And he withdrew. The other gentlemen resolved, however, that they would all arm their retainers. At a word from Béldi the armed Szeklers of Háromszék, Csik, and Udvarhelyszék rose at once; they were ready at an hour’s notice to rise in obedience to the command of their generalissimo.
The news of this audacious insurrection reached Michael Teleki at Gernyeszeg, who was beside himself with joy, well aware that Béldi was not the sort of man who was likely to prevail in a civil war whilst the contrary case would bring about his ruin, as he had now gone too far to draw back again. He immediately hastened to the Prince and, arousing him from his bed, told him that Béldi had risen against him, and so terrified Apafi that he immediately got into his coach, and fled by torchlight to Fogaras. Gregory Bethlen, Farkas, and the other counsellors also took to their heels in a panic—only Teleki remained cool. He knew the character of Béldi too well to be afraid of him.
So the spark of ambition and rage was kindled in Paul Béldi’s heart, and for some days it looked as if he would be the master of Transylvania, for nothing could resist him with the Szekler bands at his side, and all the regular troops were scattered among the frontier fortresses.
But Béldi thought it enough to show his weapons without letting them be felt. Instead of a declaration of war he sent a manifesto full of loyalty to the Prince, in which he assured his Highness that he had taken up arms not against his Highness but in the name of the state; all he demanded was that the counsellors of the Prince should be tried by the laws of the realm.
Whilst this wild missive was on its way, Teleki had had time to call together the troops from the frontier fortresses, and send orders to those of the Szeklers who had not risen to assemble under Clement Mikes in defence of the Prince; and while Béldi awaited an attack, he proceeded to take the offensive against him at once.
One day Béldi was sitting in the castle of Bodola along with Ladislaus Csaky, when news was brought them that Gregory Bethlen, with the army of the Prince, was already before Kronstadt.
“War can no longer be avoided,” sighed Csaky.
“We can avoid it if we lay down our arms,” returned Béldi.
“Surely you do not think of that?” inquired Csaky in alarm.
“Why should I not? I will take no part in a civil war.”
“Then we are lost.”
“Rather we shall save thousands.”
The same day he ordered his forces to disperse and return home.
The next day Gregory Bethlen sent Michael Vay to Bodola, who brought with him the Prince’s pardon.
Csaky ground his teeth together. It occurred to him that he had got Denis Banfi beheaded, yet he too had received a pardon, and he inquired of Vay in some alarm: “Can we really rely on this letter of pardon?”
Michael Vay was candid enough to reply: “Well, my dear brethren, though you had a hundred pardons it would be as well if you courageously resolved to quit Transylvania notwithstanding.”
Csaky gave not another moment’s thought to the matter, but packed up his trunks, and while it was still daylight escaped through the Bozza Pass.
Béldi decided to remain; shame prevented him from flying.
Nevertheless, Michael Vay told his wife and children of his danger and they insisted, supplicating him on their knees, that he should hasten away and save himself.
“And what about you?” asked Béldi, looking at his tearful family.
He had two handsome sons, and his daughter Aranka had grown up a lovely damsel; she was the apple of her father’s eye, his pride and his glory.
“What about you?” he asked with a troubled voice.
“You can more easily defend us at Stambul than here,” said Dame Béldi; and Béldi saw that that was a word spoken in season.
That word changed his resolve, for, indeed, by seeking a refuge at the Porte, he would be able to help himself and his family much more, and perhaps even give a better turn to the fortunes of his country. There, too, many of the highest viziers were his friends who had very great influence in affairs.
He immediately had his horse saddled, and after taking leave of his family with the utmost confidence, he escaped through the Bozza Pass the same night with an escort of a few chosen servants into Wallachia, where he found many other fugitive colleagues, and with them he took refuge at the Porte—then the highest court of appeal for Transylvania.
XXII
The Divan
The gates of the seraglio were thrown wide open, the discordant, clanging, and ear-piercing music was put to silence by a thundering roll of drums, and twelve mounted cavasses with great trouble and difficulty began clearing a way for the corps of viziers among the thronging crowd, belabouring all they met in their path with stout cudgels and rhinoceros whips. The indolent, gaping crowd saw that it was going to be flogged, yet didn’t stir a step to get out of the reach of the whips and bludgeons.
The members of the Divan dismounted from their horses in the courtyard and ascended the steps, which were guarded by a double row of Janissaries with drawn scimitars, the blue and yellow curtains of the assembly hall of the Divan were drawn aside before them, and the mysterious inner chamber—the hearth and home of so much power and splendour, once upon a time—lay open before them.
It was a large octagonal chamber without any of those adornments forbidden by the Koran; its marble pavement covered by oriental carpets, its walls to the height of a man’s stature inlaid with mother-o’-pearl. Along the walls were placed a simple row of low sofas covered with red velvet and without backrests, behind them was a pillared niche concealing a secret door where Amurath was wont to listen unperceived to the consultations of
