Teleki clenched his fists and stamped his feet, as much as to say: “I would not allow that.”
Then with a bitter smile he watched the Prince as he paced up and down the tent, and said with a cold, metallic voice:
“One swallow does not make a summer. If ten or twelve worthless fellows desert to Tököly, much good may it do him! The army of the real Hungarian heroes will not follow their example, and when it can fight beneath the banner of a Prince it will not fling itself into the arms of a homeless adventurer.”
“Then it would be as well if your Excellency spoke to them at once, for methinks that this night the whole lot of them may turn tail.”
Teleki seemed impressed by these words. He immediately ordered his drabants to go to the captains of the army collected from Hungary who had joined Apafi at Fülek, and invite them to a conference in his tent at once.
The officers so summoned, with a good deal of humming and hahing, met together in Teleki’s tent, and there the Minister harangued them for two good hours, proving to demonstration what a lot of good they might expect from cleaving to Apafi, and what a lot of evil if they allowed themselves to be deluded by Tököly, till the poor fellows were quite tired out and cried: “Hurrah!” in order that he might let them go the sooner.
But that same night they all fled to the camp of Tököly. None remained with Apafi but his faithful Transylvanians.
But even now Teleki could not familiarise himself with the idea of playing a subordinate part here, but staked everything on a last, desperate cast—he went to the Grand Vizier. He announced himself, and was admitted.
The Grand Vizier was alone in his tent with his dragoman, and when he saw Teleki he tried to make his unpleasant face more repulsive than it was by nature, and inquired very viciously: “Who art thou? Who sent thee hither? What dost thou want?”
“I, sir, am the general of the Transylvanian armies, Michael Teleki; you know me very well, only yesterday I was here with the Prince.”
Just as if the two speakers did not understand each other’s language, the dragoman had to interpret their questions and answers.
“I hope,” replied the Grand Vizier, “thou dost not expect me to recognise at sight the names of all the petty princes and generals whom I have ever cast eyes on? My master, the mighty Sultan, has so many tributary princes in Europe, Asia, and Africa, that their numbers are incalculable, and all of them are superior men to thee, how canst thou expect me to recognise thee among so many?”
Teleki swallowed the insult, and seeing that the Grand Vizier was anxious to pick a quarrel with him, he came straight to the point.
“Gracious sir, I have something very important to say to you if you will grant me a private interview.”
The Grand Vizier pretended to fly into a rage at these words.
“Art thou mad or drunk that thou wouldst have a private interview with me, although I don’t understand Hungarian and thou dost not understand Turkish, or perchance thou wouldst like me to learn Hungarian to please thee? Ye learn Latin, I suppose, though no living being speaks it? And ye learn German and French and Greek, yet ye stop short at the language of the Turks, though the Turks are your masters and protectors! For a hundred and fifty years our armies have passed through your territories, yet how many of you have learned Turkish? ’Tis true our soldiers have learnt Hungarian, for thy language is as sticky as resin on a growing tree. Therefore, if thou art fool enough to ask me for a private interview—go home and learn Turkish first!”
Teleki bowed low, went home and learnt Turkish—that is to say, he packed up a couple of thousand thalers in a sack—and, accompanied by two porters to carry them, returned once more to the tent of the Grand Vizier.
And now the Grand Vizier understood everything which the magnate wished to say. The dragoman interpreted everything beautifully. He said the Sultan was building a fortress on the ice when he entrusted the fate of the Hungarians to such a flighty youth as Emeric Tököly. How could a young man, who was such a bad manager of his own property, manage the affairs of a whole kingdom? And so fond was he of being his own master, that he suffered himself to be exiled from Transylvania with the loss of all his property rather than submit to the will of his lawful Prince. The man who had already rebelled against two rulers would certainly not be very loyal to a third; while Apafi, on the other hand, had all his life long been a most faithful vassal of the Sublime Porte, and, modest, humble man as he was, would be far more useful than Tököly, whom the Porte would always be obliged to help with men and money, whereas the latter would always be able to help with men and money the Porte and its meritorious viziers—uti figura docet.
Mustafa listened to the long oration, took the money, and replied that he would see what could be done.
Teleki was not quite clear about the impression his words had made, but he did not remain in uncertainty for long; for scarcely had he reached the tent of the Prince than a defterdar with twelve cavasses came after him, and signified that he was commanded by the Grand Vizier immediately to seize Michael Teleki, fling him into irons, and bring him before a council of pashas.
Michael Teleki turned pale at these words. The faithless dragoman had told everything to Tököly, who had demanded satisfaction from the Grand Vizier, who, without the least scruple of conscience, was now ready to
