Various - Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 53, No. 331, May, 1843

"Now we are quits, dear Ammalát. Do not talk of past events. This day our teeth shall avenge us on this tusked foe. I hope you will not refuse to taste the forbidden meat, Ammalát?"

"Not I! nor to wash it down with champagne, Colonel. Without offence to Mahomet, I had rather strengthen my soul with the foam of the wine, than with the water of the true believer."

The hunt now turned to the other side. From afar were heard cries and hallooing, and the drums of the Tartars in the chase. From time to time shots rang through the air. A horse was led up to the Colonel: and he, feasting his sight with the boar, which was almost cut in two, patted Ammalát on the shoulder, crying "A brave blow!"

"In that blow exploded my revenge," answered the Bek; "and the revenge of an Asiatic is heavy."

"You have seen, you have witnessed," replied the Colonel, "how injury is avenged by Russians—that is, by Christians; let this be not a reproach, but—a lesson to you."

And they both galloped off towards the Line.

Ammalát was remarkably absent—sometimes he did not answer at all—at others, he answered incoherently to the questions of Verkhóffsky, by whom he rode, gazing abstractedly around him. The Colonel, thinking that, like an eager hunter, he was engrossed by the sport, left him, and rode forward. At last, Ammalát perceived him whom he was so impatiently expecting, his hemdjék, Saphir Ali, flew to meet him, covered with mud, and mounted on a smoking horse. With cries of "Aleikoúm Selam," they both jumped off their horses, and were immediately locked in each other's embrace.

"And so you have been there—you have seen her—you have spoken to her?" cried Ammalát, tearing off his kaftán, and choking with agitation. "I see by your face that you bring good news; here is my new tchoukhá 7 7 The Tartars have an invariable custom, of taking off some part of their dress and giving it to the bearer of good news. for you for that. Does she live? Is she well? Does she love me as before?"

"Let me recollect myself," answered Saphir Ali. "Let me take breath. You have put so many questions, and I myself are charged with so many commissions, that they are crowding together like old women at the door of the mosque, who have lost their shoes. First, at your desire, I have been to Khounzákh. I crept along so softly, that I did not scare a single thrush by the road. Sultan Akhmet Khan is well, and at home. He asked about you with great anxiety, shook his head, and enquired if you did not want a spindle to dry the silk of Derbénd. The khánsha sends you tchokh selammóum, (many compliments,) and as many sweet cakes. I threw them away, the confounded things, at the first resting-place. Soúrkhai-Khan, Noutzal-Khan"——

"The devil take them all! What about Seltanetta?"

"Aha! at last I have touched the chilblain of your heart. Seltanetta, my dear Ammalát, is as beautiful as the starry sky; but in that heaven I saw no light, until I conversed about you. Then she almost threw herself on my neck when we were left alone together, and I explained the cause of my arrival. I gave her a camel-load of compliments from you—told her that you were almost dead with love—poor fellow!--and she burst into tears!"

"Kind, lovely soul! What did she tell you to say to me?"

"Better ask what she did not. She says that, from the time that you left her, she has never rejoiced even in her dreams; that the winter snow has fallen on her heart, and that nothing but a meeting with her beloved, like a vernal sun, can melt it.... But if I were to continue to the end of her messages, and you were to wait to the end of my story, we should both reach Derbénd with grey beards. Spite of all this, she almost drove me away, hurrying me off, lest you should doubt her love!"

"Darling of my soul! you know not—I cannot explain what bliss it is to be with thee, what torment to be separated from thee, not to see thee!"

"That is exactly the thing, Ammalát; she grieves that she cannot rejoice her eyes with a sight of him whom she never can be weary of gazing at. 'Is it possible,' she says, 'that he cannot come but for one little day, for one short hour, one little moment?'"

"To look on her, and then die, I would be content!"

"Ah, when you behold her, you will wish to live. She is become quieter than she was of old; but even yet she is so lively, that when you see her your blood sparkles within you."

"Did you tell her why it is not in my power to do her will, and to accomplish my own passionate desire?"

"I related such tales that you would have thought me the Shah of Persia's chief poet. Seltanetta shed tears like a fountain after rain. She does nothing else but weep."

"Why, then, reduce her to despair? 'I cannot now' does not mean 'it is for ever impossible.' You know what a woman's heart is, Saphir Ali: for them the end of hope is the end of love."

"You sow words on the wind, djanníon (my soul.) Hope, for lovers, is a skein of worsted—endless. In cool blood, you do not even trust your eyes; but fall in love, and you will believe in ghosts. I think that Seltanetta would hope that you could ride to her from your coffin—not only from Derbénd."

"And how is Derbénd better than a coffin to me? Does not my heart feel its decay, without power to escape it? Here is only my corpse: my soul is far away."

"It seems that your senses often take the whim of walking I know not where, dear Ammalát. Are you not well at Verkhóffsky's—free and contented? beloved as a younger brother, caressed like a bride? Grant that Seltanetta is lovely: there are not many Verkhóffskys. Cannot you sacrifice to friendship a little part of love?"

"Am not I then doing so, Saphir Ali? But if you knew how much it costs me! It is as if I tore my heart to pieces. Friendship is a lovely thing, but it cannot fill the place of love."

"At least, it can console us for love—it can relieve it. Have you spoken about this to the Colonel?"

"I cannot prevail on myself to do so. The words die on my lips, when I would speak of my love. He is so wise, that I am ashamed to annoy him with my madness. He is so kind, that I dare not abuse his patience. To say the truth, his frankness invites, encourages mine. Figure to yourself that he has been in love since his childhood with a maiden, to whom he was plighted, and whom he certainly would have married if his name had not been by mistake put into a list of killed during the war with the Feringhis. His bride shed tears, but nevertheless was given away in marriage. He flies back to his country, and finds his beloved the wife of another. What, think you, should I have done in such a case? Plunged a dagger in the breast of the robber of my treasure!--carried her away to the end or the world to possess her but one hour, but one moment! Nothing of this kind happened. He learned that his rival was an excellent and worthy man. He had the calmness to contract a friendship with him: had the patience to be often in the society of his former love, without betraying, either by word or deed, his new friend or his still loved mistress."

"A rare man, if this be true!" exclaimed Saphir Ali, with feeling, throwing away his reins. "A stout friend indeed!"

"But what an icy lover! But this is not all. To relieve both of them from misrepresentation and scandal, he came hither on service. Not long ago—for his happiness or unhappiness—his friend died. And what then? Do you think he flew to Russia. No! his duty kept him away. The Commander-in-chief informed him that his presence was indispensable here for a year more, and he has remained—cherishing his love with hope. Can such a man, with all his goodness, understand such a passion as mine? And besides, there is such a difference between us in years, in opinions. He kills me with his unapproachable dignity; and all this cools my friendship, and impedes my sincerity."