by Lew Wallace
CHAPTER VI
COUNT CORTI IN SANCTA SOPHIA
The Palace of Julian arose the chief embellishment of a large squareenclosure on the sea front southeast of the landmark at present calledthe Burnt Column, and, like other imperial properties of the kind, itwas an aggregation of buildings irregular in form and style, and moreor less ornate and imposing. A garden stretched around it. The founder,wanting private harborage for his galleys and swarm of lesser boats,dug a basin just inside the city wall, and flooded it with pureMarmoran water; then, for ingress and egress at his sovereign will, heslashed the wall, and of the breach made the _Port of Julian_.[Footnote: Only a shallow depression in the ground, faintlyperpetuating the outlines of the harbor, now marks the site of thisroyal residence.]
Count Corti found the Palace well preserved in and out. He had notpurposed hiding himself, yet it was desirable to keep his followersapart much as possible; and for that a situation more to his wish couldscarcely have been chosen in the capital.
Issuing from the front door, a minute's walk through a section of thegarden brought him to a stairway defended on both sides with massivebalustrading. The flight ended in a spacious paved landing; whence,looking back and up, he could see two immense columnar pedestalssurmounted by statues, while forward extended the basin, a sheet ofwater on which, white and light as a gull, his galley rested. He hadbut to call the watchman on its deck, and a small boat would come tohim in a trice. He congratulated himself upon the lodgement.
The portion of the Palace assigned him was in the south end; and,although he enlisted a number of skilful upholsterers, a week and morewas industriously taken with interior arrangements for himself, and inproviding for the comfort and well-being of his horses; for it is to besaid in passing, he had caught enough of the spirit of the nomadic Turkto rate the courser which was to bear him possibly through foughtenfields amongst the first in his affections. In this preparation,keeping the scheme to which his master had devoted him ever present, herequired no teaching to point out the policy of giving hisestablishment an air of permanence as well as splendor.
Occupied as he was, he had nevertheless snatched time to look in uponthe Hippodrome, and walk once around the Bucoleon and Sancta Sophia.From a high pavilion overhanging his quarters, he had surveyed thestretches of city in the west and southwest, sensible of a livelydesire to become intimately acquainted with the bizarre panorama ofhills behind hills, so wonderfully house and church crowned.
To say truth, however, the Count was anxious to hear from the Sultanbefore beginning a career. The man who was to be sent to him mightappear any hour, making it advisable to keep close home. He had areport of the journey to Italy, and of succeeding events, including hisarrival at Constantinople, ready draughted, and was impatient toforward it. A word of approval from Mahommed would be to him like a newspirit given. He counted upon it as a cure for his melancholia.
Viewing the galley one day, he looked across the basin to where theguard of the Port was being changed, and was struck with the foreignair of the officer of the relief. This, it happened, was singularlypertinent to a problem which had been disturbing his active mind--howhe could most safely keep in communication with Mahommed, or, moreparticularly, how the Sultan's messenger could come with the mostfreedom and go with the least hindrance. A solution now presenteditself. If the Emperor intrusted the guardianship of the gate to oneforeigner, why not to another? In other words, why not have the dutycommitted to himself and his people? Not improbably the charge might beproposed to him; he would wait awhile, and see; if, however, he had toformally request it, could anything be more plausibly suggestive thanthe relation between the captaincy of that Port and residence in thePalace of Julian? The idea was too natural to be refused; if granted,he was master of the situation. It would be like holding the keys ofthe city. He could send out and admit as need demanded; and then, ifflight became imperative, behold a line of retreat! Here was hisgalley--yonder the way out.
While he pondered the matter, a servant brought him notice of anofficer from Blacherne in waiting. Responding immediately, he found ourancient friend the Dean in the reception room, bringing theannouncement that His Majesty the Emperor had appointed audience forhim next day at noon; or, if the hour was not entirely convenient,would the Count be pleased to designate another? His Majesty was awareof the attention needful to a satisfactory settlement in strangequarters, and had not interrupted him earlier; for which he prayedpardon.
The Count accepted the time set; after which he conducted his visitorthrough his apartments, omitting none of them; from the kitchen he evencarried him to the stable, whence he had the horses brought one by one.Hospitality and confidence could go no further, and he was amplyrewarded. The important functionary was pleased with all he saw, andwith nothing more than Corti himself. There could not be a doubt of thefriendliness of the report he would take back to Blacherne. In short,the Count's training in a court dominated by suspicion to a greaterdegree even than the court in Constantinople was drawn upon mostsuccessfully. A glass of wine at parting redolent with the perfume ofthe richest Italian vintage fixed the new-comer's standing in theDean's heart. If there had been the least insufficiency in theemblazoned certificate of the Holy Father, here was a swift witness inconfirmation.
The day was destined to be eventful to the Count. While he wasentertaining the Dean, the men on the deck of the galley, unused toByzantine customs, were startled by a cry, long, swelling, thenmournfully decadent. Glancing in the direction from which it came, theysaw a black boat sweeping through the water-way of the Port. A man ofdubious complexion, tall and lithe, his scant garments originallywhite, now stiff with dirt of many hues, a ragged red head-cloth illyconfining his coarse black hair, stood in the bow shouting, and holdingup a wooden tray covered with fish. The sentinel to whom he thusoffered the stock shook his head, but allowed him to pass. At thegalley's side there was an interchange of stares between the sailorsand the fishermen--such the tenants of the black craft were--leaving itdoubtful which side was most astonished. Straightway the fellow in thebow opened conversation, trying several tongues, till finally heessayed the Arabic.
"Who are you?"
"Sailors."
"Where from?"
"Tripoli."
"Children of the Prophet?"
"We believe in Allah and the Last Day, and observe prayer, and pay theappointed alms, and dread none but Allah; we are among the rightlyguided." [Footnote: Koran, IX. 18.]
"Blessed be Allah! May his name be exalted here and everywhere!" thefisherman returned; adding immediately: "Whom serve you?"
"A _Scherif_ from Italy."
"How is he called?"
"The Count."
"Where is he?"
"In the Palace yonder."
"A Christian?"
"A Christian with an Eastern tongue; and he knows the hours of prayer,and observes them."
"Does he reside here?"
"He is Lord of the Palace."
"When did he arrive?"
"Since the moon fulled."
"Does he want fish?"
The men on the ship laughed.
"Go ask him."
"That is his landing there?"
"Yes."
"All men who live down by the sea eat fish--when they can get them,"the dealer said, solemnly. Turning then to his rowers, he bade them:"Forward to the landing."
There he stepped out, dextrously balanced the tray on his head,ascended the stairs, and in front of the great house went persistentlyfrom door to door until he came to that of the Count.
"Fish?" he asked the man who answered his knock.
"I will see."
The doorkeeper returned shortly, and said, "No."
"Are you a Moslem?" the fisherman inquired.
"Yes. Blessed be Allah for the right understanding!"
"So am I. Now let me see the master. I want to furnish him with fishfor the season."
"He is engaged."
"I will wait for him. Tell him my catch
is this morning's--red mulletsand choice cuts from a royal sword-fish that leaped ten feet in the airwith the spear in his back."
Thereupon he deposited the tray, and took seat by it, much as to say,Time is of no consequence to me. Ere long the Count appeared with theDean. He glanced at the tray, then at the fisherman--to the latter hegave a second look.
"What beautiful fish!" he said, to the Dean.
"Yes, yes--there are no fish pastures like those of our Bosphorus."
"How do you call this kind?"
"Mullets--red mullets. The old Romans used to fatten them in tanks."
"I thought I had seen their like on our Italian coasts. How do youprepare them for the table?"
"We fry them, Count, in olive oil--pure oil."
All this time Corti was studying the fisherman.
"What meal, pray, will fashion allow them to me dished?" he went on.
"For breakfast especially; though when you come to dine with HisMajesty do not be surprised to see them early in course."
"Pardon the detention, my Lord--I will make trial of these in themorning." Then to the fisherman the Count said, carelessly: "Keep thyplace until I return."
Corti saw the Dean out of the eastern gate of the enclosure, andreturned.
"What, still here!" he said, to the dealer. "Well, go with thedoorkeeper to the kitchen. The cook will take what he needs forto-morrow." Speaking to the doorkeeper then: "Bring the man to me. I amfond of fishing, and should like to talk with him about his methods.Sometime he may be willing to take me with him."
By and by the monger was shown into the Count's room, where there was atable, with books and writing material--a corner room full lighted bywindows in the south and east. When they were alone, the two gazed ateach other.
"Ali, son of Abed-din!" said the Count. "Is it thou?"
"O Emir! All of me that is not fish is the Ali thou hast named."
"God is great!" the first exclaimed.
"Blessed be God!" the other answered.
They were acquaintances of long standing.
Then Ali took the red rag from his head, and from its folds produced astrip of fine parchment with writing on it impervious to water."Behold, Emir! It is for thee."
The Count received the scrip and read:
"This is he I promised to send. He has money for thee. Thou mayst trusthim. Tell me this time of thyself first; then of her; but always afterof her first. My soul is scorching with impatience."
There was no date to the screed nor was it signed; yet the Count put itto his forehead and lips. He knew the writing as he knew his own hand.
"O Ali!" he said, his eyes aglow. "Hereafter thou shalt be Ali theFaithful, son of Abed-din the Faithful."
Ali replied with a rueful look: "It is well. What a time I have hadwaiting for you! Much I fear my bones will never void the damps blowninto them by the winter winds, and I perched on the cross-sticks of afloating _dallyan_.... I have money for you, O Emir! and the keeping ithas given me care more than enough to turn another man older than hismother. I will bring it to-morrow; after which I shall say twentyprayers to the Prophet--blessed be his name!--where now I say one."
"No, not to-morrow, Ali, but the day after when thou bringest meanother supply of fish. There is danger in coming too often--and forthat, thou must go now. Staying too long is dangerous as coming toooften.... But tell me of our master. Is he indeed the Sultan of Sultanshe promised to be? Is he well? Where is he? What is he doing?"
"Not so fast, O Emir, not so fast, I pray you! Better a double mouthfulof stale porpoise fat, with a fin bone in it, than so many questions atonce."
"Oh, but I have been so long in the slow-moving Christian world withoutnews!"
"Verily, O Emir, Padishah Mahommed will be greatest of the _Gabour_eaters since Padishah Othman--that to your first. He is well. His boneshave reached their utmost limit, but his soul keeps growing--that toyour second. He holds himself at Adrianople. Men say he is buildingmosques. I say he is building cannon to shoot bullets big as hisfather's tomb; when they are fired, the faithful at Medina will hearthe noise, and think it thunder--that to your third. And as to hisdoing--getting ready for war, meaning business for everybody, from theShiek-ul-Islam to the thieving tax-farmers of Bagdad--to theKislar-Jinn of Abad-on with them. He has the census finished, and nowthe Pachas go listing the able-bodied, of whom they have half amillion, with as many more behind. They say the young master means tomake a _sandjak_ of unbelieving Europe."
"Enough, Ali!--the rest next time."
The Count went to the table, and from a secret drawer brought a packagewrapped in leather, and sealed carefully.
"This for our Lord--exalted be his name! How wilt thou take it?"
Ali laughed.
"In my tray to the boat, but the fish are fresh, and there are flowersof worse odor in Cashmere. So, O Emir, for this once. Next time, andthereafter, I will have a hiding-place ready."
"Now, Ali, farewell. Thy name shall be sweet in our master's ears as agirl-song to the moon of Ramazan. I will see to it."
Ali took the package, and hid it in the bosom of his dirty shirt. Whenhe passed out of the front door, it lay undistinguishable under thefish and fish meat; and he whispered to the Count in going: "I have anorder from the Governor of the White Castle for my unsold stock. God isgreat!"
Corti, left alone, flung himself on a chair. He had word fromMahommed--that upon which he counted so certainly as a charm incounteraction of the depression taking possession of his spirit. Thereit was in his hand, a declaration of confidence unheard of in anOriental despot. Yet the effect was wanting. Even as he sat thinkingthe despondency deepened. He groped for the reason in vain. He strovefor cheer in the big war of which Ali had spoken--in the roar ofcannon, like thunder in Medina--in Europe a Sultanic _sandjak_. Hecould only smile at the exaggeration. In fact, his trouble was the onecommon to every fine nature in a false position. His business was todeceive and betray--whom? The degradation was casting its shadowbefore. Heaven help when the eclipse should be full!
For relief he read the screed again: "Tell me this time of thyselffirst; then of _her_." ... Ah, yes, the kinswoman of the Emperor! Hemust devise a way to her acquaintance, and speedily. And casting aboutfor it, he became restless, and finally resolved to go out into thecity. He sent for the chestnut Arab, and putting on the steel cap andgolden spurs had from the Holy Father was soon in the saddle.
It was about three o'clock afternoon, with a wind tempered to mildnessby a bright sun. The streets were thronged, while the balconies andoverhanging windows had their groups on the lookout for entertainmentand gossip. As may be fancied the knightly rider and gallant barb,followed by a dark-skinned, turbaned servant in Moorish costume,attracted attention. Neither master nor man appeared to give heed tothe eager looks and sometimes over-loud questions with which they werepursued.
Turning northward presently, the Count caught sight of the dome ofSancta Sophia. It seemed to him a vast, upturned silver bowl glisteningin the sky, and he drew rein involuntarily, wondering how it could beupheld; then he was taken with a wish to go in, and study the problem.Having heard from Mahommed, he was lord of his time, and here was noblediversion.
In front of the venerable edifice, he gave his horse to the dark-facedservant, and entered the outer court unattended.
A company, mixed apparently of every variety of persons, soldiers,civilians, monks, and women, held the pavement in scattered groups; andwhile he halted a moment to survey the exterior of the building, coldand grimly plain from cornice to base, he became himself an object ofremark to them. About the same time a train of monastics, bareheaded,and in long gray gowns, turned in from the street, chantingmonotonously, and in most intensely nasal tones. The Count, attractedby their pale faces, hollow eyes and unkept beards, waited for them tocross the court. Unkept their beards certainly were, but not white.This was the beginning of the observation he afterward despatched toMahommed: Only the walls of Byzantium remain for her defence; theChurch has absorbed
her young men; the sword is discarded for therosary. Nor could he help remarking that whereas the _frati_ of Italywere fat, rubicund, and jolly, these seemed in search of death throughthe severest penitential methods. His thought recurring to the houseagain, he remembered having heard how every hour of every day from fiveo'clock in the morning to midnight was filled with religious service ofsome kind in Sancta Sophia.
A few stone steps the full length of the court led up to five greatdoors of bronze standing wide open; and as the train took one of thelatter and began to disappear, he chose another, and walked fast inorder to witness the entry. Brought thus into the immense vestibule, hestopped, and at once forgot the gray brethren. Look where he might, atthe walls, and now up to the ceiling, every inch of space wore themellowed brightness of mosaic wrought in cubes of glass exquisitelygraduated in color. What could he do but stand and gaze at the Christin the act of judging the world? Such a cartoon had never entered hisimagination. The train was gone when he awoke ready to proceed.
There were then nine doors also of bronze conducting from thevestibule. The central and larger one was nearest him. Pushed lightly,it swung open on noiseless hinges; a step or two, and he stood in thenave or auditorium of the Holy House.
The reader will doubtless remember how Duke Vlodomir, the grandson ofOlga, the Russian, coming to Constantinople to receive a bride, enteredSancta Sophia the first time, and from being transfixed by what he sawand heard, fell down a convert to Christianity. Not unlike was theeffect upon Corti. In a sense he, too, was an unbeliever semi-barbaricin education. Many were the hours he had spent with Mahommed while thelatter, indulging his taste, built palaces and mosques on paper,striving for vastness and original splendor. But what was the Prince'sutmost achievement in comparison with this interior? Had it been anocean grotto, another Caprian cave, bursting with all imaginablerevelations of light and color, he could not have been more deeplyimpressed. Without architectural knowledge; acquainted with few of thedevices employed in edificial construction, and still less with themysterious power of combination peculiar to genius groping for effectsin form, dimensions, and arrangement of stone on stone with beautifuland sublime intent; yet he had a soul to be intensely moved by sucheffects when actually set before his eyes. He walked forward slowlyfour or five steps from the door, looking with excited vision--not atdetails or to detect the composition of any of the world of objectsconstituting the view, or with a thought of height, breadth, depth, orvalue--the marbles of the floor rich in multiformity and hues, andreflective as motionless water, the historic pillars, the variedarches, the extending galleries, the cornices, friezes, balustrades,crosses of gold, mosaics, the windows and interlacing rays of light,brilliance here, shadows yonder--the apse in the east, and the altarbuilt up in it starry with burning candles and glittering withprismatic gleams shot from precious stones and metals in everyconceivable form of grace--lamps, cups, vases, candlesticks, cloths,banners, crucifixes, canopies, chairs, Madonnas, Child Christs andChrists Crucified--and over all, over lesser domes, over archesapparently swinging in the air, broad, high, near yet far away, thedome of Sancta Sophia, defiant of imitation, like unto itself alone, ayounger sky within the elder--these, while he took those few steps,merged and ran together in a unity which set his senses to reeling, andmade question and thought alike impossible.
How long the Count stood thus lost to himself in the glory andgreatness of the place, he never knew. The awakening was brought aboutby a strain of choral music, which, pouring from the vicinity of thealtar somewhere, flooded the nave, vast as it was, from floor to dome.No voice more fitting could be imagined; and it seemed addressingitself to him especially. He trembled, and began to think.
First there came to him a comparison in which the Kaaba was a relative.He recalled the day he fell dying at the corner under the Black Stone.He saw the draped heap funereally dismal in the midst of the cloisters.How bare and poor it seemed to him now! He remembered the visages andhowling of the demoniac wretches struggling to kiss the stone, thoughwith his own kiss he had just planted it with death. How different theworship here! ... This, he thought next, was his mother's religion. Andwhat more natural than that he should see that mother descending to thechapel in her widow's weeds to pray for him? Tears filled his eyes. Hisheart arose chokingly in his throat. Why should not her religion behis? It was the first time he had put the question to himself directly;and he went further with it. What though Allah of the Islamite andJehovah of the Hebrew were the same?--What though the Koran and theBible proceeded from the same inspiration?--What though Mahomet andChrist were alike Sons of God? There were differences in the worship,differences in the personality of the worshippers. Why, except to allowevery man a choice according to his ideas of the proper and best inform and companionship? And the spirit swelled within him as he asked,Who are my brethren? They who stole me from my father's house, who slewmy father, who robbed my mother of the lights of life, and left her tothe darkness of mourning and the bitterness of ungratified hope--werenot they the brethren of my brethren?
At that moment an old man appeared before the altar with assistants inrich canonicals. One placed on the elder's head what seemed a crown alla mass of flaming jewels; another laid upon him a cloak of cloth ofgold; a third slipped a ring over one of his fingers; whereupon thevenerable celebrant drew nearer the altar, and, after a prayer, took upa chalice and raised it as if in honor to an image of Christ on a crossin the agonies of crucifixion. Then suddenly the choir poured itstriumphal thunder abroad until the floor, and galleries, and pendantlamps seemed to vibrate. The assistants and worshippers sank upon theirknees, and ere he was aware the Count was in the same attitude ofdevotion.
The posture consisted perfectly with policy, his mission considered.Soon or late he would have to adopt every form and observance ofChristian worship. In this performance, however, there was nopremeditation, no calculation. In his exaltation of soul he fancied heheard a voice passing with the tempestuous jubilation of the singers:"On thy knees, O apostate! On thy knees! God is here!"
But his was a combative nature; and coming to himself, and notunderstanding clearly the cause of his prostration, he presently arose.Of the worshippers in sight, he alone was then standing, and thesonorous music ringing on, he was beginning to doubt the propriety ofhis action, when a number of women, unobserved before, issued from ashaded corner at the right of the apse, fell into processional order,and advanced slowly toward him.
One moved by herself in front. A reflection of her form upon thepolished floor lent uncertainty to her stature, and gave her anappearance of walking on water. Those following were plainly herattendants. They were all veiled; while a white mantle fell from herleft shoulder, its ends lost in the folds of the train of her gown,leaving the head, face, and neck bare. Her manner, noticeable in thedistance even, was dignified without hauteur, simple, serious, free ofaffectation. She was not thinking of herself.... Nearer--he heard nofoot-fall. Now and then she glided through slanting rays of soft, whitelight cast from upper windows, and they seemed to derive etherealityfrom her.... Nearer--and he could see the marvellous pose of the head,and the action of the figure, never incarnation more graceful.... Yetnearer--he beheld her face, in complexion a child's, in expression awoman's. The eyes were downcast, the lips moved. She might have beenthe theme of the music sweeping around her in acclamatory waves,drowning the part she was carrying in suppressed murmur. He gazedsteadfastly at the countenance. The light upon the forehead was anincreasing radiance, like a star's refined by passage through theatmospheres of infinite space. A man insensitive to beauty in womannever was, never will be. Vows cannot alter nature; neither can monkishgarbs nor years; and it is knowledge of this which makes every womanwilling to last sacrifices for the gift; it is power to her,vulgarizing accessories like wealth, coronets and thrones. With thisconfession in mind, words are not needed to inform the reader of thethrills which assailed the Count while the marvel approached.
The service was over as to her, and she was evidently see
king to retireby the main door; but as he stood in front of it, she came within twoor three steps before noticing him. Then she stopped suddenly,astonished by the figure in shining armor. A flush overspread her face;smiling at her alarm, she spoke: "I pray pardon, Sir Knight, fordisturbing thy devotions."
"And I, fair lady, am grateful to Heaven that it placed me in thy wayto the door unintentionally."
He stepped aside, and she passed on and out.
The interior of the church, but a minute before so overwhelminglymagnificent and impressive, became commonplace and dull. The singingrolled on unheard. His eyes fixed on the door through which she went;his sensations were as if awakening from a dream in which he had seen aheavenly visitant, and been permitted to speak to it.
The spell ceased with the music; then, with swift returning sense, heremembered Mahommed's saying: "Thou wilt know her at sight."
And he knew her--the _Her_ of the screed brought only that day by Ali.
Nor less distinctly did he recall every incident of the parting withMahommed, every word, every injunction--the return of the ruby ring,even then doubtless upon the imperious master's third finger, a subjectof hourly study--the further speech, "They say whoever looketh at heris thenceforward her lover"--and the final charge, with itsparticulars, concluding: "Forget not that in Constantinople, when Icome, I am to receive her from thy hand peerless in all things as Ileft her."
His shoes of steel were strangely heavy when he regained his horse atthe edge of the court. For the first time in years, he climbed into thesaddle using the stirrup like a man reft of youth. He would love thewoman--he could not help it. Did not every man love her at sight?
The idea colored everything as he rode slowly back to his quarters.
Dismounting at the door, it plied him with the repetition, _Every manloves her at sight_.
He thought of training himself to hate her, but none the less throughthe hours of the night he heard the refrain, _Every man loves her atsight_.
In a clearer condition, his very inability to shut her out of mind,despite his thousand efforts of will, would have taught him thatanother judgment was upon him.
HE LOVED HER.