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.