The Prince of India; Or, Why Constantinople Fell — Volume 02
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CHAPTER XI
COUNT CORTI IN DILEMMA
From the repast at Blacherne--festive it was in no sense--Count Cortiescorted the Emperor to the door of Sancta Sophia; whence, bypermission, and taking with him his nine Berbers, he rode slowly to theresidence of the Princess Irene. Slowly, we say, for nowhere in thepent area of Byzantium was there a soul more oppressed.
If he looked up, it was to fancy all the fortunate planets seated intheir Houses helping Mahommed's star to a fullest flood of splendor; ifhe looked down, it was to see the wager--and his soul cried out, Lost!Lost! Though one be rich, or great, or superior in his calling, whereinis the profit of it if he have lost his love?
Besides the anguish of a perception of his rival's better fortune, theCount was bowed by the necessity of deciding certain consequencesunforeseen at the time the wager was made. The place of the surrenderof the Princess was fixed. Thinking forward now, he could anticipatethe scene in the great church--the pack of fugitives, their terror anddespair, the hordes raging amongst them. How was he single-handed tosave her unharmed in the scramble of the hour? Thoughts of her youth,beauty, and rank, theretofore inspirations out of Heaven, set him toshivering with an ague more like fear than any he had ever known.
Nor was this all. The surrender was by the terms to be to Mahommedhimself. The Sultan was to demand her of him. He groaned aloud: "Oh,dear God and Holy Mother, be merciful, and let me die!" For the firsttime it was given him to see, not alone that he might lose the woman tohis soul all the sun is to the world, but her respect as well. By whatmanagement was he to make the surrender without exposing theunderstanding between the conqueror and himself? She would bepresent--she would see what took place--she would hear what was said.And she would not be frightened. The image of the Madonna above thealtar in the nave would not be more calm. The vaguest suspicion of acompact, and she the subject, would put her upon inquiry; then--"Oh,fool--idiot--insensate as my sword-grip!" Thus, between groans, hescourged himself.
It was late, but her home was now a hospital filled with wounded men,and she its sleepless angel. Old Lysander admitted him.
"The Princess Irene is in the chapel."
Thus directed, the Count went thither well knowing the way.
A soldier just dead was the theme of a solemn recital by Sergius. Theroom was crowded with women in the deepest excitement of fear. Cortiunderstood the cause. Poor creatures! They had need of religiouscomfort. A thousand ghosts in one view could not have overcome them asdid the approach of the morrow.
At the right of the altar, he discovered the Princess in the midst ofher attendants, who kept close to her, like young birds to the motherin alarm. She was quiet and self-contained. Apparently she alone heardthe words of the reader; and whereas the Count came in apenitent--doubtful--in a maze--unknowing what to do or where to turn,one glance at her face restored him. He resolved to tell her hishistory, omitting only the character in which he entered her kinsman'sservice, and the odious compact with Mahommed. Her consent to accompanyhim to Sancta Sophia must be obtained; for that he was come.
His presence in the chapel awakened a suppressed excitement, anddirectly the Princess came to him.
"What has happened, Count Corti? Why are you here?"
"To speak with you, O Princess Irene'
"Go with me, then."
She conducted him into a passage, and closed the door behind them.
"The floor of my reception room is overlaid with the sick andsuffering--my whole house is given up to them. Speak here; and if thenews be bad, dear Count, it were mercy not to permit the unfortunatesto hear you."
She was not thinking of herself. He took the hand extended to him, andkissed it--to him it was the hand of more than the most beautiful womanin the world--it was the hand of a saint in white transfigurement.
"Thy imperial kinsman, O Princess, is at the church partaking of theHoly Communion, and receiving absolution."
"At this hour? Why is he there, Count?"
Corti told her of the repast at the palace, and recounted the scene atparting.
"It looks like despair. Can it be the Emperor is making ready to die?Answer, and fear not for me. My life has been a long preparation. Hebelieves the defence is lost--the captains believe so--and thou?"
"O Princess, it is terrible saying, but I too expect the judgment ofGod in the morning."
The hall was so dimly lighted he could not see her face; but the nerveof sympathy is fine--he felt she trembled. Only a moment--scarcelylonger than taking a breath--then she answered:
"Judgment is for us all. It will find me here."
She moved as if to return to the chapel; but he stepped before her, anddrawing out a chair standing by the door, said, firmly, yet tenderly:
"You are weary. The labor of helping the unfortunate these manydays--the watching and anxiety--have been trying upon you. Sit, I pray,and hear me."
She yielded with a sigh.
"The judgment which would find you here, O Princes, would not be death,but something more terrible, so terrible words burn in thinking of it.I have sworn to defend you: and the oath, and the will to keep it, giveme the right to determine where and how the defence shall be made. Ifthere are advantages, I want them, for your sweet sake."
He stopped to master his feeling.
"You have never stood on the deck of a ship in wreck, and seen the searush in to overwhelm it," he went on presently: "I have; and I declareto you, O beloved lady, nothing can be so like to-morrow when thehordes break into the city, as that triumph of waters; and as on thedeck there was no place of safety for the perishing crew, neither willthere be place of safety for man, woman, or child in Byzantiumthen--least of all for the kinswoman of the Emperor--for her--permit meto say it--whose loveliness and virtue are themes for story-tellersthroughout the East. As a prize--whether for ransom or dishonor--richerthan the churches and the palaces, and their belongings, be they jewelsor gold, or anointed crown, or bone of Saint, or splinter of the TrueCross, or shred from the shirt of Christ--to him who loves her, a prizeof such excellence that glory, even the glory Mahommed is now dreamingof when he shall have wrenched the keys of the gates from theirrightful owner dead in the bloody breach, would pale if set beside itfor comparison, and sink out of sight--think you she will not behunted? Or that the painted Mother above the altar, though it spokethrough a miraculous halo, could save her when found? No, no, Princess,not here, not here!... You know I love you; in an unreasoning moment Idared tell you so; and you may think me passion-blind, and that I hungthe vow to defend you upon my soul's neck, thinking it light as thisfavor you were pleased to give me; that love being a braggart,therefore I am a braggart. Let me set myself right in youropinion--your good opinion, O Princess, for it is to me a world of suchfair shining I dream of it as of a garden in Paradise.... If you do notknow how hardly I have striven in this war, send, I pray, and ask anyof the captains, or the most Christian sovereign I have just leftmaking his peace with God. Some of them called me mad, but I pardonedthem--they did not know the meaning of my battle-cry--'For Christ andIrene'--that I was venturing life less for Constantinople, less forreligion--I almost said, less for Christ--than for you, who are allthings in one to me, the fairest on earth, the best in Heaven.... Atlast, at last I am driven to admit we may fail--that to-morrow, whetherI am here or there, at your side or under the trampling, you may be aprisoner at mercy."
At these words, of infinite anguish in utterance, the Princessshuddered, and looked up in silent appeal.
"Attend me now. You have courage above the courage of women; thereforeI may speak with plainness.... What will become of you--I give theconclusion of many wrangles with myself--what will become of youdepends upon the hands which happen to be laid on you first. OPrincess, are you giving me heed? Do you comprehend me?"
"The words concern me more than life, Count."
"I may go on then.... I have hope of saving your life and honor. Youhave but to do what I advise. If you cannot trust me, further speechwere idleness,
and I might as well take leave of you. Death in manyforms will be abroad to-morrow--nothing so easily found."
"Count Corti," she returned, "if I hesitate pledging myself, it is notbecause of distrust. I will hear you."
"It is well said, dear lady."
He stopped--a pleasant warmth was in his heart--a perception, like dimlight, began breaking through the obscurities in his mind. To thismoment, in fact, he had trouble gaining his own consent to the proposalon his tongue; it seemed so like treachery to the noble woman--so likea cunning inveiglement to deliver her to Mahommed under the hatedcompact. Now suddenly the proposal assumed another appearance--it wasthe best course--the best had there been no wager, no compact, noobligation but knightly duty to her. As he proceeded, this convictiongrew clearer, bringing him ease of conscience and the subtle influenceof a master arguing right. He told her his history then, holdingnothing back but the two points mentioned. Twice only she interruptedhim.
"Your mother, Count Corti--poor lady--how she has suffered! But whathappiness there is in store for her!" And again: "How wonderful theescape from the falsehoods of the Prophet! There is no love likeChrist's love unless--unless it be a mother's."
At the conclusion, her chin rested in the soft palm of her hand, andthe hand, unjewelled, was white as marble just carven, and, like thearm, a wonder of grace. Of what was she thinking?--Of him? Had he atlast made an impression upon her? What trifles serve the hope oflovers! At length she asked:
"Then, O Count, thou wert his playmate in childhood?"
A bitter pang struck him--that pensiveness was for Mahommed--yet heanswered: "I was nearest him until he took up his father's sword."
"Is he the monster they call him?"
"To his enemies, yes--and to all in the road to his desires, yes--butto his friends there was never such a friend."
"Has he heart to"--
The omission, rather than the question, hurt him--still he returned:
"Yes, once he really loves."
Then she appeared to awake.
"To the narrative now--Forgive my wandering."
The opportunity to return was a relief to him, and he hastened toimprove it.
"I thank you for grace, O Princess, and am reminded of the pressure oftime. I must to the gate again with the Emperor.... This is myproposal. Instead of biding here to be taken by some rapacioushordesman, go with me to Sancta Sophia, and when the Sultan comesthither--as he certainly will--deliver yourself to him. If, before hisarrival, the plunderers force the doors of the holy house, I will standwith you, not, Princess, as Count Corti the Italian, but Mirza the Emirand Janissary, appointed by the Sultan to guard you. My Berbers willhelp the assumption."
He had spoken clearly, yet she hesitated.
"Ah," he said, "you doubt Mahommed. He will be upon honor. Theglory-winners, Princess, are those always most in awe of the judgmentof the world."
Yet she sat silent.
"Or is it I who am in your doubt?"
"No, Count. But my household--my attendants--the poor creatures aretrembling now--some of them, I was about saying, are of the noblestfamilies in Byzantium, daughters of senators and lords of the court. Icannot desert them--no, Count Corti, not to save myself. The basenesswould be on my soul forever. They must share my fortune, or I theirfate."
Still she was thinking of others!
More as a worshipper than lover, the Count replied: "I will includethem in my attempt to save you. Surely Heaven will help me, for yoursake, O Princess."
"And I can plead for them with him. Count Corti, I will go with you."
The animation with which she spoke faded in an instant.
"But thou--O my friend, if thou shouldst fall?"
"Nay, let us be confident. If Heaven does not intend your escape, itwould be merciful, O beloved lady, did it place me where no report ofyour mischance and sorrows can reach me. Looking at the darkest side,should I not come for you, go nevertheless to the Church. Doubt nothearing of the entry of the Turks. Seek Mahommed, if possible, anddemand his protection. Tell him, I, Mirza the Emir, counselled you. Onthe other side, be ready to accompany me. Make preparationto-night--have a chair at hand, and your household assembled--for whenI come, time will be scant.... And now, God be with you! I will not saybe brave--be trustful."
She extended her hand, and he knelt, and kissed it.
"I will pray for you, Count Corti."
"Heaven will hear you."
He went out, and rejoining the Emperor, rode with him from the Churchto Blacherne.