A PRINCE BY COMPULSION
A year had passed since Apafi's return. In the manor house at
Ebesfalva all was excitement. Before one pair of horses could rest
another started out on the road. The servants were sent in every
direction. There seemed to be great confusion in the house, yet nobody
appeared troubled. To those who asked confidentially it was whispered
that the wife of Michael Apafi might give birth to a child at any
hour. The master did not for one instant leave the chamber of his
suffering wife.
Suddenly a wild noise rang out in the courtyard; about twenty-four
horsemen had arrived, led by a Turkish Aga. To the terror of the
serving people the Turkish troops carried lances and knives.
"Is your master at home?" the Aga said, haughtily, to Andy, who in his
terror had remained riveted to the spot. "If he is," he went on
without waiting for an answer, "tell him to come out, I wish to speak
to him."
Still Andy could not speak, at which the Turk with emphasis added, "If
he will not come out I will go after him."
With these words he sprang from his horse and crossed the space before
the entrance. Andy ventured to stammer a brief--"But, gracious
lord,"--when the Turk cut him off with--"I should like it better, my
boy, if you would stop your talk and go into the house."
Just then Apafi, attracted by the rattling of the lances, came out of
his wife's room. He was terror-stricken when he faced his unexpected
guest.
"Are you Michael Apafi?" asked the Turk, angrily.
"At your service, gracious lord," replied Apafi, quietly.
"Good. His majesty, the celebrated Ali Pasha, sends you word to enter
this carriage without delay and come to my lord in camp at
Klein-Selyk, and that without any attendants."
"That's a pretty story," muttered Apafi to himself. "I beg your
pardon, worthy Aga," he added aloud, "just at present it is quite
impossible for me to carry out this wish, as my wife is in travail,
and any moment may decide her life or death. I cannot leave her now."
"Call a doctor if your wife is sick; and remember that you will not
restore her to health by bringing down the anger of the Pasha on you."
"Grant me only one day and then it does not matter if it costs me my
life."
"I tell you, it won't cost you your life if you only obey, but if you
don't you may soon cause yourself trouble; so be reasonable."
Anna from her room heard the conversation outside, and full of anxiety
called her husband to her. "What's the matter?" asked the sufferer,
anxiously.
"Nothing, nothing, sweetheart, I have just had a summons but I am not
going."
But Madame Apafi had seen the spear-points of the Turks through the
window curtains and said in despair, "Michael, they want to carry you
off!" and she pressed her husband convulsively to her breast; "they
shall kill me rather than drag you off into slavery so that I lose you
again."
"Keep quiet, my dear child. I am sure I do not know what they want of
me. I certainly have not done the good people any harm. At the most
they will demand a tax, which I will get together at once."
"I have a presentiment of something dreadful; my heartstrings tighten,
harm has come to you," stammered the sick woman, and she broke out
into violent sobbing and threw herself on her husband. "Michael, I
shall never see you again!"
The Aga was getting tired of waiting and began to knock at the door
and call out, "Apafi, here Apafi, come out; I cannot enter your wife's
room--that would not be proper--but if you don't come out I will burn
the house down over your head."
"I will go," said Apafi, striving to quiet his wife with kisses. "My
refusal will only make matters worse; but as soon as they let me go I
will be here at once."
"I shall never see you again," she gasped, trembling; she was almost
in a swoon. Apafi, taking advantage of this momentary unconsciousness,
left his wife and went out to the Aga, his eyes heavy with tears.
"Now, my lord, we can go," he said.
"Surely you are not going like a peasant, without a sword," said the
Turk. "Gird on your sword, and tell your wife that she has nothing to
fear."
Apafi went back into the room, and as he took down his heavy
silver-mounted sword from the wall above the bed, he said to his wife,
consolingly, "See, sweetheart, there cannot be anything disagreeable
to expect, or I should not have been told to buckle on my sword. Trust
in God."
"I do, I do trust in Him," said his wife, still kissing her husband's
hand passionately and pressing him to her heart; then she began to
weep bitterly,--"Apafi, if I die, do not forget me."
"Oh!" cried Apafi. He tore himself with bitter feelings from the
embrace of his wife, and wished all the Turks born and unborn at the
bottom of the sea. Then he jumped into the wagon, looking neither to
heaven nor earth, but struggling all the way with a single
thought--that it had not been allowed him to leave his wife when she
had happened to fall asleep.
Hardly were they an hour away from Ebesfalva when the Turks caught
sight of a rider at full speed, who was evidently trying to overtake
them. They called Apafi's attention to it. At first he would not
listen to them, but when told that the rider came from the direction
of Ebesfalva he ordered the wagon to stop and waited for the
messenger. It was Andy who, waving his handkerchief, came galloping
toward them.
"What has happened, Andy?" called out his master with beating heart,
while his servant was still at a distance.
"Good news, master," shouted Andy, "our most gracious lady has a son
and she herself is out of all danger--God be praised!"
"Blessed be the name of the Lord," cried Apafi, with lightened heart,
and sent the messenger back. As soon as this chief cause of his
anxiety had vanished all his other troubles disappeared. He thought of
his son and in the glow of this thought began to believe that his
Turkish attendants were as good, respectable, civilized people as he
had ever seen. Late at night they reached the tent of Ali Pasha. The
sentinels were sleeping like badgers; as far as they were concerned
one might have carried off the whole camp. Apafi had to wait before
the tent of the Pasha until he had dressed himself, when drawing aside
the curtains, the Pasha bade him enter. There sat Ali with crossed
legs on a rug at the back of the tent, and behind him two finely-clad
Moors. On the rug that formed a partition in the tent, was outlined
the figure of some one standing behind.
"Are you that Michael Apafi," asked the Pasha after the customary
greetings, "who for several years was a prisoner of the Tartar Murza?"
"The very same, most gracious Pasha, the one to whom, in his mercy, he
granted exemption from the full ransom."
"That will be made right. Murza granted exemption from the full ransom
because His Excellency the Sultan commanded him to do so, and His
Majesty will do even more for you."
"I hear these words with astonishment and gratitude, for I do not know
how I can have deserved this grace."
"His Excellency has learned that you conducted yourself wisely,
honorably, and like a man, in that sad imprisonment, and that you knew
so well how to win the hearts of the other prisoners that although
there is no respect of rank among prisoners they all had the highest
respect for you. In consideration of this, and furthermore taking into
account that the present prince, John Kemény, as he has plainly
shown, intends to set himself free from the Sublime Porte, His
Excellency has determined without further delay to raise you to the
throne of Transylvania and to support you there."
"Me,--gracious lord! It is your pleasure to jest," stammered Apafi. It
seemed as if everything was beginning to go round before him.
"Yes, you! You have no cause to wonder at this, for when my lord
pleases pashas and princes are made, at a glance from him, slaves,
beggars or corpses; and at another glance, common soldiers, nobles, or
slaves step into their superiors' places. You were so fortunate as to
come in for a share of his good-will. Make this to your advantage and
do not misuse it."
"But, gracious lord, what an idea that I can become a prince!"
"That is my affair, I will make you one."
"But Transylvania has another prince, John Kemény."
"That is also my affair. I will settle with him soon."
Apafi shrugged his shoulders; he felt that he had never been entangled
in a worse affair.--"That was a true presentiment of my wife's, that
to-day a great danger threatened me," he thought.
The Pasha resumed the conversation. "Now then, without further delay,
write an order for a convention of the States so that the ceremony of
inauguration may take place as quickly as possible."
"I--who will come at my call? My lord, I am one of the least important
of the nobles of my country: they will only laugh at me and say that I
have gone crazy."
"And then they will become aware that they themselves have gone
crazy."
"Then surely I could not send out such a summons, for, with the
exception of the country of the Szeklers, Kemény has all in his
power."
"Then we will send to the Szeklers, they will certainly come."
"And even among the Szeklers the more influential are unknown to me,
for I am not one of them. There I know such people as John Daczo,
Stephen Run and Stephen Nalaczy."
"Well, then, call these men, Run, Daczo, and Nalaczy, if you think
they are honest folk."
Apafi began to scratch his head. "But suppose they came, where should
we hold the convention? we have no suitable place. In Klausenburg my
brother-in-law, Dionysius Banfy, is my sworn foe, and he is captain of
the train bands. In Hermanstadt John Kemény himself lives."
"Certainly we have Klein-Selyk, we can assemble here." In spite of his
distress, Apafi had to laugh. "There is not a house here where thirty
men could find room at the same time," he answered, quickly.
"Yes there is, there is the church," replied the Pasha, "there you can
hold your meeting. If that building is good enough to pay one's
respects to God in, surely it is good enough to pay one's respects to
men in."
Apafi did not know what further objection to urge. "Can you write?"
asked the Pasha.
"To be sure I can," answered Apafi, sighing deeply.
"Because I can't. Well then, sit down and send your summons to the
states."
A slave brought a table, parchment, and red ink. Apafi sat down like a
lamb for the sacrifice, and by way of beginning made a letter on the
parchment so large that the Turk sprang up in fright and asked him
what that meant.
"That is an S," answered Apafi.
"Leave some space for the rest of the letters."
"That is the initial letter, the rest will be smaller of course."
"Read aloud to me what you are writing."
Apafi wrote with trembling hand, and read, "Whereas"--The Pasha tore
the parchment away from him in anger and roared out,
"'Whereas,--since'--what is the use of such roundabout expressions?
Write as is the custom, 'We, Michael Apafi, Prince of Transylvania,
command you, miserable slave, that as soon as you receive this
writing, without fail you appear before us at once in Klein-Selyk.'
Then stop."
It required some effort on the part of Apafi to make the Pasha
understand that it was not the custom to use such terms with the
Hungarian nobility. At last he gained permission to write as seemed
best to him, only the contents were to be decisive and authoritative.
The circular letter was finished at last. The Pasha ordered a man to
mount his horse at once, and gave him instructions to deliver this at
full speed.
Apafi shook his pen and sighed to himself;--"I would like to see the
man who can tell me what will be the result of all this."
"Now, until the convention assembles, stay with me here in camp."
"May I not go back to my wife and child at home?" asked Apafi, with
throbbing heart.
"The devil! That you may run away from us? That is the way all these
Hungarians treat the rank of prince. The men we do not wish lie down
on us and beg for the honor, and those we do wish take to flight." And
with that the Pasha showed Apafi to his tent and left him, at the same
time giving the order to the sentinel stationed at the entrance as a
mark of honor, to be sure not to let him escape.
"He got into a pretty scrape that time!" sighed Apafi, in deep
resignation. The only hope that remained for him now was that the men
summoned would not appear for the convention.
* * * * *
A few days later, in the early morning while Apafi was still in bed,
there entered his tent suddenly Stephen Run, John Daczo and Stephen
Nalaczy, with all the rest of the noble Szeklers to whom the letter
had been sent.
"For God's sake!" cried out Apafi, "what are you here for?"
"Why, your majesty summoned us here," replied Nalaczy.
"That's true, but you might have had the sense not to come. What can
we do now?"
"Enthrone your majesty with all due ceremony and if necessary, defend
you in true Szekler fashion," said Stephen Run.
"You are too few for that, my friends."
"Have the goodness just to look out in front of the tent," began
Nalaczy, and drawing aside the curtain, he showed him a crowd of
Szeklers with swords and lances, who had remained without. "We are
here _cum gentibus_ to prove to your grace that if we acknowledge you
as our Prince, this is not done in mere jest."
Apafi shrugged his shoulders and began to draw on his boots. But he
was so thoughtful and melancholy with it all, that an hour passed
before he was dressed, for he took up each article of dress the wrong
way, and put on his coat before he thought of his waistcoat. Several
hundred of the nobility had assembled in Selyk at his call, more than
he expected or even wished.
When Ali Pasha came out of his tent, in the presence of all assembled
he took Apafi by the hand and threw about him a new green velvet
cloak, set on his head a cap bordered with ermine, and gave the States
assembled to understand that they were to receive this man from this
time as their true Prince. The Szeklers roared out a huzza, raised
Apafi on their shoulders and set him on a platform covered with velvet
that Ali Pasha had ordered built for him.
"Now let the lords betake themselves to the church--and do you give
your oath to your Prince according to your custom and swear fealty to
each other. The bells have already been rung at my order. Have mass
said in due form."
"Pardon me, but I am of the Reformed Church," protested Apafi.
"That suits me all the better. The affair can be conducted with less
formality. There is his Reverence Franz, the Magyar, he shall preach
the sermon."
Apafi let them do as they would, only nervously stroking his moustache
and shrugging his shoulders when he was questioned. Nalaczy and the
rest of the Szeklers considered it proper to meet him in the church
with all the reverence due to princes. The Reverend Franz extemporized
a powerful sermon, in which he assured them in thundering language
that the God of Israel who had called David from his sheep to the
kingly throne and exalted him above all his enemies, would now too
maintain his chosen one in his good pleasure, though his foes were as
numerous as the blades of grass in the field, or the sands of the
seashore.
This little church could never have dreamed that it would one day be
the scene of a convention and a princely election. And Apafi could
certainly never have dreamed that all this would have been fulfilled
for him. He had neither ear nor eye for the consecration nor for the
sermon, for his mind was constantly busied with the thought of what
might become of his wife and child and where would they find refuge if
he should fall into the hands of Kemény and they should be driven from
house and home. Then it occurred to him that somewhere in the land of
the Szeklers he had a brother, Stephen Apafi, with whom he had always
had the friendliest relations, and who would certainly take care of
them if he saw them in misery. These thoughts made him forget
everything about himself so completely that when at the conclusion of
the assembly all present rose and began the Te Deum, he too arose,
quite ignoring the fact that these services were in his honor. But
some one behind laid his hands on his shoulders and pressed him down
into his place, telling him in a low, familiar voice that he was to
remain seated. Apafi looked around and fell back on his seat in
astonishment, for the man behind him was no other than his brother
Stephen.
"You here, too!" said Apafi to him, deeply affected.
"I was a little belated," said Stephen, "but I arrived in time and
will stay as long as you command."
"Will you also run into danger?"
"My brother, our fate lies in God's hand, but we too have something in
hand which will have a little to say," and with that he laid his hand
on his sword hilt. "Kemény has forfeited the love of his country,--I
need not tell you why. You have good cause to triumph and the ways and
means will not fail you."
"But if it should prove otherwise? what is then to become of my
wife--have you not seen her?"
"I have just come from there. That is why I was late."
"You have talked with her? What did she say about my affairs? Is she
very much worried?"
"Not in the least. On the contrary, she is very much pleased, and
thinks Transylvania could not have found a better prince; that you
deserve this honor much more than any of the great lords, who have no
thought except for tyranny or carousal, and she regrets very much that
her child is still so young she cannot come to strengthen and
encourage you."
"I should have been much better pleased had she been chosen prince,"
said Apafi, half in vexation and half in jest.
"Look out," said Stephen, "the young woman is so accustomed to
managing affairs at home that if you do not keep the crown firmly on
your own head we shall yet live to see her wearing it on hers. This,
of course, I speak only in jest."
There is many a truth spoken in jest.