The prince became a fugitive, and the mother of the prince, dressed in rags, was reduced to the wretched expedient of doing menial service in the streets of Ispahan for a livelihood.  The glory of the Ottoman arms could not permit that a usurper should sit at his ease on the stolen throne, and thy triumphant host, led by the Vizier Ibrahim and the virtuous Kueprili, the descendant of the illustrious Nuuman Kueprili, wrested Kermandzasahan from Persia and incorporated it with thy dominions.  And then it pleased the Prophet to permit marvellous things to happen.  Suddenly Shah Tamasip, whom all men believed to be ruined—­suddenly, I say, Shah Tamasip reappeared at the head of a handful of heroes and utterly routed the bloody Esref Khan in three pitched battles at Damaghan, Derechar, and Ispahan, put him to flight, and the hoofs of the horses of the victor trod the rebel underfoot.  And now the restored sovereign demands back from the Ottoman Empire the domains which had been occupied.  His Grand Vizier, Safikuli Khan, is advancing with a large army against the son of Kueprili, and the darkness of defeat threatens to obscure the sun-like radiance of the Ottoman arms.  Most puissant Padishah! suffer not the tooth of disaster to gnaw away at thy glory!  The Grand Vizier and I have already gathered together thy host on the shores of the Bosphorus.  They are ready, at a moment’s notice, to embark in the ships prepared for them.  Money and provisions in abundance have been sent to the frontier for the gallant Nuuman Kueprili on the backs of fifteen hundred camels.  It needs but a word from thee and thine empire will become an armed hand, one buffet whereof will overthrow another empire.  It needs but a wink of thine eye and a host of warriors will spring from the earth, just as if all the Ottoman heroes, who died for their country four centuries ago, were to rise from their graves to defend the banner of the Prophet.  But that same banner thou shouldst seize and bear in thine own hand, most glorious Padishah! for only thy presence can give victory to our arms.  Arise, then, and gird upon thy thigh the sword of thy illustrious ancestor Muhammad!  Descend in the midst of thy host which yearns for the light of thy countenance, as the eyes of the sleepless yearn for the sun to rise, and put an end to the long night of waiting.”

Achmed’s gentle gaze rested upon the speaker abstractedly.  It seemed as if, while the Chief Mufti was speaking, he had not heard a single word of the passionate discourse that had been addressed to him.

“My faithful servants!” said he, smiling pleasantly, “this day is to me a day of felicity.  The Sultana Asseki at dawn to-day saw a vision worthy of being realised.  A dazzling festival was being celebrated in the streets of Stambul, and the whole city shone in the illumination thereof.  The gardens of the puspang-trees and the courtyards of the kiosks around the Sweet Waters were bright with the radiance of lamps and tulips.  Waving palm-trees and gardens full of sugar-flowers traversed the streets, and galleys and fortresses perambulated the piazzas on wheels.  That dream was too lovely to remain a dream.  It must be made a reality.”