CHAPTER IX.
Colonel Verkhóffsky, engaged in reducing to submission the rebellious Daghestánetzes, was encamped with his regiment at the village of Kiáfir-Kaúmik. The tent of Ammalát Bek was erected next to his own, and in it Saphir-Ali, lazily stretched on the carpet, was drinking the wine of the Don, notwithstanding the prohibition of the Prophet. Ammalát Bek, thin, pale, and pensive, was resting his head against the tent-pole, smoking a pipe. Three months had passed since the time when he was banished from his paradise; and he was now roving with a detachment, within sight of the mountains to which his heart flew, but whither his foot durst not step. Grief had worn out his strength; vexation had poured its vial on his once serene character. He had dragged a sacrifice to his attachment to the Russians, and it seemed as if he reproached every Russian with it. Discontent was visible in every word, in every glance.
"A fine thing wine!" said Saphir Ali, carefully wiping the glasses; "surely Mahomet must have met with sour dregs in Aravéte, when he forbade the juice of the grape to true believers! Why, really these drops are as sweet as if the angels themselves, in their joy, had wept their tears into bottles. Ho! quaff another glass, Ammalát; your heart will float on the wine more lightly than a bubble. Do you know what Hafiz has sung about it?"
"And do you know? Pray, do not annoy me with your prate, Saphir Ali: not even under the name of Sadi and Hafiz."
"Why, what harm is there? If even this prate is my own, it is not an earring: it will not remain hanging in your ear. When you begin your story about your goddess Seltanetta, I look at you as at the juggler, who eats fire, and winds endless ribbons from his cheeks. Love makes you talk nonsense, and the Donskoi (wine of the Don) makes me do the same. So we are quits. Now, then, to the health of the Russians!"
"What has made you like the Russians?"
"Say rather—why have you ceased to love them?"
"Because I have examined them nearer. Really they are no better than our Tartars. They are just as eager for profit, just as ready to blame others, and not with a view of improving their fellow-creatures, but to excuse themselves: and as to their laziness—don't let us speak of it. They have ruled here for a long time, and what good have they done; what firm laws have they established; what useful customs have they introduced; what have they taught us; what have they created here, or what have they constructed worthy of notice? Verkhóffsky has opened my eyes to the faults of my countrymen, but at the same time to the defects of the Russians, to whom it is more unpardonable; because they know what is right, have grown up among good examples, and here, as if they have forgotten their mission, and their active nature, they sink, little by little, into the insignificance of the beasts."
"I hope you do not include Verkhóffsky in this number."
"Not he alone, but some others, deserve to be placed in a separate circle. But then, are there many such?"
"Even the angels in heaven are numbered, Ammalát Bek: and Verkhóffsky absolutely is a man for whose justice and kindness we ought to thank heaven. Is there a single Tartar who can speak ill of him? Is there a soldier who would not give his soul for him? Abdul-Hamet, more wine! Now then, to the health of Verkhóffsky!"
"Spare me! I will not drink to Mahomet himself."
"If your heart is not as black as the eyes of Seltanetta, you will drink, even were it in the presence of the red-bearded Yakhoúnts of the Shakhéeds[9] of Derbént: even if all the Imáms and Shieks not only licked their lips but bit their nails out of spite to you for such a sacrilege."
"I will not drink, I tell you."
"Hark ye, Ammalát: I am ready to let the devil get drunk on my blood for your sake, and you won't drink a glass of wine for mine."
"That is to say, that I will not drink because I do not wish—and I don't wish, because even without wine my blood boils in me like fermenting boozá."
"A bad excuse! It is not the first time that we have drunk, nor the first time that our blood boils. Speak plainly at once: you are angry with the Colonel."
"Very angry."
"May I know for what?"
"For much. For some time past he has begun to drop poison into the honey of his friendship: and at last these drops have filled and overflowed the cup. I cannot bear such lukewarm friends! He is liberal with his advice, not sparing with his lectures; that is, in every thing that costs him neither risk nor trouble."
"I understand, I understand! I suppose he would not let you go to Avár!"
"If you bore my heart in your bosom you would understand how I felt when I received such a refusal. He lured me on with that hope, and then all at once repulsed my most earnest prayer—dashed into dust, like a crystal kalián, my fondest hopes.... Akhmet Khan was surely softened, when he sent word that he wished to see me; and I cannot fly to him, or hurry to Seltanetta."
"Put yourself, brother, in his place, and then say whether you yourself would not have acted in the same way."
"No, not so! I should have said plainly from the very beginning, 'Ammalát, do not expect any help from me.' I even now ask him not for help. I only beg him not to hinder me. Yet no! He, hiding from me the sun of all my joy, assures me that he does this from interest in me—that this will hereafter bring me fortune. Is not this a fine anodyne?"
"No, my friend! If this is really the case, the sleeping-draught is given to you as to a person on whom they wish to perform an operation. You are thinking only of your love, and Verkhóffsky has to keep your honour and his own without spot; and you are both surrounded by ill-wishers. Believe me, either thus or otherwise, it is he alone who can cure you."
"Who asks him to cure me? This divine malady of love is my only joy: and to deprive me of it is to tear out my heart, because it cannot beat at the sound of a drum!"——
At this moment a strange Tartar entered the tent, looked suspiciously round, and bending down his head, laid his slippers before Ammalát—according to Asiatic custom, this signified that he requested a private conversation. Ammalát understood him, made a sign with his head, and both went out into the open air. The night was dark, the fires were going out, and the chain of sentinels extended far before them. "Here we are alone," said Ammalát Bek to the Tartar: "who art thou, and what dost thou want?"
"My name is Samit: I am an inhabitant of Derbénd, of the sect of Souni: and now am at present serving in the detachment of Mussulman cavalry. My commission is of greater consequence to you than to me.... The eagle loves the mountains!"
Ammalát shuddered, and looked suspiciously at the messenger. This was a watchword, the key of which Sultan Akhmet had previously written to him. "How can he but love the mountains?" ... he replied; "In the mountains there are many lambs for the eagles, and much silver for men."
"And much steel for the valiant," (yigheeds.)
Ammalát grasped the messenger by the hand. "How is Sultan Akhmet Khan?" he enquired hurriedly: "What news bring you from him—how long is it since you have seen his family?"
"Not to answer, but to question, am I come.... Will you follow me?"
"Where? for what?"
"You know who has sent me. That is enough. If you trust not him, trust not me. Therein is your will and my advantage. Instead of running my head into a noose to-night, I can return to-morrow to the Khan, and tell him that Ammalát dares not leave the camp."
The Tartar gained his point: the touchy Ammalát took fire. "Saphir Ali!" he cried loudly.
Saphir Ali started up, and ran out of the tent.
"Order horses to be brought for yourself and me, even if unsaddled; and at the same time send word to the Colonel, that I have ridden out to examine the field behind the line, to see if some rascal is not stealing in between the sentries. My gun and shashka in a twinkling!"
The horses were led up, the Tartar leaped on his own, which was tied up not far off, and all three rode off to the chain. They gave the word and the countersign, and they passed by the videttes to the left, along the bank of the swift Azen.
Saphir Ali, who had very unwillingly left his bottle, grumbled about the darkness, the underwood, the ditches, and rode swearing by Ammalát's side; but seeing that nobody began the conversation, he resolved to commence it himself.
"My ashes fall on the head of this guide! The devil knows where he is leading us, and where he will take us. Perhaps he is going to sell us to the Lezghíns for a rich ransom. I never trust these squinting fellows!"
"I trust but little even to those who have straight eyes," answered Ammalát; "but this squinting fellow is sent from a friend: he will not betray us!"
"And the very first moment he thinks of any thing like it, at his first movement I will slice him through like a melon. Ho! friend," cried Saphir Ali, to the guide; "in the name of the king of the genii, it seems you have made a compact with the thorns to tear the embroidery from my tschoukhá. Could you not find a wider road? I am really neither a pheasant nor a fox."
The guide stopped. "To say the truth, I have led a delicate fellow like you too far!" he answered. "Stay here and take care of the horses, whilst Ammalát and I will go where it is necessary."
"Is it possible you will go into the woods with such a cut-throat looking rascal, without me?" whispered Saphir Ali to Ammalát.
"That is, you are afraid to remain here without me!" replied Ammalát, dismounting from his horse, and giving him the reins: "Do not annoy yourself, my dear fellow. I leave you in the agreeable society of wolves and jackals. Hark how they are singing!"
"Pray to God that I may not have to deliver your bones from these singers," said Saphir Ali. They separated. Samit led Ammalát among the bushes, over the river, and having passed about half a verst among stones, began to descend. At the risk of their necks they clambered along the rocks, clinging by the roots of the sweet-briar, and at length, after a difficult journey, descended into the narrow mouth of a small cavern parallel with the water. It had been excavated by the washing of the stream, erewhile rapid, but now dried up. Long stalactites of lime and crystal glittered in the light of a fire piled in the middle. In the back-ground lay Sultan Akhmet Khan on a boúrka, and seemed to be waiting patiently till Ammalát should recover himself amid the thick smoke which rolled in masses through the cave. A cocked gun lay across his knees; the tuft in his cap fluttered in the wind which blew from the crevices. He rose politely as Ammalát hurried to salute him.
"I am glad to see you," he said, pressing the hands of his guest; "and I do not hide the feeling which I ought not to cherish. However, it is not for an empty interview that I have put my foot into the trap, and troubled you: sit down, Ammalát, and let us speak about an important affair."
"To me, Sultan Akhmet Khan?"
"To us both. With your father I have eaten bread and salt. There was a time when I counted you likewise as my friend."
"But counted!"
"No! you were my friend, and would ever have remained so, if the deceiver, Verkhóffsky, had not stepped between us."
"Khan, you know him not."
"Not only I, but you yourself shall soon know him. But let us begin with what regards Seltanetta. You know she cannot ever remain unmarried. This would be a disgrace to my house: and let me tell you candidly, that she has already been demanded in marriage."
Ammalát's heart seemed torn asunder. For some time he could not recover himself. At length he tremblingly asked, "Who is this bold lover?"
"The second son of the Shamkhál, Abdoul Moússelin. Next after you, he has, from his high blood, the best right, of all our mountaineers, to Seltanetta's hand."
"Next to me—after me!" exclaimed the passionate Bek, boiling with anger: "Am I, then, buried? Is then my memory vanished among my friends?"
"Neither the memory, nor friendship itself is dead in my heart; but be just, Ammalát; as just as I am frank. Forget that you are the judge of your own cause, and decide what we are to do. You will not abandon the Russians, and I cannot make peace with them."
"Do but wish—do but speak the word, and all will be forgotten, all will be forgiven you. This I will answer for with my head, and with the honour of Verkhóffsky, who has more than once promised me his mediation. For your own good, for the welfare of Avár, for your daughter's happiness, for my bliss, I implore you, yield to peace, and all will be forgotten—all that once belonged to you will be restored."
"How boldly you answer, rash youth, for another's pardon, for another's life! Are you sure of your own life, your own liberty?"
"Who should desire my poor life? To whom should be dear the liberty which I do not prize myself?"
"To whom? Think you that the pillow does not move under the Shamkhál's head, when the thought rises in his brain, that you, the true heir of the Shamkhalát of Tarki, are in favour with the Russian Government?"
"I never reckoned on its friendship, nor feared its enmity."
"Fear it not, but do not despise it. Do you know that an express, sent from Tarki to Yermóloff, arrived a moment too late, to request him to show no mercy, but to execute you as a traitor? The Shamkhál was before ready to betray you with a kiss, if he could; but now, that you have sent back his blind daughter to him, he no longer conceals his hate."
"Who will dare to touch me, under Verkhóffsky's protection?"
"Hark ye, Ammalát; I will tell you a fable:—A sheep went into a kitchen to escape the wolves, and rejoiced in his luck, flattered by the caresses of the cooks. At the end of three days he was in the pot. Ammalát, this is your story. 'Tis time to open your eyes. The man whom you considered your first friend has been the first to betray you. You are surrounded, entangled by treachery. My chief motive in meeting you was my desire to warn you. When Seltanetta was asked in marriage, I was given to understand from the Shamkhál, that through him I could more readily make my peace with the Russians, than through the powerless Ammalát—that you would soon be removed in some way or other, and that there was nothing to be feared from your rivalry. I suspected still more, and learned more than I suspected. To-day I stopped the Shamkhál's noúker, to whom the negotiations with Verkhóffsky were entrusted, and extracted from him, by torture, that the Shamkhál offers a thousand ducats to get rid of you. Verkhóffsky hesitates, and wishes only to send you to Siberia for ever. The affair is not yet decided; but to-morrow the detachment retires to their quarters, and they have resolved to meet at your house in Bouináki, to bargain about your blood. They will forge denunciations and charges—they will poison you at your own table, and cover you with chains of iron, promising you mountains of gold." It was painful to see Ammalát during this dreadful speech. Every word, like red-hot iron, plunged into his heart; all within him that was noble, grand, or consoling, took fire at once, and turned into ashes. Every thing in which he had so long and so trustingly confided, fell to pieces, and shrivelled up in the flame of indignation. Several times he tried to speak, but the words died away in a sickly gasp; and at last the wild beast which Verkhóffsky had tamed, which Ammalát had lulled to sleep, burst from his chain: a flood of curses and menaces poured from the lips of the furious Bek. "Revenge, revenge!" he cried, "merciless revenge, and woe to the hypocrites!"
"This is the first word worthy of you," said the Khan, concealing the joy of success; "long enough have you crept like a serpent, laying your head under the feet of the Russians! 'Tis time to soar like an eagle to the clouds; to look down from on high upon the enemy who cannot reach you with their arrows. Repay treachery with treachery, death with death!"
"Then death and ruin be to the Shamkhál, the robber of my liberty; and ruin be to Abdoul Moússelin, who dared to stretch forth his hand to my treasure!"
"The Shamkhál? His son—his family? Are they worthy of your first exploits? They are all but little loved by the Tarkovétzes; and if we attack the Shamkhál, they will give up his whole family with their own hands. No, Ammalát, you must aim your first blow next to you; you must destroy your chief enemy; you must kill Verkhóffsky."
"Verkhóffsky!" exclaimed Ammalát, stepping back.... "Yes!.... he is my enemy; but he was my friend. He saved me from a shameful death.
"And has now sold you to a shameful life!.... A noble friend! And then you have yourself saved him from the tusks of the wild-boar—a death worthy of a swine-eater! The first debt is paid, the second remains due: for the destiny which he is so deceitfully preparing for you"....
"I feel ... this ought to be ... but what will good men say? What will my conscience say?"
"It is for a man to tremble before old women's tales, and before a whimpering child—conscience—when honour and revenge are at stake? I see Ammalát, that without me you will decide nothing; you will not even decide to marry Seltanetta. Listen to me. Would you be a son-in-law worthy of me, the first condition is Verkhóffsky's death. His head shall be a marriage-gift for your bride, whom you love, and who loves you. Not revenge only, but the plainest reasoning requires the death of the Colonel. Without him, all Daghestán will remain several days without a chief, and stupefied with horror. In this interval, we come flying upon the Russians who are dispersed in their quarters. I mount with twenty thousand Avarétzes and Akoushétzes: and we fall from the mountains like a cloud of snow upon Tarki. Then Ammalát, Shamkhál of Daghestán, will embrace me as his friend, as his father-in-law. These are my plans, this is your destiny. Choose which you please; either an eternal banishment, or a daring blow, which promises you power and happiness; but know, that next time we shall meet either as kinsmen, or as irreconcilable foes!"
The Khan disappeared. Long stood Ammalát, agitated, devoured by new and terrible feelings. At length Samit reminded him that it was time to return to the camp. Ignorant himself how and where he had found his way to the shore, he followed his mysterious guide, found his horse, and without answering a word to the thousand questions of Saphir Ali, rode up to his tent. There, all the tortures of the soul's hell awaited him. Heavy is the first night of sorrow, but still more terrible the first bloody thoughts of crime.