



Produced by Anne Soulard, Naomi Parkhurst, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version
by Al Haines.










THE PRINCE OF INDIA

OR

WHY CONSTANTINOPLE FELL


BY LEW. WALLACE



VOL. II.




   _Rise, too, ye Shapes and Shadows of the Past
    Rise from your long forgotten grazes at last
    Let us behold your faces, let us hear
    The words you uttered in those days of fear
    Revisit your familiar haunts again
    The scenes of triumph and the scenes of pain
    And leave the footprints of your bleeding feet
    Once more upon the pavement of the street_
                                       LONGFELLOW




CONTENTS


BOOK IV

THE PALACE OF BLACHERNE (_Continued_)

CHAPTER

    XI. THE PRINCESS HEARS FROM THE WORLD
   XII. LAEL TELLS OF HER TWO FATHERS
  XIII. THE HAMARI TURNS BOATMAN
   XIV. THE PRINCESS HAS A CREED
    XV. THE PRINCE OF INDIA PREACHES GOD TO THE GREEKS
   XVI. HOW THE NEW FAITH WAS RECEIVED
  XVII. LAEL AND THE SWORD OF SOLOMON
 XVIII. THE FESTIVAL OF FLOWERS
   XIX. THE PRINCE BUILDS CASTLES FOR HIS GUL BAHAR
    XX. THE SILHOUETTE OF A CRIME
   XXI. SERGIUS LEARNS A NEW LESSON
  XXII. THE PRINCE OF INDIA SEEKS MAHOMMED
 XXIII. SERGIUS AND NILO TAKE UP THE HUNT
  XXIV. THE IMPERIAL CISTERN GIVES UP ITS SECRET


BOOK V

MIRZA

     I. A COLD WIND FROM ADRIANOPLE
    II. A FIRE FROM THE HEGUMEN'S TOMB
   III. MIRZA DOES AN ERRAND FOR MAHOMMED
    IV. THE EMIR IN ITALY
     V. THE PRINCESS IRENE IN TOWN
    VI. COUNT CORTI IN SANCTA SOPHIA
   VII. COUNT CORTI TO MAHOMMED
  VIII. OUR LORD'S CREED
    IX. COUNT CORTI TO MAHOMMED
     X. SERGIUS TO THE LION


BOOK VI

CONSTANTINE

     I. THE SWORD OF SOLOMON
    II. MAHOMMED AND COUNT CORTI MAKE A WAGER
   III. THE BLOODY HARVEST
    IV. EUROPE ANSWERS THE CRY FOR HELP
     V. COUNT CORTI RECEIVES A FAVOR
    VI. MAHOMMED AT THE GATE ST. ROMAIN
   VII. THE GREAT GUN SPEAKS
  VIII. MAHOMMED TRIES HIS GUNS AGAIN
    IX. THE MADONNA TO THE RESCUE
     X. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE ASSAULT
    XI. COUNT CORTI IN DILEMMA
   XII. THE ASSAULT
  XIII. MAHOMMED IN SANCTA SOPHIA




BOOK IV

THE PALACE OF BLACHERNE (_Continued_)


CHAPTER XI

THE PRINCESS HEARS FROM THE WORLD


The sun shone clear and hot, and the guests in the garden were glad to
rest in the shaded places of promenade along the brooksides and under
the beeches and soaring pines of the avenues. Far up the extended
hollow there was a basin first to receive the water from the conduit
supposed to tap the aqueduct leading down from the forest of Belgrade.
The noise of the little cataract there was strong enough to draw a
quota of visitors. From the front gate to the basin, from the basin to
the summit of the promontory, the company in lingering groups amused
each other detailing what of fortune good and bad the year had brought
them. The main features of such meetings are always alike. There were
games by the children, lovers in retired places, and old people plying
each other with reminiscences. The faculty of enjoyment changes but
never expires.

An array of men chosen for the purpose sallied from the basement of the
palace carrying baskets of bread, fruits in season, and wine of the
country in water-skins. Dispersing themselves through the garden, they
waited on the guests, and made distribution without stint or
discrimination. The heartiness of their welcome may be imagined; while
the thoughtful reader will see in the liberality thus characterizing
her hospitality one of the secrets of the Princess's popularity with
the poor along the Bosphorus. Nor that merely. A little reflection will
lead up to an explanation of her preference for the Homeric residence
by Therapia. The commonalty, especially the unfortunate amongst them,
were a kind of constituency of hers, and she loved living where she
could most readily communicate with them.

This was the hour she chose to go out and personally visit her guests.
Descending from the portico, she led her household attendants into the
garden. She alone appeared unveiled. The happiness of the many amongst
whom she immediately stepped touched every spring of enjoyment in her
being; her eyes were bright, her cheeks rosy, her spirit high; in a
word, the beauty so peculiarly hers, and which no one could look on
without consciousness of its influence, shone with singular enhancement.

News that she was in the garden spread rapidly, and where she went
everyone arose and remained standing. Now and then, while making
acknowledgments to groups along the way, she recognized acquaintances,
and for such, whether men or women, she had a smile, sometimes a word.
Upon her passing, they pursued with benisons, "God bless you!" "May the
Holy Mother keep her!" Not unfrequently children ran flinging flowers
at her feet, and mothers knelt and begged her blessing. They had lively
recollection of a sickness or other overtaking by sorrow, and of her
boat drawing to the landing laden with delicacies, and bringing what
was quite as welcome, the charm of her presence, with words inspiring
hope and trust. The vast, vociferous, premeditated Roman ovation,
sonorously the Triumph, never brought a Consular hero the satisfaction
this Christian woman now derived.

She was aware of the admiration which went with her, and the sensation
was of walking through a purer and brighter sunshine. Nor did she
affect to put aside the triumph there certainly was in the
demonstration; but she accounted it the due of charity--a triumph of
good work done for the pleasure there was in the doing.

At the basin mentioned as the landward terminus of the garden the
progress in that direction stopped. Thence, after gracious attentions
to the women and children there, the Princess set out for the summit of
the promontory. The road taken was broad and smooth, and on the left
hand lined from bottom to top with pine trees, some of which are yet
standing.

The summit had been a place of interest time out of mind. From its
woody cover, the first inhabitants beheld the Argonauts anchor off the
town of Amycus, king of the Bebryces; there the vengeful Medea
practised her incantations; and descending to acknowledged history, it
were long telling the notable events of the ages landmarked by the
hoary height. When the builder of the palace below threw his scheme of
improvement over the brow of the hill, he constructed water basins on
different levels, surrounding them with raised walls artistically
sculptured; between the basins he pitched marble pavilions, looking in
the distance like airy domes on a Cyclopean temple; then he drew the
work together by a tesselated pavement identical with the floor of the
house of Caesar hard by the Forum in Rome.

Giving little heed to the other guests in occupancy of the summit, the
attendants of the Princess broke into parties sight seeing; while she
called Sergius to her, and conducted him to a point commanding the
Bosphorus for leagues. A favorite lookout, in fact, the spot had been
provided with a pavement and a capacious chair cut from a block of the
coarse brown limestone native to the locality. There she took seat, and
the ascent, though all in shade, having been wearisome, she was glad of
the blowing of the fresh upper air.

From a place in the rear Sergius had witnessed the progress to the
present halt. Every incident and demonstration had been in his view and
hearing. The expressions of affection showered upon the Princess were
delightful to him; they seemed so spontaneous and genuine. As testimony
to her character in the popular estimate at least, they left nothing
doubtful. His first impression of her was confirmed. She was a woman to
whom Heaven had confided every grace and virtue. Such marvels had been
before. He had heard of them in tradition, and always in a strain to
lift those thus favored above the hardened commonplace of human life,
creatures not exactly angels, yet moving in the same atmosphere with
angels. The monasteries, even those into whose gates women are
forbidden to look, all have stories of womanly excellence which the
monks tell each other in pauses from labor in the lentil patch, and in
their cells after vesper prayers. In brief, so did Sergius' estimate of
the Princess increase that he was unaware of impropriety when, trudging
slowly after the train of attendants, he associated her with heroines
most odorous in Church and Scriptural memories; with Mothers Superior
famous for sanctity; with Saints, like Theckla and Cecilia; with the
Prophetess who was left by the wayside in the desert of Zin, and the
later seer and singer, she who had her judgment-seat under the palm
tree of Deborah.

Withal, however, the monk was uncomfortable. The words of his Hegumen
pursued him. Should he tell the Princess? Assailed by doubts, he
followed her to the lookout on the edge of the promontory.

Seating herself, she glanced over the wide field of water below; from
the vessels there, she gazed across to Asia; then up at the sky, full
to its bluest depth with the glory of day. At length she asked:

"Have you heard from Father Hilarion?"

"Not yet," Sergius replied.

"I was thinking of him," she continued. "He used to tell me of the
primitive church--the Church of the Disciples. One of his lessons
returns to me. He seems to be standing where you are. I hear his voice.
I see his countenance. I remember his words: 'The brethren while of one
faith, because the creed was too simple for division, were of two
classes, as they now are and will always be'--ay, Sergius, as they will
always be!--'But,' he said, 'it is worthy remembrance, my dear child,
unlike the present habit, the rich held their riches with the
understanding that the brethren all had shares in them. The owner was
more than owner; he was a trustee charged with the safe-keeping of his
property, and with farming it to the best advantage, that he might be
in condition to help the greatest number of the Christian brotherhood
according to their necessities.' I wondered greatly at the time, but
not now. The delight I have today confirms the Father; for it is not in
my palace and garden, nor in my gold, but in the power I derive from
them to give respite from the grind of poverty to so many less
fortunate than myself. 'The divine order was not to desist from getting
wealth'--thus the Father continued--'for Christ knew there were who,
labor as they might, could not accumulate or retain; circumstances
would be against them, or the genius might be wanting. Poor without
fault, were they to suffer, and curse God with the curse of the sick,
the cold, the naked, the hungry? Oh, no! Christ was the representative
of the Infinitely Merciful. Under his dispensation they were to be
partners of the more favored.' Who can tell, who can begin to measure
the reward there is to me in the laughter of children at play under the
trees by the brooks, and in the cheer and smiles of women whom I have
been able to draw from the unvarying routine of toil like theirs?"

There was a ship with full spread sail speeding along so close in shore
Sergius could have thrown a stone on its deck. He affected to be deeply
interested in it. The ruse did not avail him.

"What is the matter?"

Receiving no reply, she repeated the question.

"My dear friend, you are not old enough in concealment to deceive me.
You are in trouble. Come sit here.... True, I am not an authorized
confessor; yet I know the principle on which the Church defends the
confessional. Let me share your burden. Insomuch as you give me, you
shall be relieved."

It came to him then that he must speak.

"Princess," he began, striving to keep his voice firm, "you know not
what you ask."

"Is it what a woman may hear?"

A step nearer brought him on the tesselated square.

"I hesitate, Princess, because a judgment is required of me. Hear, and
help me first."

Then he proceeded rapidly:

"There is one just entered holy service. He is a member of an ancient
and honorable Brotherhood, and by reason of his inexperience,
doubtless, its obligations rest the heavier on his conscience. His
superior has declared to him how glad he would be had he a son like
him, and confiding in his loyalty, he intrusted him with gravest
secrets; amongst others, that a person well known and greatly beloved
is under watch for the highest of religious crimes. Pause now, O
Princess, and consider the obligations inseparable from the relation
and trust here disclosed.... Look then to this other circumstance. The
person accused condescended to be the friend and patron of the same
neophyte, and by vouching for him to the head of the Church, put him on
the road to favor and quick promotion. Briefly, O Princess, to which is
obligation first owing? The father superior or the patron in danger?"

The Princess replied calmly, but with feeling: "It is not a
supposition, Sergius."

Though surprised, he returned: "Without it I could not have your
decision first."

"Thou, Sergius, art the distressed neophyte."

He held his hands out to her: "Give me thy judgment."

"The Hegumen of the St. James' is the accuser."

"Be just, O Princess! To which is the obligation first owing?"

"I am the accused," she continued, in the same tone.

He would have fallen on his knees. "No, keep thy feet. A watchman may
be behind me now."

He had scarcely resumed his position before she asked, still in the
quiet searching manner: "What is the highest religious crime? Or
rather, to men in authority, like the Hegumen of your Brotherhood, what
is the highest of all crimes?"

He looked at her in mute supplication.

"I will tell you--HERESY."

Then, compassionating his suffering, she added: "My poor Sergius! I am
not upbraiding you. You are showing me your soul. I see it in its first
serious trial.... I will forget that I am the denounced, and try to
help you. Is there no principle to which we can refer the matter--no
Christian principle? The Hegumen claims silence from you; on the other
side, your conscience--I would like to say preference--impels you to
speak a word of warning for the benefit of your patroness. There, now,
we have both the dispute and the disputants. Is it not so?"

Sergius bowed his head.

"Father Hilarion once said to me: 'Daughter, I give you the ultimate
criterion of the divineness of our religion--there cannot be an
instance of human trial for which it does not furnish a rule of conduct
and consolation.' A profound saying truly! Now is it possible we have
here at last an exception? I do not seek to know on which side the
honors lie. Where are the humanities? Ideas of honor are of men
conventional. On the other hand, the humanities stand for Charity. If
thou wert the denounced, O Sergius, how wouldst thou wish to be done
by?"

Sergius' face brightened.

"We are not seeking to save a heretic--we are in search of quiet for
our consciences. So why not ask and answer further: What would befall
the Hegumen, did you tell the accused all you had from him? Would he
suffer? Is there a tribunal to sentence him? Or a prison agape for him?
Or torture in readiness? Or a King of Lions? In these respects how is
it with the friend who vouched for you to the head of the Church? Alas!"

"Enough--say no more!" Sergius cried impulsively. "Say no more. O
Princess, I will tell everything--I will save you, if I can--if not,
and the worst come, I will die with you."

Womanlike the Princess signalized her triumph with tears. At length she
asked: "Wouldst thou like to know if I am indeed a heretic?"

"Yes, for what thou art, that am I; and then"--

"The same fire in the Hippodrome may light us both out of the world."

There was a ring of prophecy in the words.

"God forbid!" he ejaculated, with a shiver.

"God's will be done, were better!... So, if it please you," she went
on, "tell me all the Hegumen told you about me."

"Everything?" he asked doubtfully.

"Why not?"

"Part of it is too wicked for repetition."

"Yet it was an accusation."

"Yes."

"Sergius, you are no match in cunning for my enemies. They are Greeks
trained to diplomacy; you are"--she paused and half smiled--"only a
pupil of Hilarion's. See now--if they mean to kill me, how important to
invent a tale which shall rob me of sympathy, and reconcile the public
to my sacrifice. They who do much good, and no harm"--she cast a glance
at the people swarming around the pavilions--"always have friends. Such
is the law of kindness, and it never failed but once;