The Prince was just then standing in the portico of his palace conversing with the Princess, whose face bore strong marks of the sufferings of the last few days. Shortly after the panic of Nagyenyed she had given birth to a little daughter, and the terror experienced at the time had had a bad effect on both mother and child.

Apafi's brow was also clouded. The Prince's heart was sore, and not merely on his own account. Whenever there was any distress in the principality he also was distressed, but his own sorrow he had to share alone.

For some days he had found no comfort in whatever direction he might turn. The Turks had made him feel their tyranny everywhere, and the foreign courts had listened to his tale of distress with selfish indifference; while the great men of the realm dubbed him a tyrant, the common folks sung lampoons upon his cowardice beneath his very windows; and when he took refuge in the bosom of his family he was met by a sick wife, who had ceased to find any joy in life ever since he had been made Prince.

A sick wife is omnipotent as regards her husband. If Anna had insisted upon her husband's quitting his princely palace, and returning with her to their quiet country house at Ebesfalu—where there was no kingdom but the kingdom of Heaven—perhaps he would even have done that for her.As the princely pair stood on the castle battlements, the din of the town grew deeper, and suddenly the rumble of a carriage, driven at full tilt, broke upon the dreamy stillness of the castle courtyard, and dashing into it stopped before the staircase; the door of the coach was quickly thrown open and out of it rushed a pale woman, who, rallying her last remaining strength, ran up the staircase and collapsed at the feet of the Prince as he hastened to meet her, exclaiming as she did so:

"I am Mariska Sturdza."

"For the love of God," cried the agitated Prince, "why did you come here? You have destroyed the state and me; you have brought ruin on yourself and on us."

The unfortunate lady was unable to utter another word. Her energy was exhausted. She lay there on the marble floor, half unconscious.

The Princess Apafi summoned her ladies-in-waiting, who, at her command, hastened to raise the lady in their arms and began to sprinkle her face with eau-de-Cologne.

"I cannot allow her to be brought into my house," cried the terrified Apafi; "it would bring utter destruction on me and my family."

The Princess cast a look full of dignity upon her husband.

"What do you mean? Would you hand this unfortunate woman over to her pursuers? In her present condition, too? Suppose I was obliged to fly in a similar plight, would you fling me out upon the high road instead of offering me a place of refuge?"

"But the wrath of the Sultan?"

"Yes; and the contempt of posterity?"

"Then would you have me bring ruin upon my throne and my family for the sake of a woman?"

"Better perish for the sake of a woman than do that woman to death. If you shut your rooms against her, I will open mine wide to receive her, and then you can tell the Sultan if you like that I have taken her."

Apafi felt that his wife's obstinacy was getting him into a hideous muddle. This audacious woman would listen to no reasons of state in any matter which interested her humanity.

What was he to do? He pitied the persecuted lady from the bottom of his heart, but the emissary of the Sublime Porte, Olaj Beg, had come to demand her with plenipotentiary power. If he did not shelter the persecuted lady he would pronounce himself a coward in the face of the whole world; if he did shelter her, the Porte would annihilate him!

In the midst of this dilemma, one of the gate-keepers came in hot haste to announce that a band of Turkish soldiers was at that moment galloping along the road, inquiring in a loud voice for the Princess of Wallachia.

Apafi leant in dumb despair against a marble pillar whilst Anna quickly ordered her women to carry the unconscious lady to her innermost apartments and summon the doctor. She then went out on the balcony, and perceiving that the cavasses had just halted in front of the palace, she cried to the gate-keepers:

"Close the gates!"

Apafi would have very much liked to have countermanded the order; but while he was still thinking about it, the gates were snapped to under the very noses of the cavasses.

They began angrily beating with the shafts of their lances against the closed gate, whereupon the Princess called down to them from the balcony with a sonorous, authoritative voice:

"Ye good-for-nothing rascals, wherefore all that racket? This is not a barrack, but the residence of the Prince. Perchance ye know it not, because fresh human heads are wont to be nailed over the gates of your Princes every day as a mark of recognition? If that is what you are accustomed to, your error is pardonable."The cavasses were considerably startled at these words, and, looking up at the imperious lady, began to see that she really meant what she said. For a while they laid their heads together, and then turned round and departed.

Apafi sighed deeply.

"There is some hidden trick in this," said he, "but what it is God only knows."

A few moments later a mÜderris appeared from Olaj Beg at the gate of the Prince, and, being all alone, was admitted.

"Olaj Beg greets thee, and thou must come to him quickly," said he.

Anna had drawn near to greet her guest, but hearing that Olaj Beg summoned the Prince to appear before him, she approached the messenger, boiling over with wrath.

"Whoever heard," she said, "of a servant ordering his master about, or an ambassador summoning the Prince to whose Court he is accredited?"

But Apafi could only take refuge in a desperate falsehood.

"Poor Olaj Beg," he explained, "is very sick and cannot stir from his bed, and, indeed, he humbly begs me to pay him a visit. There is no humiliation in this—none at all, if I am graciously pleased to do it. He is an old man of eighty. I might be his grandson, he is wont to scold me as if I were his darling; I will certainly go to him, and put this matter right with him. You go to your sick guest and comfort her. I give you my word I will do everything to get her set free. For her sake I will humble myself."

The Princess Apafi's foresight already suggested to her that this humiliation would be permanent, but, perceiving that her own strength of mind was not contagious, she allowed her husband to depart.

Apafi prepared himself for his visit upon Olaj Beg. With a peculiar feeling of melancholy he did not put on his princely dolman of green velvet, but only the kÖntÖs of a simple nobleman, imagining that thus it would not be the Prince of Transylvania but the squire of Ebesfalu who was paying a visit on Olaj Beg. He went on foot to the house of Olaj Beg, accompanied by a single soldier, who had to put on his everyday clothes.

The dogs had been let loose in the courtyard, for the Beg was a great protector of animals, and used to keep open table in front of his dwelling for the wandering dogs of every town he came to.

Making his way through them, Apafi had to cross a hall and an ante-chamber, brimful with praying dervishes, who, squatting down with legs crossed, were reading aloud from books with large clasps, only so far paying attention to each other as to see which could yell the loudest.

The Prince did not address them, as it was clear that he would get no answer, but went straight towards the third door.

The chamber beyond was also full of spiders'-webs and dervishes, but a red cushion had been placed in the midst of it, and on this cushion sat a big, pale, grey man in a roomy yellow caftan. He also was holding a large book in front of him and reading painfully.

Apafi approached, and even ventured to address him.

"Merciful Olaj Beg, my gracious master, find a full stop somewhere in that book of yours, turn down the leaf at the proper spot, put it down, and listen to me."

Olaj Beg, on hearing the words of the Prince, put the book aside, and turning with a sweet and tender smile towards him, remarked with emotion:

"The angels of the Prophet bear thee up in all thy ways, my dear child. Heaven preserve every hair of thy beard, and the Archangel Izrafil go before thee and sweep every stone from thy path, that thy feet may not strike against them!"

With these words the Beg graciously extended his right hand to be kissed, blinking privily at the Prince; nor would Apafi have minded kissing it if they had been all alone, but in the presence of so many dervishes it would have been derogatory to his dignity; so, instead of doing so, he took the Beg's hand and provisionally placed it in his left hand and gave it a resounding thump with his right, and then shook it amicably as became a friend.

"Don't trouble thyself, my dear son, I will not suffer thee to kiss my hand," cried Olaj Beg, drawing back his hand and making a show of opposition so that everyone might fancy that Apafi was angry with him for not being allowed to kiss it.

"You have deigned to send for me," said Apafi, taking a step backwards; "tell me, I pray, what you desire, for my time is short. I am overwhelmed with affairs of state."

These last words Apafi pronounced with as majestic an intonation as possible.

Olaj Beg thereupon folded his hands together.

"Oh, my dear son!" said he, "the princely dignity is indeed a heavy burden. I see that quite well, nor am I in the least surprised that thou wishest to be relieved of it; but be of good cheer, the blessing of Heaven will come upon us when we are not praying for it; when thou dost least expect it the Sublime Sultan will have compassion upon thee, and will deliver thee of the heavy load which presses upon thy shoulders."

Apafi wrinkled his brows. The exordium was bad enough; he hastened towards the end of the business.

"Perchance, you have heard, gracious Olaj Beg! that the unfortunate Mariska Sturdza has taken refuge with us."

"It matters not," signified the Beg, with a reassuring wave of the hand.

"She took refuge in my palace without my knowledge," observed Apafi apologetically, "and what could I do when she was all alone? I couldn't turn her out of my house."

"There was no necessity. Thou didst as it became a merciful man to do.""If you had seen her you would yourself have felt sorry for her—sick, half-dead, desperate, she flung herself at my feet, imploring compassion, and before I could reply to her she had fainted away. Perhaps even now she is dead."

"Oh, poor child!" cried Olaj Beg, folding both his hands and raising his eyes to Heaven.

"Her husband had left her in great misery, and alone she plunged into jeopardy," continued Apafi, trying to justify the persecuted woman in every possible manner.

"Oh, poor, unhappy child!" cried Olaj Beg, shaking his head.

"And more than that," sighed Apafi, "the poor woman is big with child."

"What dost thou say?"

"Yes, sir, and flying day and night in all sorts of weathers from her pursuers in such a condition, you can imagine her wretched condition; she was scarce alive, she was on the very threshold of death."

"Allah be gracious to her and extend over her the wings of his mercy!"

Apafi began to think that he had found Olaj Beg in a charitable humour.

"I knew that you would not be angry about her."

"I am not angry, my son, I am not angry. My eyes overflow at her sad fate."

"She, you know, had no share in her husband's faults."

"Far from it."

"And it would not be right that an innocent woman should atone for what her husband has committed."

"Certainly not."

"Then do you think, my lord, that the Sublime Sultan will be merciful to this woman?"

"What a question! Have no fear for her!"

Apafi was not so simple as not to be struck by this exaggerated indulgence, the more satisfactory were the Beg's replies the keener grew his feeling of anxiety. At last, much perturbed, he ventured to put this question:"Gracious Beg! will you allow this unfortunate woman to rest in peace at my house, and can you assure me that the Sublime Sultan will espouse her cause?"

"The Holy Book says: 'Be merciful to them that suffer and compassionate them that weep.' Therefore, behold I grant thee thy desire: let this poor innocent woman repose in thy house in peace, let her rest thoroughly from her sufferings and let her enjoy the blessedness of peace till such time as I must take her from thee by the command of the Grand Seignior."

Apafi felt his brain reel, so marvellous, so terrible was this graciousness of the Turk towards him.

"And when think you you will require this woman to be handed over?"

Olaj Beg, with a reassuring look, tapped Apafi on the shoulder, and said with a voice full of unction:

"Fret not thyself, my dear son! In no case will it be earlier than to-morrow morning."

Apafi almost collapsed in his fright.

"To-morrow morning, do you say, my lord?"

"I promise thee she shall not be disturbed before."

Apafi perceived that the man had been making sport with him all along. Rage began to seethe in his heart.

"But, my lord, I said nothing about one day. One day is the period allowed to condemned criminals."

"Days and seasons come from Allah, and none may divide them."

"Damn you soft sawder!" murmured Apafi between his teeth. "My lord," he resumed, "would you carry away with you a sick woman whom only the most tender care can bring back from the shores of Death, and who, if she were now to set out for Buda, would never reach it, for she would die on the way?"

Olaj Beg piously raised his hands to Heaven.

"Life and death are inscribed above in the Book of Thora, and if it there be written in letters embellished with roses and tulips that Mariska Sturdza must die to-morrow, or the day after to-morrow, die she will most certainly, though she lay upon musk and were anointed with the balm of life, and neither the prayers of the saints nor the lore of the Sages could save her—but if it be written that she is to live, then let the Angels of Death come against her with every manner of weapon and they shall not harm her."

Apafi saw that he would have to speak very plainly to this crafty old man.

"Worthy Olaj Beg! you know that this realm has a constitution which enjoins that the Prince himself must not issue ordinances in the more weighty matters without consulting his counsellors. Now, the present case seems to me to be so important that I cannot inform you of my resolution till I have communicated it to my council."

"It is well, my dear son, I have no objection. Speak with those servants of thine whom thou hast made thy masters; sit in thy council chamber and let the matter be well considered as it deserves to be; and if thereafter ye decide that the Princess shall accompany me, I will take her away and take leave of thee with great honour; but if it should so fall out that ye do not give her up to me, my dear son, or should allow her to escape from me—then will I take thee instead of her, together with thy brave counsellors, my sweet son."

The Beg said these words in the sweetest, tenderest voice, as old grandfathers are wont to address their grandchildren, and descending from his pillows he stroked the Prince's face with both his hands, and kissed him on the temples with great good will, quite covering his head with his long white beard.

Apafi felt as if the whole room were dancing around him. He did not speak a word, but turned on his axis and went right out. He himself did not know how he got through the first door, but by the time he had shut the second door behind him he bethought him that he was still the Prince of Transylvania, and by descent one of the first noblemen of the land, whereas Olaj Beg was only a nasty, dirty Turkish captain, who had been a camel-driver in the days of his youth, and yet had dared to speak to him, the Prince, like that! By the time he had reached the third door he had reflected that in the days when he was nothing but the joint-tenant of Ebesfalu, if Olaj Beg had dared to treat him so shamefully, he would have broken his bald head for him with a stout truncheon. But had he not just such a stout truncheon actually hanging by his side? Yes, he had! and he would go back and strike Olaj Beg with it, not exactly on the head perhaps, but, at any rate, on the back that he might remember for the rest of his life the stylus curialis of Transylvania.

And with that he turned back from the third door with very grave resolves.

But when he had re-opened the second door he bethought him once more that such violence might be of great prejudice to the realm, and besides, there was not very much glory after all in striking an old man of eighty. But at any rate he would tell him like a man what it had not occurred to him to say in the first moment of his surprise.

So when he had opened the first door and was in the presence of Olaj Beg, he stood there on the threshold with the door ajar, and said to him in a voice of thunder:

"Hearken, Olaj Beg! I have come back simply to tell you——"

Olaj Beg looked at him.

"What dost thou say, my good son?"

"This," continued Apafi in a very much lower key, "that it will take time to summon the council, for BÉldi lives at Bodola, Teleki at Gernyeszeg, Csaky at DÉva, and until they come together you can do what you think best: you may remain here or go"—and with that he turned back, and only when he had slammed to the door he added—"to hell!"