"That is the initial letter, the rest will be smaller of course."
"Read aloud to me what you are writing."
Apafi wrote with trembling hand, and read, "Whereas"—The Pasha tore the parchment away from him in anger and roared out, "'Whereas,—since'—what is the use of such roundabout expressions? Write as is the custom, 'We, Michael Apafi, Prince of Transylvania, command you, miserable slave, that as soon as you receive this writing, without fail you appear before us at once in Klein-Selyk.' Then stop."
It required some effort on the part of Apafi to make the Pasha understand that it was not the custom to use such terms with the Hungarian nobility. At last he gained permission to write as seemed best to him, only the contents were to be decisive and authoritative.
The circular letter was finished at last. The Pasha ordered a man to mount his horse at once, and gave him instructions to deliver this at full speed.
Apafi shook his pen and sighed to himself;—"I would like to see the man who can tell me what will be the result of all this."
"Now, until the convention assembles, stay with me here in camp."
"May I not go back to my wife and child at home?" asked Apafi, with throbbing heart.
"The devil! That you may run away from us? That is the way all these Hungarians treat the rank of prince. The men we do not wish lie down on us and beg for the honor, and those we do wish take to flight." And with that the Pasha showed Apafi to his tent and left him, at the same time giving the order to the sentinel stationed at the entrance as a mark of honor, to be sure not to let him escape.
"He got into a pretty scrape that time!" sighed Apafi, in deep resignation. The only hope that remained for him now was that the men summoned would not appear for the convention.