The Prince of India; Or, Why Constantinople Fell — Volume 02

by Lew Wallace

  CHAPTER XIII

  MAHOMMED IN SANCTA SOPHIA

  Count Corti, we may well believe, did not spare his own steed, or thoseof his Berbers; and there was a need of haste of which he was not awareupon setting out from St. Romain. The Turks had broken through theresistance of the Christian fleet in the harbor, and were surging intothe city by the gate St. Peter (Phanar), which was perilously near theresidence of the Princess Irene.

  Already the spoil-seekers were making sure of their hire. More thanonce he dashed by groups of them hurrying along the streets in searchof houses most likely to repay plundering. There were instances when heovertook hordesmen already happy in the possession of "strings ofslaves;" that is to say, of Greeks, mostly women and children, tied bytheir hands to ropes, and driven mercilessly on. The wailing andprayers of the unfortunate smote the Count to the heart; he longed todeliver them; but he had given his best efforts to save them in thestruggle to save the city, and had failed; now it would be a providenceof Heaven could he rescue the woman waiting for him in such faith aswas due his word and honor specially plighted to her. As the pillagersshowed no disposition to interfere with him, he closed his eyes andears to their brutalities, and sped forward.

  The district in which the Princess dwelt was being overrun when he atlast drew rein at her door. With a horrible dread, he alighted, andpushed in unceremoniously. The reception-room was empty. Was he toolate? Or was she then in Sancta Sophia? He flew to the chapel, andblessed God and Christ and the Mother, all in a breath. She was beforethe altar in the midst of her attendants. Sergius stood at her side,and of the company they alone were perfectly self-possessed. A whiteveil lay fallen over her shoulders; save that, she was in unrelievedblack. The pallor of her countenance, caused, doubtless, by weeks ofcare and unrest, detracted slightly from the marvelous beauty which washers by nature; but it seemed sorrow and danger only increased thegentle dignity always observable in her speech and manner.

  "Princess Irene," he said, hastening forward, and reverently salutingher hand, "if you are still of the mind to seek refuge in SanctaSophia, I pray you, let us go thither."

  "We are ready," she returned. "But tell me of the Emperor."

  The Count bent very low.

  "Your kinsman is beyond insult and further humiliation. His soul iswith God."

  Her eyes glistened with tears, and partly to conceal her emotion sheturned to the picture above the altar, and said, in a low voice, andbrokenly:

  "O Holy Mother, have thou his soul in thy tender care, and be with menow, going to what fate I know not."

  The young women surrounded her, and on their knees filled the chapelwith sobbing and suppressed wails. Striving for composure himself, theCount observed them, and was at once assailed by an embarrassment.

  They were twenty and more. Each had a veil over her head; yet from thedelicacy of their hands he could imagine their faces, while their rankwas all too plainly certified by the elegance of their garments. As atemptation to the savages, their like was not within the walls. How washe to get them safely to the Church, and defend them there? He was usedto military problems, and decision was a habit with him; still he wassorely tried--indeed, he was never so perplexed.

  The Princess finished her invocation to the Holy Mother.

  "Count Corti," she said, "I now place myself and these, my sisters inmisfortune, under thy knightly care. Only suffer me to send for oneother.--Go, Sergius, and bring Lael."

  One other!

  "Now God help me!" he cried, involuntarily; and it seemed he was heard.

  "Princess," he returned, "the Turks have possession of the streets. Onmy way I passed them with prisoners whom they were driving, and theyappeared to respect a right of property acquired. Perhaps they will benot less observant to me; wherefore bring other veils here--enough tobind these ladies two and two."

  As she seemed hesitant, he added: "Pardon me, but in the streets youmust all go afoot, to appearances captives just taken."

  The veils were speedily produced, and the Princess bound her tremblingcompanions in couples hand to hand; submitting finally to be herselftied to Lael. Then when Sergius was more substantially joined to theancient Lysander, the household sallied forth.

  A keener realization of the situation seized the gentler portion of theprocession once they were in the street, and they there gave way totears, sobs, and loud appeals to the Saints and Angels of Mercy.

  The Count rode in front; four of his Berbers moved on each side; SheikHadifah guarded the rear; and altogether a more disconsolate company ofcaptives it were hard imagining. A rope passing from the first coupleto the last was the only want required to perfect the resemblance tothe actual slave droves at the moment on nearly every thoroughfare inConstantinople.

  The weeping cortege passed bands of pillagers repeatedly.

  Once what may be termed a string in fact was met going in the oppositedirection; women and children, and men and women were lashed together,like animals, and their lamentations were piteous. If they fell orfaltered, they were beaten. It seemed barbarity could go no further.

  Once the Count was halted. A man of rank, with a following at hisheels, congratulated him in Turkish:

  "O friend, thou hast a goodly capture."

  The stranger came nearer.

  "I will give you twenty gold pieces for this one," pointing to thePrincess Irene, who, fortunately, could not understand him--"andfifteen for this one."

  "Go thy way, and quickly," said Corti, sternly.

  "Dost thou threaten me?"

  "By the Prophet, yes--with my sword, and the Padishah."

  "The Padishah! Oh, ho!" and the man turned pale. "God is great--I givehim praise."

  At last the Count alighted before the main entrance of the Church. Byfriendly chance, also--probably because the site was far down towardthe sea, in a district not yet reached by the hordesmen--the space infront of the vestibule was clear of all but incoming fugitives; and hehad but to knock at the door, and give the name of the Princess Ireneto gain admission.

  In the vestibule the party were relieved of their bonds; after whichthey passed into the body of the building, where they embraced eachother, and gave praise aloud for what they considered a finaldeliverance from death and danger; in their transports, they kissed themarbles of the floor again and again.

  While this affecting scene was going on, Corti surveyed the interior.The freest pen cannot do more than give the view with a clearness tobarely stimulate the reader's imagination.

  It was about eleven o'clock. The smoke of battle which had overlain thehills of the city was dissipated; so the sun, nearing high noon, pouredits full of splendor across the vast nave in rays slanted from south tonorth, and a fine, almost impalpable dust hanging from the dome in thestill air, each ray shone through it in vivid, half-prismatic reliefagainst the shadowy parts of the structure. Such pillars in thegalleries as stood in the paths of the sunbeams seemed effulgent, likeemeralds and rubies. His eyes, however, refused everything except thecongregation of people.

  "O Heaven!" he exclaimed. "What is to become of these poor souls!"

  Byzantium, it must be recalled, had had its triumphal days, when Greeksdrew together, like Jews on certain of their holy occasions;undoubtedly the assemblages then were more numerous, but never hadthere been one so marked by circumstances. This was the funeral day ofthe Empire!

  Let the reader try to recompose the congregation the Countbeheld--civilians--soldiers--nuns--monks--monks bearded, monks shaven,monks tonsured--monks in high hats and loose veils, monks in gownsscarce distinguishable from gowns of women--monks by the thousand. Ah,had they but dared a manly part on the walls, the cause of the Christfor whom they affected such devotion would not have suffered thehumiliation to which it was now going! As to the mass in general, letthe reader think of the rich jostled by the poor--fine ladies carelessif their robes took taint from the Lazarus' next them--servants foronce at least on a plane with haughty masters--Senators andslaves--grandsires--mothers with their i
nfants--old and young, high andlow, all in promiscuous presence--society at an end--Sancta Sophia auniversal last refuge. And by no means least strange, let the readerfancy the refugees on their knees, silent as ghosts in a tomb, exceptthat now and then the wail of a child broke the awful hush, and gazingover their shoulders, not at the altar, but toward the doors ofentrance; then let him understand that every one in the smother ofassemblage--every one capable of thought--was in momentary expectationof a miracle.

  Here and there moved priestly figures, holding crucifixes aloft, andhalting at times to exhort in low voices: "Be not troubled, O dearlybeloved of Christ! The angel will appear by the old column. If thepowers of hell are not to prevail against the Church, what may men doagainst the sword of God?"

  The congregation was waiting for the promised angel to rescue them fromthe Barbarians.

  Of opinion that the chancel, or space within the railing of the apseopposite him, was a better position for his charge than the crowdedauditorium, partly because he could more easily defend them there, andpartly because Mahommed when he arrived would naturally look for thePrincess near the altar, the Count, with some trouble, secured a placewithin it behind the brazen balustrade at the right of the gate. Theinvasion of the holy reserve by the Berbers was viewed askance, butsubmitted to; thereupon the Princess and her suite took to waiting andpraying.

  Afterwhile the doors in the east were barred by the janitor.

  Still later there was knocking at them loud enough to be by authority.The janitor had become deaf.

  Later still a yelling as of a mob out in the vestibule penetrated tothe interior, and a shiver struck the expectant throng, less from apresentiment of evil at hand than a horrible doubt. An angel of theLord would hardly adopt such an incongruous method of proclaiming themiracle done. A murmur of invocation began with those nearest theentrances, and ran from the floor to the galleries. As it spread, theshouting increased in volume and temper. Ere long the doors wereassailed. The noise of a blow given with determination rang dreadfulwarning through the whole building, and the concourse arose.

  The women shrieked: "The Turks! The Turks!"

  Even the nuns who had been practising faith for years joined their laysisters in crying: "The Turks! The Turks!"

  The great, gowned, cowardly monks dropped their crucifixes, and, likethe commoner sons of the Church, howled: "The Turks! The Turks!"

  Finally the doors were battered in, and sure enough--there stood thehordesmen, armed and panoplied each according to his tribe or personalpreference--each a most unlikely delivering angel.

  This completed the panic.

  In the vicinity of the ruined doors everybody, overcome by terror,threw himself upon those behind, and the impulsion thus started gainedforce while sweeping on. As ever in such cases, the weak were thesufferers. Children were overrun--infants dashed from the arms ofmothers--men had need of their utmost strength--and the wisdom of theCount in seeking the chancel was proved. The massive brazen railinghardly endured the pressure when the surge reached it; but it stood,and the Princess and her household--all, in fact, within thechancel--escaped the crushing, but not the horror.

  The spoilsmen were in strength, but they were prudently slow inpersuading themselves that the Greeks were unarmed, and incapable ofdefending the Church. Ere long they streamed in, and for the first timein the history of the edifice the colossal Christ on the ceiling abovethe altar was affronted by the slogan of Islam--_Allah-il-Allah_.

  Strange now as it may appear to the reader, there is no mention in thechronicles of a life lost that day within the walls of Sancta Sophia.The victors were there for plunder, not vengeance, and believing therewas more profit in slaves than any other kind of property, their effortwas to save rather than kill. The scene was beyond peradventure one ofthe cruelest in history, but the cruelty was altogether in takingpossession of captives.

  Tossing their arms of whatever kind upon their backs, the savagespushed into the pack of Christians to select whom they would have. Wemay be sure the old, sick, weakly, crippled, and very young werediscarded, and the strong and vigorous chosen. Remembering also howalmost universally the hordes were from the East, we may be sure awoman was preferred to a man, and a pretty woman to an ugly one.

  The hand shrinks from trying to depict the agonies of separation whichensued--mothers torn from their children, wives from husbands--theirshrieks, entreaties, despair--the mirthful brutality with which theirpitiful attempts at resistance were met--the binding and draggingaway--the last clutch of love--the final disappearance. It is onlyneedful to add that the rapine involved the galleries no less than thefloor. All things considered, the marvel is that the cry--there was butone, just as the sounds of many waters are but one to the ear--whichthen tore the habitual silence of the august temple should have everceased--and it would not if, in its duration, human sympathy were lesslike a flitting echo.

  Next to women, the monks were preferred, and the treatment theyreceived was not without its touches of grim humor. Their cowls weresnatched off, and bandied about, their hats crushed over their ears,their veils stuffed in their mouths to stifle their outcries, theirrosaries converted into scourges; and the laughter when a string ofthem passed to the doors was long and loud. They had pulled theirmonasteries down upon themselves. If the Emperor, then lying in thebloody alley of St. Romain, dead through their bigotry, superstition,and cowardice, had been vengeful in the slightest degree, a knowledgeof the judgment come upon them so soon would have been at least restfulto his spirit.

  It must not be supposed Count Corti was indifferent while thisappalling scene was in progress. The chancel, he foresaw, could notescape the foray. There was the altar, loaded with donatives in goldand precious stones, a blazing pyramidal invitation. When the doorswere burst in, he paused a moment to see if Mahommed were coming.

  "The hordes are here, O Princess, but not the Sultan."

  She raised her veil, and regarded him silently.

  "I see now but one resort. As Mirza the Emir, I must meet the pillagersby claiming the Sultan sent me in advance to capture and guard you forhim."

  "We are at mercy, Count Corti," she replied. "Heaven deal with you asyou deal with us."

  "If the ruse fails, Princess, I can die for you. Now tie yourselves asbefore--two and two, hand to hand. It may be they will call on me todistinguish such as are my charge."

  She cast a glance of pity about her.

  "And these, Count--these poor women not of my house, and thechildren--can you not save them also?"

  "Alas, dear lady! The Blessed Mother must be their shield."

  While the veils were being applied, the surge against the railing tookplace, leaving a number of dead and fainting across it.

  "Hadifah," the Count called out, "clear the way to yon chair againstthe wall."

  The Sheik set about removing the persons blockading the space, andgreatly affected by their condition, the Princess interceded for them.

  "Nay, Count, disturb them not. Add not to their terror, I pray."

  But the Count was a soldier; in case of an affray, he wanted theadvantage of a wall at his back.

  "Dear lady, it was the throne of your fathers, now yours. I will seatyou there. From it you can best treat with the Lord Mahommed."

  Ere long some of the hordes--half a dozen or more--came to the chancelgate. They were of the rudest class of Anatolian shepherds, cladprincipally in half-cloaks of shaggy goat skin. Each bore at his back around buckler, a bow, and a clumsy quiver of feathered arrows. Awed bythe splendor of the altar and its surroundings, they stopped; then,with shouts, they rushed at the tempting display, unmindful of theliving spoils crouched on the floor dumb with terror. Others of a likekind reenforced them, and there was a fierce scramble. The latestcomers turned to the women, and presently discovered the Princess Irenesitting upon the throne. One, more eager than the rest, was indisposedto respect the Berbers.

  "Here are slaves worth having. Get your ropes," he shouted to hiscompanions.

  T
he Count interposed.

  "Art thou a believer?" he asked in Turkish.

  They surveyed him doubtfully, and then turned to Hadifah and his men,tall, imperturbable looking, their dark faces visible through theiropen hoods of steel. They looked at their shields also, and at theirbare cimeters resting points to the floor.

  "Why do you ask?" the man returned.

  "Because, as thou mayst see, we also are of the Faithful, and do notwish harm to any whose mothers have taught them to begin the day withthe Fah-hat."

  The fellow was impressed.

  "Who art thou?"

  "I am the Emir Mirza, of the household of our Lord the Padishah--towhom be all the promises of the Koran! These are slaves I selected forhim--all these thou seest in bonds. I am keeping them till he arrives.He will be here directly. He is now coming."

  A man wearing a bloody tarbousche joined the pillagers, during thiscolloquy, and pressing in, heard the Emir's name passing from mouth tomouth.

  "The Emir Mirza! I knew him, brethren. He commanded the caravan, andkept the _mahmals,_ the year I made the pilgrimage.... Stand off, andlet me see." After a short inspection, he continued: "Truly as there isno God but God, this is he. I was next him at the most holy corner ofthe Kaaba when he fell down struck by the plague. I saw him kiss theBlack Stone, and by virtue of the kiss he lived.... Ay, stand back--orif you touch him, or one of these in his charge, and escape his hand,ye shall not escape the Padishah, whose first sword he is, even asKhalid was first sword for the Prophet--exalted be his name!... Give methy hand, O valiant Emir."

  He kissed the Count's hand.

  "Arise, O son of thy father," said Corti; "and when our master, theLord Mahommed, hath set up his court and harem, seek me for reward."

  The man stayed awhile, although there was no further show ofinterference; and he looked past the Princess to Lael cowering nearher. He took no interest in what was going on around him--Lael aloneattracted him. At last he shifted his sheepskin covering higher uponhis shoulders, and left these words with the Count:

  "The women are not for the harem. I understand thee, O Mirza. When theLord Mahommed hath set up his court, do thou tell the little Jewessyonder that her father the Prince of India charged thee to give her hisundying love."

  Count Corti was wonder struck--he could not speak--and so the WanderingJew vanished from his sight as he now vanishes from our story.

  The selection among the other refugees in the chancel proceeded untilthere was left of them only such as were considered not worth thehaving.

  A long time passed, during which the Princess Irene sat with veil drawnclose, trying to shut out the horror of the scene. Her attendants,clinging to the throne and to each other, seemed a heap of dead women.At last a crash of music was heard in the vestibule--drums, cymbals,and trumpets in blatant flourish. Four runners, slender lads, in short,sleeveless jackets over white shirts, and wide trousers of yellow silk,barefooted and bareheaded, stepped lightly through the central doorway,and, waving wands tipped with silver balls, cried, in long-toned shrilliteration: "The Lord Mahommed--Mahommed, Sultan of Sultans."

  The spoilsmen suspended their hideous labor--the victims, moveddoubtless by a hope of rescue, gave over their lamentations andstruggling--only the young children, and the wounded, and sufferingpersisted in vexing the floor and galleries.

  Next to enter were the five official heralds. Halting, they blew atriumphant refrain, at which the thousands of eyes not too blinded bymisery turned to them.

  And Mahommed appeared!

  He too had escaped the Angel of the false monks!

  When the fighting ceased in the harbor, and report assured him of thecity at mercy, Mahommed gave order to make the Gate St. Romain passablefor horsemen, and with clever diplomacy summoned the Pachas and othermilitary chiefs to his tent; it was his pleasure that they shouldassist him in taking possession of the prize to which he had beenhelped by their valor. With a rout so constituted at his back, and anescort of _Silihdars_ mounted, the runners and musicians preceding him,he made his triumphal entry into Constantinople, traversing the ruinsof the towers Bagdad and St. Romain.

  He was impatient and restless. In their ignorance of his passion forthe Grecian Princess, his ministers excused his behavior on account ofhis youth [Footnote: He was in his twenty-third year.] and thegreatness of his achievement. Passing St. Romain, it was also observedhe took no interest in the relics of combat still there. He gave hisguides but one order:

  "Take me to the house the _Gabours_ call the Glory of God."

  "Sancta Sophia, my Lord?"

  "Sancta Sophia--and bid the runners run."

  His Sheik-ul-Islam was pleased.

  "Hear!" he said to the dervishes with him. "The Lord Mahommed will makemosques of the houses of Christ before sitting down in one of thepalaces. His first honors are to God and the Prophet."

  And they dutifully responded: "Great are God and his Prophet! Great isMahommed, who conquers in their names!"

  The public edifices by which he was guided--churches, palaces, andespecially the high aqueduct, excited his admiration; but he did notslacken the fast trot in which he carried his loud cavalcade past themuntil at the Hippodrome.

  "What thing of devilish craft is here?" he exclaimed, stopping in frontof the Twisted Serpents. "Thus the Prophet bids me!" and with a blow ofhis mace, he struck off the lower jaw of one of the Pythons.

  Again the dervishes shouted: "Great is Mahommed, the servant of God!"

  It was his preference to be taken to the eastern front of SanctaSophia, and in going the guides led him by the corner of the Bucoleon.At sight of the vast buildings, their incomparable colonnades andcornices, their domeless stretches of marble and porphyry, he haltedthe second time, and in thought of the vanity of human glory, recited:

  "The spider hath woven his web in the imperial palace; And the owl hath sung her watch-song on the towers of Afrasiab."

  In the space before the Church, as elsewhere along the route he hadcome, the hordes were busy carrying off their wretched captives; but heaffected not to see them. They had bought the license of him, many ofthem with their blood.

  At the door the suite dismounted. Mahommed however, kept his saddlewhile surveying the gloomy exterior. Presently he bade:

  "Let the runners and the heralds enter."

  Hardly were they gone in, when he spoke to one of his pages: "Here,take thou this, and give me my cimeter." And then, receiving theruby-hilted sword of Solomon in exchange for the mace of Ilderim,without more ado he spurred his horse up the few broad stone steps, andinto the vestibule. Thence, the contemptuous impulse yet possessinghim, he said loudly: "The house is defiled with idolatrous images.Islam is in the saddle."

  In such manner--mounted, sword in hand, shield behind him--clad inbeautiful gold-washed chain mail, the very ideal of the immortal Emirwho won Jerusalem from the Crusaders, and restored it to Allah and theProphet--Mahommed made his first appearance in Sancta Sophia.

  Astonishment seized him. He checked his horse. Slowly his gaze rangedover the floor--up to the galleries--up--up to the swinging dome--inall architecture nothing so nearly a self-depending sky.

  "Here, take the sword--give me back my mace," he said.

  And in a fit of enthusiasm, not seeing, not caring for the screamingwretches under hoof, he rode forward, and, standing at full height inhis stirrups, shouted: "Idolatry be done! Down with the Trinity. LetChrist give way for the last and greatest of the Prophets! To God theone God, I dedicate this house!"

  Therewith he dashed the mace against a pillar; and as the steelrebounded, the pillar trembled. [Footnote: The guides, if good Moslems,take great pleasure in showing tourists the considerable dent left bythis blow in the face of the pillar.]

  "Now give me the sword again, and call Achmet, my muezzin--Achmet withthe flute in his throat."

  The moods of Mahommed were swift going and coming. Riding out a fewsteps, he again halted to give the floor a look. This time evidentlythe house was not in h
is mind. The expression on his face becameanxious. He was searching for some one, and moved forward so slowly thepeople could get out of his way, and his suite overtake him. At lengthhe observed the half-stripped altar in the apse, and went to it.

  The colossal Christ on the ceiling peered down on him through theshades beginning to faintly fill the whole west end.

  Now he neared the brazen railing of the chancel--now he was at thegate--his countenance changed--his eyes brightened--he had discoveredCount Corti. Swinging lightly from his saddle, he passed with steps ofglad impatience through the gateway.

  Then to Count Corti came the most consuming trial of his adventurouslife.

  The light was still strong enough to enable him to see across theChurch. Comprehending the flourish of the heralds, he saw the man onhorseback enter; and the mien, the pose in the saddle, the rider'swhole outward expose of spirit, informed him with such certainty asfollows long and familiar association, that Mahommed wascome--Mahommed, his ideal of romantic orientalism in arms. A tremorshook him--his cheek whitened. To that moment anxiety for the Princesshad held him so entirely he had not once thought of the consequences ofthe wager lost; now they were let loose upon him. Having saved her fromthe hordes, now he must surrender her to a rival--now she was to gofrom him forever. Verily it had been easier parting with his soul. Heheld to his cimeter as men instantly slain sometimes keep grip on theirweapons; yet his head sunk upon his breast, and he saw nothing more ofMahommed until he stood before him inside the chancel.

  "Count Corti, where is"--

  Mahommed caught sight of the Count's face.

  "Oh, my poor Mirza!"

  A volume of words could not have so delicately expressed sympathy asdid that altered tone.

  Taking off his steel glove, the fitful Conqueror extended the barehand, and the Count, partially recalled to the situation by thegracious offer, sunk to his knees, and carried the hand to his lips.

  "I have kept the faith, my Lord," he said in Turkish, his voicescarcely audible. "This is she behind me--upon the throne of herfathers. Receive her from me, and let me depart."

  "My poor Mirza! We left the decision to God, and he has decided. Arise,and hear me now."

  To the notables closing around, he said, imperiously: "Stand not back.Come up, and hear me."

  Stepping past the Count, then, he stood before the Princess. She arosewithout removing her veil, and would have knelt; but Mahommed movednearer, and prevented her.

  The training of the politest court in Europe was in her action, and thesuite looking on, used to slavishness in captives, and tearful humilityin women, he held her with amazement; nor could one of them have saidwhich most attracted him, her queenly composure or her simple grace.

  "Suffer me, my Lord," she said to him; then to her attendants: "This isMahommed the Sultan. Let us pray him for honorable treatment."

  Presently they were kneeling, and she would have joined them, butMahommed again interfered.

  "Your hand, O Princess Irene! I wish to salute it."

  Sometimes a wind blows out of the sky, and swinging the bell in thecupola, starts it to ringing itself; so now, at sight of the only womanhe ever really loved overtaken by so many misfortunes, and actuallythreatened by a rabble of howling slave-hunters, Mahommed's betternature thrilled with pity and remorse, and it was only by an effort ofwill he refrained from kneeling to her, and giving his passion tongue.Nevertheless a kiss, though on the hand, can be made tell a tale oflove, and that was what the youthful Conqueror did.

  "I pray next that you resume your seat," he continued. "It has pleasedGod, O daughter of a Palaeologus, to leave you the head of the Greekpeople; and as I have the terms of a treaty to submit of great concernto them and you, it were more becoming did you hear me from athrone.... And first, in this presence, I declare you a freewoman--free to go or stay, to reject or to accept--for a treaty isimpossible except to sovereigns. If it be your pleasure to go, I pledgeconveyance, whether by sea or land, to you and yours--attendants,slaves, and property; nor shall there be in any event a failure ofmoneys to keep you in the state to which you have been used."

  "For your grace, Lord Mahommed, I shall beseech Heaven to reward you."

  "As the God of your faith is the God of mine, O Princess Irene, I shallbe grateful for your prayers.... In the next place, I entreat you toabide here; and to this I am moved by regard for your happiness. Theconditions will be strange to you, and in your going about there willbe much to excite comparisons of the old with the new; but the Arabshad once a wise man, El Hatim by name--you may have heard of him"--hecast a quick look at the eyes behind the veil--"El Hatim, a poet, awarrior, a physician, and he left a saying: 'Herbs for fevers, amuletsfor mischances, and occupation for distempers of memory.' If it shouldbe that time proves powerless over your sorrows, I would bringemployment to its aid.... Heed me now right well. It pains me to thinkof Constantinople without inhabitants or commerce, its splendorsdecaying, its palaces given over to owls, its harbor void of ships, itschurches vacant except of spiders, its hills desolations to eyes afaron the sea. If it become not once more the capital city of Europe andAsia, some one shall have defeated the will of God; and I cannot endurethat guilt or the thought of it. 'Sins are many in kind and degree,differing as the leaves and grasses differ,' says a dervish of mypeople; 'but for him who stands wilfully in the eyes of the MostMerciful--for him only shall there be no mercy in the Great Day.'...Yes, heed me right well--I am not the enemy of the Greeks, O PrincessIrene. Their power could not agree with mine, and I made war upon it;but now that Heaven has decided the issue, I wish to recall them. Theywill not listen to me. Though I call loudly and often, they willremember the violence inflicted on them in my name. Their restorationis a noble work in promise. Is there a Greek of trust, and so truly alover of his race, to help me make the promise a deed done? The man isnot; but thou, O Princess--thou art. Behold the employment I offer you!I will commission you to bring them home--even these sorrowfulcreatures going hence in bonds. Or do you not love them so much?...Religion shall not hinder you. In the presence of these, my ministersof state, I swear to divide houses of God with you; half of them shallbe Christian, the other half Moslem; arid neither sect shall interferewith the other's worship. This I will seal, reserving only this house,and that the Patriarch be chosen subject to my approval. Or do you notlove your religion so much?"....

  During the discourse the Princess listened intently; now she would havespoken, but he lifted his hand.

  "Not yet, not yet! it is not well for you to answer now. I desire thatyou have time to consider--and besides, I come to terms of moreimmediate concern to you.... Here, in the presence of these witnesses,O Princess Irene, I offer you honorable marriage."

  Mahommed bowed very low at the conclusion of this proposal.

  "And wishing the union in conscience agreeable to you, I undertake tocelebrate it according to Christian rite and Moslem. So shall youbecome Queen of the Greeks--their intercessor--the restorer andprotector of their Church and worship--so shall you be placed in a wayto serve God purely and unselfishly; and if a thirst for glory has evermoved you, O Princess, I present it to you a cupful larger than womanever drank.... You may reside here or in Therapia, and keep yourprivate chapel and altar, and choose whom you will to serve them. Andthese things I will also swear to and seal."

  Again she would have interrupted him.

  "No--bear with me for the once. I invoke your patience," he said. "Inthe making of treaties, O Princess, one of the parties must firstpropose terms; then it is for the other to accept or reject, and inturn propose. And this"--he glanced hurriedly around--"this is no timenor place for argument. Be content rather to return to your home in thecity or your country-house at Therapia. In three days, with yourpermission, I will come for your answer; and whatever it be, I swear byHim who is God of the world, it shall be respected.... When I come,will you receive me?"

  "The Lord Mahommed will be welcome."

  "Where may I wait on you?"

  "At
Therapia," she answered.

  Mahommed turned about then.

  "Count Corti, go thou with the Princess Irene to Therapia. I know thouwilt keep her safely.--And thou, Kalil, have a galley suitable for aQueen of the Greeks made ready on the instant, and let there be no lackof guards despatched with it, subject to the orders of Count Corti, forthe time once more Mirza the Emir.... O Princess, if I have beenperemptory, forgive me, and lend me thy hand again. I wish to saluteit."

  Again she silently yielded to his request.

  Kalil, seeing only politics in the scene, marched before the Princessclearing the way, and directly she was out of the Church. At thesuggestion of the Count, sedan chairs were brought, and she and herhalf-stupefied companions carried to a galley, arriving at Therapiaabout the fourth hour after sunset.

  Mahommed had indeed been imperious in the interview; but, as heafterward explained to her, with many humble protestations, he had apart to play before his ministers.

  No sooner was she removed than he gave orders to clear the building ofpeople and idolatrous symbols; and while the work was in progress, hemade a tour of inspection going from the floor to the galleries. Hiswonder and admiration were unbounded.

  Passing along the right-hand gallery, he overtook a pilferer with atarbousche full of glass cubes picked from one of the mosaic pictures.

  "Thou despicable!" he cried, in rage. "Knowest thou not that I havedevoted this house to Allah? Profane a Mosque, wilt thou?"

  And he struck the wretch with the flat of his sword. Hastening then tothe chancel, he summoned Achmet, the muezzin.

  "What is the hour?" he asked.

  "It is the hour of the fourth prayer, my Lord."

  "Ascend thou then to the highest turret of the house, and call theFaithful to pious acknowledgment of the favors of God and hisProphet--may their names be forever exalted."

  Thus Sancta Sophia passed from Christ to Mahomet; and from that hour tothis Islam has had sway within its walls. Not once since have itsechoes been permitted to respond to a Christian prayer or a hymn to theVirgin. Nor was this the first instance when, to adequately punish apeople for the debasement and perversions of his revelations, God, inrighteous anger, tolerated their destruction.

  To-day there are two cities, lights once of the whole earth, undercurses so deeply graven in their remains--sites, walls, ruins--thatevery man and woman visiting them should be brought to know why theyfell.

  Alas, for Jerusalem!

  Alas, for Constantinople!

  POSTSCRIPTS.

  In the morning of the third day after the fall of the city, a commoncarrier galley drew alongside the marble quay in front of the Princess'garden at Therapia, and landed a passenger--an old, decrepit man,cowled and gowned like a monk. With tottering steps he passed the gate,and on to the portico of the classic palace. Of Lysander, he asked: "Isthe Princess Irene here or in the city?"

  "She is here."

  "I am a Greek, tired and hungry. Will she see me?"

  The ancient doorkeeper disappeared, but soon returned.

  "She will see you. This way."

  The stranger was ushered into the reception room. Standing before thePrincess, he threw back his cowl. She gazed at him a moment, then wentto him and, taking his hands, cried, her eyes streaming with tears:"Father Hilarion! Now praised be God for sending you to me in this hourof uncertainty and affliction!"

  Needless saying the poor man's trials ended there, and that he neveragain went cold, or hungry, or in want of a place to lay his head.

  But this morning, after breaking fast, he was taken into council, andthe proposal of marriage being submitted to him, he asked first:

  "What are thy inclinations, daughter?"

  And she made unreserved confession.

  The aged priest spread his hands paternally over her head, and, lookingupward, said solemnly: "I think I see the Great Designer's purpose. Hegave thee, O daughter, thy beauties of person and spirit, and raisedthee up out of unspeakable sorrows, that the religion of Christ shouldnot perish utterly in the East. Go forward in the way He has openedunto thee. Only insist that Mahommed present himself at thy altar, andthere swear honorable dealing with thee as his wife, and to keep thetreaty proposed by him in spirit and letter. Doth he those thingswithout reservation, then fear not. The old Greek Church is not all wewould have it, but how much better it is than irreligion; and who cannow say what will happen once our people are returned to the city?"

  * * * * *

  In the afternoon, a boat with one rower touched at the same marblequay, and disembarked an Arab. His face was a dusty brown, and he worean _abba_ such as children of the Desert affect. His dark eyes werewonderfully bright, and his bearing was high, as might be expected inthe Sheik of a tribe whose camels were thousands to the man, and whodwelt in dowars with streets after the style of cities. On his rightforearm he carried a crescent-shaped harp of five strings, inlaid withcolored woods and mother of pearl.

  "Does not the Princess Irene dwell here?" he asked.

  Lysander, viewing him suspiciously, answered: "The Princess Irenedwells here."

  "Wilt thou tell her one Aboo-Obeidah is at the door with a blessing anda story for her?"

  The doorkeeper again disappeared, and, returning, answered, withevident misgivings, "The Princess Irene prays you to come in."

  Aboo-Obeidah tarried at the Therapian palace till night fell; and hisstory was an old one then, but he contrived to make it new; even as atthis day, though four hundred and fifty years older than when he toldit to the Princess, women of white souls, like hers, still listen to itwith downcast eyes and flushing cheeks--the only story which Time haskept and will forever keep fresh and persuasive as in the beginning'.

  They were married in her chapel at Therapia, Father Hilarionofficiating. Thence, when the city was cleansed of its stains of war,she went thither with Mahommed, and he proclaimed her his Sultana at afeast lasting through many days.

  And in due time he built for her the palace behind Point Demetrius, yetknown as the Seraglio. In other words, Mahommed the Sultan abidedfaithfully by the vows Aboo-Obeidah made for him. [Footnote: The throneof Mahommed was guarded by the numbers and fidelity of his Moslemsubjects; but his national policy aspired to collect the remnant of theGreeks; and they returned in crowds as soon as they were assured oftheir lives, their liberties, and the free exercise of theirreligion.... The churches of Constantinople were shared between the tworeligions. GIBBON. ]

  And so, with ampler means, and encouraged by Mahommed, the PrincessIrene spent her life doing good, and earned the title by which shebecame known amongst her countrymen--The Most Gracious Queen of theGreeks.

  Sergius never took orders formally. With the Sultana Irene and FatherHilarion, he preferred the enjoyment and practice of the simple creedpreached by him in Sancta Sophia, though as between the Latins and theorthodox Greeks he leaned to the former. The active agent dispensingthe charities of his imperial benefactress, he endeared himself to thepeople of both religions. Ere long, he married Lael, and they livedhappily to old age.

  * * * * *

  Nilo was found alive, and recovering, joined Count Corti.

  * * * * *

  Count Corti retained the fraternal affection of Mahommed to the last.The Conqueror strove to keep him. He first offered to send himambassador to John Sobieski; that being declined, he proposed promotinghim chief Aga of Janissaries, but the Count declared it his duty tohasten to Italy, and devote himself to his mother. The Sultan finallyassenting, he took leave of the Princess Irene the day before hermarriage.

  An officer of the court representing Mahommed conducted the Count tothe galley built in Venice. Upon mounting the deck he was met by theTripolitans, her crew, and Sheik Hadifah, with his fighting Berbers. Hewas then informed that the vessel and all it contained belonged to him.

  The passage was safely made. From Brindisi he rode to Castle Corti. Tohis amazement, it was comp
letely restored. Not so much as a trace ofthe fire and pillage it had suffered was to be seen.

  His reception by the Countess can be imagined. The proofs he broughtwere sufficient with her, and she welcomed him with a joy heightened byrecollections of the years he had been lost to her, and the manifestgoodness of the Blessed Madonna in at last restoring him--the joy onecan suppose a Christian mother would show for a son returned to her, asit were, from the grave.

  The first transports of the meeting over, he reverted to the night hesaw her enter the chapel: "The Castle was then in ruins; how is it Inow find it rebuilt?"

  "Did you not order the rebuilding?"

  "I knew nothing of it."

  Then the Countess told him a man had presented himself some monthsprior, with a letter purporting to be from him, containing directionsto repair the Castle, and spare no expense in the work.

  "Fortunately," she said, "the man is yet in Brindisi."

  The Count lost no time in sending for the stranger, who presented him apackage sealed and enveloped in oriental style, only on the upper sidethere was a _tughra_, or imperial seal, which he at once recognized asMahommed's. With eager fingers he took off the silken wraps, and founda note in translation as follows:

  "Mahommed the Sultan to Ugo, Count Corti, formerly Mirza the Emir.

  "The wager we made, O my friend, who should have been the son of mymother, is not yet decided, and as it is not given a mortal to know thewill of the Most Compassionate until he is pleased to expose it, Icannot say what the end will be. Yet I love you, and have faith in you;and wishing you to be so assured whether I win or lose, I send Mustaphato your country in advance with proofs of your heirship, and to notifythe noble lady, your mother, that you are alive, and about returning toher. Also, forasmuch as a Turk destroyed it, he is ordered to rebuildyour father's castle, and add to the estate all the adjacent lands hecan buy; for verily no Countship can be too rich for the Mirza who wasmy brother. And these things he will do in your name, not mine. Andwhen it is done, if to your satisfaction, O Count, give him a statementthat he may come to me with evidence of his mission discharged.

  "I commend you to the favor of the Compassionate. MAHOMMED."

  When the missive was read, Mustapha knelt to the Count, and salutedhim. Then he conducted him into the chapel of the castle, and going tothe altar, showed him an iron door, and said:

  "My master, the Lord Mahommed, instructed me to deposit here certaintreasure with which he graciously intrusted me. Receive the key, Ipray, and search the vault, and view the contents, and, if it pleaseyou, give me a certificate which will enable me to go back to mycountry, and live there a faithful servant of my master, the LordMahommed--may he be exalted as the Faithful are!"

  Now when the Count came to inspect the contents of the vault he wasdispleased; and seeing it, Mustapha proceeded:

  "My master, the Lord Mahommed, anticipated that you might protestagainst receiving the treasure; if so, I was to tell you it was to makegood in some measure the sums the noble lady your mother has paid insearching for you, and in masses said for the repose of your father'ssoul."

  Corti could not do else than accept.

  Finally, to complete the narrative, he never married. The reasonableinference is, he never met a woman with graces sufficient to drive thePrincess Irene from his memory.

  After the death of the Countess, his mother, he went up to Rome, andcrowned a long service as chief of the Papal Guard by dying of a woundreceived in a moment of victory. Hadifah, the Berbers, and Nilo choseto stay with him throughout. The Tripolitans were returned to theircountry; after which the galley was presented to the Holy Father.

  Once every year there came to the Count a special messenger fromConstantinople with souvenirs; sometimes a sword royally enriched,sometimes a suit of rare armor, sometimes horses of El Hajez--thesewere from Mahommed. Sometimes the gifts were precious relics, orilluminated Scriptures, or rosaries, or crosses, or triptychswonderfully executed--so Irene the Sultana chose to remind him of hergratitude.

  Syama wandered around Constantinople a few days after the fall of thecity, looking for his master, whom he refused to believe dead. Laeloffered him asylum for life. Suddenly he disappeared, and was neverseen or heard of more. It may be presumed, we think, that the Prince ofIndia succeeded in convincing him of his identity, and took him toother parts of the world--possibly back to Cipango.

  THE END.