The Prince of India; Or, Why Constantinople Fell — Volume 02

Produced by Anne Soulard, Naomi Parkhurst, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version
by Al Haines.

THE PRINCE OF INDIA
OR
WHY CONSTANTINOPLE FELL

BY LEW. WALLACE

VOL. II.

Rise, too, ye Shapes and Shadows of the Past
Rise from your long forgotten grazes at last
Let us behold your faces, let us hear
The words you uttered in those days of fear
Revisit your familiar haunts again
The scenes of triumph and the scenes of pain
And leave the footprints of your bleeding feet
Once more upon the pavement of the street

LONGFELLOW

CONTENTS

BOOK IV

THE PALACE OF BLACHERNE (Continued)

CHAPTER

XI. THE PRINCESS HEARS FROM THE WORLD
XII. LAEL TELLS OF HER TWO FATHERS
XIII. THE HAMARI TURNS BOATMAN
XIV. THE PRINCESS HAS A CREED
XV. THE PRINCE OF INDIA PREACHES GOD TO THE GREEKS
XVI. HOW THE NEW FAITH WAS RECEIVED
XVII. LAEL AND THE SWORD OF SOLOMON
XVIII. THE FESTIVAL OF FLOWERS
XIX. THE PRINCE BUILDS CASTLES FOR HIS GUL BAHAR
XX. THE SILHOUETTE OF A CRIME
XXI. SERGIUS LEARNS A NEW LESSON
XXII. THE PRINCE OF INDIA SEEKS MAHOMMED
XXIII. SERGIUS AND NILO TAKE UP THE HUNT
XXIV. THE IMPERIAL CISTERN GIVES UP ITS SECRET

BOOK V

MIRZA

I. A COLD WIND FROM ADRIANOPLE
II. A FIRE FROM THE HEGUMEN’S TOMB
III. MIRZA DOES AN ERRAND FOR MAHOMMED
IV. THE EMIR IN ITALY
V. THE PRINCESS IRENE IN TOWN
VI. COUNT CORTI IN SANCTA SOPHIA
VII. COUNT CORTI TO MAHOMMED
VIII. OUR LORD’S CREED
IX. COUNT CORTI TO MAHOMMED
X. SERGIUS TO THE LION

BOOK VI

CONSTANTINE

I. THE SWORD OF SOLOMON
II. MAHOMMED AND COUNT CORTI MAKE A WAGER
III. THE BLOODY HARVEST
IV. EUROPE ANSWERS THE CRY FOR HELP
V. COUNT CORTI RECEIVES A FAVOR
VI. MAHOMMED AT THE GATE ST. ROMAIN
VII. THE GREAT GUN SPEAKS
VIII. MAHOMMED TRIES HIS GUNS AGAIN
IX. THE MADONNA TO THE RESCUE
X. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE ASSAULT
XI. COUNT CORTI IN DILEMMA
XII. THE ASSAULT
XIII. MAHOMMED IN SANCTA SOPHIA

BOOK IV

THE PALACE OF BLACHERNE (Continued)

CHAPTER XI

THE PRINCESS HEARS FROM THE WORLD

The sun shone clear and hot, and the guests in the garden were glad to rest in the shaded places of promenade along the brooksides and under the beeches and soaring pines of the avenues. Far up the extended hollow there was a basin first to receive the water from the conduit supposed to tap the aqueduct leading down from the forest of Belgrade. The noise of the little cataract there was strong enough to draw a quota of visitors. From the front gate to the basin, from the basin to the summit of the promontory, the company in lingering groups amused each other detailing what of fortune good and bad the year had brought them. The main features of such meetings are always alike. There were games by the children, lovers in retired places, and old people plying each other with reminiscences. The faculty of enjoyment changes but never expires.

An array of men chosen for the purpose sallied from the basement of the palace carrying baskets of bread, fruits in season, and wine of the country in water-skins. Dispersing themselves through the garden, they waited on the guests, and made distribution without stint or discrimination. The heartiness of their welcome may be imagined; while the thoughtful reader will see in the liberality thus characterizing her hospitality one of the secrets of the Princess’s popularity with the poor along the Bosphorus. Nor that merely. A little reflection will lead up to an explanation of her preference for the Homeric residence by Therapia. The commonalty, especially the unfortunate amongst them, were a kind of constituency of hers, and she loved living where she could most readily communicate with them.

This was the hour she chose to go out and personally visit her guests. Descending from the portico, she led her household attendants into the garden. She alone appeared unveiled. The happiness of the many amongst whom she immediately stepped touched every spring of enjoyment in her being; her eyes were bright, her cheeks rosy, her spirit high; in a word, the beauty so peculiarly hers, and which no one could look on without consciousness of its influence, shone with singular enhancement.

News that she was in the garden spread rapidly, and where she went everyone arose and remained standing. Now and then, while making acknowledgments to groups along the way, she recognized acquaintances, and for such, whether men or women, she had a smile, sometimes a word. Upon her passing, they pursued with benisons, “God bless you!” “May the Holy Mother keep her!” Not unfrequently children ran flinging flowers at her feet, and mothers knelt and begged her blessing. They had lively recollection of a sickness or other overtaking by sorrow, and of her boat drawing to the landing laden with delicacies, and bringing what was quite as welcome, the charm of her presence, with words inspiring hope and trust. The vast, vociferous, premeditated Roman ovation, sonorously the Triumph, never brought a Consular hero the satisfaction this Christian woman now derived.

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