here are, each one
of them, as mighty as the Prince himself. Their strength acts in union
with the Prince; but let him try to act in opposition to the will of
the nation and he will soon discover that he stands alone. In the same
way these lords would be isolated if they should undertake anything
against the decision of the nation."

"Tell the truth. Do you hope the war-party will carry off the
victory?"

"Hardly, this time. I do not yet see the man who could accomplish it.
In the entire Hungarian nation there is no man who could serve as
ideal to this war-loving people. The leaders have gone to ruin.
Rakoczi has changed parties. Teleki knows how to overthrow parties
but not how to create any. Besides he is no soldier and in such a
position a warrior is needed; he represents cold reason and here a
soul of fire is needed. He does not feel a mission within him, he has
only an interest in having Hungary go to war. One of the great
Hungarian lords, that smooth-faced youth there, has sued for the hand
of his daughter in order to interest him in his party. You can be
assured he will not end where he has begun. One idea leads him
on,--power. Fate is changeful and he avails himself of every means."

This cold consolation was not agreeable to Forval; meanwhile the
tedious reading had come to an end and Bethlen returned to his seat.

The Prince explained to the lords, with great depression of spirits,
that the affair which had occasioned their coming together would be
explained by Teleki; he then wrapped himself more closely in his
caftan and settled down into a corner of the throne.

Teleki rose, waited until the murmur of the people had gradually
subsided, then cast a tranquil glance at Banfy and began as follows:

"Noble Knights and States, you are acquainted with the events which
have recently taken place in Hungary; even if you were not acquainted
with them, you would need only to cast a glance about you and you
would see the sad faces worn with despair which swell our assembly;
these are our Hungarian brothers, once the flower of our nation, now
withered leaves which the storm has driven. You have not refused to
share with your brothers in their misfortunes your hearth and your
bread, and you have mingled your tears with theirs; but they have
turned to us, not for the bread of charity, nor for woman's
tears--you, Bocskai, and you, Bethlen, whose portraits look down upon
us in silent reproach, whose victorious banner