THE CIRCASSIAN AND HIS FAMILY
In those days Kasi Mollah did not go by the name of Murstud--_i.e._, a
pillar of the faith. He was a simple sheik at Himri, in the northern
part of the land of Circassia, a remote little place, where the
Muscovite was no more than a rumor from afar.
Nature herself had fashioned a strong fortress around Himri. Immense
mountain-chains enclosed it within massive walls on both sides, rising
bleak, interminable, and ever upwards into the dim distance.
In the midst of this valley of eternal shadows arose a third rocky
mass, forming--on both sides--a steep, ladder-like wall; and, after
extending far among the other mountains, terminating in a
ragged-looking, concave hill, defended by the junction of the
impetuous mountain streams, which dug a deep hollow among the
excavated rocks. Along this channel, running like a spinal cord
throughout the backbone of the mountain, extended some few thousands
of acres of luxuriant corn--a long but narrow strip.
At the head of an opening in the chain a rocky scaffolding was
visible, about one hundred feet in height, as regularly disposed as if
a number of gigantic dice had been designedly placed there one on the
top of another. By a marvellous freak of Nature, this rocky
conglomeration was provided apparently with towers, bastions, and
buttresses; so that, viewed from afar, it looked like a gigantic
fortress, and, on the very first glance at it, the thought
involuntarily occurs to one that if but four guns were planted on
those summits a few hundred men might defend themselves against an
army-corps. At the rear of the hill, moreover, where the cataracts
make any approach impossible, the flocks and herds of the defending
army could go on contentedly browsing for years together.
A foolish idea! To whom would it ever occur to attack Himri, that tiny
Circassian village with scarcely five hundred inhabitants, who have
nothing in the world but their kine, their goats, and their pretty
girls? Who would ever come against Himri with guns and an
army--against those most worthy men who all their life long have never
done anything but make cheese and tan hides, who only exercise their
valor against the devastating bands of bears, and only extirpate with
their long, far-reaching muskets the wild goats of the rocks?
They do not even build their houses on the summit of this wondrous
fortress of Nature, but among the rocks below, constructing them
prettily of regularly disposed logs, with roofs like dove-cots,
surrounding them with linden-trees and flower-gardens. And so far from
keeping a visitor at bay with cannon-shots, they go forth to meet him,
conduct him into their villages, hospitably entertain him, insist on
his tarrying long with them; and if the visitor be a handsome young
fellow, the loveliest eyes that ever smiled and wept grow moist at
his departure. Who amongst those who have been lulled to sleep in
Himri by the songs of the lovely and bewitching Circassian girls could
ever have dreamed that the time would come when these mountain walls
all round about would be dyed red with the blood of thousands and
thousands of strangers, who came thither to seek death, and found what
they sought?
The house of the meritorious sheik differed in no respect from the
dwellings of the other inhabitants. It also was entirely built of
timber, consisted of four rooms leading one out of another, and two
venerable nut-trees stood in front of it.
Kasi Mollah sits outside, leaning tranquilly against the door-post
beneath the projecting eaves, both sides of which are covered by large
scarlet-runners, plaiting with great care and solemnity a whip out of
twelve fine thongs of kid-skin hanging on a crooked nail.
Squatting on the ground beside him on a bear-skin sits a
peculiar-looking stranger. Even if you had not seen it in his features
and clothing, his mules standing before the door would have told you
that he did not belong to these parts. He was, indeed, a Greek
merchant from Smyrna, who visited Circassia every year to purchase
kid-skins--or, so he said. He had three palaces in Smyrna; but it is
scarcely credible that he could have acquired them by his kid-skins
only. At any rate, his mules were laden now with whole bundles of furs
and pelts, and the merchant was toasting his host in a sour beverage,
made by the Circassian from horse's milk, the evil odor of which he
was striving to dispel with the smoke of good Latakia tobacco.
It was for him also that the Circassian was making that long
mule-driving whip of thongs of twelve different colors, serpentine in
shape, and plaited at the ends with beautiful white horse-hair; and
when it was ready he smacked it so vigorously, by way of showing it
off, that the merchant could scarce save his eyes from it.
"A pretty whip, and a good whip," he said, at last, in order that its
owner might leave off cracking it.
"I'll very soon prove whether it is a good whip or not," said the
Circassian, without moving a muscle of his brown, oval-shaped,
apathetic face; and with that he began to make the handle of the whip
out of fine copper wire of a fantastically ornate pattern nicely
studded with leaden stars.
"How will you prove that it is a good whip?" asked the merchant.
"Stop till my children come home."
"Your _children_?"
"Yes, naturally. I should not think of proving it on other people's
children."
"You are surely not going to prove the whip on your own?"
"On whom else, then? Children should be whipped in order that they may
be good, that they may be kept in order, and that they may not get
nonsense into their heads. 'Tis also a good thing to train them
betimes to endure greater sorrow by giving them a foretaste of lesser
ones, so that when they grow up to man's estate, and real misfortune
overtakes them, they may be able to bear it. My father used always to
beat me, and now I bless him for it, for it made a man of me. Children
are always full of evil dispositions, and you do well to drive such
things out of them with the whip."
A peculiar smile passed across the long, olive-colored face of the
Greek at these words; he seemed to be only smiling to himself. Then he
fixed his sly, coal-black eyes on the sheik, and inquired,
sceptically:
"But surely you don't beat your children without cause?"
"Oh, there's always cause. Children are always doing something wrong;
you have only to keep an eye on them to see that, and whoever neglects
to punish them acts like him who should forbear to pull up the weeds
in his garden."
"Kasi Mollah," said the Greek, puffing two long clouds of smoke
through his nostrils, "I tell you, children are not your speciality,
for you do not understand how to bring them up. In the whole land of
Circassia there is none who knows how to bring up children."
"Then how comes it that our girls are the fairest and our youths the
bravest on the face of the earth?"
"Your girls would be still more beautiful and your lads still more
valiant if you brought them up in the land where dwell the descendants
of white-bosomed Briseis and quick-footed Achilles. O Hellas!"
The Greek began to grow rapturous at the pronunciation of these
classical names, and in his excitement blew sufficient smoke out of
his chibook to have clouded all Olympus.
"I tell you. Kasi Mollah," continued he, "that children are the gifts
of God, and he who beats a child lifts his whip, so to speak, against
God Himself, for His hands defend their little bodies. You do but sin
against your children. Give them to me!"
"You are a Christian; I am a Mussulman. How, then, shall you bring up
my children?"
"Fear nothing. I do not want to keep them for myself; I mean rather to
get them such positions as will enable them to rise to the utmost
distinction. I would place them with some leading pasha, perhaps with
the Padishah himself, or, at any rate, with one of his Viziers, all of
whom have a great respect for Circassians."
"Thank you. Midas, thank you; but I don't mean to give them up."
"Prithee, prithee, call me not Midas; that is an ominous name which I
do not understand. You might have learned any time these ten years,
when I first came to buy pelts from you, that my name is Leonidas
Argyrocantharides, and that I am a direct descendant of the hero
Leonidas, who fell at Thermopylæ with his three hundred valiant
Spartans. One of my great-great-grandfathers, moreover, fell at Issus,
by the side of the great Alexander, from a mortal blow dealt to him by
a Persian satrap. If you do not believe me, look at this ancient coin,
and at these others, and at this whole handful which are in my purse,
all of which were struck under Philip of Macedon, or else under Michel
Kantakuzenos or Constantine Porphyrogenitus, all of whom were powerful
Greek emperors in Constantinople, which now they call Stambul, and
built the church of St. Sophia, where now the dervishes say their
prayers; and then look at the figures which are stamped on these
coins, and tell me if they do not resemble me to a hair. It is so.
No, you need not give me back the money; give me rather the two
little children."
The Circassian, who had taken the purse with the simple intention of
comparing the figures on the coins with the face of the merchant, drew
the strings of the purse tight again at this offer, and thrust it back
into the merchant's bosom.
"Thank you," said he, dryly. "I deal in the skins of goats, not in the
skins of men."
The face of the merchant showed surprise in all its features. Not
every man possesses the art of controlling his countenance so quickly,
especially when his self-command is put to so sudden and severe a
test. The Georgians, more to the south, were a much more manageable
race of men. With them one could readily drive a bargain for their
daughters and give them a good big sum on account for their smallest
children. One could purchase of them children from two to three years
of age at from ten to twenty golden denarii a head, and sell them in
ten years' time for just as many thousands of piastres to some
illustrious pasha. This was how Leonidas was able to build himself
palaces at Smyrna.
"You talk nonsense, my worthy Chorbadzhi," said the merchant, when he
had somewhat recovered himself. "Shall I prove it to you? Well, then,
in the first place, you do not sell your children, and, in the second
place, why shouldn't you sell them? If a Circassian wrapped in a
bear-skin comes to you and asks you for your daughter, would you not
give her to him? And at the very outside he would only give you a
dozen cows for her, and as many asses. I, on the other hand, offer you
a thousand piastres for them from good, worthy, influential beys, or
perhaps from the Sultan himself, and yet you haggle about it."
The sheik's face began to show wrath and irritation. He was well aware
that the merchant was now dealing in sophisms, though his simple
intellect could not quite get at the root of their fallacy. It was
plain that there was a great difference between a Circassian dressed
in bear-skin, who carries off a girl in exchange for a dozen cows, and
the Captain-General of Rumelia, who is ready to give a thousand ducats
for her--and yet he preferred the gentleman in bear-skins.
The Greek, meanwhile, appeared to be studying the features of the
Circassian with an attentive eye, watching what impression his words
had produced, like the experimenting doctor who tries the effects of
his medicaments _in anima vili_.
"But I know that you will give them. Kasi Mollah," he resumed, filling
up his chibook. "No doubt you have promised them to another trader.
Well, well! you are a cunning rogue. Merchants of Dirbend or Bagdad
have no doubt offered you more for them. They can afford it, they do
such a roaring business. Those perfidious Armenians! They buy the
children for a mere song, and sell them when they are eight or nine
years old to the pashas, so that not one of them lives to see his
twentieth year, but all die miserably in the mean time. I don't do
such things. I am an honest man, with whom business is but a labor of
love, and who is just to all men. It is sufficient for me to say that
I was born where Aristides used to live. Numbers and numbers of my
ancestors were in the Areopagus, and one of my great-great-uncles was
an archon. Do not imagine, therefore, that I would do for every
foolish fellow what I offer to do for you. I only do kindnesses to my
chosen friends; the ties of friendship are sacred to me. Castor and
Pollux, Theseus and Pirithous are to me majestic examples of that
excellent brotherhood of kindred spirits which I constantly set before
me. Wherever I have gone people have always blessed me; nay, did I but
let them, they would kiss my feet. The daughter of a Georgian peasant
whose father trusted me is now the first waiting-woman of the wife of
the Governor of Egypt. Is that glory enough for you! The daughter of a
poor goatherd, whom I picked up from the mire, is now the premier
pipe-filler of the Pasha of Salonica. A high office that, if you like!
What Ganymede was to Jove in those classical ages-- Ah! the tears gush
from my eyes at the sound of that word. O Hellas!"
The Circassian allowed his good friend to weep on, considering it a
sufficient answer to let his dark bushy eyebrows frown still more
fiercely, if possible, over his downcast eyes. Then he caught up a
hammer and hammered away with great fury at the handle he had prepared
for the whip, riveting the wire with copper studs.
"Kasi Mollah, hitherto I have only been joking, but now I am going to
speak in earnest," resumed Leonidas Argyrocantharides, raising his
voice that he might be heard through the hammering. "You should
bethink you seriously of your children's destiny. I am your old
friend, your old acquaintance; my sole wish is for your welfare. I
love your children as much as if they were my own, and the tears gush
from my eyes whenever I part from them. What will become of them when
they grow up? I know that while you are alive it will be well with
them, but how about afterwards? You may die to-morrow, or the next
day; who can tell? We are all in the hands of God. Now I'll tell you
something. Mind. I'm not joking or making it all up. I know for
certain that Topal Pasha has been informed that you have two lovely
children. Some flighty traders of Erzeroum revealed the fact to him.
They are wont to trade with you here, and he has paid them half the
stipulated sum down on condition that they bring the children to him.
Now this pasha is a filthy, brutal, rake-hell sort of fellow, the
pressure of whose foot is no laughing matter, I can tell you; a
horrible, hideous, cruel man. I can give you proofs of it. And these
merchants have made a contract with him, and have engaged, under the
penalty of losing their heads, to deliver your children to him within
a twelvemonth. What do you say? You'll throw them down into the abyss,
eh? Ah! they are not as foolish as I am. They will not openly profess
that they have come here for your children, as I do, but they will lie
in wait for them when they go to the forest, and when nobody perceives
it they will clap them on the back of a horse and off they'll go with
them, so that nobody will know under what sky to look for them. Or,
perhaps, when you yourself are going along the road with them, they'll
lay a trap for you, shoot you neatly through the head, and bolt with
your children. Well, that will be a pretty thing, won't it? You had
better not throw me over."
The Circassian did not know what to answer--words were precious things
to him--but he thought all the more. While the merchant was speaking
to him, his reflections carried him far. He saw his children in the
detested marble halls, he saw them standing in shamefully gorgeous
garments, waiting upon the smiling despot, who stroked their tender
faces with his hands, and the blood rushed to his face as he saw his
children blush and tremble beneath that smile. Ah, at that thought he
began to lash about him so vigorously with the whip that was in his
hand, that the Greek rolled about on the bear-skin in terror, holding
his hands to his ears.
"Do not crack that whip so loudly, my dear son," said he, "or you'll
drive away all my mules. I really believe your whip is a very good
one, but you need not test it to the uttermost. I thank you for making
it; but now, pray, put it down. I must go. It is a good thing you have
not knocked out one of my eyes. You certainly have a vigorous way of
enjoying yourself. But let us speak sensibly. Do you believe that I am
an honest man, or not?"
At this the Circassian did _not_ nod his head.
"Very well, then. It is natural that you should believe, you ought to
believe it. Since Pausanias there has not been a sharper among my
nation. He was the last faithless Greek, and they walled him up in the
temple. I am a man without guile, as you are well aware. But I am more
than that, more than you suspect. Oho! in this shabby, worn-out caftan
of mine dwells something which you do not dream of. Oho! I know what I
really am. I am on friendly terms with great men, with many great
men, standing high in the empire, whose fame has never reached your
ears. In the palm of this hand I hold Hellas, in the other the realm
of Osman. I shake the whole world when I move. Why do I take all this
trouble? Oh, for the sake of your holy shades, Miltiades,
Themistocles, Lysippus, and Demosthenes! for the sake of your shades,
O Solon, O Lycurgus, O Pythagoras, and a time is coming in which I
will prove it! It is thy memory, Athene, which inspires me to heap up
treasures for the future! Thou, O holy Goddess of Liberty, hath
whispered in my ear that thou canst make use of the lowly as well as
of the mighty to promote thy cause!" Here the merchant leaped to his
feet in his enthusiasm, and, extending his hand towards the Circassian
exclaimed, "Kasi Mollah, you groan beneath the yoke just as much as we
do; let us join hands against our oppressors, and let us gradually
melt the hearts of their leaders by the strongest of fires, by the
fire of the eyes of the Greek and Circassian maidens, and we shall
catch them in a flowery net!"
Kasi Mollah did not clasp the hand of the enthusiastic Greek; and,
without turning towards him, replied, coldly, "I do not grudge you the
drink which I put before you, worthy merchant, but I perceive that it
has begun to mount into your head, or else you would not talk such
rubbish as selling free people to your enemies from motives of
freedom. Nor do you say well in saying that we are under the yoke, for
that is not true. Nobody has ever made the Circassian do homage, nor
would any try to conquer us for the sake of the eyes of our poor
damsels. Say no more about my children. I will not give them up. If
any one comes to visit me, I'll send him about his business; if any
one tries to deceive me, I'll cudgel him; and if any one tries to rob
me, I'll slay him. And tell that to the merchants of Erzeroum also.
And now say no more about it."
At these words the face of the merchant grew very long indeed. In his
spite he began pulling at the stem of his chibook with such force that
his face was furrowed right down the middle, and his eyebrows ascended
to the middle of his forehead. From time to time he kept on wagging
his head, and his scarlet, mortar-shaped fez along with it, and burned
the tips of his fingers by absently poking the red-hot bowl of his
pipe. But his indignation did not go beyond a shaking of the head, and
there he wisely let the matter rest.
"Very well, Kasi Mollah. You are an honest fellow. We shall see--we
shall see."
The sun was now setting, and from among the hills the bells of the
home-returning cattle resounded across the level plain which extended
in front of the rocky heights of Himri. Fifteen head of snow-white
kine strolled leisurely towards the house of Kasi Mollah, passing one
by one through the gate of their enclosure; behind the last of them
came the children of the sheik, who guarded the herd in the forest.
The boy appeared to be about twelve, and the girl a year younger, and
so closely did they resemble each other that, viewed in profile, it
was impossible to distinguish one from the other. Both had the same
long, black hair, which flowed in wondrous ringlets down their
shoulders, the same soft complexion of a naïve maturity, and as smooth
as velvet, just as if they never walked in the sunlight, and yet they
had no head-coverings. The youth's face revealed so much girlish
tenderness, and the girl's so much vigor and expression, that by
changing their clothes it would have been possible to substitute one
for the other; and, but for the well-known, tight-fitting corset,
peculiar to the Circassian maidens, which caused her figure, slender
as a delicate flower-stalk, to bend somewhat backwards, throwing into
relief the contours of her childlike breasts, it would have been
scarcely possible to have distinguished her from her brother,
especially when, as now, they walked side by side, half embracing. The
snow-white arm of the girl was round her brother's neck, and her
humidly glittering black eyes seemed to be sucking the virile courage
from his face; the boy held the slim figure of his sister encircled by
one of his arms, tapping her, from time to time, caressingly on the
shoulder, while his eyes rested, full of tenderness, on her beloved
face.
"What a majestic pair of children!" exclaimed Leonidas
Argyrocantharides, in his enthusiasm. "What a shame it is to lock them
up in this corner of the world! But what the deuce is the lad dragging
along with his left hand while he embraces his sister with his right?
What _is_ it, my pretty children? Nay, don't bring it here. What sort
of unclean animal is it?"
The lad, with a triumphant smile, stood before the merchant while his
sister ran to her father, climbed on to his knees, and throwing her
arms shamefacedly round his neck hid her face from the stranger.
"Do you not recognize the bear-skin?" cried the youth, in a strong,
clear voice; and as he spoke you became aware of the light black down
which shaded his upper lip and revealed the man, and with one of his
hands he raised up the beast he was dragging after him on to its hind
legs. It was a young bear, about a year and a half old, whose head was
battered and smashed in a good many places, thus showing what a severe
struggle it had cost to bring it down.
"Where did you find that monster? Who gave it to you?" cried Leonidas,
holding his hand before him as if he believed that the hideous
monster, even when dead, could clutch hold of his thin drumsticks of
legs.
"Where did I find it? Who gave it me?" cried the youth, proudly, and
with that he pointed to his sister, and, as if ashamed to speak of his
heroic deed himself, he said, "Tell him, Milieva!"
The old Circassian looked attentively at the two children. Neither of
them perceived that their father was angry.
"We were in the forest," began the girl--her voice was like a silvery
bell. "Thomar was carving a fife, and I was twining a garland for his
head, because he pipes so prettily, when all at once a little kid with
its mother came running towards us, and the little kid hid itself
close to me--it trembled so, poor little thing! but its mother only
bleated and kept running round and round, just as if it wanted to
speak. Thomar looked all about, and not far from us perceived two
young bears running off, and one of them had another little white kid
on its back, which was certainly the young one of the little she-goat
that was trying to talk to us. 'Thomar,' said I, 'if I were a boy, I
would go after that young bear and take away the poor little kid from
it.' 'And dost thou think I will not do it?' replied Thomar, and with
that he caught up his club and went after the two young bears. One of
them perceived him and quickly ran up a tree, but the other would not
give up his prey, but turned to face Thomar. Ah! you should have seen
how Thomar banged the wild beast on the head with his club till the
blood ran down its shoulders, and suddenly it let go the white kid,
which ran bleating after its mother."
The child clapped her little hands for joy, while her father softly
stroked her long hair.
"But now the young bear, gnashing its teeth, rushed upon Thomar and
seized the club in Thomar's hands with its teeth and claws. 'Thomar,
don't let him have it!' cried I. But, indeed, he had no fear of the
wild beast, for he drew his knife from his girdle and thrust it with
all his might into the head of the furiously charging wild beast."
"Oho!" interrupted Thomar, "don't forget that you also rushed upon it,
and gave me time to draw out my knife by seizing the ears of the bear
in both hands and dragging it off me."
The father looked at the two children with an ever-darkening face, but
the merchant solemnly shook his head and raised his hands aloft with
an expression of horror. "O foolish--O mad children!" cried he.
"The bear had now had enough," continued Milieva, trying to give her
talkative little mouth an earnest expression befitting her serious
narration; "it tore itself out of our hands, and with a great roar
took refuge from us in a subterranean cave, taking along with it
Thomar's knife, buried in its head. Now this knife we had got from
Hassan Beg, so we could not afford to lose it. So what do you think
Thomar did? He dived into the narrow hole after the bear, and, seizing
it there by the throat, throttled it, and dragged it out."
Cold drops of perspiration trickled down the foreheads of the two men.
"Then he caught the young bear by the foot, and as it was heavy we
both dragged it along together. We had to make haste, for the old bear
had scented our trail and was after us, and pursued us as far as the
herds, where the herd-keepers shot it down, but its young one we
brought along with us."
"O ye senseless children!" cried the merchant in his terror. "O
blockheads! Suppose the bear had clawed your faces, you would have
been disfigured forevermore. It would really serve you right if your
father gave you a good thrashing with this new whip."
And that is what really did happen.
In his wrath Kasi Mollah seized the freshly made, mule-driving whip,
and cannot one imagine the fury, begotten of fear, which would take
possession of a father's heart on hearing such a hair-bristling
narrative from the lips of his children? To poke their noses into a
bear's den, forsooth! The old bear would have torn the pair of them to
pieces had she been able to catch them! They had certainly well
deserved a thrashing, and a good thrashing too! Thomar would not have
wept or groaned however many stripes he might have got; he only
clinched his teeth, and, standing upright, bore with tearless eyes the
lashing of the whip on his back and shoulders without a cry, without a
sob.
But Milieva cast herself, shrieking, on her father's breast, and the
tears began to pour abundantly from her radiantly bright eyes. She
caught hold of the Circassian's chastising right arm with both her
hands, and begged so sweetly, "Do not hurt Thomar; do not hurt him,
father! It was indeed not his fault. I assure you I set him on. I told
him to go after them. Thomar only went because I asked him."
Kasi Mollah tried to push the child aside, whereupon she flung her
arms round Thomar's neck and protected her brother's body, exclaiming,
her face all aglow, "'Tis my fault, beat me, but don't hurt Thomar!"
The lad would have disengaged her arms, and, clinching his teeth for
pain, said:
"'Tis not true! Milieva did not urge me to do it. Milieva was looking
on from a distance. Milieva was not there. Don't hit Milieva."
But the girl threw her arms so tightly round her father that he was
not able to tear himself loose. At last, in sheer desperation, he was
obliged to lift the paternal instrument of admonition against the girl
also. But now the youth snatched at the whip, and exclaimed, with
sparkling eyes:
"Strike her not, for she has done no wrong! Beat me as much as you
like, but do not strike Milieva. If you do I will leave your house,
and you shall never see me more!"
"What, you ragged cub, you!" cried the old Circassian, infuriated by
the opposition of his son, and forcibly tearing away the whip from his
hand, he struck the girl a violent blow across the shoulders with it.
Milieva ceased to weep, she only pressed her lips together, as her
brother had already taught her to do, and cast down her eyes; but
Thomar perceived a tremor run through her tender, maidenly bosom at
the torture.
The old Circassian himself felt sorry for the poor thing, though he
was too proud to show it; but it was plain he had put his wrath behind
him from the fact that he now began to wind the whip round its handle.
Thomar bent over the girl's shoulder, and wherever he saw one of the
painful bruises which she had got on his account he kissed it softly,
and after that he kissed the girl's face, and those kisses were
parting kisses.
He said not a word to anybody in the house, but taking up his
shepherd's staff and his rustic flute, he went forth from his father's
dwelling without once looking behind him.
"Father," cried the girl, sobbing, "Thomar is going away forever!"
The old Circassian made no reply. His son did not look back at him,
and he did not cast a glance after his son, and yet they were both
heart-broken on each other's account.
"He'll soon be back," thought the father to himself. "Hunger and want
will bring him back."
It was late evening, and still the youth had not returned. The sun had
set long ago. A violent storm with thunder and lightning arose. The
wind roared among the trees of the distant woods, and the wolves
howled in the mountains.
"Father, let me go and bring back Thomar," pleaded the girl, gazing
sorrowfully into the dark night through the window.
"He will come back of his own accord," replied the Circassian, and he
would not let the girl go.
"Listen, how the rain pours, and how the wild beasts are howling!
Thomar is all alone there in the tempest, and it is so dark."
"'Tis a good night for a son who forsakes his father," replied the
sheik. But within himself he thought, "Some neighbor is sure to take
the lad in and give him shelter."
At midnight the tempest abated, and the moon shone forth brightly.
From the distant woods came floating back to the village the notes of
a rustic flute. Neither father nor daughter had had any sleep.
"Listen, father!" said Milieva. "Thomar is piping in the wood; let me
go and bring him back!"
"That is not a flute, but a nightingale," replied the stony-hearted
Circassian. "Lie down and sleep!"
Yet he himself could not sleep.
In the morning both the tempest and the song had ceased. The old
Circassian pretended to be asleep. Milieva softly raised her head and
looked at her father, and seeing that his eyes were closed, stealthily
put on her clothes and went out of the house on tiptoe. Her father did
not tell her not to go. He had already forgiven his son, and resolved
never to be angry with him any more. After all, it had only been an
ebullition of fatherly affection that had made him punish his son for
jeopardizing his life so blindly.
Shortly afterwards the jingling of the asses' bells told him that the
Greek, who slept on the floor outside, was getting ready to depart.
The merchant seemed to be in great haste. He piled his boxes on the
backs of his beasts higgledy-piggledy, even overlooking a parcel or
two here and there, and all the time he kept talking to himself,
stopping short suddenly when he caught sight of the Circassian.
"I was just going to take leave of you, Chorbadzhi. Why do you get up
so early? Go to sleep! What a nice day it is after the storm! Salám
aláküm! Peace be with you! Greet my kinsmen, your sweet children. No,
I will speak no more of your children. I will do as you desire, I
promise you, and what I have once promised-- So our business is at an
end? You are a worthy man, Kasi Mollah! . . . You are a good father--a
very good father. I only wish every man was like you. The only thing
that grieves me is that you cannot join our holy covenant. The Hellene
and the Circassian groan together beneath the yoke of a common tyrant.
And then you don't reflect who are on our side. Our northern neighbor
is always ready to liberate us. I say no more. To a wise man a hint is
a revelation. But do you not long for glory? You have no glorious
ancestors. With you there are no memories of a Marathon, a Platäa.
. . . God bless you, Kasi Mollah! Go on shooting lots of antelopes,
and I'll come back and buy the hides from you; mind you let me have
them cheap! Take this kiss for yourself, this for your son, and this
third one for your daughter. Then you won't give them to me, eh? Well,
God bless you, Kasi Mollah!"
The sheik felt as if a great stone had rolled off his breast when at
last he saw his guest depart, though even from afar the Greek turned
back and shouted all manner of things about Leonidas and the other
heroes. But the Circassian did not listen to him. He went back into
his house again, lest he should seem to be moping for his children.
Leonidas Argyrocantharides, on the other hand, whistling merrily,
proceeded with his asses on his way to the forest, and, when he found
himself quite alone there, began to sing in a loud voice the song of
freedom of the Hetairea, which put him into such a good humor that he
even began to flourish his weapon in the most warlike manner, though,
unfortunately, there was nobody at hand whom he could smite.
It would be doing a great injustice to the worthy merchant, however,
to suppose that he was fatiguing his precious lungs without rhyme or
reason, for during this melodious song he kept on looking continually
about him, now to the right and now to the left. He knew what he was
about.
Yes, he had calculated well. Any one who might happen to be hidden in
the forest was bound to hear the great blood-stirring song. He had not
advanced more than a hundred yards or so when a well-known suppliant
voice struck his ear. It came from among the thick trees.
"Oh, please! listen, please!"
At first he pretended not to know who it was, and, shading his eyes
with his hand, made a great pretence of looking hard.
"Oho, my little girl! so 'tis you, eh? Little Milieva, by all that's
holy! Come nearer, child."
The girl was not alone. She had found her brother, and was shoving and
pushing the lad on in front of her, who, sulkily and with downcast
eyes, was skulking about among the trees as if he were ashamed to
appear before the Greek, who had been a witness of his flogging.
Milieva had insisted on his returning home and begging his father's
pardon, and the lad had consented, not for his own sake, but for his
sister's.
"What a good job I've met you! Come here, little girl. Don't be afraid
of me. I want to whisper something in your ear that your brother must
not hear."
And he bent down towards the girl from the back of the ass and
whispered in her ear, it is true, but quite loud enough for her
brother to hear also:
"My dear child, don't take your brother home now, for your father is
furious with the pair of you, and is coming after you straightway.
That is why I have been singing so loudly, for I thought you had come
hither and might hear; and let me tell you that it will be just as
well for Thomar to hide himself for a time, for your father, when I
left him, had shouldered his musket, and he swore in his wrath that he
would hunt his runaway son with the dogs, and shoot him down wherever
he found him."
"Let him shoot me down!" cried the lad, defiantly. He had heard the
whole of the whisper.
The good-hearted merchant shook his head reprovingly.
"Keep your temper, my son; anger is mischievous. It would be much
better if you left these parts for a little while, and Milieva can go
back in the mean time and pacify her father. I should mention,
however, that Kasi Mollah is preparing a rope in salt-water, with
which he intends to beat her."
"What!" cried Thomar, with flashing eyes. "He would whip her again,
and with a rope?"
He could say no more. The two children fell upon each other's necks
and wept bitterly.
"Poor children! orphans worthy of compassion!" cried the sympathetic
Leonidas, stroking their pretty heads. "It is plain that they have no
mother. Willingly would I shed my blood for you. But it is vain to
speak to that savage madman. The last thing he said was that your
mother had been faithless to him, and that was why he was so furious
against you."
"Then he shall never see us again," said the lad, tenderly embracing
his sister. "I will go away, and I will take you with me."
"Where?" said his sister, trembling.
"The world is wide," said the lad. "I have often seen from the summits
of the mountains how far it stretches away. I will go away as far as
ever I can."
"But what provision have you got?" inquired the worthy merchant.
At this idea the lad seemed to hesitate, and for a moment his face
flushed red; but he soon recovered his _sang-froid_.
"You complained the other day that your ass-driver had run away, and
that you had all the trouble of looking after the beasts yourself.
Take me for your ass-driver. I will do all your work for you, and I
will ask nothing except that Milieva may come with me without doing
any hard work. I will work extra in her stead."
The merchant was quite overcome by these words.
"O children, what words must I hear! Thou art the pearl of youths, my
son. What a pity thou wast not born in Samos, the isle of heroes! Thou
shalt be no ass-driver of mine; no, thou shalt be my own son, and thy
sister shall be my own daughter, and ye shall both sit on my asses,
not follow after them. In the neighboring village I shall get
ass-drivers and to spare. I will share my last crumb with you, and ye
shall dwell at home within my palace as if ye were my own children."
And with that he embraced them both.
As for the children, they were overpowered by so much unexpected
goodness, and did not hesitate to accept the offer, although Milieva
said, somewhat tremulously:
"But you will take us back afterwards to our father, won't you?"
"Certainly; is he not my good friend? When we get to my house I will
let him know that you are with me, and he will be very glad. But first
we will go from here to splendid cities by the sea, where edifices
three stories high float on the surface of the water. There my great
palaces are--you could put the whole of your father's house inside the
hall of any one of them--and my gardens are full of those beautiful
fruits which I have so often brought for you in my sack. Thomar shall
have a beautiful steed. You would like to ride a horse, my son, eh?
Well, don't be afraid, and it shall fly away with you like the wind.
And it shall have a mane as white as a swan's--or perhaps you'd like a
black one? I have got both, and you shall sit on which you like, with
a sword dangling at your side. And when you draw that sword? Ah, ha!
It shall be a bright Damascus blade, and you will be able to make it
span your body right round without breaking. I will bet anything that
among five hundred Turkish youths you will carry off the wreath of
pearls in the sports. How nicely that wreath of pearls will become
Milieva's head! How beautifully the folds of the silken robe
embroidered with flowers will sweep around her slim figure! And then
the palm-leaf shawl when she dances! Eh, children?"
"When will you take us back to our father?" inquired the girl,
sorrowfully.
"Why, at once, of course. As soon as Thomar has become a famous man;
as soon as half the world recognizes him as a valiant bey, and the
fame of him spreads to the huts of Himri likewise. Then will Thomar go
with you to your father. He will sit on a proudly prancing horse,
tossing its head impatiently beneath its gold trappings. A grand
retinue will come riding behind him--valiant heroes, all of them, with
glittering shields and lances. And after them will follow a litter on
two white asses, with curtains of cloth of gold, and in this litter
will sit a wondrously bright and beautiful maiden, and men will stand
at all the gates and cry, 'Make way for the valiant lord and the
majestic lady!'
"But, meanwhile, old Kasi Mollah will be sitting at his door, and,
perceiving the splendid magnates, will do obeisance to them; then you
will leap from your horse, assist Milieva to descend from her litter,
and will go to meet him. He, however, will not recognize you. Milieva
will be so much rosier, and her figure so much more lovely; and as for
you, you will be wearing a beard and mustache, and without doubt you
will be scarred with wounds received upon the field of glory. So Kasi
Mollah will conduct you into his house with the utmost respect and
make you sit down; but you will have victuals and sherbet brought from
your carriages, and will constrain him to eat and drink with you. Then
you will fall a-talking, and you will ask him whether he has any
children, and thereupon the tears will start to his eyes."
"Oh," sighed the girl, melting at the thought.
"No, no; it would not do at all to make yourself known all at once.
The joy would be too much for him; he might even have a stroke. You,
little Milieva, would be content to sit and listen, leaving Thomar to
speak. And Thomar will say that he has heard tidings of Kasi Mollah's
lost children, gradually leading him on from hope to joy, and at last
you will throw yourselves on his neck, and say to him, 'I am thy son
Thomar! I am thy daughter Milieva!' How beautiful that will be!"
The heads of the children were completely turned by this conversation,
and they followed the merchant joyfully all the way to the next
village. There Leonidas Argyrocantharides rested for a little while,
and made the children dismount and have some lunch in a hut. Then he
produced a gourd full of strong, sweet wine, and the children drank of
it. The wine removed whatever of sadness was still in their hearts,
and they then resumed their journey. The asses he left behind, but two
well-saddled horses were awaiting them in front of the hut. On these
the children mounted, and leaving the asses to stroll leisurely on by
one road, under the charge of the hired ass-drivers, they themselves
took another. How delighted the children were with their fine steeds!
The sheik, meantime, was still awaiting the return of his children,
and as they did not come back by the evening he began to make
inquiries about them. Some of his neighbors, who had been in the
forest, informed him that they had seen the children with the Greek
merchant; they were riding on his asses. At this Kasi Mollah began
roaring like a wild beast.
"He has stolen my children!" he groaned in his despair, and flew back
home for his horse and his weapons, not even waiting for his comrades
to take horse also. One by one they galloped after him, but could not
easily overtake him.
Riding helter-skelter he soon reached the neighboring village, but
here the track of the asses led him off on a false scent, for only
when he overtook them did he realize that the merchant with his
children had gone far away in another direction.
With the rage of despair in his heart he galloped back again. Not till
evening did he dismount from his horse; then he watered his horse in a
brook and rushed on again. Through the whole moonlit night he pursued
the Greek, and as towards dawn Argyrocantharides looked behind him he
saw a great cloud of dust on the road rapidly approaching him, and the
bright points of lances were in the midst of it.
"Well, children," said he, "here we must all die together, for your
father is coming and will slay the three of us. But whip up your
horses."
Then, full of terror, they bent over their horses' necks, and the
desperate race began.
The Circassian perceived the merchant and the children, and rushed
after them with a savage howl. They had better horses, but the
Circassian's horses were more accustomed to mountainous paths and had
better riders.
The distance between the two companies was visibly diminishing. The
merchant flogged with his whip the horses on which the children were
riding. They dared not look back.
Their father shouted to them to turn their horses' reins. He called
Thomar by name, and bade him tear the merchant from his saddle. The
son heard his father's voice, he heard his own name mentioned; but he
fancied his father was threatening him, and clung to his horse still
more tightly.
A steep mountain torrent ran across the road in front of them. If only
the Greek could succeed in getting across it with but two minutes to
spare, so that he might pitch the little wooden bridge over it down
into the abyss below, he would be saved, for the space between the two
steep mountain-sides was much too wide for a horse to leap, and a ford
was not to be found within an hour's ride.
By the time they came to the bridge the pursuing Circassians were
scarcely distant more than three gunshots, and Kasi Mollah was riding
well in advance of the rest. He must needs overtake them before the
Greek could push the bridge over.
At that instant the horse on which Milieva sat slightly stumbled, and
plunging forward on to its knees, fractured its leg.
"Hah!" cried the sheik, with wild delight, "I have got back one of my
children, at any rate."
But how amazed was he when he saw Milieva, instead of running to him
or even remaining in the road, cry out in terror to her brother and
raise her arms towards him, and Thomar, never expecting to save her,
bent down from his horse, and grasping his sister round the waist with
a swift hand, placed her in the saddle in front of him, casting a wild
look behind him, and then galloping on farther.
Kasi Mollah suddenly reined in his flying horse and stopped short,
allowing them to escape. Not a step farther did he pursue them. By the
time his comrades had joined him the Greek was well on the other side
of the bridge, and they could all see Thomar helping the merchant to
cast it down.
Two burning tear-drops stood in Kasi Mollah's eyes. They really
burned, and he felt the pain. And yet--and yet, when the two children
sat in the saddle again, Milieva extended her hands towards her father
as if in most ardent supplication. What was the meaning of it?
The good Greek shortly afterwards arrived safely in Smyrna with the
children, and had them taught singing, riding, and how to walk about
in nice clothes, and some years after he sold them to the Seraglio of
the Grand Vizier for two thousand sequins.
And all that he had said at random to the children during the journey,
to cheer their spirits, actually came to pass, as we shall presently
see.
When Sultan Mahmoud lost his favorite damsel so strangely, Milieva
was brought into the Seraglio instead. The girl was then about
fourteen years old. The Circassian girls at that age are fully mature,
and the bloom of their beauty is at its prime. Milieva, from the very
first day when she entered the harem, became the Sultan's favorite
damsel.
Thomar joined the ranks of the ichoglanler, a band of youths who are
brought up in the outer court and form the Sultan's body-guard.
It was in this year that Mahmoud instituted the Akinji corps,
selecting its members from amongst the Janissaries, and formed them
into a small regular army. Thomar very soon won for himself the
command of a company, and continued to rise higher and higher till at
length he reached the eminence which the merchant had foretold to him;
and when the course of time brought with it the day on which he was to
see Kasi Mollah again, he had become Derbend Aga, one of the Sultan's
very highest officials, and his name was mentioned respectfully by all
true believers. And in the village of Himri his name was also
mentioned. Kasi Mollah often heard it attached to the title of "bey,"
and Thomar also heard a good deal of the village of Himri and of Kasi
Mollah, for they now called his father "murshid," and the name
"murshid" is full of mournful recollections for both Moscow and
Petersburg.
But of all these things we shall know more at another time.