"Fool--fool--that I let you go!--and I would not--no, by the rose-door of Paradise and the golden stairs to the House of Allah, I would not had I loved my full moon of full moons less. She was parted from me; and with whose eyes could I see her so well as with yours, O my falcon? Who else would report to me so truly her words? Love makes men and lions mad; it possessed me; and I should have died of it but for your ministering. Wherefore, O Mirza"--
The Count had been growing restive; now he spoke. "My Lord is about committing himself to some pledge. He were wise, did he hear me first."
"Perhaps so," the Sultan rejoined, uncertainly, but added immediately: "I will hear you."
"It is true, as my Lord said, I am not the Mirza he despatched to Italy.
The changes I have undergone are material; and in recounting them I antic.i.p.ate his anger. He sees before him the most wretched of men to whom death would be mercy."
"Is it so bad? You were happy when you went away. Was not the mission to your content?"
"My Lord"s memory is a crystal cup from which nothing escapes--a cup without a leak. He must recall how I prayed to stay with him."
"Yes, yes."
"My dread was prophetic."
"Tell me of the changes."
"I will--and truly as there is but one G.o.d, and he the father of life and maker of things. First, then, the affection which at my going was my Lord"s, and which gave me to see him as the Light of the World, and the perfection of glory in promise, is now divided."
"You mean there is another Light of the World? Be it so, and still you leave me flattered. How far you had to travel before finding the other!
Who is he?"
"The Emperor of the Greeks."
"Constantine? Are his gifts so many and rich? The next."
"I am a Christian."
"Indeed? Perhaps you can tell me the difference between G.o.d and Allah.
Yesterday Kourani said they were the same."
"Nay, my Lord, the difference is between Christ and Mahomet."
"The mother of the one was a Jewess, the mother of the other an Arab--I see. Go on."
The Count did not flinch. "My Lord, great as is your love of the Princess Irene"--Mahommed half raised his hands, his brows knit, his eyes filled with fire, but the Count continued composedly--"mine is greater."
The Sultan recovered himself.
"The proof, the proof!" he said, his voice a little raised. "My love of her is consuming me, but I see you alive."
"My Lord"s demand is reasonable. I came here to make the avowal, and die. Would my Lord so much?"
"You would die for the Princess?"
"My Lord has said it."
"Is there not something else in the urgency?"
"Yes--honor."
The Count"s astonishment was unspeakable. He expected an outburst of wrath unappeasable, a summons for an executioner; instead, Mahommed"s eyes became humid, and resting his elbow on the table, and his face on the thumb and forefinger, he said, gazing sorrowfully:
"Ahmed was my little brother. His mother published before my father"s death, that my mother was a slave. She was working for her child already, and I had him smothered in a bath. Cruel? G.o.d forgive me! It was my duty to provide for the peace of my people. I had a right to take care of myself; yet will I never be forgiven. Kismet!... I have had many men slain since. I travel, going to mighty events beckoned by destiny.
The ordinary cheap soul cannot understand how necessary it is that my path should be smooth and clear; for sometime I may want to run; and he will amuse or avenge himself by stamping me in history a monster without a soul. Kismet! ... But you, my poor Mirza, you should know me better.
You are my brother without guile. I am not afraid to love you. I do love you. Let us see.... Your letters from Constantinople--I have them all--told me so much more than you intended, I could not suspect your fidelity. They prepared me for everything you have confessed. Hear how in my mind I disposed of them point by point.... "Mirza," I said, "pities the _Gabour_ Emperor; in the end he will love him. Loving a hundred men is less miraculous in a man than loving one. He will make comparisons. Why not? The _Gabour_ appeals to him through his weakness, I through my strength. I would rather be feared than pitied.
Moreover, the _Gabour"s_ day runs to its close, and as it closes, mine opens. Pity never justified treason." ... And I said, too, on reading the despatch detailing your adventures in Italy: "Poor Mirza!
now has he discovered he is an Italian, stolen when a child, and having found his father"s castle and his mother, a n.o.ble woman, he will become a Christian, for so would I in his place." Did I stop there? The wife of the Pacha who received you from your abductors is in Broussa. I sent to her asking if she had a keepsake or memento which would help prove your family and country. See what she returned to me."
From under a cloth at the further end of the table, Mahommed drew a box, and opening it, produced a collar of lace fastened with a cameo pin. On the pin there was a graven figure.
"Tell me, Mirza, if you recognize the engraving." The Count took the cameo, looked at it, and replied, with a shaking voice:
"The arms of the Corti! G.o.d be praised!"
"And here--what are these, and what the name on them?"
Mahommed gave him a pair of red morocco half-boots for a child, on which, near the tops, a name was worked in silk.
"It is mine, my Lord--my name--"Ugo.""
He cast himself before the Sultan, and embraced his knees, saying, in s.n.a.t.c.hes as best he could:
"I do not know what my Lord intends--whether he means I am to die or live--if it be death, I pray him to complete his mercy by sending these proofs to my mother"--
"Poor Mirza, arise! I prefer to have your face before me."
Directly the Count was reseated, Mahommed continued:
"And you, too, love the Princess Irene? You say you love her more than I? And you thought I could not endure hearing you tell it? That I would summon black Ha.s.san with his bowstring? With all your opportunities, your seeing and hearing her, as the days multiplied from tens to hundreds, is it for me to teach you she will come to no man except as a sacrifice? What great thing have you to offer her? While I--well, by this sword of Solomon, to-morrow morning I set out to say to her: "For thy love, O my full Moon of full Moons, for thy love thou shalt have the redemption of thy Church."... And besides, did I not foresee your pa.s.sion? Courtiers stoop low and take pains to win favor; but no courtier, not even a professional, intending merely to please me, could have written of her as you did; and by that sign, O Mirza, I knew you were in the extremity of pa.s.sion. Offended? Not so, not so! I sent you to take care of her--fight for her--die, if her need were so great. Of whom might I expect such service but a lover? Did I not, the night of our parting, foretell what would happen?" He paused gazing at the ruby of the ring on his finger.
"See, Mirza! There has not been a waking hour since you left me but I have looked at this jewel; and it has kept color faithfully. Often as I beheld it, I said: "Mirza loves her because he cannot help it; yet he is keeping honor with me. Mirza is truth, as G.o.d is G.o.d. From his hand will I receive her in Constantinople""--
"O my Lord"--
"Peace, peace! The night wanes, and you have to return. Of what was I speaking? Oh, yes"--
"But hear me, my Lord. At the risk of your displeasure I must speak."
"What is it?"
"In her presence my heart is always like to burst, yet, as I am to be judged in the last great day, I have kept faith with my Lord. Once she thanked me--it was after I offered myself to the lion--O Heaven! how nearly I lost my honor! Oh, the agony of that silence! The anguish of that remembrance! I have kept the faith, my Lord. But day by day now the will to keep it grows weaker. All that holds me steadfast is my position in Constantinople. What am I there?"
The Count buried his face in his hands, and through the links in his surcoat the tremor which shook his body was apparent.
Mahommed waited.
"What am I there? Having come to see the goodness of the Emperor, I must run daily to betray him. I am a Christian; yet as Judas sold his Master, I am under compact to sell my religion. I love a n.o.ble woman, yet am pledged to keep her safely, and deliver her to another. O my Lord, my Lord! This cannot go on. Shame is a vulture, and it is tearing me--my heart bleeds in its beak. Release me, or give me to death. If you love me, release me."