This cold consolation was not agreeable to Forval; meanwhile the tedious reading had come to an end and Bethlen returned to his seat.
The Prince explained to the lords, with great depression of spirits, that the affair which had occasioned their coming together would be explained by Teleki; he then wrapped himself more closely in his caftan and settled down into a corner of the throne.
Teleki rose, waited until the murmur of the people had gradually subsided, then cast a tranquil glance at Banfy and began as follows:
"Noble Knights and States, you are acquainted with the events which have recently taken place in Hungary; even if you were not acquainted with them, you would need only to cast a glance about you and you would see the sad faces worn with despair which swell our assembly; these are our Hungarian brothers, once the flower of our nation, now withered leaves which the storm has driven. You have not refused to share with your brothers in their misfortunes your hearth and your bread, and you have mingled your tears with theirs; but they have turned to us, not for the bread of charity, nor for woman's tears—you, Bocskai, and you, Bethlen, whose portraits look down upon us in silent reproach, whose victorious banners covered with dust wave above the princely throne, why could you not rise in hero form to seize these banners and to thunder out to this irresolute modern generation: 'The exiles demand of you their home, you must win back for the homeless their fatherland by war!'" . . . .
Here Teleki paused, as if he awaited objections. Everybody was wrapped in silence, feeling that thus far it was only a matter of rhetorical figures. This silence constrained Teleki to avoid the bombastic in his speech.
"You meet my speech with silence. This is the same as, 'Qui tacet, negat.' I will not believe that your heart is cold and that it is for that reason you do not become excited. You waver because you are taking counsel with your strength, but you must know that not alone shall we move to the field of battle; the confiscated churches, the fate of the clergy dragged away to the galleys, has forced weapons into the hands of all the Protestant princes of Europe. Even the King of Belgium, who has least concern for our fate, has by force rescued the clergy of our faith from Neapolitan galleys. The sword of Gustavus Adolphus too has not yet rusted in its scabbard. Yes, even the Catholic princes and those who acknowledge Mohammed are ready to grant their assistance in our affairs. See, the King of France, at present the mightiest ruler of Europe, not only in his own land but also in Poland recruits armies for us. If it should be necessary the Sultan will not hesitate to break the enforced peace; or if he should not do this, still it will be an easy matter to assure ourselves of his border troops for pay. And now when the noise of battle roars about us on all sides, when everybody has seized his sword, ought we alone to leave ours in the sheath? We, who have the most duties to fulfil toward our brothers and even toward ourselves? What happened to them yesterday, may happen to us to-day. What country shall then give us refuge? therefore, sons of my fatherland, listen to the entreaties of the exiled as if you were in the same position; for I tell you the time may come when you will be in the position of your brothers, and as you treat them Fate will treat you."
With these words Teleki came to an end; he fixed his eyes on Dionysius Banfy as if he knew in advance that he would be the first to oppose him. Banfy arose; it was evident from his countenance that he had done violence to his feelings in order to keep cool.
"Noble comrades,"—he began in an unusually calm voice,—"sympathy for the unfortunate and hatred for old enemies are both passions befitting men. The life of states however offers no room for passions. Here we are not kinsmen nor friends, nor even enemies. Here we are only patriots who reckon coolly; for the decision will determine the fate of the whole country, quite apart from the question of how many will weep or lament in consequence of the decision. This is the real question,—'Shall we stake the existence of Transylvania for Hungary, that it may arise again by our blood?' Let us not follow the voice of our hearts; this would lead us to feel only, the head must think. At present, Transylvania lives in peace. The people begin to feel prosperous. The towns are building up. The garb of mourning is gradually disappearing and on the bloody battlefields the blade shoots into the ear. Now the Hungarian within Transylvania is his own master; no stranger forces tribute from him; he has neither foe nor patron; nobody dares mix in his councils: the neighboring powers are under obligation to protect him, and he has no homage to pay them. Consider this well before you hazard everything for one chance. Do you wish to see Transylvania once more turned into a great battlefield and your subjects into armies? and there is still the question whether these armies would be victorious. Even if our fighting force were sufficient another important question arises:—Who is to be our leader? Not one of us has inherited the spirit of Bethlen or Bocskai. Neither I, nor my lord Teleki. On whom can we count outside ourselves? on the mood of Louis XIV.? his policy is easily made to waver by a pair of beautiful eyes; and when we should be in the deepest distress it is possible that a little intrigue at Versailles might be the cause of our being left alone on the battlefield."
A slight cough of vexation was heard from Forval.