The Captain of the Janizaries
Page 27
CHAPTER XXVII.
The fall of Sfetigrade, while a material loss to the Albanian cause,served rather to exalt than to diminish the prestige of their greatgeneral. The fame of Scanderbeg brightened as the gloomy tidings ofthe fate of the stronghold spread; for that event, due to acircumstance which no human being could control, gave his enemiestheir first success, after nearly seven years of incessant effort,with measureless armaments, innumerable soldiery and exhaustlesstreasure.
The adversity also developed in Scanderbeg new qualities of greatness,both military and moral. As the effort to drain a natural spring onlyevokes its fuller and freer flow, so disappointment augmented hiscourage, impoverishment in resources enlarged the scheme of hisprojects, and the defeat of one plan by circumstances suggested otherplans more novel and shrewd. The sight of the Turkish ensign floatingfrom the citadel of Sfetigrade disheartened the patriots. The tramp offresh legions from almost all parts of the Moslem world was not soominous of further disaster as were the whispers of discontent frommore than one who, like Amesa, had ambitions of their own, or, likebrave Moses Goleme, were discouraged regarding ultimate success. Butthe great heart of Castriot sustained the courage of his people, andhis genius devised plans for the defence of his land which, forsixteen years yet, were to baffle the skill and weary the energies ofthe foe.
The chief gave orders that Morsinia, having eluded capture, shouldoccupy for the day his own tent; for the Albanian soldiers, as a rule,were destitute of the luxury of a canvas covering. Returning towardthe middle of the morning, and having need to enter, he badeConstantine call her. No response being given, Castriot raised thecurtain of the tent. Upon a rude matting, which was raised by roughboards a few inches from the earth, her limbs covered with anexquisitely embroidered Turkish saddle cloth, Morsinia lay asleep. Herneck and shoulders were veiled with her hair, which, rich andabundant, fell in cascades of golden beauty upon the ground.
The great man stood for a moment gazing upon the sleeping girl. Hisordinarily immobile features relaxed. His face, generallypassionless, unreadable as that of the sphinx, and impressive only forthe mystery of the thoughts it concealed, now became suffused withkindly interest. His smile, as if he had been surprised by thefairness of the vision, was followed by a look of fatherly tenderness.The tears shot into his eyes; but with a deep breath he dropped thecurtain, and turned away. Of what was he thinking? Of little MaraCernoviche, his playmate far back in the years? or of himself duringthose years? Strange that career among the Turks! and equally strangeall the years since he had looked upon the little child asleep by thecamp fire at the foot of the Balkans! One who gazed into his face atthat moment would have discovered that the rough warrior spirit was anouter environment about a gentle and loving nature.
He was interrupted by officers crowding about him, bringingintelligence of the enemy, or asking questions relative to theimmediate movements of their own commands. These were answered inlaconic sentences, each one a flash of strategic wisdom.
In the first leisure he put his hand fondly upon Constantine's head,and said quietly as he seated himself upon a rock near the tent door--
"Tell me of last night."
As Constantine narrated what the reader is already familiar with,dwelling especially upon Morsinia's part in the scene at the well, andher courage in the descent from the wall, Scanderbeg exclaimedeagerly--
"A true daughter of Musache De Streeses and Mara Cernoviche! The veryimpersonation of our Albania! Her spirit is that of our heroic people,fair as our lakes and as noble as our mountains! But these scenes aretoo rough for her. Her soul is strong enough to endure; but so is thediamond strong enough to keep its shape and lustre amid the stoneswhich the freshet washes together. But it is not well that it shouldbe left to do so. Besides, the diamond's strength and inviolablepurity will not prevent a robber from stealing it. There are enviouseyes upon our treasure. We had better have our diamond cut and set andput away in a casket for a while. We will send her to Constantinople.There she will have opportunity to gain in knowledge of the world, andin the courtly graces which fit her princely nature."
"Would not Italy be better?" suggested Constantine.
"No," said Scanderbeg. "The Italians are uncertain allies. I know notwhom to trust across the Adriatic. But Phranza, the chamberlain atConstantinople, is a noble man. I knew him years ago when I wasstationed across the Bosphorus, and had committed to me nearly all theOttoman affairs, so far as they affected the Greek capital. He is oneof the few Greeks we may implicitly trust. And, moreover, he agreeswith me in seeking a closer alliance between our two peoples. If theChristian power at Constantinople could be roused against the Turk onthe east, while we are striking him on the west, we could make theMoslem wish he were well out of Europe. But Italy will do nothing."
"The Holy Father can help, can he not?" asked Constantine.
"The Holy Father does not to-day own himself. He is the merefoot-ball of the secular powers, who kick him against one another intheir strife. No, our hope is in putting some life into the old Greekempire at Constantinople. The dolt of an emperor, John, is dead,thanks to Azrael[61]! In Constantine, who has come to the throne,Christendom has hope of something better than to see the heir of theempire of the Caesars dancing attendance upon Italian dukes; seekingagreement with the Pope upon words of a creed which no one canunderstand; and demoralizing, with his uncurtained harem, the veryTurk. If the new emperor has the sense of a flea he will see that theMoslem power will have Constantinople within a decade, unless thenations can be united in its defence. I would send letters to Phranza,and you must be my envoy. With Morsinia there, we shall be free fromanxiety regarding her; for no danger threatens her except here in herown land--to our shame I say it. A Venetian galley touches weekly atDurazzo, and sails through the Corinthian gulf. You will embark uponthat to-morrow night."
"But Colonel Kabilovitsch?" inquired Constantine.
"He has already started for Durazzo, and will make all arrangements.Nothing is needed here but a comely garment for Morsinia, who leftSfetigrade with a briefer toilet than most handsome women are willingto make. Colonel Kabilovitsch will see that you are provided withmoney and detailed instructions for the journey."
A soldier appeared with a bundle. "A rough lady's maid!" said thegeneral, "but a useful one I will warrant."
Unrolling the bundle, it proved to be a rich, but plain, dress,donated from a neighboring castle.
An hour later Scanderbeg held Morsinia by both hands, looking downinto her eyes. It was a picture which should have become historic. Thegiant form of the grim old warrior contrasted fully with that of themaiden, as some gnarled oak with the flower that grows at its base.
"Keep good heart, my daughter," said the general, imprinting a kissupon her fair brow.
She replied with loving reverence in her tone and look, "I thank you,Sire, for that title; for the father of his country has the keeping ofthe hearts of all the daughters of Albania."
It were difficult to say whether the sweet loveliness in the lines ofher face, or the majesty of character and superb heroism that shonethrough them, gave her the greater fascination as she added,
"If Jesu wills that among strangers I can best serve my country, thereshall be my home."
"But you will not long be among strangers. Your goodness will makethem all friends. Beside, God will keep such as you, for he loves thepure and beautiful."
Morsinia blushed as she answered,
"And does God not love the true and the noble? So he will keep theeand Albania. Does not the sun send down her[62] beams as straight overConstantinople as over Croia? and does she not draw the mists by asshort a cord of her twisted rays from the Marmora as from theAdriatic? Then God can be as near us there as here; and our prayersfor thee and our land will go as speedily to the Great Heart over all.The Blessed Mary keep you, Sire!"
"Ay, the Blessed Mary spake the blessing through your lips, my child,"responded Scanderbeg as he lifted her to her horse.
Constantine relea
sed himself from the general's hearty embrace, andsprang into the saddle at her side. Preceded and followed by a scoreof troopers they disappeared in the deep shadows of a mountain path.
FOOTNOTES:
[61] The death angel.
[62] In Albanian speech the sun is feminine.