No sooner was this accomplished than the pashas and viziers all leaped from their seats and drew their swords, swearing with great enthusiasm by the beard of the Prophet that they would not return their weapons to their sheaths till the crescent should shine on the top of the tower of the Church of St. Stephen at Vienna.
At that moment the door-curtains were thrust aside, and into the Diván rushed—Feriz Beg.
The face of the youth was scarce recognisable, his turban was awry upon his forehead, his eyes, full of dull melancholy, stared stonily in front of him, his dress was untidy and dishevelled, his sword was girded to his side, but its handle was broken. Nobody had prevented him from rushing through the numerous halls into the Diván, and when he entered the ulemas parted before him in holy horror. When the youth reached the middle of the room, he stood there glancing round upon the viziers with folded arms, just as if he were counting how many of them there were, one by one they all stood up before him—nay, even the Sultan did so, and awaited his words tremblingly.
Everyone in the East regards the insane with awe and reverence, and if a crazy fakir were to stop the greatest of the Caliphs in the way and say to him: "Dismount from thy horse, and change garments with me," he would not dare to offer any opposition, but would fulfil his desire, for a strange spirit is in the man and God has sent it.
How will it be then when the terrible spirit of madness descends upon such a valiant warrior, such a distinguished soldier as Feriz Beg, who, when only six-and-twenty, had fought a hundred triumphant battles, and frequently put to shame the grey beards with his wisdom. And lo! suddenly he goes mad, and stops people in the street, and speaks such words of terror to them that they cannot sleep after it.
The youth, with quiet, gentle eyes and a sorrowful countenance passes in review the faces of all who are present, and heartrending was the expression of deep unutterable anguish in his voice when he spoke.
"Pardon me, high and mighty lords, for appearing among you without an invitation—I who have now no business at all in the world anywhere. The world in which I lived is dead, it has withdrawn to Heaven far from me; all those who possessed my heart are now high above my head, and now, I have no heart and no feeling: neither love, nor valour, nor the desire of fame and glory; in my veins the blood flows backwards and forwards so that oftentimes I rush roaring against the walls round about me and tear carpets and pillows which have never offended me; and now again the blood stands still within me, my arteries do not beat at all, so that I lie stiff and staring like a dead man. I beg you all, ye high and mighty lords, who in a brief time will go to Paradise, to take a message from me thither."
The high lords listened horror-stricken to the calm way in which the youth uttered these words, and they saw each other's faces growing pale.
Feriz paid no attention to their horrified expressions.
"Tell to them whom I love, and with whom my heart is, to give me back my heart, for without it I am very poor. I perceive not the fragrance of the rose, wine is not sweet to my lips, neither fire nor the rays of the sun have any warmth, and the note of the bugle-horn and the neighing of my charger find no response in me. High and mighty lords, tell this to those who are above if I myself go not thither shortly."