rance. Ye should laugh merrily, like the Rabbi in the
Talmud when he saw the jackal running about the ruined walls of the
Temple; for till the prophecies are utterly fulfilled the glory cannot
return." And his face shone with conscious deity.

He was placed in a khan with a strong guard. But his worshippers
bought off his chains, and even made for him a kind of throne. On the
Sunday his captors brought him, and him alone, to Constantinople. A
vast gathering of Jews and Turks--a motley-colored medley--awaited him
on the quay; mounted police rode about to keep a path for the
disembarking officers and to prevent a riot. At length, amid clamor
and tumult, Sabbatai set fettered foot on shore.

His sad, noble air, the beauty of his countenance, his invincible
silence, set a circle of mystery around him. Even the Turks had a
moment of awe. A man-god, surely!

The Pacha had sent his subordinate with a guard to transfer him to the
Seraglio. By them he was first hastily conducted into the
custom-house, the guard riding among and dispersing the crowd.

Sabbatai sat upon a chest as majestically as though it were the throne
of Solomon.

But the Sub-Pacha shook off the oppressive emotion with which the
sight of Sabbatai inspired him.

"Rise, traitor," said he, "it is time that thou shouldst receive the
reward of thy treasons and gather the fruit of thy follies." And
therewith he dealt Sabbatai a sounding box of the ear.

His myrmidons, relieved from the tension, exploded in a malicious
guffaw.

Sabbatai looked at the brutal dignitary with sad, steady gaze, then
silently turned the other cheek.

The Sub-Pacha recoiled with an uncanny feeling of the supernatural;
the mockery of the bystanders was hushed.

Sabbatai was conducted by side ways, to avoid the mob, to the Palace
of the Kaimacon, the Deputy-Vizier.

"Art thou the man," cried the Kaimacon, "whom the Jews aver to have
wrought miracles at Smyrna? Now is thy time to work one, for lo! thy
treason shall cost thee dear."

"Miracles!" replied Sabbatai meekly. "I--what am I but a poor Jew,
come to collect alms for my poor brethren in Jerusalem? The Jews of
this great city persuade themselves that my blessing will bring them
God's grace; they flock to welcome me. Can I stay them?"

"Thou art a seditious knave."

"An arrant impostor," put in the Sub-Pacha, "with the airs of a god. I
thought to risk losing my arm when I cuffed him on the ear, but lo!
'tis stronger than