"Life and death are inscribed above in the Book of Thora, and if it there be written in letters embellished with roses and tulips that Mariska Sturdza must die to-morrow, or the day after to-morrow, die she will most certainly, though she lay upon musk and were anointed with the balm of life, and neither the prayers of the saints nor the lore of the Sages could save her—but if it be written that she is to live, then let the Angels of Death come against her with every manner of weapon and they shall not harm her."
Apafi saw that he would have to speak very plainly to this crafty old man.
"Worthy Olaj Beg! you know that this realm has a constitution which enjoins that the Prince himself must not issue ordinances in the more weighty matters without consulting his counsellors. Now, the present case seems to me to be so important that I cannot inform you of my resolution till I have communicated it to my council."
"It is well, my dear son, I have no objection. Speak with those servants of thine whom thou hast made thy masters; sit in thy council chamber and let the matter be well considered as it deserves to be; and if thereafter ye decide that the Princess shall accompany me, I will take her away and take leave of thee with great honour; but if it should so fall out that ye do not give her up to me, my dear son, or should allow her to escape from me—then will I take thee instead of her, together with thy brave counsellors, my sweet son."
The Beg said these words in the sweetest, tenderest voice, as old grandfathers are wont to address their grandchildren, and descending from his pillows he stroked the Prince's face with both his hands, and kissed him on the temples with great good will, quite covering his head with his long white beard.
Apafi felt as if the whole room were dancing around him. He did not speak a word, but turned on his axis and went right out. He himself did not know how he got through the first door, but by the time he had shut the second door behind him he bethought him that he was still the Prince of Transylvania, and by descent one of the first noblemen of the land, whereas Olaj Beg was only a nasty, dirty Turkish captain, who had been a camel-driver in the days of his youth, and yet had dared to speak to him, the Prince, like that! By the time he had reached the third door he had reflected that in the days when he was nothing but the joint-tenant of Ebesfalu, if Olaj Beg had dared to treat him so shamefully, he would have broken his bald head for him with a stout truncheon. But had he not just such a stout truncheon actually hanging by his side? Yes, he had! and he would go back and strike Olaj Beg with it, not exactly on the head perhaps, but, at any rate, on the back that he might remember for the rest of his life the stylus curialis of Transylvania.
And with that he turned back from the third door with very grave resolves.
But when he had re-opened the second door he bethought him once more that such violence might be of great prejudice to the realm, and besides, there was not very much glory after all in striking an old man of eighty. But at any rate he would tell him like a man what it had not occurred to him to say in the first moment of his surprise.
So when he had opened the first door and was in the presence of Olaj Beg, he stood there on the threshold with the door ajar, and said to him in a voice of thunder:
"Hearken, Olaj Beg! I have come back simply to tell you——"