“Salem alek! What do you want?” asked Apafi curtly.
The emir measured the Prince from head to foot twice or thrice with his piercing eyes, threw back his head, and said—
“My master, the gracious Kuban Khan, bids me say to thee, O Prince of the Giaours, that thou art a perjured, false, and faithless man. Thou didst swear by thy honour that we should be good neighbours, and how hast thou kept thy word? It chanced last year that we traversed the Saxon25 land, and visited those towns whose names no true believer can pronounce, to collect the usual yearly tribute. They were ever good payers, but some among them chancing to lag behind with their contributions were, by the order of the most gracious Khan, instantly reduced to ashes that they might learn to behave better another time. And perchance thou dost fancy that they amended their evil ways? Not at all. For when we visited them again this year, we found the charred and naked walls as we had left them the year before: the unbelieving dogs had traitorously fled away. Wherefore my gracious master, the mighty Kuban Khan, bids me ask thee what manner of prince thou art that dost suffer these unbelieving dogs to so forsake their towns and make fools of us. When we came at other times, the hay was housed, the corn thrashed, the cattle stalled—and this time we find nought but weeds, and therein hares and other unclean beasts which ye unbelievers delight to eat, and none of the towns built up again, so that we could take no vengeance. Look to it, then, if thou wouldst not draw down upon thy head the wrath of the mighty Khan, look to it that thou commandest this runaway people to return to its towns that we may reckon with them; and in the meantime bid the remaining Saxon towns, which have faithlessly environed their houses with impregnable walls, that they open their gates to us, otherwise we will visit thee in Klausenburg itself with fire and sword, and will not leave thee one stone upon another.”
Apafi, during the course of this speech, had frequently laid his hand on his sword, but he evidently thought better of it, for it was with the utmost tranquillity that he thus replied—
“Go back! Greet thy master, and say that we will give him satisfaction.”
With that he turned his back upon the envoy, and would have returned to his cabinet had not Teleki barred the way.
“That is not enough, your Highness. Once for all we must make it impossible for any dog-headed Tartar to speak such brave words before the throne of the Prince of Transylvania.”
“Speak to him then yourself!”
Teleki thereupon, with an earnest, dignified mien, stepped up to the emir, stared him out of countenance, and said with a firm voice—
“Thy master is doubtless the ruler of Tartary, but is not my master the Prince of Transylvania? And is not the sublime Sultan the protector of us both? Know then that the sublime Sultan did not make thy master Khan of Tartary that he might dwell in Transylvania, nor has he set my master on the throne of Transylvania to endure the insolence of thy master! Go back then to thine own land, and come not hither again to wonder why a town which is burnt down one year is not built up again the next. We will take good care that all such places are rebuilt, but we will also see that the bastions are high enough to keep thee out, and shouldst thou desire to visit us at Klausenburg next year, we will also take care that thou shalt not have thy journey for nothing, and will provide guns in abundance to salute thee at a respectful distance.”
All this Teleki said to the emir with a perfectly serious countenance.
The emir snorted with fury. His eyes grew bloodshot. His hand played with the hilt of his scimitar, and he stammered with pallid lips—
“If any of my master’s servants spoke thus in his presence, he would immediately have his head struck off.”
But Apafi tapped Teleki on the shoulder, and murmured as he stroked his beard—
“It is well, Master Michael Teleki! You have spoken like a man.”
The emir turned furiously upon his heel, and, shaking the dust from his feet, left the room.
This scene put Apafi in a good humour, especially with Teleki. The minister could read this change of mood in his master’s face, and hastened to make use of it. Taking one of the many suitors by the hand, he presented him to Apafi with these words—
“My future son-in-law, your Highness.”
Apafi would probably have escaped from a presentation made in any other way; but made in this form he could not possibly avoid it. He was compelled to cast a glance upon the young man.
The person so presented was a tall, handsome stripling with blooming red cheeks and no trace, as yet, of a beard. In his femininely beautiful features, it was pride alone which revealed the man.
The youth pleased Apafi.
“What is your son-in-law’s name?” he asked Teleki.
With a peculiar smile Teleki said—
“Emerich, Stephen Tököly’s son.”
On hearing this name, Apafi suddenly became very grave, and said to the young man—
“Your father was a good friend to me”—and yet he did not extend his hand to the son.
“I know it,” replied the youth, “and for that reason I have come to your Highness.”
“But your late father—God rest him!—was an unruly spirit. It is well that you have not followed in his footsteps. He was never happy unless he was fighting. The thunder of artillery was a vital necessity to him, and the last hours of his life were spent at a siege. Well for you that you do not imitate him! You seem to me a very steady, quiet sort of young man.”
“Oh! such praise as that I’m sure I don’t deserve,”
