"Si fractus illabatur orbis, impavidum ferient ruinæ!"
Mustafa puzzled his brains considerably when he came to that part of the letter containing the verse which had nothing to do with the text, which the Minister, under the influence of an iron will struggling against terror, had written there almost involuntarily.
When the menacing peril had passed, and the pages had returned to the palace, he turned to them reproachfully with the sealed letter in his hand.
"Where have you been? Not one of you can be found when you are wanted. Take this letter at once, with an escort of two mounted drabants, to Varna, for the Grand Vizier."
And then he began to walk up and down the room as if nothing had happened.
In the most secret chamber of the Diván were assembled the Viziers for an important consultation. The impending war was the subject of their grave deliberations. For as Mohammed had said, there ought to be one God in Heaven and one Lord on earth, so many of the Faithful believed that the time for the accomplishment of this axiom had now arrived.
Those wise men of the empire, those honourable counsellors, Kucsuk and Kiuprile, were dead. Kara Mustafa, an arrogant, self-confidant man, directed the mind of the Diván, and everyone followed his lead.
The Sultan himself was present, a handsome man with regular features, but with an expression of lassitude and exhaustion. During the whole consultation he never uttered a word nor moved a muscle of his face; he sat there like a corpse.
One by one the ambassadors of the Foreign Powers were admitted. The orator of Louis XIV. declared that the French King was about to attack the Kaiser with all his forces; if the Sultan would also rise up against him, he would be able to seize not only all Hungary but Vienna likewise.
The Sultan was silent. The Grand Vizier, answering for him, replied that Hungary had long since belonged to the Sultan, and no doubt Vienna and Poland would shortly share the same fate. The Sultan could only suffer tributary kings on the earth.
The ambassador drew a somewhat wry face at these words, reflecting that France also was on the earth; then he withdrew.
After him came the envoys of Emeric Tököly, offering the blood and the swords of the Hungarian malcontents to the Sultan if he would help them to win back Hungary.
This time the Sultan replied instead of Mustafa.
"The Grand Seignior greets his servants, and will be gracious to them if they will help him to win back Hungary."
The envoys noticed that their words had ingeniously been twisted, but as they also had their own arrière-pensées in regard to the Turks, they only looked at each other with a smile and withdrew.
Then came the Transylvanian embassy—gentle, mild-looking men, whose orator delivered an extraordinarily florid discourse. His Highness, Michael Apafi, they said, and all the estates of Transylvania, were ready to draw their swords for the glory of the Grand Seignior and invade Hungary.
Mustafa replied:
"The Grand Seignior permits you to help your comrades in Hungary."
The orator would like to have heard something different—for example, that the crown of Hungary was reserved for Michael Apafi, the dignity of Palatine for Teleki, etc., etc., and there he stood scratching his ear till the Grand Vizier told him he might go.
Ha, ha! the Turkish policy was written in Turkish.
After the foreign envoys came the messengers from the various pashas and commandants in Hungary, who brought terrible tidings of raids, incursions, and outrages on the part of the Magyar population against the Turks. The Grand Vizier exclaimed angrily at every fresh report, only the Sultan was silent. Last of all came the ulemas.
On their decisions everything depended.
Very solemnly they appeared before the Diván. First of all advanced the Chief Mufti in a long mantle reaching to his heels, and with a large beehive-shaped hat upon his head; his white beard reached to his girdle. After him came two imams, one of whom carried a large document in a velvet case, whose pendant seal swung to and fro beneath its long golden cord; the other bent beneath the weight of an enormous book—it was the Alkoran.
The Alkoran is a very nice large book, larger than our corpus juris of former days, and in it may be found everything which everyone requires: accusatory, condemnatory, and absolvatory texts for one and the same thing.
The Mufti presented the Alkoran to the Sultan and all the Viziers in turn, and each one of them kissed it with deep reverence; then he beckoned to one of the imams to kneel down on a stool before the Diván and remain there resting on his hands and knees, and placing the Koran on his back, began to select expressly marked texts.
For seventy years he had thoroughly studied the sacred volume, and could say that he had read it through seven hundred and ninety-three times. He, therefore, knew all its secrets, and could turn at once to the leaf on which the text he wanted to read aloud could be found.
"The Alkoran saith," he read with unctuous devotion, "'the knot which hath been tied in the name of Allah the hand of Allah can unloose!' The Alkoran saith moreover: 'Wherever we may be, and whatever we may be, everywhere we are all of us in the hand of Allah.' Therefore this treaty of peace is also in the hand of Allah, and the hand of Allah can unloose everything. Furthermore, the Alkoran saith: 'If any among thy suffering father's children implore help from thee, answer him not: come to me to-morrow, for my vow forbids me to rise up to-day; or, if any ask an alms of thee answer him not: to-day it cannot be, for my vow forbids me to touch money; or, if anyone beg thee to slay someone, answer him not: to-morrow I will help thee, for my vow forbids me to draw the sword to-day; verily the observance of thy vow will be a greater sin to thee than its violation.' Moreover, thus saith the Alkoran: 'The happiness of the nations is the first duty of the rulers of the earth, yet the glory of Allah comes before it.' And finally it is written: 'Whoso formeth a league with the infidel bindeth himself to wage war upon Allah, yet vainly do the nations of the earth bind themselves together that they may live long, for let Allah send his breath upon them and more of them are destroyed in one day than in ten years of warfare: kings and beggars—it is all one.'"
At each fresh sentence the viziers and the ulemas bowed their heads to the ground. Mustafa could not restrain a blood-thirsty smile, which distorted his face more and more at each fresh sentence, and at the last word, with a fanatical outburst, he threw off the mask altogether, and with a howl of joy kissed repeatedly the hem of the Chief Mufti's mantle.
The Mufti then unclasped the velvet case which contained the treaty of peace, and drawing forth the parchment, which was folded fourfold, he unfolded it with great ceremony, and placing it in the hands of the second imam that he might hold it spread open at both ends, he exhibited the document to the viziers.
It was a long and beautiful script. The initial letter was as big as a painted castle and wreathed around with a pattern of birds and flowers. The whole of the first line of it was in ultramarine letters, the other lines much smaller on a gradually diminishing scale, and whenever the name of Allah occurred, it was written in letters of gold. The Sultan's name was always in red, the Kaiser's in bright green letters. At the foot of it was the fantastic flourish which passed for the Sultan's signature, which he would never have been able to write, but which was always engraved on the signet ring which he wore on his finger.
"Lo! here is the treaty," said the Mufti, pointing to the document, "from which, by the command of Allah, I will now wash off the writing."
Thereupon he drew across the document a large brush which he had previously dipped into a large basin of water in which sundry chemicals had been dissolved, and suddenly the writing began to fade away, the Sultan's name written in red letters disappeared instantly from the parchment, then the lines written in black ink visibly grew dimmer. The Kaiser's name written in bright green letters resisted more obstinately, but at last these also vanished utterly, and nothing more remained on the white parchment but the name of God written in letters of gold—the corrosive acid was powerless against that.
Deep silence prevailed in the Diván, every eye was fixed with pious attention on the bleaching script.
Then, seizing a drawn sword, the Mufti raised it aloft and said:
"Having wiped away the writing which cast dishonour on the name of Allah, I now cut this document in four pieces with the point of my sword."
And speaking thus, and while the imam stretched the parchment out with both hands, the Mufti cut it into four pieces with the sword he held in his hand, and placing the fragments in a pan, filled it up with naptha from a little crystal flask.
"Lo! now I burn thee before the face of Allah!"
Then he passed an ignited wax taper over the pan, whereupon the naptha instantly burst into flame, and the fragments of the torn document were hidden by the blue fire and the white smoke. Presently the flame turned to red, the smoke subsided, and the parchment was burnt to ashes.
"And now I scatter thy ashes that thou mayst be dispersed to nothing," said the Mufti; and, taking the ashes, he flung them out of the palace window. The burnt paper rags, like black butterflies, descended gently through the air and were cast by the wind into the Bosphorus below.
No sooner was this accomplished than the pashas and viziers all leaped from their seats and drew their swords, swearing with great enthusiasm by the beard of the Prophet that they would not return their weapons to their sheaths till the crescent should shine on the top of the tower of the Church of St. Stephen at Vienna.
At that moment the door-curtains were thrust aside, and into the Diván rushed—Feriz Beg.
The face of the youth was scarce recognisable, his turban was awry upon his forehead, his eyes, full of dull melancholy, stared stonily in front of him, his dress was untidy and dishevelled, his sword was girded to his side, but its handle was broken. Nobody had prevented him from rushing through the numerous halls into the Diván, and when he entered the ulemas parted before him in holy horror. When the youth reached the middle of the room, he stood there glancing round upon the viziers with folded arms, just as if he were counting how many of them there were, one by one they all stood up before him—nay, even the Sultan did so, and awaited his words tremblingly.
Everyone in the East regards the insane with awe and reverence, and if a crazy fakir were to stop the greatest of the Caliphs in the way and say to him: "Dismount from thy horse, and change garments with me," he would not dare to offer any opposition, but would fulfil his desire, for a strange spirit is in the man and God has sent it.
How will it be then when the terrible spirit of madness descends upon such a valiant warrior, such a distinguished soldier as Feriz Beg, who, when only six-and-twenty, had fought a hundred triumphant battles, and frequently put to shame the grey beards with his wisdom. And lo! suddenly he goes mad, and stops people in the street, and speaks such words of terror to them that they cannot sleep after it.
The youth, with quiet, gentle eyes and a sorrowful countenance passes in review the faces of all who are present, and heartrending was the expression of deep unutterable anguish in his voice when he spoke.
"Pardon me, high and mighty lords, for appearing among you without an invitation—I who have now no business at all in the world anywhere. The world in which I lived is dead, it has withdrawn to Heaven far from me; all those who possessed my heart are now high above my head, and now, I have no heart and no feeling: neither love, nor valour, nor the desire of fame and glory; in my veins the blood flows backwards and forwards so that oftentimes I rush roaring against the walls round about me and tear carpets and pillows which have never offended me; and now again the blood stands still within me, my arteries do not beat at all, so that I lie stiff and staring like a dead man. I beg you all, ye high and mighty lords, who in a brief time will go to Paradise, to take a message from me thither."
The high lords listened horror-stricken to the calm way in which the youth uttered these words, and they saw each other's faces growing pale.
Feriz paid no attention to their horrified expressions.
"Tell to them whom I love, and with whom my heart is, to give me back my heart, for without it I am very poor. I perceive not the fragrance of the rose, wine is not sweet to my lips, neither fire nor the rays of the sun have any warmth, and the note of the bugle-horn and the neighing of my charger find no response in me. High and mighty lords, tell this to those who are above if I myself go not thither shortly."
There were present, besides Mustafa, Rezlán Pasha, Ajas Beg, Rifát Aga, Kara Ogli the Kapudan Pasha, and many more who promised themselves a long life.
The Grand Seignior had always made a particular favourite of Feriz, and he now addressed him in a gentle, fatherly voice.
"My dear son, go back home; my viziers are preparing to subdue the world with unconquerable armies. Go with them, in the din of battle thou wilt find again thy heroic heart and be cured of thy sickness."
An extraordinary smile passed across the face of Feriz, he waved aside the idea with his hand and bent his head forwards, which is a way the Turks have of expressing decided negation.
"This war cannot be a triumphant war, for men are the cause thereof. Allah will bring it to nought. Ye draw the sword at the invitation of murderers, deceivers, and traitors. I have broken the hilt of my own sword in order that I may not draw it forth. They have killed those whom I love, how can I fight in that army which was formed for them who were the occasion of the ruin of my beloved?"
At this thought the blood flew to the youth's face, the spirit of madness flamed up in his eyes, he rose to his full height before the Sultan, and he cried with a loud, audacious voice:
"Thou wilt lose the war for which thou dost now prepare, for thy viziers are incapable, thy soldiers are cowards, thy allies are traitors, thy wise men are fools, thy priests are hypocrites, and thou thyself art an oath-breaker."
Then, as if he were suddenly sorry of what he had said to the Sultan, he bent humbly over him and taking hold of the edge of his garment raised it up and kissed it—and then, regarding him with genuine sympathy, murmured softly:
"Poor Sultan!—so young, so young—and yet thou must die."
And thereupon, with hanging head, he turned away and prepared to go out. None stayed him.
On reaching the door, he fumbled for his sword, and perceiving when he touched it that the hilt was missing, he suddenly turned back again, and exclaimed in a low whisper:
"Think not that it will rust in its sheath. The time will come when I shall again draw it, and it will drink its fill of blood. When those who now urge us on to war shall turn against us, when those who now stand in line with us shall face us with hostile banners, then also will I return, though then ye will no longer be present. But ye shall look on from Paradise above. So it will be: ye shall look on ... Poor young Sultan!"
Having whispered these prophetic words, the mad youth withdrew, and the gentlemen in the Diván were so much disturbed by his words that, with faces bent to the earth, they prayed Allah that He would turn aside from them the evil prophesy and not suffer to be broken asunder the weapons they had drawn for the increase of His glory.
All the chief generals, all the border pashas, had received the Sultan's orders to gather their hosts together and lead them against the armies of the King of the Romans, and besiege the places which were the pretext of the rupture—to wit, the fortresses of Fülek, Böszörmény, and Nagy Kallá.
At the same time the Government of Transylvania also received permission to attack Hungary with its armies, as had already been decided at the Diet of Szamosújvár.
Vast preparations were everywhere made. The Magyar race is very hard to move to war, but once in a quarrel it does not waste very much time in splitting straws.
Teleki, too, had attained at last to the dream of his life and the object of all his endeavours, for which he had knowingly sacrificed his own peace of mind, and the lives of so many good patriots—he was the generalissimo of the armies of Transylvania.
The Hungarian exiles in Transylvania hailed him as their deliverer, and he saw himself a good big step nearer to the place of Esterházy—the place of Palatine of Hungary. And why not? Why should he not stand among the foremost statesmen of his age?
All the way to the camp at Fülek he was the object of flattery and congratulation; the Hungarians gathered in troops beneath his banner, colonels and captains belauded him. As for the worthy Prince, he did not show himself at all, but sat in his tent and read his books, and when he felt tired he took his watch to pieces and put it together again.
At Fülek the Transylvanian army joined the camp of Kara Mustafa.
Teleki dressed up the Prince in his best robes, and trotted with him and his suite to the tent of the Grand Vizier with growing pride when he heard the guards blow their trumpets at their approach, and the Grand Vizier as a special favour admitted them straightway to his presence, allowed them to kiss his hand, made the magnates sit down, and praised them for their zeal and fidelity, giving each of them a new caftan; and when they were thus nicely tricked out, he dismissed them with an escort of an aga, a dragoman, and twelve cavasses to see the whole Turkish camp to their hearts' content.
Teleki regarded this permission as a very good omen. Turkish generals are wont to be very sensitive on this point, and it is a great favour on their part when they allow foreigners to view their camps.
The dragoman took the Hungarian gentlemen everywhere. He told them which aga was encamped on this hill and which on that, how many soldiers made up a squadron of horse, and how many guns, and how many lances were in every company. He pointed out to them the long pavilion made of deal boards in which the gunpowder lay in big heaps, and gigantic cannon balls were piled up into pyramids, and round mortars covered with pitchy cloths, and gigantic culverines, and siege-guns, and iron howitzers lay on wooden rollers. The accumulated war material would have sufficed for the conquest of the world.
The gentlemen sightseers returned to their tents with the utmost satisfaction, and, overjoyed at what he had seen, the Prince gave a great banquet, to which all the Hungarian gentlemen in his army were also invited. The tables were placed beneath a quickly-improvised baldachin; and at the end of an excellent dinner the noble feasters began to make merry, everyone at length saw his long-deferred hopes on the point of fulfilment, and none more so than Michael Teleki.
One toast followed another, and the healths of the Prince and of Teleki were interwoven with the healths of everyone else present, so that worthy Apafi began to think that it would really be a very good thing if he were King of Hungary, while Teleki held his head as high as if he were already sitting in the seat of the Palatine.
Just when the revellers were at their merriest, a loud burst of martial music resounded from the plain outside, and a great din was audible as if the Turkish armies were saluting a Prince who had just arrived.
The merry gentry at once leaped from their seats and hurried to the entrance of the tent to see the ally who was received with such rejoicing, and a cry of amazement and consternation burst from their lips at the spectacle which met their eyes.
Emeric Tököly had arrived at the head of a host of ten thousand Magyars from Upper Hungary. His army consisted of splendid picked warriors on horseback, hussars in gold-braided dolmans, wolf-skin pelisses, and shakos with falcon feathers. Tököly himself rode at the head of his host with princely pomp; his escort consisted of the first magnates of Hungary, jewel-bedizened cavaliers in fur mantles trimmed with swansdown, among whom Tököly himself was only conspicuous by his manly beauty and princely distinction.
The face of Teleki darkened at the sight, while the faces of all who surrounded him were suddenly illuminated by an indescribable joy, and their enthusiasm burst forth in eljens of such penetrating enthusiasm at the sight of the young hero that Teleki felt himself near to fainting.
Ah! it was in a very different voice that they had recently cried "Viva!" to him, it was a very different sort of smile with which they had been wont to greet him.
Meanwhile Tököly had reached the front of the marshalled Turkish army, which was drawn up in two rows right up to the pavilion of the Grand Vizier, allowing the youth and his suite to pass through between them amidst a ceremonious abasement of their horse-tail banners. The young general had only passed half through their ranks when the Grand Vizier came to meet him in a state carriage drawn by six white horses.
From the hill on which Teleki stood he could see everything quite plainly.
On reaching the carriage of the Grand Vizier, Tököly leaped quickly from his horse, whereupon Kara Mustafa also descended from his carriage, and, hastening to the young general, embraced him and kissed him repeatedly on the forehead, made him take a seat in the carriage beside him, and thus conveyed him to his tent amidst joyful acclamations.
Teleki had to look on at all this! That was very different from the reception accorded to him and the Prince of Transylvania.
He looked around him—gladness, a radiant smile shone on every face. Oh! those smiles were so many dagger-thrusts in his heart!
In half an hour's time Tököly emerged from the tent of the Grand Vizier. His head was encircled by a diamond diadem which the Sultan had sent for all the way to Belgrade, and in his hand was a princely sceptre. When he remounted and galloped away close beside the tents of the Transylvanians, the Hungarians in Teleki's company could restrain themselves no longer, but rushed towards Tököly and covered his hands, his feet, his garments, with kisses, took him from his horse on to their shoulders, and carried him in their arms back to camp.
Teleki could endure the sight no more; he fled into his tent, and, throwing himself on his camp-bedstead, wept like a child.
The whole edifice which he had reared so industriously, so doggedly, amidst innumerable perils, during the arduous course of a long life—for which he had sacrificed relations, friends, and all the great and wise men of a kingdom, and pledged away the repose of his very soul—had suddenly collapsed at the appearance of a mere youth, whose only merit was the exaggerated fame of a few successful engagements! It was the heaviest blow he had ever staggered under. Oh! Fortune is indeed ingenious in her disappointments.
Evening came, and still Teleki had not quitted his tent. Then the Prince went to see him. Teleki wanted to hear nothing, but the Prince told him everything.
"Hearken, Mr. Michael Teleki! The Hungarian gentlemen have not come back to us, but remain with Tököly. And Tököly also, it appears, doesn't want to have much to do with us, for instead of encamping with us he has withdrawn to the furthest end of the Turkish army, and has pitched his tents there."
Teleki groaned beneath the pain which the distilled venom of these words poured into his heart.
"Apparently, Mr. Michael Teleki, we have been building castles in the air," continued Apafi with jovial frankness. "We are evidently not of the stuff of which Kings and Palatines of Hungary are made. I cannot but think of the cat in the fable, who pulled the chestnuts out of the fire with the claws of others."
Teleki shivered as if with an ague.
Apafi continued in his own peculiar vein of cynicism: "Really, my dear Mr. Michael Teleki, I should like it much better if we were sitting at home, and Denis Banfy and Paul Béldi and the other wise gentlemen were sitting beside me, and I were listening to what they might advise."
Teleki clenched his fists and stamped his feet, as much as to say: "I would not allow that."
Then with a bitter smile he watched the Prince as he paced up and down the tent, and said with a cold, metallic voice:
"One swallow does not make a summer. If ten or twelve worthless fellows desert to Tököly, much good may it do him! The army of the real Hungarian heroes will not follow their example, and when it can fight beneath the banner of a Prince it will not fling itself into the arms of a homeless adventurer."
"Then it would be as well if your Excellency spoke to them at once, for methinks that this night the whole lot of them may turn tail."
Teleki seemed impressed by these words. He immediately ordered his drabants to go to the captains of the army collected from Hungary who had joined Apafi at Fülek, and invite them to a conference in his tent at once.
The officers so summoned, with a good deal of humming and hahing, met together in Teleki's tent, and there the Minister harangued them for two good hours, proving to demonstration what a lot of good they might expect from cleaving to Apafi, and what a lot of evil if they allowed themselves to be deluded by Tököly, till the poor fellows were quite tired out and cried: "Hurrah!" in order that he might let them go the sooner.
But that same night they all fled to the camp of Tököly. None remained with Apafi but his faithful Transylvanians.
But even now Teleki could not familiarise himself with the idea of playing a subordinate part here, but staked everything on a last, desperate cast—he went to the Grand Vizier. He announced himself, and was admitted.
The Grand Vizier was alone in his tent with his dragoman, and when he saw Teleki he tried to make his unpleasant face more repulsive than it was by nature, and inquired very viciously: "Who art thou? Who sent thee hither? What dost thou want?"
"I, sir, am the general of the Transylvanian armies, Michael Teleki; you know me very well, only yesterday I was here with the Prince."
Just as if the two speakers did not understand each other's language, the dragoman had to interpret their questions and answers.
"I hope," replied the Grand Vizier, "thou dost not expect me to recognise at sight the names of all the petty princes and generals whom I have ever cast eyes on? My master, the mighty Sultan, has so many tributary princes in Europe, Asia, and Africa, that their numbers are incalculable, and all of them are superior men to thee, how canst thou expect me to recognise thee among so many?"
Teleki swallowed the insult, and seeing that the Grand Vizier was anxious to pick a quarrel with him, he came straight to the point.
"Gracious sir, I have something very important to say to you if you will grant me a private interview."
The Grand Vizier pretended to fly into a rage at these words.
"Art thou mad or drunk that thou wouldst have a private interview with me, although I don't understand Hungarian and thou dost not understand Turkish, or perchance thou wouldst like me to learn Hungarian to please thee? Ye learn Latin, I suppose, though no living being speaks it? And ye learn German and French and Greek, yet ye stop short at the language of the Turks, though the Turks are your masters and protectors! For a hundred and fifty years our armies have passed through your territories, yet how many of you have learned Turkish? 'Tis true our soldiers have learnt Hungarian, for thy language is as sticky as resin on a growing tree. Therefore, if thou art fool enough to ask me for a private interview—go home and learn Turkish first!"
Teleki bowed low, went home and learnt Turkish—that is to say, he packed up a couple of thousand thalers in a sack—and, accompanied by two porters to carry them, returned once more to the tent of the Grand Vizier.
And now the Grand Vizier understood everything which the magnate wished to say. The dragoman interpreted everything beautifully. He said the Sultan was building a fortress on the ice when he entrusted the fate of the Hungarians to such a flighty youth as Emeric Tököly. How could a young man, who was such a bad manager of his own property, manage the affairs of a whole kingdom? And so fond was he of being his own master, that he suffered himself to be exiled from Transylvania with the loss of all his property rather than submit to the will of his lawful Prince. The man who had already rebelled against two rulers would certainly not be very loyal to a third; while Apafi, on the other hand, had all his life long been a most faithful vassal of the Sublime Porte, and, modest, humble man as he was, would be far more useful than Tököly, whom the Porte would always be obliged to help with men and money, whereas the latter would always be able to help with men and money the Porte and its meritorious viziers—uti figura docet.
Mustafa listened to the long oration, took the money, and replied that he would see what could be done.
Teleki was not quite clear about the impression his words had made, but he did not remain in uncertainty for long; for scarcely had he reached the tent of the Prince than a defterdar with twelve cavasses came after him, and signified that he was commanded by the Grand Vizier immediately to seize Michael Teleki, fling him into irons, and bring him before a council of pashas.
Michael Teleki turned pale at these words. The faithless dragoman had told everything to Tököly, who had demanded satisfaction from the Grand Vizier, who, without the least scruple of conscience, was now ready to present to another the head of the very man from whom he had accepted presents only an hour before.
The magnate now gave himself up for lost, but the Prince approached him, and tapping him on the shoulder, said:
"If I were the man your Excellency is pleased to believe me and make other people believe too—that is to say, a coward yielding to every sort of compulsion—in an hour's time your Excellency would not have a head remaining on your shoulders. But everyone shall see that they have been deceived in me."
Then, turning towards the defterdar, he said to him in a firm, determined voice:
"Go back to your master, and say to him that Michael Teleki is the generalissimo of my armies and under my protection, and at the present moment I have him in my tent. Let anyone therefore who has any complaint against him, notify the same to me, and I will sit in judgment over him. But let none dare to lay a hand upon him within the walls of my tent, for I swear by the most Holy Trinity that I will break open the head of any such person with my cudgel. I would be ready to go over to the enemy with my whole army at once rather than permit so much as a mouse belonging to my household to be caught within my tent by a foreign cat, let alone the disgrace of handing over my generalissimo!"
The defterdar duly delivered the message of the enraged Prince to the Grand Vizier. Emeric Tököly was with him at the time, and the two gentlemen on hearing the vigorous assertion of the Prince agreed that after all Michael Apafi was really a very worthy man, and sending back the defterdar, instructed him to say with the utmost politeness and all due regard for the Prince that so long as Michael Teleki remained in the Prince's tent not a hair of his head should be crumpled; but he was to look to it that he did not step out of the tent, for in that case the cavasses who were looking out for him would pounce upon him at once and treat him as never a Transylvanian generalissimo was treated before; and now, too, he had only the Prince to thank for his life.
Teleki was annihilated. Nothing could have wounded his ambitious soul so deeply as the consciousness that the Prince was protecting him. To think that this man, whom the whole kingdom regarded as cowardly and incapable, could be great when he himself had suddenly become so very small! His nimbus of wisdom, power, and valour had vanished, and he saw that the man whom he had only consulted for the sake of obtaining his signature to prearranged plans was wiser and more powerful and more valiant than he.
Peering through the folds of the tent he could see that, faithful to the threatening message, the cavasses were prowling around the tent and telling the loutish soldiers that if Teleki stepped out they would seize him forthwith. The Szeklers laughed and shouted with joy thereat.
Then the magnate began to reflect whether it would not be best if he drew his sword, and rushing out, slash away at them till he himself were cut to pieces.
What a ridiculous ending that would be!
Towards evening Emeric Tököly paid a visit to the Prince. He approached the old man with the respect of a child, did obeisance, and would have kissed his hand, but Apafi would not permit it, but embraced him, kissed him on the forehead repeatedly, and made him sit down beside him on the bear-skin of his camp-bed.
The young leader feelingly begged the old man's pardon for all the trouble that he had caused him and Transylvania.
"It is I who ought to beg pardon of your Excellency," said Apafi in a submissive voice.
"Not at all, your Highness and dear Father. I know that you have always loved me, but evil counsellors have whispered such scandalous things to you about me that you were bound to hate me—but God requite them for it if I cannot."
"Be magnanimous towards them, my dear son; forgive them, for my sake."
Tököly was silent. He knew that Teleki was in the tent, he saw him, but he would not take any notice of him. At last, without even looking towards him, he said, in the most passionate, threatening voice:
"Look, ye, Teleki, you have practised all sorts of devices against me, but if you put your nose outside the tent of the Prince you will eat his bread no more. You would be in my power now, and here your head would lie, but for his Highness whom I look upon as a father."
Michael Teleki was silent, but future events were to prove that he had heard very well what was now spoken.
After surrendering the fortress of Fülek to the Turks, the Transylvanian gentlemen returned home with their army; and Michael Teleki, when he got home, paid a visit to the church where lay the ashes of Denis Banfy, and hiding his face on the tomb, he wept bitterly over the noble patriot whom he had sacrificed to his ambitious plans.
One blow followed hard upon another.
In the following year the Sultan assembled a formidable host against Vienna, and the Transylvanian bands also had to go. Teleki would have avoided the war, but his representations and pretexts fell not upon listening ears. They asked him why he, who had hitherto urged on the campaign, wanted to withdraw from it now that it was in full swing? If he had liked the beginning, the end also should please him.
But the end was exceedingly bitter.
The formidable host surrounding Vienna was scattered in a single night by the heroic sword of Sobieski, the gigantic military enterprise was ruined.
The Transylvanian forces took no part in these operations. During the siege of Vienna they had been left at Raab, and Teleki did not let the opportunity pass. While the stupid Turks were fighting in the trenches, he entered into communication with the German commander at Raab and attached himself to the winning side.
Everything which the insane Feriz had prophesied in the Diván was literally fulfilled.
The Turkish armies were everywhere routed. They lost the fortresses of Grand Visegrad and Érsekújvár one after the other. The fortress of Nograd was struck by lightning, which fired the powder-magazine and blew up the garrison. Finally Buda was besieged and captured in the sight of the Grand Vizier, and after a domination of one hundred and fifty years, the half-moons were hauled down from the bastions and crosses re-occupied their places.
And all those who were present at the Diván fulfilled, one by one, the prophecy that they should see Paradise before long.
Rislán Pasha fell beneath the walls of Buda at the head of the Janissaries, the Vizier of Buda was throttled by order of Kara Mustafa after the battle was lost, Rifa Aga was drowned in the Danube among the fugitives, Kara Ogli fell defending the ramparts of Buda, Tököly killed Ajas Pasha at the Sultan's command; and, after the fall of Buda, Olaj Beg brought to Kara Mustafa for his own use the silken cord and the purple purse. It was the last purse which Kara Mustafa ever saw, for after his decapitation his head was put inside it.
And, finally, the people of Stambul, maddened by so many losses and reinforced by the rebellious Janissaries, rushed upon the Seraglio, cut down the counsellors of the Sultan, and threw the Sultan himself into the same dungeon in which he had let his own brother languish for thirty-nine years. The brother was now set on the throne, and the dethroned Sultan died in the dungeon.
And this also was fulfilled that those who had stirred up the Turks to begin the war turned against them at the end of it. Transylvania deposited its oath of homage in the hands of Caraffa, and Michael Teleki, who became a Count of the Holy Roman Empire, opened the gates of the towns and fortresses to German garrisons. The Prince paid the victors thirteen thousand florins, which it took heavy wagons two weeks to convey from Fogaras to Nagyszeben. But Michael Teleki, in addition to his countly escutcheon, got a present of a silver table service which cost ten thousand florins. So Transylvania became imperial territory, and its alliance with the Porte was dissolved.
And then it was that God called to Himself the last lovable figure in our history, the virtuous and magnanimous Anna Bornemissza.
Only after her death did Apafi feel what his wife had been to him, his guardian-angel, his consoler in all his sorrows, the brightest part of his life, and when that light set, everything around him was doubly dark. Every misfortune, every trouble, now weighed doubly heavy on his mind and heart; he had no longer any refuge against persecuting sorrow. He fled from one town to another like a hunted wild beast which can find no refuge from the dart which transfixes it. At last he barricaded himself in his room, which he did not quit for six weeks; and if visitors came to see him he complained to them like a child:
"I am starving to death. I have lost everything. It is a year since I got a farthing from my estates or my mines or my salt-works. If the farrier comes I cannot pay him his bill for my mantle, for I haven't got a stiver. What will become of my son when I am gone, poor little Prince? There's not enough to send him to school."
He began to get quite crazy, and could neither eat, drink, nor sleep. The whole day he would stride up and down his room, and utter strange things in a loud voice. What troubled him most was that he must die of hunger.
At last those about him hit upon a remedy. Every day they laid purses of money before him and said: "This sum Stephen Apor has sent from your property, and that amount Paul Inezedi has collected from your salt-works. Why should your Highness be anxious when there is such lots of money?"
And the next day they presented the same purses to him over again, and invented some fresh story. And this simple deceit somewhat pacified the poor old man, but the old worries had so affected his mind, never very strong at any time, that he could never recover his former spirits. He grew duller and more stupid every day, and often when he lay down he would sleep a couple of days at a stretch.
And at last the Almighty had mercy upon him and called him away from this vale of tears; and he went to that land where the Turks plunder not, and there is no warfare.
The German armies were now in complete possession of Transylvania, the Turks were everywhere driven back and trampled down, the hereditary Prince of Bavaria took Belgrade by storm and put twelve thousand Janissaries to the edge of the sword. Thus the gate of the Turkish Empire was broken open, and the victoriously advancing host, under the Prince of Baden, crushed the remains of the Turkish army at Nish. Then Bulgaria and Albania were subjugated, the sea shore was reached, and only the Hæmus Mountains stood between the invaders and Stambul.
The deluge left nothing untouched, even little Wallachia, whose fortunate situation, wild mountains, and villainous roads had hitherto saved it from invasion, saw the approach of the conquering banners.
Old S—— was still the Prince, and he now gave a brilliant example of the dexterity of Wallachian diplomacy, which at the same time illustrates the simplicity of his character.
The armies invading Wallachia were entrusted to the care of General Heissler, who consequently wrote to Prince S—— informing him that he was advancing on Bucharest through the Transylvanian Alps with ten thousand men, therefore he was to provide winter quarters and provisions for his army, as he intended to winter there.
At exactly the same time the Tartar Khan gave the Prince to understand that he intended to invade Moldavia in order that he might follow the movements of the Transylvanian army close at hand.
The Prince liked the one proposition as little as the other, so he sent the Tartar Khan's letter to General Heissler bidding him beware, as a great force was coming against him, and he sent Heissler's letter to the Tartar Khan advising him in a friendly sort of way not to move too far as Heissler was now advancing in his rear.
Consequently both armies turned aside from the Principality, and Wallachia had to support neither the Germans nor the Tartars.
This is the diplomacy of little states.
Amidst the wildly romantic hills of Lebanon is a pleasant valley for which Nature herself has a peculiar preference. Amidst the gigantic mountains which encircle a vast hollow on every side of it, rises a roundish mound. On level ground it would be accounted a hill, but in the midst of such a range of snowy giants it emerges only like a tiny heap of earth, and to this day nothing grows on it but the cedar—the finest, darkest, most widely spreading specimens of that noble and fragrant tree are here to be found. A foaming mountain stream gurgles down it on both sides, a little wooden bridge connects the opposing banks, and in the midst of the bridge a rock projecting from the water clings to the mountain side. Far away among the blue forests shine forth the white roofless little houses of the city of Edena, which, built against the mountain side, peer forth like some card-built castle, and still farther away through gaps in the hills the Syrian sea is visible.
Here in former days on the heights stood the romantic and poetical kiosk of Feriz Beg.
The youth, with dogged persistence, continued to live for years in this sublime solitude with the din of battle all around him. The prophecy which he had once pronounced in the Diván was whispered abroad among the people, ran through the army, and as every one of his sayings was severally fulfilled, the more widely there spread in the hearts of the soldiers the superstitious belief that till he seized his sword they would everywhere be defeated, but when he should again appear on the battlefield the fortune of war would turn and become favourable once more to the Ottoman arms.
Long ago the Diván had wished to profit by this blind belief, and countless embassies had been sent to the youthful hermit in his solitude announcing the fall of generals, the loss of battles, the pressure of peril.
Nothing could move Feriz. To all these tidings he replied:
"Thus it must come to pass! Doves do not spring from serpents' eggs. Your rulers are those who took it upon them to wipe out a sacred oath from the patient pages, who tore up and burnt and scattered to the winds the vow that was made before God, and now ye likewise shall be wiped from the page of history and your memory shall be laden with reproaches. Learn ye, therefore, that it is dangerous to play with the name of Allah, and though many of you grow so high that his head touches the Heavens—yet he is but a man, and the earth moves beneath his feet, and presently he shall fall and perish."
The men perceived that these words were not so bad as they seemed to be at first sight, and after every fresh defeat, more and more of his old acquaintances came to see him and begged and prayed him to seize his sword once more and let himself be chosen leader of the host.
He sternly rejected every offer. No allurement was capable of making him change his resolution.
"When the time comes for me to draw my sword," he said, "I will come without asking. That time will come none the quicker for anyone's beseeching, but come it will one day and not tarry."
And, indeed, the advent of that time had become a matter of necessity for the Ottoman Empire. The banners of the German Empire were waving in the very heart of Turkey; the Poles had recovered Podolia, the Venetians were on the Turkish islands, and at last Transylvania also broke with the Porte and opened her fortresses to the enemies of the Padishah.
The new Sultan collected fresh armies, military enthusiasm was stimulated by great rewards, fresh alliances were formed, and among the new allies the one who enjoyed the greatest confidence was Emeric Tököly, who was proclaimed Prince of Transylvania, and orders were given to the Tartar Khan and the Prince of Moldavia to support him with their forces.
Tököly, always avid of fame and glory, threw himself heart and soul into this new enterprise, but it was only when he saw the army with which he was to conquer Transylvania that he had misgivings. His soldiers were good for robbing and burning, they had been used to that for a long time, but when it came to fighting there was no power on earth capable of keeping them together. What could he make of soldiers whose sole knowledge of the art of warfare consisted in running backwards and forwards, whose most sensible weapon was the dart, and who, whenever they heard a gun go off, stuffed up their ears and bolted like so many mice? And with these ragamuffins he was expected to fight regular, highly-disciplined troops.
Suddenly an idea occurred to him. He sat down and wrote a letter and delivered it to a swift courier, enjoining him not to rest or tarry till he had placed it in the proper hands.
This letter was addressed to Feriz Beg. In it Tököly informed him of the course of events in Transylvania, and it concluded thus:
"Behold, what you prophesied has come to pass, those who began the war along with us now continue the war against us. Remember that you held out the promise of joining us when such a time came; fulfil your promise."
Feriz Beg got this letter early in the morning, and the moment after he had read it he ordered his stableman instantly to saddle his war-charger, he chose from among his swords those which smote the heaviest, exchanged his grey mantle for a splendid and costly costume, gave a great banquet to all his retainers, and bade them make merry, for in an hour's time, he would be off to the wars.
The imperial army was making itself quite at home in Albania. Beautiful scenery and beautiful women smiled upon the victors; there was money also and to spare. And soon came the rumour that a gigantic Tartar host was approaching the Albanian mountains, in number exceeding sixty thousand. The imperial army was no more than nine thousand; but they only laughed at the rumour, they had seen far larger armies fly before them. The pick of the Turkish host, the Spahis, the Janissaries, had cast down their arms before them in thousands; while it was the talk of the bazaars that all that the Tartars were good for was to devastate conquered territory. Besides, reinforcements were expected from Hungary, where the Prince of Baden was encamped beneath Nándor-Fehérvár with a numerous army.
The leader of the Albanian forces was the Prince of Hanover.
He was a pupil of the lately deceased Piccolomini, and though he inherited his valour he was scarcely his equal in wisdom.
On hearing of the approach of the Tartar army he assembled his captains and held a council of war. The enemy was assumed to be the old mob which used to turn tail at the first cannon-shot, and could not be overtaken because of the superior swiftness of its horses. And indeed it was the old mob, but a new spirit now inspired it; it followed a new leader whom the enemy had never put to flight or beaten, and that leader was Feriz Beg.
Tököly's letter had speedily brought the young hero all the way from Syria to Stambul to offer his sword and his genius to the new Sultan, and the Sultan had charged him to lead the Tartar hordes against the imperial army.
When Feriz, from the top of a hill, saw the forces of the Prince of Hanover all wedged together in a compact mass on the plain before him like a huge living machine only awaiting a propelling hand to set it in motion, he quickly sent the Tartars who were with him back into the fir-woods that they might well cover their darts with the tar and turpentine exuding from the trees, and this done, he sent them to gallop round the Prince's camp and take up their position well within range.
The Prince observed the movement but left them alone; oftentimes had the Turks attempted a simple assault upon the German camp; oftentimes had their threefold superior forces surrounded the small, well-ordered camp and assaulted it from every side, and the Germans used always politely to allow them to come within range of their guns and then discharge all their artillery at once—and generally that was the end of the whole affair.
Feriz, however, made no assault upon them, but got his Tartars to surround them, commanding them to set their darts on fire and discharge them into the air so that they might fall down into the German camp. According to this plan they could fire at the enemy at a much greater distance off than the enemy could fire upon them, for the dart, flying in a curve could reach further than the straight-going musket balls of those days, and wherever it fell its sharp point inflicted a wound, whereas the bullet was often spent before it reached its mark.
Suddenly a flaming flood of darts darkened the air and the burning resinous bolts fell from all sides into the crowded ranks of the imperial army; the points of the darts fastened in the backs of the horses, the burning drops fell upon the faces and garments of the warriors, burning through the texture and inflicting grievous wounds; the horses began to rear violently at this unexpected attack; the gunners, cursing and swearing, began to discharge their guns anyhow at the enemy; nobody paid any attention to the orders of the general, discipline was quite at an end; the burning darts were destructive of all military tactics, for there was no refuge from them, and every dart struck its man.
Then Feriz Beg blew with the trumpets, and suddenly the imperial troops were attacked from all sides. They were unable to repel the attack in the regular way, but intermingled with their assailants, fought man to man. The picked German troopers quitted themselves like men, not one of them departed without taking another with him to the next world, but the Turks outnumbered them, and just when the Prince's army was exhausted by the attacks of the Tartars, Feriz brought forward his well-rested reserves, who burned with the desire to wash out the shame of former defeats. The Prince of Hanover fell on the battle-field with the rest of his army. Not one escaped to tell the tale.
This was the first victory which turned the fortunes of war once more in favour of the Turks after so many defeats.
It was well known in Transylvania that the Porte had proclaimed Tököly Prince and given into his hands armies wherewith he might invade the Principality and conquer it, so General Heissler gave orders to the counties and the Szeklers to rise up in defence of the realm, which they accordingly did.
The Hungarian forces were commanded by Balthasar Mackási and Michael Teleki himself; the leader of the Germans was Heissler, with Generals Noscher and Magni, and Colonel Doria under him, all of them heroic soldiers of fortune, who, all the way from Vienna to Wallachia, had never seen the Turks otherwise than as corpses or fugitives.
When Tököly was approaching through Wallachia with his forces, Heissler quickly closed all the passes, and placed three regiments at the Iron Gates, while he himself took up a position in the Pass of Bozza, and there pitched his camp amidst the mountains.
The encamped forces were merry and sprightly enough, there was lots to eat and drink of all sorts, and the Szeklers were quite close to their wives and houses, so that they did not feel a bit homesick—only Teleki was perpetually dissatisfied. He would have liked the forces to be marching continually from one pass to another and sentinels to be standing on guard night and day on every footpath which led into the kingdom.
The third week after the camp had been pitched at Bozza he suddenly said to the general with a very anxious face:
"Sir, what if Tököly were to appear at some other gate of the kingdom while we are lying here?"
"Every avenue is closed against him," answered Heissler.
"But suppose he got in before we came here?"
"The trouble then would not be how he got in but how he could get out again."
But Teleki wanted to show that he also knew something of the science of warfare, so he said with the grave face of an habitual counsellor:
"I do not think it expedient that we worthy soldiers should be crammed up into a corner of the kingdom. In my opinion it would be much safer if, after guarding every pass, we took up a position equi-distant between Törcsvár and Bozza."
Now for once Teleki was right, but for that very reason Heissler was all the more put out. It was intolerable that a lay-general should suggest something to him which he could not gainsay.
And the worst of it was Teleki would not leave the general alone. "I am participating in nothing here," said he, "make use of me, give me something to do, and I will do it—occupation is what I want."
"I'll give it you at once," said Heissler, and putting his arm through Teleki's he led him to his tent, there made him sit down beside him at a round table, sent one of the yawning guards to summon Noscher, Magni, Doria and the other generals, made them sit down by the side of Teleki, sat down at the table himself, and drawing a pack of cards from his pocket, gave it to Teleki with the words:
"Here's some occupation for you—you deal!"
"What, sir!" burst forth Teleki, quite upset by the jest, "play at cards when the enemy stands before us?"
"How can we be better employed when the enemy is not before us? Do you know how to play at landsknecht?"
"Then we'll teach you."
And they did teach him, for in a couple of hours they had won from him a couple of hundred ducats, whereupon Teleki, on the pretext that he had no more money, retired from the game.
It was not the loss of a little money which vexed him so much as the scant respect paid to his counsels.
The other gentlemen continued the game. Heissler suddenly by a grand coup won all the ready-money of the other generals, so that at last there was a great heap of thalers and ducats in front of him, and his three-cornered hat was filled to the brim with money.
The losing party tried to console itself with jests.
"Well, well! lucky at cards, luckless in love!"
"Eh!" said Heissler, sweeping together his winnings, "I have only had one love in my life, and that is on a battlefield, but there I have always been lucky."
At that moment a rapid galloping was heard, and after a brief parley with the guard outside, a dusty dragoon courier entered the tent and whispered breathlessly in Heissler's ear:
"Tököly's advance guard is before Törcsvár, it attacked and cut down the troops posted in the pass, only the Szeklers still hold out; if we don't come quickly the pass will be taken."
Heissler suddenly swept the cards from the table, and snatching up his hat so that the money in it rolled away in every direction, he clapped it on his head, and drawing his sword exclaimed: "To horse, gentlemen! Quick! Towards Törcsvár! We shall arrive in good time, I know!"
"Well! wasn't I right?" growled Teleki.
"Oh, there's no harm done! Blow the trumpets, we must strike our tents; let the camp fires burn, and at the third sound of the trumpet let everyone advance towards Törcsvár. A company and a couple of mortars will be enough to guard the pass. All right now, Mr. Michael Teleki!"
Then he also took horse. Teleki too hastened back to his levies, and soon the whole host was trotting on in the dark towards Törcsvár.
It was the 19th August, such a silent summer night that not a leaf was stirring. Against the beautiful starry sky rose the majestic snowy Alps which encircle Transylvania within their mighty chain; everything was still, only now and then through the melancholy night resounded the din and bustle of the warriors hurrying towards Törcsvár.
Here in the mountain-chasm a wide opening is visible which presently contracts so much that two carriages can scarce advance along it abreast. The road goes deep down between two rocks, and if a few hundred resolute and determined men planted themselves in that place, they could hold it against the largest armies.
On the other side of Moldavia, looking downwards, could be seen the camp-fires of the hosts of Tököly, who was encamped on the farther side of the Alps, occupying a vast extent of ground.
In front all was dark. After the first surprise caused by some hundreds of dragoons who had penetrated into Moldavia, the Szeklers had quickly blocked the pass by felling trees across it, retired to the mountain summits, and received the advancing Tartars with such showers of stones that they were compelled to desist from any further advance and turn back again.
Great commotion was observable in the Turkish camp. The Tartars were roasting a whole ox on a huge spit, and cut pieces off it while it was roasting; some jovial Wallachians, a little elated by wine, began dancing their national dances; on a hill the Hungarian hussars were blaring their farogatos, whose penetrating voices frequently pierced the most distant recess of the snowy Alps.
But just because the camp had begun making merry the outposts had been carefully disposed. The leaders of the host were youths in age but veterans in military experience; they were keeping watch for everyone.
They met as they were going their rounds and, without observing it, strayed somewhat from the camp and advanced without a word along a mountain path.
At last Feriz broke the silence by remarking gravely to Tököly:
"Is it not desperating to see a mountain before you and not be able to fly?"
"Especially when your desires are on the other side of that mountain."
"What are your desires?" said Feriz bitterly, "in comparison with mine; you have only a thirst for glory, I have a thirst for blood."
"But mine is a still stronger impulse," said Tököly; "I have a wife."
"Ah! I understand, and you want to see your wife? I also should like to see her if I am not slain. And is the lady worthy of you?"
"One must have lived very far from this kingdom not to have heard of her," said Tököly proudly. "My name has not given such glory to Helen as her name has to me. When everyone in Hungary laid down their arms, and I myself fled from the kingdom, she herself remained in the fortress of Munkács and defended it as valiantly as any man could do. Helen stood like a man upon the bastions amidst the whirring of the bullets and the thunder of the guns, extinguished the bombs cast into the fortress with huge moistened buffalo-skins, fired off the cannons against the besiegers with her own hands, and cut down the soldiers who attempted to storm the walls, spiked their guns, and burnt their tents."
At this Feriz grew enthusiastic.
"We will save this brave woman; is she still defending herself?"
"No. My chief confidant—a man whom I trusted would carry out my ideas, a man whom I found a beggar and made a gentleman—betrayed her, and they now hold her captive. Believe me, Feriz, if they gave her back to me I would perchance for ever forget my dream of glory and renounce the crown I seek, but to win her back I'll go through hell itself, and you will see that I shall go through this mountain chain also, for though I have not the strength to fly over it, I have the patience to crawl over it."
Feriz Beg sighed gloomily.
"Alas! I have no one for whose sake I might hasten into battle."
Early next morning Tököly came over to Feriz's quarters and told him that he had just received tidings that Heissler had arrived during the night, having galloped without stopping through Szent Peter to Törcsvár. Teleki, too, was with him.
That name seemed to electrify the young Turk.
He leapt quickly from his couch, and, seizing his sword, raised it towards Heaven and cried with a savage expression which had never been on his face before: "I thank thee, Allah, that thou hast delivered him into my hands!"
The two young generals then consulted together in private for about an hour, after sending everyone out of their tent. Then they came forth and reviewed their forces. Feriz selected his best Janissaries and Spahis, Tököly the Hungarian hussars and the swiftest of the Tartars, and with this little army, numbering about six thousand, they marched off without saying whither. The vast camp meanwhile was intrusted to the care of the Prince of Moldavia, who was charged to stand face to face night and day over against the Transylvanian army, and not move from the spot.
Meanwhile the two young leaders, with their picked band, made their way among the hills by the dark, sylvan mountain paths, whose wilderness no human foot had ever yet trod. Anyone looking down upon them from the rocks above would have called their enterprise foolhardy. Now they had to crawl down precipitous slopes on their hands and knees; now gigantic rocks barred their way, which enclosed them within a narrow, mountainous gorge whence there was no exit; here and there they had to cling on to the roots of the stout shrubs growing out of the crevices of the rocks, or pull themselves up, man by man, and horse by horse, by means of ropes fastened to the trunks of trees. In these regions nought dwelt but savage birds of prey, and the startled golden eagle looked down in wonder from his stony lair at the panting, toiling host—what did such a multitude of men seek in that desolate wilderness?
The Transylvanian gentlemen from the vantage-point of a lofty mountain ridge watched the two opposing hosts facing each other in front of the defiles. Now the Szeklers would burst forth from the woods on the straying Tartars and drive them back to their tents, and now like a disturbing swarm of wasps the Tartars and Wallachians would force the Szeklers back to the very borders of the forest. It was great fun to watch all this from the lofty ridge where stood Heissler, Doria, and Teleki observing the manly sport through long telescopes.
Suddenly the sentinels brought to Heissler a Wallachian who had given the pickets to understand that he had brought a message from the Prince of Wallachia to the commander-in-chief.
"No doubt it is to tell you once more not to go into Wallachia again, for the enemy has eaten it up," said Teleki, turning to Heissler, who had got to the bottom of the Prince's former craftiness. "What is your master's message?" he said, turning towards the Wallachian.
"He sends his respects, and bids you be on your guard against Tököly, for he has a large army and is very crafty; but instead of opposing him in the direction of Wallachia you would do better if you saw to it that he did not break into Transylvania, and you ought to beware of this all the more as only three days ago he departed from the main host along with his chief Sirdar, with a picked army of six thousand men, which has since vanished as completely as if the earth had swallowed it up."
"What did I say?" remarked Heissler, with a smile to Teleki. "You may go back, my son, from whence you came," he said to the Szekler.
But Teleki shook his head at this.
"It is quite possible," said he, "that while we are halting here, Tököly may issue forth somewhere behind our very backs."
Heissler pointed at the snow-capped mountains.
"Can anything but a bird get through those?"
"If Tököly lead the way—yes."
"Your Excellency has a great respect for that gentleman."
"Truly, Mr. General, I should advise you to summon hither the regiments left at the iron gate, and bring up some more cannons."