In the most secret chamber of the DivÁn were assembled the Viziers for an important consultation. The impending war was the subject of their grave deliberations. For as Mohammed had said, there ought to be one God in Heaven and one Lord on earth, so many of the Faithful believed that the time for the accomplishment of this axiom had now arrived.

Those wise men of the empire, those honourable counsellors, Kucsuk and Kiuprile, were dead. Kara Mustafa, an arrogant, self-confidant man, directed the mind of the DivÁn, and everyone followed his lead.

The Sultan himself was present, a handsome man with regular features, but with an expression of lassitude and exhaustion. During the whole consultation he never uttered a word nor moved a muscle of his face; he sat there like a corpse.

One by one the ambassadors of the Foreign Powers were admitted. The orator of Louis XIV. declared that the French King was about to attack the Kaiser with all his forces; if the Sultan would also rise up against him, he would be able to seize not only all Hungary but Vienna likewise.

The Sultan was silent. The Grand Vizier, answering for him, replied that Hungary had long since belonged to the Sultan, and no doubt Vienna and Poland would shortly share the same fate. The Sultan could only suffer tributary kings on the earth.The ambassador drew a somewhat wry face at these words, reflecting that France also was on the earth; then he withdrew.

After him came the envoys of Emeric TÖkÖly, offering the blood and the swords of the Hungarian malcontents to the Sultan if he would help them to win back Hungary.

This time the Sultan replied instead of Mustafa.

"The Grand Seignior greets his servants, and will be gracious to them if they will help him to win back Hungary."

The envoys noticed that their words had ingeniously been twisted, but as they also had their own arriÈre-pensÉes in regard to the Turks, they only looked at each other with a smile and withdrew.

Then came the Transylvanian embassy—gentle, mild-looking men, whose orator delivered an extraordinarily florid discourse. His Highness, Michael Apafi, they said, and all the estates of Transylvania, were ready to draw their swords for the glory of the Grand Seignior and invade Hungary.

Mustafa replied:

"The Grand Seignior permits you to help your comrades in Hungary."

The orator would like to have heard something different—for example, that the crown of Hungary was reserved for Michael Apafi, the dignity of Palatine for Teleki, etc., etc., and there he stood scratching his ear till the Grand Vizier told him he might go.

Ha, ha! the Turkish policy was written in Turkish.

After the foreign envoys came the messengers from the various pashas and commandants in Hungary, who brought terrible tidings of raids, incursions, and outrages on the part of the Magyar population against the Turks. The Grand Vizier exclaimed angrily at every fresh report, only the Sultan was silent. Last of all came the ulemas.

On their decisions everything depended.

Very solemnly they appeared before the DivÁn. First of all advanced the Chief Mufti in a long mantle reaching to his heels, and with a large beehive-shaped hat upon his head; his white beard reached to his girdle. After him came two imams, one of whom carried a large document in a velvet case, whose pendant seal swung to and fro beneath its long golden cord; the other bent beneath the weight of an enormous book—it was the Alkoran.

The Alkoran is a very nice large book, larger than our corpus juris of former days, and in it may be found everything which everyone requires: accusatory, condemnatory, and absolvatory texts for one and the same thing.

The Mufti presented the Alkoran to the Sultan and all the Viziers in turn, and each one of them kissed it with deep reverence; then he beckoned to one of the imams to kneel down on a stool before the DivÁn and remain there resting on his hands and knees, and placing the Koran on his back, began to select expressly marked texts.

For seventy years he had thoroughly studied the sacred volume, and could say that he had read it through seven hundred and ninety-three times. He, therefore, knew all its secrets, and could turn at once to the leaf on which the text he wanted to read aloud could be found.

"The Alkoran saith," he read with unctuous devotion, "'the knot which hath been tied in the name of Allah the hand of Allah can unloose!' The Alkoran saith moreover: 'Wherever we may be, and whatever we may be, everywhere we are all of us in the hand of Allah.' Therefore this treaty of peace is also in the hand of Allah, and the hand of Allah can unloose everything. Furthermore, the Alkoran saith: 'If any among thy suffering father's children implore help from thee, answer him not: come to me to-morrow, for my vow forbids me to rise up to-day; or, if any ask an alms of thee answer him not: to-day it cannot be, for my vow forbids me to touch money; or, if anyone beg thee to slay someone, answer him not: to-morrow I will help thee, for my vow forbids me to draw the sword to-day; verily the observance of thy vow will be a greater sin to thee than its violation.' Moreover, thus saith the Alkoran: 'The happiness of the nations is the first duty of the rulers of the earth, yet the glory of Allah comes before it.' And finally it is written: 'Whoso formeth a league with the infidel bindeth himself to wage war upon Allah, yet vainly do the nations of the earth bind themselves together that they may live long, for let Allah send his breath upon them and more of them are destroyed in one day than in ten years of warfare: kings and beggars—it is all one.'"

At each fresh sentence the viziers and the ulemas bowed their heads to the ground. Mustafa could not restrain a blood-thirsty smile, which distorted his face more and more at each fresh sentence, and at the last word, with a fanatical outburst, he threw off the mask altogether, and with a howl of joy kissed repeatedly the hem of the Chief Mufti's mantle.

The Mufti then unclasped the velvet case which contained the treaty of peace, and drawing forth the parchment, which was folded fourfold, he unfolded it with great ceremony, and placing it in the hands of the second imam that he might hold it spread open at both ends, he exhibited the document to the viziers.

It was a long and beautiful script. The initial letter was as big as a painted castle and wreathed around with a pattern of birds and flowers. The whole of the first line of it was in ultramarine letters, the other lines much smaller on a gradually diminishing scale, and whenever the name of Allah occurred, it was written in letters of gold. The Sultan's name was always in red, the Kaiser's in bright green letters. At the foot of it was the fantastic flourish which passed for the Sultan's signature, which he would never have been able to write, but which was always engraved on the signet ring which he wore on his finger."Lo! here is the treaty," said the Mufti, pointing to the document, "from which, by the command of Allah, I will now wash off the writing."

Thereupon he drew across the document a large brush which he had previously dipped into a large basin of water in which sundry chemicals had been dissolved, and suddenly the writing began to fade away, the Sultan's name written in red letters disappeared instantly from the parchment, then the lines written in black ink visibly grew dimmer. The Kaiser's name written in bright green letters resisted more obstinately, but at last these also vanished utterly, and nothing more remained on the white parchment but the name of God written in letters of gold—the corrosive acid was powerless against that.

Deep silence prevailed in the DivÁn, every eye was fixed with pious attention on the bleaching script.

Then, seizing a drawn sword, the Mufti raised it aloft and said:

"Having wiped away the writing which cast dishonour on the name of Allah, I now cut this document in four pieces with the point of my sword."

And speaking thus, and while the imam stretched the parchment out with both hands, the Mufti cut it into four pieces with the sword he held in his hand, and placing the fragments in a pan, filled it up with naptha from a little crystal flask.

"Lo! now I burn thee before the face of Allah!"

Then he passed an ignited wax taper over the pan, whereupon the naptha instantly burst into flame, and the fragments of the torn document were hidden by the blue fire and the white smoke. Presently the flame turned to red, the smoke subsided, and the parchment was burnt to ashes.

"And now I scatter thy ashes that thou mayst be dispersed to nothing," said the Mufti; and, taking the ashes, he flung them out of the palace window. The burnt paper rags, like black butterflies, descended gently through the air and were cast by the wind into the Bosphorus below.No sooner was this accomplished than the pashas and viziers all leaped from their seats and drew their swords, swearing with great enthusiasm by the beard of the Prophet that they would not return their weapons to their sheaths till the crescent should shine on the top of the tower of the Church of St. Stephen at Vienna.

At that moment the door-curtains were thrust aside, and into the DivÁn rushed—Feriz Beg.

The face of the youth was scarce recognisable, his turban was awry upon his forehead, his eyes, full of dull melancholy, stared stonily in front of him, his dress was untidy and dishevelled, his sword was girded to his side, but its handle was broken. Nobody had prevented him from rushing through the numerous halls into the DivÁn, and when he entered the ulemas parted before him in holy horror. When the youth reached the middle of the room, he stood there glancing round upon the viziers with folded arms, just as if he were counting how many of them there were, one by one they all stood up before him—nay, even the Sultan did so, and awaited his words tremblingly.

Everyone in the East regards the insane with awe and reverence, and if a crazy fakir were to stop the greatest of the Caliphs in the way and say to him: "Dismount from thy horse, and change garments with me," he would not dare to offer any opposition, but would fulfil his desire, for a strange spirit is in the man and God has sent it.

How will it be then when the terrible spirit of madness descends upon such a valiant warrior, such a distinguished soldier as Feriz Beg, who, when only six-and-twenty, had fought a hundred triumphant battles, and frequently put to shame the grey beards with his wisdom. And lo! suddenly he goes mad, and stops people in the street, and speaks such words of terror to them that they cannot sleep after it.

The youth, with quiet, gentle eyes and a sorrowful countenance passes in review the faces of all who are present, and heartrending was the expression of deep unutterable anguish in his voice when he spoke.

"Pardon me, high and mighty lords, for appearing among you without an invitation—I who have now no business at all in the world anywhere. The world in which I lived is dead, it has withdrawn to Heaven far from me; all those who possessed my heart are now high above my head, and now, I have no heart and no feeling: neither love, nor valour, nor the desire of fame and glory; in my veins the blood flows backwards and forwards so that oftentimes I rush roaring against the walls round about me and tear carpets and pillows which have never offended me; and now again the blood stands still within me, my arteries do not beat at all, so that I lie stiff and staring like a dead man. I beg you all, ye high and mighty lords, who in a brief time will go to Paradise, to take a message from me thither."

The high lords listened horror-stricken to the calm way in which the youth uttered these words, and they saw each other's faces growing pale.

Feriz paid no attention to their horrified expressions.

"Tell to them whom I love, and with whom my heart is, to give me back my heart, for without it I am very poor. I perceive not the fragrance of the rose, wine is not sweet to my lips, neither fire nor the rays of the sun have any warmth, and the note of the bugle-horn and the neighing of my charger find no response in me. High and mighty lords, tell this to those who are above if I myself go not thither shortly."

There were present, besides Mustafa, RezlÁn Pasha, Ajas Beg, RifÁt Aga, Kara Ogli the Kapudan Pasha, and many more who promised themselves a long life.

The Grand Seignior had always made a particular favourite of Feriz, and he now addressed him in a gentle, fatherly voice.

"My dear son, go back home; my viziers are preparing to subdue the world with unconquerable armies. Go with them, in the din of battle thou wilt find again thy heroic heart and be cured of thy sickness."

An extraordinary smile passed across the face of Feriz, he waved aside the idea with his hand and bent his head forwards, which is a way the Turks have of expressing decided negation.

"This war cannot be a triumphant war, for men are the cause thereof. Allah will bring it to nought. Ye draw the sword at the invitation of murderers, deceivers, and traitors. I have broken the hilt of my own sword in order that I may not draw it forth. They have killed those whom I love, how can I fight in that army which was formed for them who were the occasion of the ruin of my beloved?"

At this thought the blood flew to the youth's face, the spirit of madness flamed up in his eyes, he rose to his full height before the Sultan, and he cried with a loud, audacious voice:

"Thou wilt lose the war for which thou dost now prepare, for thy viziers are incapable, thy soldiers are cowards, thy allies are traitors, thy wise men are fools, thy priests are hypocrites, and thou thyself art an oath-breaker."

Then, as if he were suddenly sorry of what he had said to the Sultan, he bent humbly over him and taking hold of the edge of his garment raised it up and kissed it—and then, regarding him with genuine sympathy, murmured softly:

"Poor Sultan!—so young, so young—and yet thou must die."

And thereupon, with hanging head, he turned away and prepared to go out. None stayed him.

On reaching the door, he fumbled for his sword, and perceiving when he touched it that the hilt was missing, he suddenly turned back again, and exclaimed in a low whisper:

"Think not that it will rust in its sheath. The time will come when I shall again draw it, and it will drink its fill of blood. When those who now urge us on to war shall turn against us, when those who now stand in line with us shall face us with hostile banners, then also will I return, though then ye will no longer be present. But ye shall look on from Paradise above. So it will be: ye shall look on ... Poor young Sultan!"

Having whispered these prophetic words, the mad youth withdrew, and the gentlemen in the DivÁn were so much disturbed by his words that, with faces bent to the earth, they prayed Allah that He would turn aside from them the evil prophesy and not suffer to be broken asunder the weapons they had drawn for the increase of His glory.