THE MAD MAN.
In the most secret chamber of the Divan 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 Divan, 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 Toekoely, 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 _arriere-pensees_ 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 Divan. 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 Divan
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 Divan, 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 Divan
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 Divan, 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, Rezlan Pasha, Ajas Beg, Rifat 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 Divan 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.