heights,
streets, houses, palaces, churches--the hills, in fact, from the sea to
the Tower of Isaac--were shrouded in ominous vapor, through which such
of the people as dared go abroad flitted pale and trembling; or if they
spoke to each other, it was to ask in husky voices, What have you from
the gates?

Passing now to the leading actors in this terrible tragedy. Mahommed
retired to his couch early the night previous. He knew his orders were
in course of execution by chiefs who, on their part, knew the
consequences of failure. The example made of the Admiral in command of
the fleet the day the five relieving Christian galleys won the port was
fresh in memory. [Footnote: He was stretched on the ground and whipped
like a common malefactor.]

"To-morrow, to-morrow," he kept repeating, while his pages took off his
armor, and laid the pieces aside. "To-morrow, to-morrow," lingered in his
thoughts, when, his limbs stretched out comfortably on the broad bronze
cot which served him for couch, sleep crept in as to a tired child, and
laid its finger of forgetfulness upon his eyelids. The repetition was as
when we run through the verse of a cheerful song, thinking it out
silently, and then recite the chorus aloud. Once he awoke, and, sitting
up, listened. The mighty host which had its life by his permission was
quiet--even the horses in their apartment seemed mindful that the hour
was sacred to their master. Falling to sleep again, he muttered:
"To-morrow, to-morrow--Irene and glory. I have the promise of the
stars."

To Mahommed the morrow was obviously but a holiday which was bringing
him the kingly part in a joyous game--a holiday too slow in coming.

About the third hour after midnight he was again awakened. A man stood
by his cot imperfectly shading the light of a lamp with his hand.

"Prince of India!" exclaimed Mahommed, rising to a sitting posture.

"It is I, my Lord."

"What time is it?"

The Prince gave him the hour.

"Is it so near the break of day?" Mahommed yawned. "Tell me"--he fixed
his eyes darkly on the visitor--"tell me first why thou art here?"

"I will, my Lord, and truly. I wished to see if you could sleep. A
common soul could not. It is well the world has no premonitory sense."

"Why so?"

"My Lord has all the qualities of a conqueror."

Mahommed was pleased.

"Yes, I will make a great day of to-morrow. But, Prince of India, what
shadows are disturbing thee? Why art thou not asleep?"

"I too have a part in the day, my Lord."

"What part?"

"I will fight, and"--

Mahommed interrupted him with a laugh.

"Thou!" and he looked the stooped figure over from head to foot.

"My Lord has two hands--I have four--I will show them."

Returning to his apartment, the Prince reappeared with Nilo.

"Behold, my Lord!"

The black was in the martial attire of a king of Kash-Cush--feathered
coronet, robe of blue and red hanging from shoulder to heel, body under
the robe naked to the waist, assegai in the oft-wrapped white sash,
skirt to the knees glittering with crescents and buttons of silver,
sandals beaded with pearls. On his left arm depended a shield rimmed and
embossed with brass; in his right hand he bore a club knotted, and of
weight to fell a bull at a blow. Without the slightest abashment, but
rather as a superior, the King looked down at the young Sultan.

"I see--I understand--I welcome the four hands of the Prince of India,"
Mahommed said, vivaciously; then, giving a few moments of admiration to
the negro, he turned, and asked:

"Prince, I have a motive for to-morrow--nay, by the cool waters of
Paradise, I have many motives. Tell me thine. In thy speech and action I
have observed a hate for these Greeks deep as the Shintan's for God.
Why? What have they done to thee?"

"They are Christians," the Jew returned, sullenly.

"That is good, Prince, very good--even the Prophet judged it a
justification for cleaning the earth of the detestable sect--yet it is
not enough. I am not old as thou"--Mahommed lost the curious gleam which
shone in the visitor's eyes--"I am not old as thou art; still I know
hate like thine must be from a private grievance."

"My Lord is right. To-morrow I will leave the herd to the herd. In the
currents of the fight I will hunt but one enemy--Constantine. Judge thou
my cause."

Then he told of Lael--of his love for her--of her abduction by
Demedes--his supplication for the Emperor's assistance--the refusal.

"She was the child of my soul," he continued, passionately. "My interest
in life was going out; she reinspired it. She was the promise of a
future for me, as the morning star is of a gladsome day. I dreamed
dreams of her, and upon her love builded hopes, like shining castles on
high hills. Yet it was not enough that the Greek refused me his power to
discover and restore her. She is now in restraint, and set apart to
become the wife of a Christian--a Christian priest--may the fiends
juggle for his ghost!--To-morrow I will punish the tyrant--I will give
him a dog's death, and then seek her. Oh! I will find her--I will find
her--and by the light there is in love, I will show him what all of hell
there can be in one man's hate!"

For once the cunning of the Prince overreached itself. In the rush of
passion he forgot the exquisite sensory gifts of the potentate with whom
he was dealing; and Mahommed, observant even while shrinking from the
malignant fire in the large eyes, discerned incoherencies in the tale,
and that it was but half told; and while he was resolving to push his
Messenger of the Stars to a full confession, a distant rumble invaded
the tent, accompanied by a trample of feet outside.

"It is here, Prince of India--the day of Destiny. Let us get ready, thou
for thy revenge, I for glory and"--Irene was on his tongue, but he
suppressed the name. "Call my chamberlain and equerry.... On the table
there thou mayst see my arms--a mace my ancestor Ilderim [Footnote:
Bajazet.] bore at Nicopolis, and thy sword of Solomon.... God is great,
and the Jinn and the Stars on my side, what have we to fear?"

Within half an hour he rode out of the tent.

"Blows the wind to the city or from it?" he asked his chief Aga of
Janissaries.

"Toward the city, my Lord."

"Exalted be the name of the Prophet! Set the Flower of the Faithful in
order--a column of front wide as the breach in the gate--and bring the
heralds. I shall be by the great gun."

Pushing his horse on the parapet, he beheld the space before him, down
quite to the moat--every trace of the cemetery had disappeared--dark
with hordes assembled and awaiting the signal. Satisfied, happy, he
looked then toward the east. None better than he knew the stars
appointed to go before the sun--their names were familiar to him--now
they were his friends. At last a violet corona infinitely soft glimmered
along the hill tops beyond Scutari.

"Stand out now," he cried to the five in their tabards of gold--"stand
out now, and as ye hope couches in Paradise, blow--blow the stones out
of their beds yonder--God was never so great!"

Then ensued the general advance which has been described, except that
here, in front of St. Romain, there was no covering the assailants with
slingers and archers. The fill in the ditch was nearly level with the
outer bank, from which it may be described as an ascending causeway.
This advantage encouraged the idea of pouring the hordesmen _en masse_
over the hill composed of the ruins of what had been the towers of the
gate.

There was an impulsive dash under incitement of a mighty drumming and
trumpeting--a race, every man of the thousands engaged in it making for
the causeway--a jam--a mob paralyzed by its numbers. They trampled on
each other--they fought, and in the rebound were pitched in heaps down
the perpendicular revetment on the right and left of the fill. Of those
thus unfortunate the most remained where they fell, alive, perhaps, but
none the less an increasing dump of pikes, shields, and crushed bodies;
and in the roar above them, cries for help, groans, and prayers were
alike unheard and unnoticed.

All this Justiniani had foreseen. Behind loose stones on top of the
hill, he had collected culverins, making, in modern phrase, a masked
battery, and trained the pieces to sweep the causeway; with them, as a
support, he mixed archers and pikemen. On either flank, moreover, he
stationed companies similarly armed, extending them to the unbroken
wall, so there was not a space in the breach undefended.

The Captain, on watch and expectant, heard the signal.

"To the Emperor at Blacherne," he bade; "and say the storm is about to
break. Make haste." Then to his men: "Light the matches, and be ready to
throw the stones down."

The hordesmen reached the edge of the ditch; that moment the guns were
unmasked, and the Genoese leader shouted:

"Fire, my men!--_Christ and Holy Church!_"

Then from the Christian works it was bullet, bolt, stone, and shaft,
making light of flimsy shield and surcoat of hide; still the hordesmen
pushed on, a river breasting an obstruction. Now they were on the
causeway. Useless facing about--behind them an advancing wall--on both
sides the ditch. Useless lying down--that was to be smothered in bloody
mire. Forward, forward, or die. What though the causeway was packed with
dead and wounded?--though there was no foothold not slippery?--though
the smell of hot blood filled every nostril?--though hands thrice
strengthened by despair grappled the feet making stepping blocks of face
and breast? The living pressed on leaping, stumbling, staggering; their
howl, "Gold--spoils--women--slaves," answered from the smoking hill,
"_Christ and Holy Church._"

And now, the causeway crossed, the leading assailants gain the foot of
the rough ascent. No time to catch breath--none to look for advantage--
none to profit by a glance at the preparation to receive them--up they
must go, and up they went. Arrows and javelins pierce them; stones crush
them; the culverins spout fire in their faces, and, lifting them off
their uncertain footing, hurl them bodily back upon the heads and shields
of their comrades. Along the brow of the rocky hill a mound of bodies
arises wondrous quick, an obstacle to the warders of the pass who would
shoot, and to the hordesmen a barrier.

Slowly the corona on the Scutarian hills deepened into dawn. The Emperor
joined Justiniani. Count Corti came with him. There was an affectionate
greeting.

"Your Majesty, the day is scarcely full born, yet see how Islam is
rueing it."

Constantine, following Justiniani's pointing, peered once through the
smoke; then the necessity of the moment caught him, and, taking post
between guns, he plied his long lance upon the wretches climbing the
rising mound, some without shields, some weaponless, most of them
incapable of combat.

With the brightening of day the mound grew in height and width, until at
length the Christians sallied out upon it to meet the enemy still
pouring on.

An hour thus.

Suddenly, seized with a comprehension of the futility of their effort,
the hordesmen turned, and rushed from the hill and the causeway.

The Christians suffered but few casualties; yet they would have gladly
rested. Then, from the wall above the breach, whence he had used his
bow, Count Corti descended hastily.

"Your Majesty," he said, his countenance kindled with enthusiasm, "the
Janissaries are making ready."

Justiniani was prompt. "Come!" he shouted. "Come every one! We must have
clear range for the guns. Down with these dead! Down with the living. No
time for pity!"

Setting the example, presently the defenders were tossing the bodies of
their enemies down the face of the hill.

On his horse, by the great gun, Mahommed had observed the assault,
listening while the night yet lingered. Occasionally a courier rode to
him with news from this Pacha or that one. He heard without excitement,
and returned invariably the same reply:

"Tell him to pour the hordes in."

At last an officer came at speed.

"Oh, my Lord, I salute you. The city is won."

It was clear day then, yet a light not of the morning sparkled in
Mahommed's eyes. Stooping in his saddle, he asked: "What sayest thou?
Tell me of it, but beware--if thou speakest falsely, neither God nor
Prophet shall save thee from impalement to the roots of thy tongue."

"As I have to tell my Lord what I saw with my own eyes, I am not
afraid.... My Lord knows that where the palace of Blacherne begins on
the south there is an angle in the wall. There, while our people were
feigning an assault to amuse the Greeks, they came upon a sunken gate"--

"The Cercoporta--I have heard of it."

"My Lord has the name. Trying it, they found it unfastened and unguarded,
and, pushing through a darkened passage, discovered they were in the
Palace. Mounting to the upper floor, they attacked the unbelievers. The
fighting goes on. From room to room the Christians resist. They are now
cut off, and in a little time the quarter will be in our possession."

Mahommed spoke to Kalil: "Take this man, and keep him safely. If he has
spoken truly, great shall be his reward; if falsely, better he were not
his mother's son." Then to one of his household: "Come hither.... Go to
the sunken gate Cercoporta, pass in, and find the chief now fighting in
the palace of Blacherne. Tell him I, Mahommed, require that he leave the
Palace to such as may follow him, and march and attack the defenders of
this gate, St. Romain, in the rear. He shall not stop to plunder. I give
him one hour in which to do my bidding. Ride thou now as if a falcon led
thee. For Allah and life!"

Next he called his Aga of Janissaries.

"Have the hordes before this gate retired. They have served their turn;
they have made the ditch passable, and the _Gabours_ are faint with
killing them. Observe, and when the road is cleared let go with the
Flower of the Faithful. A province to the first through; and this the
battle-cry: _Allah-il-Allah!_ They will fight under my eye. Minutes
are worth kingdoms. Go thou, and let go."

Always in reserve, always the last resort in doubtful battle, always the
arm with which the Sultans struck the finishing blow, the Janissaries
thus summoned to take up the assault were in discipline, spirit, and
splendor of appearance the _elite_ corps of the martial world.

Riding to the front, the Aga halted to communicate Mahommed's orders.
Down the columns the speech was passed.

The Flower of the Faithful were in three divisions dismounted. Throwing
off their clumsy gowns, they stood forth in glittering mail, and shaking
their brassy shields in air, shouted the old salute: "_Live the Padishah!
Live the Padishah!_"

The road to the gate was cleared; then the Aga galloped back, and when
abreast of the yellow flag of the first division, he cried:
"_Allah-il-Allah!_ Forward!"

And drum and trumpet breaking forth, a division moved down in column of
fifties. Slowly at first, but solidly, and with a vast stateliness it
moved. So at Pharsalia marched the legion Caesar loved--so in decision
of heady fights strode the Old Guard of the world's last Conqueror.

Approaching the ditch, the fresh assailants set up the appointed
battle-cry, and quickening the step to double time rushed over the
terrible causeway.

Mahommed then descended to the ditch, and remained there mounted, the
sword of Solomon in his hand, the mace of Ilderim at his saddle bow; and
though hearing him was impossible, the Faithful took fire from his
fire--enough that they were under his eye.

The feat attempted by the hordes was then repeated, except now there was
order in disorder. The machine, though shaken and disarranged, kept
working on, working up. Somehow its weight endured. Slowly, with all its
drench and cumber, the hill was surmounted. Again a mound arose in front
of the battery--again the sally, and the deadly ply of pikes from the
top of the mound.

The Emperor's lance splintered; he fought with a pole-axe; still even he
became sensible of a whelming pressure. In the gorge, the smoke, loaded
with lime-dust, dragged rather than lifted; no man saw down it to the
causeway; yet the ascending din and clamor, possessed of the smiting
power of a gust of wind, told of an endless array coming.

There was not time to take account of time; but at last a Turkish shield
appeared over the ghastly rampart, glimmering as the moon glimmers
through thick vapor. Thrusts in scores were made at it, yet it arose;
then a Janissary sprang up on the heap, singing like a muezzin, and
shearing off the heads of pikes as reapers shear green rye. He was a
giant in stature and strength. Both Genoese and Greeks were disposed to
give him way. The Emperor rallied them. Still the Turk held his footing,
and other Turks were climbing to his support. Now it looked as if the
crisis were come, now as if the breach were lost.

In the last second a cry _For Christ and Irene_ rang through the
melee, and Count Corti, leaping from a gun, confronted the Turk.

"Ho, Son of Ouloubad! Hassan, Hassan!" [Footnote: One of the Janissaries,
Hassan d'Ouloubad, of gigantic stature and prodigious strength, mounted
to the assault under cover of his shield, his cimeter in the right hand.
He reached the rampart with thirty of his companions. Nineteen of them
were cast down, and Hassan himself fell struck by a stone.--VON HAMMER.]
he shouted, in the familiar tongue.

"Who calls me?" the giant asked, lowering his shield, and gazing about
in surprise.

"I call you--I, Mirza the Emir. Thy time has come. _Christ and Irene.
Now!_"

With the word the Count struck the Janissary fairly on the flat cap with
his axe, bringing him to his knees. Almost simultaneously a heavy stone
descended upon the dazed man from a higher part of the wall, and he
rolled backward down the steep.

Constantine and Justiniani, with others, joined the Count, but too late.
Of the fifty comrades composing Hassan's file, thirty mounted the
rampart. Eighteen of them were slain in the bout. Corti raged like a
lion; but up rushed the survivors of the next file--and the next--and
the vantage-point was lost. The Genoese, seeing it, said:

"Your Majesty, let us retire."

"Is it time?"

"We must get a ditch between us and this new horde, or we are all dead
men."

Then the Emperor shouted: "Back, every one! For love of Christ and Holy
Church, back to the galley!"

The guns, machines, store of missiles, and space occupied by the battery
were at once abandoned. Constantine and Corti went last, facing the foe,
who warily paused to see what they had next to encounter.

The secondary defence to which the Greeks resorted consisted of the hulk
brought up, as we have seen, by Count Corti, planted on its keel
squarely in rear of the breach, and filled with stones. From the hulk,
on right and left, wings of uncemented masonry extended to the main wall
in form thus:

[Illustration]

A ditch fronted the line fifteen feet in width and twelve in depth,
provided with movable planks for hasty passage. Culverins were on the
hulk, with ammunition in store.

Greatly to the relief of the jaded Christians, who, it is easy believing,
stood not on the order of going, they beheld the reserves, under
Demetrius Palaeologus and Nicholas Giudalli, in readiness behind the
refuge.

The Emperor, on the deck, raised the visor of his helmet, and looked up
at an Imperial flag drooping in the stagnant air from a stump of the
mast. Whatever his thought or feeling, no one could discern on his
countenance an unbecoming expression. The fact, of which he must have
been aware, that this stand taken ended his empire forever, had not
shaken his resolution or confidence. To Demetrius Palaeologus, who had
lent a hand helping him up the galley's side, he said: "Thank you,
kinsman. God may still be trusted. Open fire."

The Janissaries, astonished at the new and strange defence, would have
retreated, but could not; the files ascending behind drove them forward.
At the edge of the ditch the foremost of them made a despairing effort
to resist the pressure rushing them to their fate--down they went in
mass, in their last service no better than the hordesmen--clods they
became--clods in bright harness instead of bull-hide and shaggy
astrakhan.

From the wings, bolts and stones; from the height of the wall, bolts and
stones; from the hulk, grapeshot; and the rattle upon the shields of the
Faithful was as the passing of empty chariots over a Pompeiian street.
Imprecations, prayers, yells, groans, shrieks, had lodgement only in the
ear of the Most Merciful. The open maw of a ravenous monster swallowing
the column fast as Mahommed down by the great moat drove it on--such was
the new ditch.

Yet another, the final horror. When the ditch was partially filled, the
Christians brought jugs of the inflammable liquid contributed to the
defence by John Grant; and cast them down on the writhing heap.
Straightway the trench became a pocket of flame, or rather an oven from
which the smell of roasting human flesh issued along with a choking
cloud!

The besieged were exultant, as they well might be--they were more than
holding the redoubtable Flower of the Faithful at bay--there was even a
merry tone in their battle-cry. About that time a man dismounted from a
foaming horse, climbed the rough steps to the deck of the galley, and
delivered a message to the Emperor.

"Your Majesty. John Grant, Minotle the bayle, Carystos, Langasco, and
Jerome the Italian are slain. Blacherne is in possession of the Turks,
and they are marching this way. The hordes are in the streets. I saw
them, and heard the bursting of doors, and the screams of women."

Constantine crossed himself three times, and bowed his head.

Justiniani turned the color of ashes, and exclaimed:

"We are undone--undone! All is lost!" And that his voice was hoarse did
not prevent the words being overheard. The fire slackened--ceased. Men
fighting jubilantly dropped their arms, and took up the cry--"All is
lost! The hordes are in, the hordes are in!"

Doubtless Count Corti's thought sped to the fair woman waiting for him
in the chapel, yet he kept clear head.

"Your Majesty," he said, "my Berbers are without. I will take them, and
hold the Turks in check while you draw assistance from the walls.
Or"--he hesitated, "or I will defend your person to the ships. It is not
too late."

Indeed, there was ample time for the Emperor's escape. The Berbers were
keeping his horse with Corti's. He had but to mount, and ride away. No
doubt he was tempted. There is always some sweetness in life, especially
to the blameless. He raised his head, and said to Justiniani:

"Captain, my guard will remain here. To keep the galley they have only
to keep the fire alive in the ditch. You and I will go out to meet the
enemy." ... Then he addressed himself to Corti: "To horse, Count, and
bring Theophilus Palaeologus. He is on the wall between this gate and
the gate Selimbria.... Ho, Christian gentlemen," he continued, to the
soldiers closing around him, "all is not lost. The Bochiardi at the
Adrianople gate have not been heard from. To fly from an unseen foe were
shameful, We are still hundreds strong. Let us descend, and form. God
cannot"--

That instant Justiniani uttered a loud cry, and dropped the axe he was
holding. An arrow had pierced the scales of his gauntlet, and disabled
his hand. The pain, doubtless, was great, and he started hastily as if
to descend from the deck. Constantine called out:

"Captain, Captain!"

"Give me leave, Your Majesty, to go and have this wound dressed."

"Where, Captain?"

"To my ship."

The Emperor threw his visor up--his face was flushed--in his soul
indignation contended with astonishment.

"No, Captain, the wound cannot he serious; and besides, how canst thou
get to thy ships?"

Justiniani looked over the bulwark of the vessel. The alley from the
gate ran on between houses abutting the towers. A ball from one of
Mahommed's largest guns had passed through the right-hand building,
leaving a ragged fissure. Thither the Captain now pointed.

"God opened that breach to let the Turks in. I will go out by it."

He stayed no longer, but went down the steps, and in haste little short
of a run disappeared through the fissure so like a breach.

The desertion was in view of his Genoese, of whom a few followed him,
but not all. Many who had been serving the guns took swords and pikes,
and gathering about the Emperor, cried out:

"Give orders, Your Majesty. We will bide with you."

He returned them a look full of gratitude.

"I thank you, gentlemen. Let us go down, and join our shields across the
street. To my guard I commit defence of the galley."

Unfastening the purple half-cloak at his back, and taking off his
helmet, he called to his sword-bearer: "Here, take thou these, and give
me my sword.... Now, gallant gentlemen--now, my brave countrymen--we
will put ourselves in the keeping of Heaven. Come!"

They had not all gained the ground, however, when there arose a clamor
in their front, and the hordesmen appeared, and blocking up the passage,
opened upon them with arrows and stones, while such as had javelins and
swords attacked them hand to hand.

The Christians behaved well, but none better than Constantine. He fought
with strength, and in good countenance; his blade quickly reddened to
the hilt.

"Strike, my countrymen, for city and home. Strike, every one, for
_Christ and Holy Church!_"

And answering him: "_Christ and Holy Church!_" they all fought as
they had strength, and their swords were also reddened to the hilt.
Quarter was not asked; neither was it given. Theirs to hold the ground,
and they held it. They laid the hordesmen out over it in scattered heaps
which grew, and presently became one long heap the width of the alley;
and they too fell, but, as we are willing to believe, unconscious of
pain because lapped in the delirium of battle-fever.

Five minutes--ten--fifteen--then through the breach by which Justiniani
ingloriously fled Theophilus Palaeologus came with bared brand to
vindicate his imperial blood by nobly dying; and with him came Count
Corti, Francesco de Toledo, John the Dalmatian, and a score and more
Christian gentlemen who well knew the difference between an honorable
death and a dishonored life.

Steadily the sun arose. Half the street was in its light, the other half
in its shade; yet the struggle endured; nor could any man have said God
was not with the Christians. Suddenly a louder shouting arose behind
them. They who could, looked to see what it meant, and the bravest stood
stone still at sight of the Janissaries swarming on the galley. Over the
roasting bodies of their comrades, undeterred by the inextinguishable
fire, they had crossed the ditch, and were slaying the imperial
body-guard. A moment, and they would be in the alley, and then--

Up rose a wail: "The Janissaries, the Janissaries! _Kyrie Eleison!_"
Through the knot of Christians it passed--it reached Constantine in the
forefront, and he gave way to the antagonist with whom he was engaged.

"God receive my soul!" he exclaimed; and dropping his sword, he turned
about, and rushed back with wide extended arms.

"Friends--countrymen!--Is there no Christian to kill me?"

Then they understood why he had left his helmet off.

While those nearest stared at him, their hearts too full of pity to do
him the last favor one can ask of another, from the midst of the
hordesmen there came a man of singular unfitness for such a scene--indeed
a delicate woman had not been more out of place--for he was small,
stooped, withered, very white haired, very pale, and much bearded--a
black velvet cap on his head, and a gown of the like about his body,
unarmed, and in every respect unmartial. He seemed to glide in amongst
the Christians as he had glided through the close press of the Turks; and
as the latter had given him way, so now the sword points of the
Christians went down--men in the heat of action forgot themselves, and
became bystanders--such power was there in the unearthly eyes of the
apparition.

"Is there no Christian to kill me?" cried the Emperor again.

The man in velvet stood before him.

"Prince of India!"

"You know me? It is well; for now I know you are not beyond remembering."
The voice was shrill and cutting, yet it shrilled and cut the sharper.

"Remember the day I called on you to acknowledge God, and give him his
due of worship. Remember the day I prayed you on my knees to lend me
your power to save my child, stolen for a purpose by all peoples held
unholy. Behold your executioner!"

He stepped back, and raised a hand; and ere one of those standing by
could so much as cry to God, Nilo, who, in the absorption of interest in
his master, had followed him unnoticed--Nilo, gorgeous in his barbarisms
of Kash-Cush, sprang into the master's place. He did not strike; but
with infinite cruel cunning of hand--no measurable lapse of time
ensuing--drew the assegai across the face of the astonished Emperor.
Constantine--never great till that moment of death, but then great
forever--fell forward upon his shield, calling in strangled utterance:
"God receive my soul!"

The savage set his foot upon the mutilated countenance, crushing it into
a pool of blood. An instant, then through the petrified throng, knocking
them right and left, Count Corti appeared.

"_For Christ and Irene!_" he shouted, dashing the spiked boss of
his shield into Nilo's eyes--down upon the feathered coronal he brought
his sword--and the negro fell sprawling upon the Emperor.

Oblivious to the surroundings, Count Corti, on his knees, raised the
Emperor's head, slightly turning the face--one look was enough. "His
soul is sped!" he said; and while he was tenderly replacing the head, a
hand grasped his cap. He sprang to his feet. Woe to the intruder, if an
enemy! The sword which had known no failure was drawn back to thrust--
above the advanced foot the shield hung in ready poise--between him and
the challenger there was only a margin of air and the briefest interval
of time--his breath was drawn, and his eyes gleamed with vengeful murder
--but--some power invisible stayed his arm, and into his memory flashed
the lightning of recognition.

"Prince of India," he shouted, "never wert thou nearer death!"

"Thou--liest! Death--and--I"--

The words were long drawn between gasps, and the speech was never
finished. The tongue thickened, then paralyzed. The features, already
distorted with passion, swelled, and blackened horribly. The eyes rolled
back--the hands flew up, the fingers apart and rigid--the body rocked--
stiffened--then fell, sliding from the Count's shield across the dead
Emperor.

The combat meantime had gone on. Corti, with a vague feeling that the
Prince's flight of soul was a mystery in keeping with his life, took a
second to observe him, and muttered: "Peace to him also!"

Looking about him then, he was made aware that the Christians, attacked
in front and rear, were drawing together around the body of Constantine--
that their resistance was become the last effort of brave men hopeless
except of the fullest possible payment for their lives. This was
succeeded by a conviction of duty done on his part, and of every
requirement of honor fulfilled; thereupon with a great throb of heart,
his mind reverted to the Princess Irene waiting for him in the chapel. He
must go to her. But how? And was it not too late?

There are men whose wits are supernaturally quickened by danger. The
Count, pushing through the intervening throng, boldly presented himself
to the Janissaries, shouting while warding the blows they aimed at him:

"Have done, O madmen! See you not I am your comrade, Mirza the Emir?
Have done, I say, and let me pass. I have a message for the Padishah!"

He spoke Turkish, and having been an idol in the barracks--their best
swordsman--envied, and at the same time beloved--they knew him, and with
acclamations opened their files, and let him pass.

By the fissure which had served Justiniani, he escaped from the terrible
alley, and finding his Berbers and his horse, rode with speed for the
residence of the Princess Irene.

Not a Christian survived the combat. Greek, Genoese, Italian lay in
ghastly composite with hordesmen and mailed Moslems around the Emperor.
In dying they had made good their battle-cry--_For Christ and Holy
Church!_ Let us believe they will yet have their guerdon.

About an hour after the last of them had fallen, when the narrow passage
was deserted by the living--the conquerors having moved on in search of
their hire--the Prince of India aroused, and shook himself free of the
corpses cumbering him. Upon his knees he gazed at the dead--then at the
place--then at the sky. He rubbed his hands--made sure he was sound of
person--he seemed uncertain, not of life, but of himself. In fact, he
was asking, Who am I? And the question had reference to the novel
sensations of which he was conscious. What was it coursing through his
veins? Wine?--Elixir?--Some new principle which, hidden away amongst the
stores of nature, had suddenly evolved for him? The weights of age were
gone. In his body--bones, arms, limbs, muscles--he recognized once more
the glorious impulses of youth; but his mind--he started--the ideas
which had dominated him were beginning to return--and memory! It surged
back upon him, and into its wonted chambers, like a wave which, under
pressure of a violent wind, has been momentarily driven from a familiar
shore. He saw, somewhat faintly at first, the events which had been
promontories and lofty peaks cast up out of the level of his long
existence. Then THAT DAY and THAT EVENT! How distinctly they reappeared
to him! They must be the same--must be--for he beheld the multitude on
its way to Calvary, and the Victim tottering under the Cross; he heard
the Tribune ask, "Ho, is this the street to Golgotha?" He heard his own
answer, "I will guide you;" and he spit upon the fainting Man of
Sorrows, and struck him. And then the words--"TARRY THOU TILL I COME!"
identified him to himself. He looked at his hands--they were black with
what had been some other man's life-blood, but under the stain the skin
was smooth--a little water would make them white. And what was that upon
his breast? Beard--beard black as a raven's wing! He plucked a lock of
hair from his head. It, too, was thick with blood, but it was black.
Youth--youth--joyous, bounding, eager, hopeful youth was his once more!
He stood up, and there was no creak of rust in the hinges of his joints;
he knew he was standing inches higher in the sunlit air; and a cry burst
from him--"O God, I give thanks!" The hymn stopped there, for between
him and the sky, as if it were ascending transfigured, he beheld the
Victim of the Crucifixion; and the eyes, no longer sad, but full of
accusing majesty, were looking downward at him, and the lips were in
speech: "TARRY THOU TILL I COME!" He covered his face with his hands.
Yes, yes, he had his youth back again, but it was with the old mind and
nature--youth, that the curse upon him might, in the mortal sense, be
eternal! And pulling his black hair with his young hands, wrenching at
his black beard, it was given him to see he had undergone his fourteenth
transformation, and that between this one and the last there was no
lapse of connection. Old age had passed, leaving the conditions and
circumstances of its going to the youth which succeeded. The new life in
starting picked up and loaded itself with every burden and all the
misery of the old. So now while burrowing, as it were, amongst dead men,
his head upon the breast of the Emperor whom, treating Nilo as an
instrument in his grip, he had slain, he thought most humanly of the
effects of the transformation.

First of all, his personal identity was lost, and he was once more a
Wanderer without an acquaintance, a friend, or a sympathizer on the
earth. To whom could he now address himself with a hope of recognition?
His heart went out primarily to Lael--he loved her. Suppose he found
her, and offered to take her in his arms; she would repulse him. "Thou
art not my father. He was old--thou art young." And Syama, whose
bereavements of sense had recommended him for confidant in the event of
his witnessing the dreaded circumstance just befallen--if he addressed
himself to Syama, the faithful creature would deny him. "No; my master
was old--his hair and beard were white--thou art a youth. Go hence." And
then Mahommed, to whom he had been so useful in bringing additional
empire, and a glory which time would make its own forever--did he seek
Mahommed again--"Thou art not the Prince of India, my peerless Messenger
of the Stars. He was old--his hair and beard were white--thou art a boy.
Ho, guards, take this impostor, and do with him as ye did with
Balta-Ogli stretch him on the ground, and beat the breath out of him."

There is nothing comes to us, whether in childhood or age, so crushing
as a sense of isolation. Who will deny it had to do with the marshalling
of worlds, and the peopling them--with creation?

These reflections did but wait upon the impulse which still further
identified him to himself--the impulse to go and keep going--and he cast
about for solaces.

"It is the Judgment," he said, with a grim smile; "but my stores remain,
and Hiram of Tyre is yet my friend. I have my experience of more than a
thousand years, and with it youth again. I cannot make men better, and
God refuses my services. Nevertheless I will devise new opportunities.
The earth is round, and upon its other side there must be another world.
Perhaps I can find some daring spirit equal to the voyage and
discovery--some one Heaven may be more willing to favor. But this
meeting place of the old continents"--he looked around him, and then to
the sky--"with my farewell, I leave it the curse of the most accursed.
The desired of nations, it shall be a trouble to them forever."

Then he saw Nilo under a load of corpses, and touched by remembrance of
the poor savage's devotion, he uncovered him to get at his heart, which
was still beating. Next he threw away his cap and gown, replaced them
with a bloody tarbousche and a shaggy Angora mantle, selected a javelin,
and sauntered leisurely on into the city. Having seen Constantinople
pillaged by Christians, he was curious to see it now sacked by
Moslems--there might be a further solace in the comparison.

[Footnote: According to the earliest legends, the Wandering Jew was
about thirty years old when he stood in the road to Golgotha, and struck
the Saviour, and ordered him to go forward. At the end of every hundred
years, the undying man falls into a trance, during which his body
returns to the age it was when the curse was pronounced. In all other
respects he remains unchanged.]




CHAPTER XIII

MAHOMMED IN SANCTA SOPHIA


Count Corti, we may well believe, did not spare his own steed, or those
of his Berbers; and there was a need of haste of which he was not aware
upon setting out from St. Romain. The Turks had broken through the
resistance of the Christian fleet in the harbor, and were surging into
the city by the gate St. Peter (Phanar), which was perilously near the
residence of the Princess Irene.

Already the spoil-seekers were making sure of their hire. More than once
he dashed by groups of them hurrying along the streets in search of
houses most likely to repay plundering. There were instances when he
overtook hordesmen already happy in the possession of "strings of
slaves;" that is to say, of Greeks, mostly women and children, tied by
their hands to ropes, and driven mercilessly on. The wailing and prayers
of the unfortunate smote the Count to the heart; he longed to deliver
them; but he had given his best efforts to save them in the struggle to
save the city, and had failed; now it would be a providence of Heaven
could he rescue the woman waiting for him in such faith as was due his
word and honor specially plighted to her. As the pillagers showed no
disposition to interfere with him, he closed his eyes and ears to their
brutalities, and sped forward.

The district in which the Princess dwelt was being overrun when he at
last drew rein at her door. With a horrible dread, he alighted, and
pushed in unceremoniously. The reception-room was empty. Was he too
late? Or was she then in Sancta Sophia? He flew to the chapel, and
blessed God and Christ and the Mother, all in a breath. She was before
the altar in the midst of her attendants. Sergius stood at her side, and
of the company they alone were perfectly self-possessed. A white veil
lay fallen over her shoulders; save that, she was in unrelieved black.
The pallor of her countenance, caused, doubtless, by weeks of care and
unrest, detracted slightly from the marvelous beauty which was hers by
nature; but it seemed sorrow and danger only increased the gentle
dignity always observable in her speech and manner.

"Princess Irene," he said, hastening forward, and reverently saluting
her hand, "if you are still of the mind to seek refuge in Sancta Sophia,
I pray you, let us go thither."

"We are ready," she returned. "But tell me of the Emperor."

The Count bent very low.

"Your kinsman is beyond insult and further humiliation. His soul is with
God."

Her eyes glistened with tears, and partly to conceal her emotion she
turned to the picture above the altar, and said, in a low voice, and
brokenly:

"O Holy Mother, have thou his soul in thy tender care, and be with me
now, going to what fate I know not."

The young women surrounded her, and on their knees filled the chapel
with sobbing and suppressed wails. Striving for composure himself, the
Count observed them, and was at once assailed by an embarrassment.

They were twenty and more. Each had a veil over her head; yet from the
delicacy of their hands he could imagine their faces, while their rank
was all too plainly certified by the elegance of their garments. As a
temptation to the savages, their like was not within the walls. How was
he to get them safely to the Church, and defend them there? He was used
to military problems, and decision was a habit with him; still he was
sorely tried--indeed, he was never so perplexed.

The Princess finished her invocation to the Holy Mother.

"Count Corti," she said, "I now place myself and these, my sisters in
misfortune, under thy knightly care. Only suffer me to send for one
other.--Go, Sergius, and bring Lael."

One other!

"Now God help me!" he cried, involuntarily; and it seemed he was heard.

"Princess," he returned, "the Turks have possession of the streets. On
my way I passed them with prisoners whom they were driving, and they
appeared to respect a right of property acquired. Perhaps they will be
not less observant to me; wherefore bring other veils here--enough to
bind these ladies two and two."

As she seemed hesitant, he added: "Pardon me, but in the streets you
must all go afoot, to appearances captives just taken."

The veils were speedily produced, and the Princess bound her trembling
companions in couples hand to hand; submitting finally to be herself
tied to Lael. Then when Sergius was more substantially joined to the
ancient Lysander, the household sallied forth.

A keener realization of the situation seized the gentler portion of the
procession once they were in the street, and they there gave way to
tears, sobs, and loud appeals to the Saints and Angels of Mercy.

The Count rode in front; four of his Berbers moved on each side; Sheik
Hadifah guarded the rear; and altogether a more disconsolate company of
captives it were hard imagining. A rope passing from the first couple to
the last was the only want required to perfect the resemblance to the
actual slave droves at the moment on nearly every thoroughfare in
Constantinople.

The weeping cortege passed bands of pillagers repeatedly.

Once what may be termed a string in fact was met going in the opposite
direction; women and children, and men and women were lashed together,
like animals, and their lamentations were piteous. If they fell or
faltered, they were beaten. It seemed barbarity could go no further.

Once the Count was halted. A man of rank, with a following at his heels,
congratulated him in Turkish:

"O friend, thou hast a goodly capture."

The stranger came nearer.

"I will give you twenty gold pieces for this one," pointing to the
Princess Irene, who, fortunately, could not understand him--"and fifteen
for this one."

"Go thy way, and quickly," said Corti, sternly.

"Dost thou threaten me?"

"By the Prophet, yes--with my sword, and the Padishah."

"The Padishah! Oh, ho!" and the man turned pale. "God is great--I give
him praise."

At last the Count alighted before the main entrance of the Church. By
friendly chance, also--probably because the site was far down toward the
sea, in a district not yet reached by the hordesmen--the space in front
of the vestibule was clear of all but incoming fugitives; and he had but
to knock at the door, and give the name of the Princess Irene to gain
admission.

In the vestibule the party were relieved of their bonds; after which
they passed into the body of the building, where they embraced each
other, and gave praise aloud for what they considered a final
deliverance from death and danger; in their transports, they kissed the
marbles of the floor again and again.

While this affecting scene was going on, Corti surveyed the interior.
The freest pen cannot do more than give the view with a clearness to
barely stimulate the reader's imagination.

It was about eleven o'clock. The smoke of battle which had overlain the
hills of the city was dissipated; so the sun, nearing high noon, poured
its full of splendor across the vast nave in rays slanted from south to
north, and a fine, almost impalpable dust hanging from the dome in the
still air, each ray shone through it in vivid, half-prismatic relief
against the shadowy parts of the structure. Such pillars in the
galleries as stood in the paths of the sunbeams seemed effulgent, like
emeralds and rubies. His eyes, however, refused everything except the
congregation of people.

"O Heaven!" he exclaimed. "What is to become of these poor souls!"

Byzantium, it must be recalled, had had its triumphal days, when Greeks
drew together, like Jews on certain of their holy occasions; undoubtedly
the assemblages then were more numerous, but never had there been one so
marked by circumstances. This was the funeral day of the Empire!

Let the reader try to recompose the congregation the Count beheld--
civilians--soldiers--nuns--monks--monks bearded, monks shaven, monks
tonsured--monks in high hats and loose veils, monks in gowns scarce
distinguishable from gowns of women--monks by the thousand. Ah, had they
but dared a manly part on the walls, the cause of the Christ for whom
they affected such devotion would not have suffered the humiliation to
which it was now going! As to the mass in general, let the reader think
of the rich jostled by the poor--fine ladies careless if their robes took
taint from the Lazarus' next them--servants for once at least on a plane
with haughty masters--Senators and slaves--grandsires--mothers with their
infants--old and young, high and low, all in promiscuous presence--
society at an end--Sancta Sophia a universal last refuge. And by no means
least strange, let the reader fancy the refugees on their knees, silent
as ghosts in a tomb, except that now and then the wail of a child broke
the awful hush, and gazing over their shoulders, not at the altar, but
toward the doors of entrance; then let him understand that every one in
the smother of assemblage--every one capable of thought--was in momentary
expectation of a miracle.

Here and there moved priestly figures, holding crucifixes aloft, and
halting at times to exhort in low voices: "Be not troubled, O dearly
beloved of Christ! The angel will appear by the old column. If the
powers of hell are not to prevail against the Church, what may men do
against the sword of God?"

The congregation was waiting for the promised angel to rescue them from
the Barbarians.

Of opinion that the chancel, or space within the railing of the apse
opposite him, was a better position for his charge than the crowded
auditorium, partly because he could more easily defend them there, and
partly because Mahommed when he arrived would naturally look for the
Princess near the altar, the Count, with some trouble, secured a place
within it behind the brazen balustrade at the right of the gate. The
invasion of the holy reserve by the Berbers was viewed askance, but
submitted to; thereupon the Princess and her suite took to waiting and
praying.

Afterwhile the doors in the east were barred by the janitor.

Still later there was knocking at them loud enough to be by authority.
The janitor had become deaf.

Later still a yelling as of a mob out in the vestibule penetrated to the
interior, and a shiver struck the expectant throng, less from a
presentiment of evil at hand than a horrible doubt. An angel of the Lord
would hardly adopt such an incongruous method of proclaiming the miracle
done. A murmur of invocation began with those nearest the entrances, and
ran from the floor to the galleries. As it spread, the shouting
increased in volume and temper. Ere long the doors were assailed. The
noise of a blow given with determination rang dreadful warning through
the whole building, and the concourse arose.

The women shrieked: "The Turks! The Turks!"

Even the nuns who had been practising faith for years joined their lay
sisters in crying: "The Turks! The Turks!"

The great, gowned, cowardly monks dropped their crucifixes, and, like
the commoner sons of the Church, howled: "The Turks! The Turks!"

Finally the doors were battered in, and sure enough--there stood the
hordesmen, armed and panoplied each according to his tribe or personal
preference--each a most unlikely delivering angel.

This completed the panic.

In the vicinity of the ruined doors everybody, overcome by terror, threw
himself upon those behind, and the impulsion thus started gained force
while sweeping on. As ever in such cases, the weak were the sufferers.
Children were overrun--infants dashed from the arms of mothers--men had
need of their utmost strength--and the wisdom of the Count in seeking
the chancel was proved. The massive brazen railing hardly endured the
pressure when the surge reached it; but it stood, and the Princess and
her household--all, in fact, within the chancel--escaped the crushing,
but not the horror.

The spoilsmen were in strength, but they were prudently slow in
persuading themselves that the Greeks were unarmed, and incapable of
defending the Church. Ere long they streamed in, and for the first time
in the history of the edifice the colossal Christ on the ceiling above
the altar was affronted by the slogan of Islam--_Allah-il-Allah_.

Strange now as it may appear to the reader, there is no mention in the
chronicles of a life lost that day within the walls of Sancta Sophia.
The victors were there for plunder, not vengeance, and believing there
was more profit in slaves than any other kind of property, their effort
was to save rather than kill. The scene was beyond peradventure one of
the cruelest in history, but the cruelty was altogether in taking
possession of captives.

Tossing their arms of whatever kind upon their backs, the savages pushed
into the pack of Christians to select whom they would have. We may be
sure the old, sick, weakly, crippled, and very young were discarded, and
the strong and vigorous chosen. Remembering also how almost universally
the hordes were from the East, we may be sure a woman was preferred to a
man, and a pretty woman to an ugly one.

The hand shrinks from trying to depict the agonies of separation which
ensued--mothers torn from their children, wives from husbands--their
shrieks, entreaties, despair--the mirthful brutality with which their
pitiful attempts at resistance were met--the binding and dragging
away--the last clutch of love--the final disappearance. It is only
needful to add that the rapine involved the galleries no less than the
floor. All things considered, the marvel is that the cry--there was but
one, just as the sounds of many waters are but one to the ear--which
then tore the habitual silence of the august temple should have ever
ceased--and it would not if, in its duration, human sympathy were less
like a flitting echo.

Next to women, the monks were preferred, and the treatment they received
was not without its touches of grim humor. Their cowls were snatched
off, and bandied about, their hats crushed over their ears, their veils
stuffed in their mouths to stifle their outcries, their rosaries
converted into scourges; and the laughter when a string of them passed
to the doors was long and loud. They had pulled their monasteries down
upon themselves. If the Emperor, then lying in the bloody alley of St.
Romain, dead through their bigotry, superstition, and cowardice, had
been vengeful in the slightest degree, a knowledge of the judgment come
upon them so soon would have been at least restful to his spirit.

It must not be supposed Count Corti was indifferent while this appalling
scene was in progress. The chancel, he foresaw, could not escape the
foray. There was the altar, loaded with donatives in gold and precious
stones, a blazing pyramidal invitation. When the doors were burst in, he
paused a moment to see if Mahommed were coming.

"The hordes are here, O Princess, but not the Sultan."

She raised her veil, and regarded him silently.

"I see now but one resort. As Mirza the Emir, I must meet the pillagers
by claiming the Sultan sent me in advance to capture and guard you for"
him."

"We are at mercy, Count Corti," she replied. "Heaven deal with you as
you deal with us."

"If the ruse fails, Princess, I can die for you. Now tie yourselves as
before--two and two, hand to hand. It may be they will call on me to
distinguish such as are my charge."

She cast a glance of pity about her.

"And these, Count--these poor women not of my house, and the children--
can you not save them also?"

"Alas, dear lady! The Blessed Mother must be their shield."

While the veils were being applied, the surge against the railing took
place, leaving a number of dead and fainting across it.

"Hadifah," the Count called out, "clear the way to yon chair against the
wall."

The Sheik set about removing the persons blockading the space, and
greatly affected by their condition, the Princess interceded for them.

"Nay, Count, disturb them not. Add not to their terror, I pray."

But the Count was a soldier; in case of an affray, he wanted the
advantage of a wall at his back.

"Dear lady, it was the throne of your fathers, now yours. I will seat
you there. From it you can best treat with the Lord Mahommed."

Ere long some of the hordes--half a dozen or more--came to the chancel
gate. They were of the rudest class of Anatolian shepherds, clad
principally in half-cloaks of shaggy goat skin. Each bore at his back a
round buckler, a bow, and a clumsy quiver of feathered arrows. Awed by
the splendor of the altar and its surroundings, they stopped; then, with
shouts, they rushed at the tempting display, unmindful of the living
spoils crouched on the floor dumb with terror. Others of a like kind
reenforced them, and there was a fierce scramble. The latest comers
turned to the women, and presently discovered the Princess Irene sitting
upon the throne. One, more eager than the rest, was indisposed to
respect the Berbers.

"Here are slaves worth having. Get your ropes," he shouted to his
companions.

The Count interposed.

"Art thou a believer?" he asked in Turkish.

They surveyed him doubtfully, and then turned to Hadifah and his men,
tall, imperturbable looking, their dark faces visible through their open
hoods of steel. They looked at their shields also, and at their bare
cimeters resting points to the floor.

"Why do you ask?" the man returned.

"Because, as thou mayst see, we also are of the Faithful, and do not
wish harm to any whose mothers have taught them to begin the day with
the Fah-hat."

The fellow was impressed.

"Who art thou?"

"I am the Emir Mirza, of the household of our Lord the Padishah--to whom
be all the promises of the Koran! These are slaves I selected for him--
all these thou seest in bonds. I am keeping them till he arrives. He will
be here directly. He is now coming."

A man wearing a bloody tarbousche joined the pillagers, during this
colloquy, and pressing in, heard the Emir's name passing from mouth to
mouth.

"The Emir Mirza! I knew him, brethren. He commanded the caravan, and
kept the _mahmals,_ the year I made the pilgrimage.... Stand off, and let
me see." After a short inspection, he continued: "Truly as there is no
God but God, this is he. I was next him at the most holy corner of the
Kaaba when he fell down struck by the plague. I saw him kiss the Black
Stone, and by virtue of the kiss he lived.... Ay, stand back--or if you
touch him, or one of these in his charge, and escape his hand, ye shall
not escape the Padishah, whose first sword he is, even as Khalid was
first sword for the Prophet--exalted be his name!... Give me thy hand, O
valiant Emir."

He kissed the Count's hand.

"Arise, O son of thy father," said Corti; "and when our master, the Lord
Mahommed, hath set up his court and harem, seek me for reward."

The man stayed awhile, although there was no further show of
interference; and he looked past the Princess to Lael cowering near her.
He took no interest in what was going on around him--Lael alone
attracted him. At last he shifted his sheepskin covering higher upon his
shoulders, and left these words with the Count:

"The women are not for the harem. I understand thee, O Mirza. When the
Lord Mahommed hath set up his court, do thou tell the little Jewess
yonder that her father the Prince of India charged thee to give her his
undying love."

Count Corti was wonder struck--he could not speak--and so the Wandering
Jew vanished from his sight as he now vanishes from our story.

The selection among the other refugees in the chancel proceeded until
there was left of them only such as were considered not worth the
having.

A long time passed, during which the Princess Irene sat with veil drawn
close, trying to shut out the horror of the scene. Her attendants,
clinging to the throne and to each other, seemed a heap of dead women.
At last a crash of music was heard in the vestibule--drums, cymbals, and
trumpets in blatant flourish. Four runners, slender lads, in short,
sleeveless jackets over white shirts, and wide trousers of yellow silk,
barefooted and bareheaded, stepped lightly through the central doorway,
and, waving wands tipped with silver balls, cried, in long-toned shrill
iteration: "The Lord Mahommed--Mahommed, Sultan of Sultans."

The spoilsmen suspended their hideous labor--the victims, moved doubtless
by a hope of rescue, gave over their lamentations and struggling--only
the young children, and the wounded, and suffering persisted in vexing
the floor and galleries.

Next to enter were the five official heralds. Halting, they blew a
triumphant refrain, at which the thousands of eyes not too blinded by
misery turned to them.

And Mahommed appeared!

He too had escaped the Angel of the false monks!

When the fighting ceased in the harbor, and report assured him of the
city at mercy, Mahommed gave order to make the Gate St. Romain passable
for horsemen, and with clever diplomacy summoned the Pachas and other
military chiefs to his tent; it was his pleasure that they should assist
him in taking possession of the prize to which he had been helped by
their valor. With a rout so constituted at his back, and an escort of
_Silihdars_ mounted, the runners and musicians preceding him, he
made his triumphal entry into Constantinople, traversing the ruins of
the towers Bagdad and St. Romain.

He was impatient and restless. In their ignorance of his passion for the
Grecian Princess, his ministers excused his behavior on account of his
youth [Footnote: He was in his twenty-third year.] and the greatness of
his achievement. Passing St. Romain, it was also observed he took no
interest in the relics of combat still there. He gave his guides but one
order:

"Take me to the house the _Gabours_ call the Glory of God."

"Sancta Sophia, my Lord?"

"Sancta Sophia--and bid the runners run."

His Sheik-ul-Islam was pleased.

"Hear!" he said to the dervishes with him. "The Lord Mahommed will make
mosques of the houses of Christ before sitting down in one of the
palaces. His first honors are to God and the Prophet."

And they dutifully responded: "Great are God and his Prophet! Great is
Mahommed, who conquers in their names!"

The public edifices by which he was guided--churches, palaces, and
especially the high aqueduct, excited his admiration; but he did not
slacken the fast trot in which he carried his loud cavalcade past them
until at the Hippodrome.

"What thing of devilish craft is here?" he exclaimed, stopping in front
of the Twisted Serpents. "Thus the Prophet bids me!" and with a blow of
his mace, he struck off the lower jaw of one of the Pythons.

Again the dervishes shouted: "Great is Mahommed, the servant of God!"

It was his preference to be taken to the eastern front of Sancta Sophia,
and in going the guides led him by the corner of the Bucoleon. At sight
of the vast buildings, their incomparable colonnades and cornices, their
domeless stretches of marble and porphyry, he halted the second time,
and in thought of the vanity of human glory, recited:

   "The spider hath woven his web in the imperial palace;
    And the owl hath sung her watch-song on the towers of
      Afrasiab."

In the space before the Church, as elsewhere along the route he had
come, the hordes were busy carrying off their wretched captives; but he
affected not to see them. They had bought the license of him, many of
them with their blood.

At the door the suite dismounted. Mahommed however, kept his saddle
while surveying the gloomy exterior. Presently he bade:

"Let the runners and the heralds enter."

Hardly were they gone in, when he spoke to one of his pages: "Here, take
thou this, and give me my cimeter." And then, receiving the ruby-hilted
sword of Solomon in exchange for the mace of Ilderim, without more ado
he spurred his horse up the few broad stone steps, and into the
vestibule. Thence, the contemptuous impulse yet possessing him, he said
loudly: "The house is defiled with idolatrous images. Islam is in the
saddle."

In such manner--mounted, sword in hand, shield behind him--clad in
beautiful gold-washed chain mail, the very ideal of the immortal Emir
who won Jerusalem from the Crusaders, and restored it to Allah and the
Prophet--Mahommed made his first appearance in Sancta Sophia.

Astonishment seized him. He checked his horse. Slowly his gaze ranged
over the floor--up to the galleries--up--up to the swinging dome--in all
architecture nothing so nearly a self-depending sky.

"Here, take the sword--give me back my mace," he said.

And in a fit of enthusiasm, not seeing, not caring for the screaming
wretches under hoof, he rode forward, and, standing at full height in
his stirrups, shouted: "Idolatry be done! Down with the Trinity. Let
Christ give way for the last and greatest of the Prophets! To God the
one God, I dedicate this house!"

Therewith he dashed the mace against a pillar; and as the steel
rebounded, the pillar trembled. [Footnote: The guides, if good Moslems,
take great pleasure in showing tourists the considerable dent left by
this blow in the face of the pillar.]

"Now give me the sword again, and call Achmet, my muezzin--Achmet with
the flute in his throat."

The moods of Mahommed were swift going and coming. Riding out a few
steps, he again halted to give the floor a look. This time evidently the
house was not in his mind. The expression on his face became anxious. He
was searching for some one, and moved forward so slowly the people could
get out of his way, and his suite overtake him. At length he observed
the half-stripped altar in the apse, and went to it.

The colossal Christ on the ceiling peered down on him through the shades
beginning to faintly fill the whole west end.

Now he neared the brazen railing of the chancel--now he was at the
gate--his countenance changed--his eyes brightened--he had discovered
Count Corti. Swinging lightly from his saddle, he passed with steps of
glad impatience through the gateway.

Then to Count Corti came the most consuming trial of his adventurous
life.

The light was still strong enough to enable him to see across the
Church. Comprehending the flourish of the heralds, he saw the man on
horseback enter; and the mien, the pose in the saddle, the rider's whole
outward expose of spirit, informed him with such certainty as follows
long and familiar association, that Mahommed was come--Mahommed, his
ideal of romantic orientalism in arms. A tremor shook him--his cheek
whitened. To that moment anxiety for the Princess had held him so
entirely he had not once thought of the consequences of the wager lost;
now they were let loose upon him. Having saved her from the hordes, now
he must surrender her to a rival--now she was to go from him forever.
Verily it had been easier parting with his soul. He held to his cimeter
as men instantly slain sometimes keep grip on their weapons; yet his
head sunk upon his breast, and he saw nothing more of Mahommed until he
stood before him inside the chancel.

"Count Corti, where is"--

Mahommed caught sight of the Count's face.

"Oh, my poor Mirza!"

A volume of words could not have so delicately expressed sympathy as did
that altered tone.

Taking off his steel glove, the fitful Conqueror extended the bare hand,
and the Count, partially recalled to the situation by the gracious
offer, sunk to his knees, and carried the hand to his lips.

"I have kept the faith, my Lord," he said in Turkish, his voice scarcely
audible. "This is she behind me--upon the throne of her fathers. Receive
her from me, and let me depart."

"My poor Mirza! We left the decision to God, and he has decided. Arise,
and hear me now."

To the notables closing around, he said, imperiously: "Stand not back.
Come up, and hear me."

Stepping past the Count, then, he stood before the Princess. She arose
without removing her veil, and would have knelt; but Mahommed moved
nearer, and prevented her.

The training of the politest court in Europe was in her action, and the
suite looking on, used to slavishness in captives, and tearful humility
in women, he held her with amazement; nor could one of them have said
which most attracted him, her queenly composure or her simple grace.

"Suffer me, my Lord," she said to him; then to her attendants: "This is
Mahommed the Sultan. Let us pray him for honorable treatment."

Presently they were kneeling, and she would have joined them, but
Mahommed again interfered.

"Your hand, O Princess Irene! I wish to salute it."

Sometimes a wind blows out of the sky, and swinging the bell in the
cupola, starts it to ringing itself; so now, at sight of the only woman
he ever really loved overtaken by so many misfortunes, and actually
threatened by a rabble of howling slave-hunters, Mahommed's better
nature thrilled with pity and remorse, and it was only by an effort of
will he refrained from kneeling to her, and giving his passion tongue.
Nevertheless a kiss, though on the hand, can be made tell a tale of
love, and that was what the youthful Conqueror did.

"I pray next that you resume your seat," he continued. "It has pleased
God, O daughter of a Palaeologus, to leave you the head of the Greek
people; and as I have the terms of a treaty to submit of great concern
to them and you, it were more becoming did you hear me from a throne....
And first, in this presence, I declare you a free woman--free to go or
stay, to reject or to accept--for a treaty is impossible except to
sovereigns. If it be your pleasure to go, I pledge conveyance, whether
by sea or land, to you and yours--attendants, slaves, and property; nor
shall there be in any event a failure of moneys to keep you in the state
to which you have been used."

"For your grace, Lord Mahommed, I shall beseech Heaven to reward you."

"As the God of your faith is the God of mine, O Princess Irene, I shall
be grateful for your prayers.... In the next place, I entreat you to
abide here; and to this I am moved by regard for your happiness. The
conditions will be strange to you, and in your going about there will be
much to excite comparisons of the old with the new; but the Arabs had
once a wise man, El Hatim by name--you may have heard of him"--he cast a
quick look at the eyes behind the veil--"El Hatim, a poet, a warrior, a
physician, and he left a saying: 'Herbs for fevers, amulets for
mischances, and occupation for distempers of memory.' If it should be
that time proves powerless over your sorrows, I would bring employment
to its aid.... Heed me now right well. It pains me to think of
Constantinople without inhabitants or commerce, its splendors decaying,
its palaces given over to owls, its harbor void of ships, its churches
vacant except of spiders, its hills desolations to eyes afar on the sea.
If it become not once more the capital city of Europe and Asia, some one
shall have defeated the will of God; and I cannot endure that guilt or
the thought of it. 'Sins are many in kind and degree, differing as the
leaves and grasses differ,' says a dervish of my people; 'but for him
who stands wilfully in the eyes of the Most Merciful--for him only shall
there be no mercy in the Great Day.'... Yes, heed me right well--I am
not the enemy of the Greeks, O Princess Irene. Their power could not
agree with mine, and I made war upon it; but now that Heaven has decided
the issue, I wish to recall them. They will not listen to me. Though I
call loudly and often, they will remember the violence inflicted on them
in my name. Their restoration is a noble work in promise. Is there a
Greek of trust, and so truly a lover of his race, to help me make the
promise a deed done? The man is not; but thou, O Princess--thou art.
Behold the employment I offer you! I will commission you to bring them
home--even these sorrowful creatures going hence in bonds. Or do you not
love them so much?... Religion shall not hinder you. In the presence of
these, my ministers of state, I swear to divide houses of God with you;
half of them shall be Christian, the other half Moslem; arid neither
sect shall interfere with the other's worship. This I will seal,
reserving only this house, and that the Patriarch be chosen subject to
my approval. Or do you not love your religion so much?"....

During the discourse the Princess listened intently; now she would have
spoken, but he lifted his hand.

"Not yet, not yet! it is not well for you to answer now. I desire that
you have time to consider--and besides, I come to terms of more
immediate concern to you.... Here, in the presence of these witnesses,
O Princess Irene, I offer you honorable marriage."

Mahommed bowed very low at the conclusion of this proposal.

"And wishing the union in conscience agreeable to you, I undertake to
celebrate it according to Christian rite and Moslem. So shall you become
Queen of the Greeks--their intercessor--the restorer and protector of
their Church and worship--so shall you be placed in a way to serve God
purely and unselfishly; and if a thirst for glory has ever moved you, O
Princess, I present it to you a cupful larger than woman ever drank....
You may reside here or in Therapia, and keep your private chapel and
altar, and choose whom you will to serve them. And these things I will
also swear to and seal."

Again she would have interrupted him.

"No--bear with me for the once. I invoke your patience," he said. "In
the making of treaties, O Princess, one of the parties must first
propose terms; then it is for the other to accept or reject, and in turn
propose. And this"--he glanced hurriedly around--"this is no time nor
place for argument. Be content rather to return to your home in the city
or your country-house at Therapia. In three days, with your permission,
I will come for your answer; and whatever it be, I swear by Him who is
God of the world, it shall be respected.... When I come, will you
receive me?"

"The Lord Mahommed will be welcome."

"Where may I wait on you?"

"At Therapia," she answered.

Mahommed turned about then.

"Count Corti, go thou with the Princess Irene to Therapia. I know thou
wilt keep her safely.--And thou, Kalil, have a galley suitable for a
Queen of the Greeks made ready on the instant, and let there be no lack
of guards despatched with it, subject to the orders of Count Corti, for
the time once more Mirza the Emir.... O Princess, if I have been
peremptory, forgive me, and lend me thy hand again. I wish to salute
it."

Again she silently yielded to his request.

Kalil, seeing only politics in the scene, marched before the Princess
clearing the way, and directly she was out of the Church. At the
suggestion of the Count, sedan chairs were brought, and she and her
half-stupefied companions carried to a galley, arriving at Therapia
about the fourth hour after sunset.

Mahommed had indeed been imperious in the interview; but, as he
afterward explained to her, with many humble protestations, he had a
part to play before his ministers.

No sooner was she removed than he gave orders to clear the building of
people and idolatrous symbols; and while the work was in progress, he
made a tour of inspection going from the floor to the galleries. His
wonder and admiration were unbounded.

Passing along the right-hand gallery, he overtook a pilferer with a
tarbousche full of glass cubes picked from one of the mosaic pictures.

"Thou despicable!" he cried, in rage. "Knowest thou not that I have
devoted this house to Allah? Profane a Mosque, wilt thou?"

And he struck the wretch with the flat of his sword. Hastening then to
the chancel, he summoned Achmet, the muezzin.

"What is the hour?" he asked.

"It is the hour of the fourth prayer, my Lord."

"Ascend thou then to the highest turret of the house, and call the
Faithful to pious acknowledgment of the favors of God and his Prophet--
may their names be forever exalted."

Thus Sancta Sophia passed from Christ to Mahomet; and from that hour to
this Islam has had sway within its walls. Not once since have its echoes
been permitted to respond to a Christian prayer or a hymn to the Virgin.
Nor was this the first instance when, to adequately punish a people for
the debasement and perversions of his revelations, God, in righteous
anger, tolerated their destruction.

To-day there are two cities, lights once of the whole earth, under
curses so deeply graven in their remains--sites, walls, ruins--that
every man and woman visiting them should be brought to know why they
fell.

Alas, for Jerusalem!

Alas, for Constantinople!

POSTSCRIPTS.

In the morning of the third day after the fall of the city, a common
carrier galley drew alongside the marble quay in front of the Princess'
garden at Therapia, and landed a passenger--an old, decrepit man, cowled
and gowned like a monk. With tottering steps he passed the gate, and on
to the portico of the classic palace. Of Lysander, he asked: "Is the
Princess Irene here or in the city?"

"She is here."

"I am a Greek, tired and hungry. Will she see me?"

The ancient doorkeeper disappeared, but soon returned.

"She will see you. This way."

The stranger was ushered into the reception room. Standing before the
Princess, he threw back his cowl. She gazed at him a moment, then went
to him and, taking his hands, cried, her eyes streaming with tears:
"Father Hilarion! Now praised be God for sending you to me in this hour
of uncertainty and affliction!"

Needless saying the poor man's trials ended there, and that he never
again went cold, or hungry, or in want of a place to lay his head.

But this morning, after breaking fast, he was taken into council, and
the proposal of marriage being submitted to him, he asked first:

"What are thy inclinations, daughter?"

And she made unreserved confession.

The aged priest spread his hands paternally over her head, and, looking
upward, said solemnly: "I think I see the Great Designer's purpose. He
gave thee, O daughter, thy beauties of person and spirit, and raised
thee up out of unspeakable sorrows, that the religion of Christ should
not perish utterly in the East. Go forward in the way He has opened unto
thee. Only insist that Mahommed present himself at thy altar, and there
swear honorable dealing with thee as his wife, and to keep the treaty
proposed by him in spirit and letter. Doth he those things without
reservation, then fear not. The old Greek Church is not all we would
have it, but how much better it is than irreligion; and who can now say
what will happen once our people are returned to the city?"

       *       *       *       *       *

In the afternoon, a boat with one rower touched at the same marble quay,
and disembarked an Arab. His face was a dusty brown, and he wore an
_abba_ such as children of the Desert affect. His dark eyes were
wonderfully bright, and his bearing was high, as might be expected in
the Sheik of a tribe whose camels were thousands to the man, and who
dwelt in dowars with streets after the style of cities. On his right
forearm he carried a crescent-shaped harp of five strings, inlaid with
colored woods and mother of pearl.

"Does not the Princess Irene dwell here?" he asked.

Lysander, viewing him suspiciously, answered: "The Princess Irene dwells
here."

"Wilt thou tell her one Aboo-Obeidah is at the door with a blessing and
a story for her?"

The doorkeeper again disappeared, and, returning, answered, with evident
misgivings, "The Princess Irene prays you to come in."

Aboo-Obeidah tarried at the Therapian palace till night fell; and his
story was an old one then, but he contrived to make it new; even as at
this day, though four hundred and fifty years older than when he told it
to the Princess, women of white souls, like hers, still listen to it
with downcast eyes and flushing cheeks--the only story which Time has
kept and will forever keep fresh and persuasive as in the beginning'.

They were married in her chapel at Therapia, Father Hilarion
officiating. Thence, when the city was cleansed of its stains of war,
she went thither with Mahommed, and he proclaimed her his Sultana at a
feast lasting through many days.

And in due time he built for her the palace behind Point Demetrius, yet
known as the Seraglio. In other words, Mahommed the Sultan abided
faithfully by the vows Aboo-Obeidah made for him. [Footnote: The throne
of Mahommed was guarded by the numbers and fidelity of his Moslem
subjects; but his national policy aspired to collect the remnant of the
Greeks; and they returned in crowds as soon as they were assured of
their lives, their liberties, and the free exercise of their
religion.... The churches of Constantinople were shared between the two
religions. GIBBON. ]

And so, with ampler means, and encouraged by Mahommed, the Princess
Irene spent her life doing good, and earned the title by which she
became known amongst her countrymen--The Most Gracious Queen of the
Greeks.

Sergius never took orders formally. With the Sultana Irene and Father
Hilarion, he preferred the enjoyment and practice of the simple creed
preached by him in Sancta Sophia, though as between the Latins and the
orthodox Greeks he leaned to the former. The active agent dispensing the
charities of his imperial benefactress, he endeared himself to the
people of both religions. Ere long, he married Lael, and they lived
happily to old age.

       *       *       *       *       *

Nilo was found alive, and recovering, joined Count Corti.

       *       *       *       *       *

Count Corti retained the fraternal affection of Mahommed to the last.
The Conqueror strove to keep him. He first offered to send him
ambassador to John Sobieski; that being declined, he proposed promoting
him chief Aga of Janissaries, but the Count declared it his duty to
hasten to Italy, and devote himself to his mother. The Sultan finally
assenting, he took leave of the Princess Irene the day before her
marriage.

An officer of the court representing Mahommed conducted the Count to the
galley built in Venice. Upon mounting the deck he was met by the
Tripolitans, her crew, and Sheik Hadifah, with his fighting Berbers. He
was then informed that the vessel and all it contained belonged to him.

The passage was safely made. From Brindisi he rode to Castle Corti. To
his amazement, it was completely restored. Not so much as a trace of the
fire and pillage it had suffered was to be seen.

His reception by the Countess can be imagined. The proofs he brought
were sufficient with her, and she welcomed him with a joy heightened by
recollections of the years he had been lost to her, and the manifest
goodness of the Blessed Madonna in at last restoring him--the joy one
can suppose a Christian mother would show for a son returned to her, as
it were, from the grave.

The first transports of the meeting over, he reverted to the night he
saw her enter the chapel: "The Castle was then in ruins; how is it I now
find it rebuilt?"

"Did you not order the rebuilding?"

"I knew nothing of it."

Then the Countess told him a man had presented himself some months
prior, with a letter purporting to be from him, containing directions to
repair the Castle, and spare no expense in the work.

"Fortunately," she said, "the man is yet in Brindisi."

The Count lost no time in sending for the stranger, who presented him a
package sealed and enveloped in oriental style, only on the upper side
there was a _tughra_, or imperial seal, which he at once recognized
as Mahommed's. With eager fingers he took off the silken wraps, and
found a note in translation as follows:

"Mahommed the Sultan to Ugo, Count Corti, formerly Mirza the Emir.

"The wager we made, O my friend, who should have been the son of my
mother, is not yet decided, and as it is not given a mortal to know the
will of the Most Compassionate until he is pleased to expose it, I
cannot say what the end will be. Yet I love you, and have faith in you;
and wishing you to be so assured whether I win or lose, I send Mustapha
to your country in advance with proofs of your heirship, and to notify
the noble lady, your mother, that you are alive, and about returning to
her. Also, forasmuch as a Turk destroyed it, he is ordered to rebuild
your father's castle, and add to the estate all the adjacent lands he
can buy; for verily no Countship can be too rich for the Mirza who was
my brother. And these things he will do in your name, not mine. And when
it is done, if to your satisfaction, O Count, give him a statement that
he may come to me with evidence of his mission discharged.

"I commend you to the favor of the Compassionate.
MAHOMMED."

When the missive was read, Mustapha knelt to the Count, and saluted him.
Then he conducted him into the chapel of the castle, and going to the
altar, showed him an iron door, and said:

"My master, the Lord Mahommed, instructed me to deposit here certain
treasure with which he graciously intrusted me. Receive the key, I pray,
and search the vault, and view the contents, and, if it please you, give
me a certificate which will enable me to go back to my country, and live
there a faithful servant of my master, the Lord Mahommed--may he be
exalted as the Faithful are!"

Now when the Count came to inspect the contents of the vault he was
displeased; and seeing it, Mustapha proceeded:

"My master, the Lord Mahommed, anticipated that you might protest
against receiving the treasure; if so, I was to tell you it was to make
good in some measure the sums the noble lady your mother has paid in
searching for you, and in masses said for the repose of your father's
soul."

Corti could not do else than accept.

Finally, to complete the narrative, he never married. The reasonable
inference is, he never met a woman with graces sufficient to drive the
Princess Irene from his memory.

After the death of the Countess, his mother, he went up to Rome, and
crowned a long service as chief of the Papal Guard by dying of a wound
received in a moment of victory. Hadifah, the Berbers, and Nilo chose to
stay with him throughout. The Tripolitans were returned to their
country; after which the galley was presented to the Holy Father.

Once every year there came to the Count a special messenger from
Constantinople with souvenirs; sometimes a sword royally enriched,
sometimes a suit of rare armor, sometimes horses of El Hajez--these were
from Mahommed. Sometimes the gifts were precious relics, or illuminated
Scriptures, or rosaries, or crosses, or triptychs wonderfully executed--
so Irene the Sultana chose to remind him of her gratitude.

Syama wandered around Constantinople a few days after the fall of the
city, looking for his master, whom he refused to believe dead. Lael
offered him asylum for life. Suddenly he disappeared, and was never seen
or heard of more. It may be presumed, we think, that the Prince of India
succeeded in convincing him of his identity, and took him to other parts
of the world--possibly back to Cipango.

THE END.





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