Punctually with the dawn of the Millennial Year the Turkish Messiah,
with his Queen and his train of Kings, took ship for Constantinople to
dethrone the Grand Turk, the Lord of Palestine. He voyaged in a
two-masted Levantine Saic, the bulk of his followers travelling
overland. Though his object had been diplomatically unpublished,
pompous messages from Samuel Primo had heralded his advent. The day of
his arrival was fixed. Constantinople was in a ferment. The Grand
Vizier gave secret orders for his arrest as a rebel; a band of
Chiauses was sent to meet the Saic in the harbor. But the day came and
went and no Messiah. Instead, thunders and lightnings and rain and
gales and news of wrecks. The wind was northerly, as commonly in the
Hellespont and Propontis, and it seemed as if the Saic must have been
blown out of her course.
The Jews of Constantinople asked news of every vessel. The captain of
a ketch from the Isles of Marmora told them that a chember had cast
anchor in the isles, and a tall man, clothed in white, who bestrode
the deck, being apprised that the islanders were Christians, had
raised his finger, whereupon the church burnt down. When at last the
Jews heard of the safety of Sabbataï's weather--beaten vessel, which
had made for a point on the coast of the Dardanelles, they told how
their Master had ruled the waves and the winds by the mere reading of
the hundred and sixteenth Psalm. But the news of his safety was
speedily followed by the news of his captivity; the Vizier's officers
were bringing him to Constantinople.
It was true; yet his Mussulman captors were not without a sense of the
majesty of their prisoner, for they stopped their journey at Cheknesé
Kutschuk, near the capital, so that he might rest for the Sabbath, and
hither, apprised in advance by messenger, the Sabbatians of
Constantinople hastened with food and money. They still expected to
see their Sovereign arrive with pomp and pageantry, but he came up
miserably on a sorry horse, chains clanking dismally at his feet. Yet
was he in no wise dismayed. "I am like a woman in labor," he said to
his body-guard of Kings, "the redoubling of whose anguish marks the
near deliverance. Ye should laugh merrily, like the Rabbi in the
Talmud when he saw the jackal running about the ruined walls of the
Temple; for till the prophecies are utterly fulfilled the glory cannot
return." And his face shone with conscious deity.
He was placed in a khan with a strong guard. But his worshippers
bought off his chains, and even made for him a kind of throne. On the
Sunday his captors brought him, and him alone, to Constantinople. A
vast gathering of Jews and Turks--a motley-colored medley--awaited him
on the quay; mounted police rode about to keep a path for the
disembarking officers and to prevent a riot. At length, amid clamor
and tumult, Sabbataï set fettered foot on shore.
His sad, noble air, the beauty of his countenance, his invincible
silence, set a circle of mystery around him. Even the Turks had a
moment of awe. A man-god, surely!
The Pacha had sent his subordinate with a guard to transfer him to the
Seraglio. By them he was first hastily conducted into the
custom-house, the guard riding among and dispersing the crowd.
Sabbataï sat upon a chest as majestically as though it were the throne
of Solomon.
But the Sub-Pacha shook off the oppressive emotion with which the
sight of Sabbataï inspired him.
"Rise, traitor," said he, "it is time that thou shouldst receive the
reward of thy treasons and gather the fruit of thy follies." And
therewith he dealt Sabbataï a sounding box of the ear.
His myrmidons, relieved from the tension, exploded in a malicious
guffaw.
Sabbataï looked at the brutal dignitary with sad, steady gaze, then
silently turned the other cheek.
The Sub-Pacha recoiled with an uncanny feeling of the supernatural;
the mockery of the bystanders was hushed.
Sabbataï was conducted by side ways, to avoid the mob, to the Palace
of the Kaimacon, the Deputy-Vizier.
"Art thou the man," cried the Kaimacon, "whom the Jews aver to have
wrought miracles at Smyrna? Now is thy time to work one, for lo! thy
treason shall cost thee dear."
"Miracles!" replied Sabbataï meekly. "I--what am I but a poor Jew,
come to collect alms for my poor brethren in Jerusalem? The Jews of
this great city persuade themselves that my blessing will bring them
God's grace; they flock to welcome me. Can I stay them?"
"Thou art a seditious knave."
"An arrant impostor," put in the Sub-Pacha, "with the airs of a god. I
thought to risk losing my arm when I cuffed him on the ear, but lo!
'tis stronger than ever." And he felt his muscle complacently.
"To gaol with the rogue!" cried the Kaimacon.
Sabbataï, his face and mien full of celestial conviction, was placed
in the loathsome dungeon which served as a prison for Jewish debtors.