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Project Gutenberg's The Prince of India, Volume II, by Lew. Wallace

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Title: The Prince of India, Volume II
       or, Why Constantinople Fell

Author: Lew. Wallace

Posting Date: March 14, 2014 [EBook #6849]
Release Date: November, 2004
First Posted: February 1, 2003

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

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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 be 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 be 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 be 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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