The Diet assembled at Karlsburg opposed the secret procedure against Banfy. Paul Beldi himself was the first to say distinctly that even if Banfy's arrest through conspiracy had been permitted his judgment must be given in the presence of the Diet and not before any secret tribunal, and demanded that personal safety should be assured him.

The Prince appeared in the assembly, angry, with heavy head and red eyes; the usual sign with him of perplexity. As Teleki had no authority over the Diet he had the Prince dissolve it, making him believe that Banfy if brought before the national assembly would escape on the way, or would know how to turn his two-edged sword in such a way as to overpower the Prince.

In the presence of the judge the opposition made by Kozma Horvath to the illegal procedure was in vain. The conspiracy brought thirty-seven indictments against Banfy, advanced by Judge Martin Saros-Pataki.

Banfy stood indicted. The greater number of the counts were so unimportant that no answer needed to be brought against them. They did not dare to introduce among them his pretensions to the throne—that remained a secret indictment.

Banfy answered in manly fashion to every charge. It was in vain. Defend himself as he would those who had arrested him knew too well how great a wrong they had done him, now to let him live. The case came to a verdict and he was sentenced to death.

On the day that this happened nobody could gain access to the Prince except the confederates in this secret league, who with hasty, eager expressions went in and out of the Prince's apartments continually. Toward evening they succeeded in rousing the drunken Apafi to ratify the decision. This Prince usually so gentle, so kind-hearted, now poisoned with terror did not know himself.

Ever since noon saddled horses and carriages in waiting had been standing before the gate. Suddenly Ladislaus Csaki came hurrying out of the hall, concealing a paper in his pocket and calling for his horse; he mounted, motioned in silence to the lords following him and galloping off. The other lords too as if pursued, hurried into the carriages standing in a row before the palace, and taking leave of each other with mysterious whisperings, quickly fled so that the Prince in a few moments was left alone. Teleki was the last to leave him. The Prince accompanied this lord to the vestibule, his countenance showing deep sorrow; he could hardly let Teleki go. The latter withdrew his hand coldly from the Prince's.

"You need have no fancies about this, my lord. The principles of a country are concerned here, not a human life. If my own head stood in the way I should say cut it off and I say the same about the head of another."

And with that he went away.

Apafi did not stay in his room, he felt the need of fresh air. Within something threatened to choke him so oppressive was the air,—or was it his spirits? He went out into the vestibule. The cool night air soothed his bewildered spirits and the sight of the starry heavens was good to his clouded mind. Leaning against the balustrade he gazed in silence into the still night as if he expected that some star greater than all the rest would fall from Heaven, or that somebody miles away from him would cry out. Suddenly a cry did strike his ear. With a shudder he looked about but remained speechless in terror. His wife stood before him, whom his lord councillors had kept away from him for weeks by causing a division between the stupefied husband and the high-spirited wife. When the last grandee had withdrawn her loyal men had informed her that the Prince had signed the death sentence and the shocked wife, forcing her way through castle guards had rushed to her husband; now meeting him in the vestibule she hurried to him and in her excitement cried out:

"Accursed man, do not shed the blood of that innocent one!"

Apafi drew back timidly before his wife.

"What do you wish of me?" he asked, sullenly. "What are you saying?"

"You have signed Banfy's death sentence."

"I?" asked Apafi dully, and reached for his wife's hand.

"Away with your hand, the blood of my kinsman is on it!"

"You do not approve it? I did not wish it;" stammered Apafi. "The lords compelled me to it."

The Princess clasped her hands together and looked at her husband in despair.

"You have brought blood on our family, a curse on the country, a curse on me that I did not leave you to die in the hands of the Tartars. Even virtue becomes through you a crime!"

Apafi was contrite. In the presence of his wife all his spirit was gone.

"I did not want to kill him"—he stammered. "I do not now either—and if you wish I will grant him amnesty. Take my seal ring; send a rider to Bethlen after Csaki; show favor to your kinsman and leave me in peace."

The Princess called in a piercing voice, "Who is here?" Among the courtiers who hurried forward, the steward was the first.

"Take four of the Prince's racers," said Anna, meanwhile she wrote the pardon with her own hand, had her husband sign it and stamped it with the seal. "Take this letter and hurry with it to Bethlen castle. If the horse falls under you, take another. Do not delay a minute anywhere; a human life is in your hands."

The grooms led up the racers. The steward mounted one, fastening the rest by the bridle, and chased away.

At about the same hour, perhaps the same minute, Paul Beldi called out to his groom the order to mount the swiftest horse and ride to Bethlen and say to the castle warder that he would cut his head off if Banfy received the least harm at Bethlen. He too did not wish to meet his wife in this hour.

And perhaps in the same hour, perhaps in the same minute, Teleki pressed the hand of his future son-in-law Emerich TÖkÖli, and whispered in his ear;—"We are one step nearer;" under the pressure of the youth's iron hand the betrothal ring that bound him to Teleki's daughter broke, and Teleki regarded it almost as a prophecy that the hand of the youth should be stronger than his.All Transylvania was alarmed that night. Wolfgang Bethlen could not sleep in his bed the whole night through. Stephen Apor grew so uneasy that he had to make confession: Kornis became so confused on the familiar road home that he was compelled to spend the night under his carriage. And what took place in the heavens? About midnight a shower came up; such that the oldest inhabitant could not recall its like. The lightning set fire to forests and towers, and floods poured from the riven clouds. The alarm-bell sounded everywhere. God's judgment held sway that night. Almost the entire nation was sleepless. Only the reconciled husband and wife slept quietly and sweetly. At times the lady wept in her dreams; tears fell on her pillow; she dreamed of her happy bridal days or of the sweet moment when she laid her first child in her husband's arms. Her husband lay with calm countenance, at odds with the world but reconciled with himself—with the better half of his soul. The happiness which had fled from him in the palace sought him out in the prison. The hanging lamp threw its pale light on their sleeping forms. In this frightful night four single riders galloped separately toward Bethlen castle, hardly a thousand paces apart. By the lightning flashes they saw each other at times and each one struck spurs the harder to his horse. The first rider reached the castle gate and gave the signal with the horn; the drawbridge fell threateningly, the rider sprang into the courtyard and laid a letter in the hand of the warder who hurried forward. It was Paul Beldi's message.

The second rider who reached the castle, ordered the gate opened in the name of the Prince. He gave the castle warder a second paper. It was Ladislaus Csaki. The warder turned pale as he read this message.

"My lord," he faltered, "I have just received an order from Paul Beldi who threatens me with death if any harm happens to the prisoner."

"You have your choice," replied Csaki. "If you obey, it is possible that he will have your head cut off to-morrow. If you do not obey, I will kill you to-day." The warder trembled as he bowed.

"Raise the draw," ordered Csaki. "Let no one enter the castle without permission. Whoever acts contrary to my orders is a dead man."

Husband and wife slept peacefully. A minute later the door opened with a slight noise and Stephen Pataki entered, terror-stricken and with difficulty restraining his tears. He stepped up to Banfy to awaken him. As he touched his hand, Banfy, seeing Pataki who in his emotion could not speak, tried to rise without waking his wife but she opened her eyes at that very moment and Pataki, who did not wish her to know the terrible message, said in Latin:

"Rise, my lord, the death sentence is here."

Trembling at the speech in a foreign tongue whose meaning Pataki's face so ill concealed, Banfy's wife asked in terror what it meant.

"Nothing, nothing," said Banfy, with a tender smile, embracing his wife. "An urgent message that I must answer at once. I will return soon; lie down and sleep quietly."

With these words he laid his wife back in her pillows and kissed her tenderly several times, after each kiss saying:

"My soul, my love, my blessing, my Heaven."

Madame Banfy did not suspect that this was the parting kiss of a man on his way to death. He looked at her so smilingly, feigning joy in his countenance when he stood on the threshold of death.

At this moment the horn rang out before the castle gate. The messenger of the Princess had arrived and demanded admittance in the name of his Excellency. Csaki mounted the stairs in haste and just as Banfy had calmed his wife about his leaving, he pushed open the door suddenly and cried out,

"Why this long parting! Be ready! The sentence awaits its execution!"

At these words Madame Banfy sprang from her couch with a convulsive scream, reached both arms to her husband, looked at him for a moment in silence then laid her hands on her heart and sank back dead among the pillows.

Banfy looked at his foe with deadly bitterness; his veiled eyes seemed to Csaki to hurl forth more curses than any lips could have spoken.

"Miserable wretch!" he thundered at him, "who ordered you to kill my wife too?"

Csaki turned his head aside and called out harshly,

"Make haste, the time is short."

"Short for me but it will be long for you, for the time is coming when you will curse life and not die as peacefully as I do. Leave me alone. I wish to pray and I cannot call on God in the same room where you are."

Csaki went away, shocked in spite of himself.

Banfy put his hands to his brow and prayed.

Heavy thunder rolled through the Heavens.

"Oh God, who in thy anger dost thunder above, take my blood for my sins. Let no drop of it fall on the head of those who have shed it. Grant that my country may never expiate my death. Guard this poor land from every misfortune. Keep thy vengeance far from the head of this people and mid all perils be their shield. Forgive my enemies my death as I forgive them."The thunder rolled terribly. God was angry. He did not wish to hear this prayer.

Banfy went back to his dead wife, kissed her white face for the last time and then went quietly to Csaki.

"I am ready."

After another quarter of an hour Csaki permitted the messenger to enter.

"What do you bring?" he asked the steward.

"The Prince's pardon for the prisoner."

"You have come too late."

The head of the highest noble of Transylvania had already fallen to the ground.

The tragedy comes to an end with the death of the hero. Other forms, other leaders, continue the course of events. The fate, the form, the history of Transylvania is changed. The sword-stroke that killed Banfy marked off an epoch. The ruling figure was buried in the earth of Bethlen chapel and no one inherited that spirit.

Only when misfortune threatens Transylvania, so says the chronicle,—to the terror of the people, to the astonishment of the world, the blood of the fallen patriot is wont to gush forth from this humble grave.

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