"Do not be disturbed. I will soon prove to them that there is a Prince in Transylvania." Apafi left the audience room very much excited.
Over the heads of two powerful men who stood in Teleki's way, the storm was already threatening.
CHAPTER X
THE LIEUTENANT OF THE ROUNDS
Clement put his pen behind his ear and read over the beautiful verses he had just written. There were two hundred stanzas all ending in "was," except one that ended in "were."
As Apafi always repented if he had hurt anybody's feelings, so in the case of the traveling student Clement, he did not rest until he had made up to him for the disgrace inflicted. And this he did by making the inoffensive poet Lieutenant of the Rounds.
In those days there were many duties connected with this office, all of which Clement calmly let slip while he wrote chronicles and epics in abundance. Now his glance rested upon an epic in which he had related the victory of Apafi at Neuhaüsel. This poetic musing had so engrossed Clement's power of thought that an entire week had passed since his serving-man had run away carrying off his master's spurred boots, and he had not yet pursued the faithless servant in spite of his office as Lieutenant of the Rounds. He kept persistently going around in the same circle; when he looked for his boots, he remembered that his servant had stolen them, and when he started to go after his servant he became aware that he had no boots. Under these circumstances where could he make a beginning! So he set himself down and wrote verses without end.
His room had not been swept for a week, so there was no lack of dust and cobwebs, beside the ink spots on the floor all around the table. This table had only two legs, the other two being replaced by piles of tiles.
The poet wrote, scratched out, and chewed the end of his pen. On the window-sill lay a piece of bread and some cheese and it occurred to the poet that this food was intended for his consumption. But first he must use the ink in his pen; before this was finished, a second, third, and fourth thought had crowded on the first; meantime three mice had come out of a chink, sported about the tempting morsel and then gnawed away until there was nothing left. After which they had glided back to their holes.
The poet had worked the Pegasus harnessed to his plow until his senses were gone. When he finally roused himself and looked for his bread and cheese he discovered that only crumbs were left, concluded that he had already eaten and imagined that he was satisfied; so he set himself down again and went on with his poetry. While he was subduing the flesh in this way, there was a scratching at the door; somebody rattled the hinge evidently mistaking it for the latch, and naturally could not open the door. This noise rudely frightened Clement from his poetic thought. When he had called out several times to no purpose that the door was not locked he found himself obliged to rise and open it to prevent the visitor from breaking the latch or taking off the hinge.