It was daybreak when AmmalÁt came to himself. Slowly, one by one, his thoughts reassembled in his mind, and flitted to and fro as in a mist, in consequence of his extreme weakness. He felt no pain at all in his body, and his sensations were even agreeable; life seemed to have lost its bitterness, and death its terror: in this condition he would have listened with equal indifference to the announcement of his recovery, or of his inevitable death. He had no wish to utter a word, or to stir a finger. This half sleep, however, did not continue long. At midday, after the visit of the physician, when the attendants had gone to perform the rites of noon-tide prayer, when their sleepy voices were still, and nought but the cry of the mullah resounded from afar, AmmalÁt listened to a soft and cautious step upon the carpets of the chamber. He raised his heavy eyelids, and between their lashes appeared, approaching his bed, a fair, black-eyed girl, dressed in an orange-coloured sarÓtchka, an arkhaloÚkh of cloth of gold with two rows of enamelled buttons, and her long hair falling upon her shoulders. Gently she fanned his face, and so pityingly looked at his wound that all his nerves thrilled. Then she softly poured some medicine into a cup, and—he could see no more—his eyelids sank like lead—he only caught with his ear the rustling of her silken dress, like the sound of a parting angel's wings, and all was still again. Whenever his weak senses strove to discover the meaning of this fair apparition, it was so mingled with the uncertain dreams of fever, that his first thought—his first word—when he awoke, was, "'Tis a dream!" But it was no dream. This beautiful girl was the daughter of the Sultan Akhmet Khan, and sixteen years old. Among all the mountaineers, in general, the unmarried women enjoy a great freedom of intercourse with the other sex, without regard to the law of Mahomet. The favourite daughter of the Khan was even more independent than usual. By her side alone he forgot his cares and disappointments; by her side alone his eye met a smile, and his heart a gleam of gayety. When the elders of AvÁr discussed in a circle the affairs of their mountain politics, or gave their judgment on right or wrong; when, surrounded by his household, he related stories of past forays, or planned fresh expeditions, she would fly to him like a swallow, bringing hope and spring into his soul. Fortunate was the culprit during whose trial the KhÁna came to her father! The lifted dagger was arrested in the air; and not seldom would the Khan, when looking upon her, defer projects of danger and blood, lest he should be parted from his darling daughter. Every thing was permitted, every thing was accessible, to her. To refuse her any thing never entered into the mind of the Khan; and suspicion of any thing unworthy her sex and rank, was as far from his thoughts as from his daughter's heart. But who among those who surrounded the Khan, could have inspired her with tender feelings? To bend her thoughts—to lower her sentiments to any man inferior to her in birth, would have been an unheard-of disgrace in the daughter of the humblest retainer; how much more, then, in the child of a khan, imbued from her very cradle with the pride of ancestry!—this pride, like a sheet of ice, separating her heart from the society of those she saw. As yet no guest of her father had ever been of equal birth to hers; at least, her heart had never asked the question. It is probable, that her age—of careless, passionless youth—was the cause of this; perhaps the hour of love had already struck, and the heart of the inexperienced girl was fluttering in her bosom. She was hurrying to clasp her father in her embrace, when she had beheld a handsome youth falling like a corpse at her feet. Her first feeling was terror; but when her father related how and wherefore AmmalÁt was his guest, when the village doctor declared that his wound was not dangerous, a tender sympathy for the stranger filled her whole being. All night there flitted before her the blood-stained guest, and she met the morning-beam, for the first time, less rosy than itself. For the first time she had recourse to artifice: in order to look on the stranger, she entered his room as though to salute her father, and afterwards she slipped in there at mid-day. An unaccountable, resistless curiosity impelled her to gaze on AmmalÁt. Never, in her childhood, had she so eagerly longed for a plaything; never, at her present age, had she so vehemently wished for a new dress or a glittering ornament, as she desired to meet the eye of the guest; and when at length, in the evening, she encountered his languid, yet expressive gaze, she could not remove her look from the black eyes of AmmalÁt, which were intently fixed on her. They seemed to say—"Hide not thyself; star of my soul!" as they drank health and consolation from her glances. She knew not what was passing within her; she could not distinguish whether she was on the earth, or floating in the air; changing colours flitted on her face. At length she ventured, in a trembling voice, to ask him about his health. One must be a Tartar—who accounts it a sin and an offence to speak a word to a strange woman, who never sees any thing female but the veil and the eye-brows—to conceive how deeply agitated was the ardent Bek, by the looks and words of the beautiful girl addressed so tenderly to him. A soft flame ran through his heart, notwithstanding his weakness.

"Oh, I am very well, now," he answered, endeavouring to rise; "so well, that I am ready to die, Seltanetta."

"Allah sakhla-sÜn!" (God protect you!) she replied. "Live, live long!
Would you not regret life?"

"At a sweet moment sweet is death, Seltanetta! But if I live a hundred years, a more delightful moment than this can never be found!"

Seltanetta did not understand the words of the stranger; but she understood his look—she understood the expression of his voice. She blushed yet more deeply; and, making a sign with her hand that he should repose, disappeared from the chamber.

Among the mountaineers there are many very skilful surgeons, chiefly in cases of wounds and fractures; but AmmalÁt, more than by herb or plaster, was cured by the presence of the charming mountain-maid. With the agreeable hope of seeing her in his dreams, he fell asleep, and awoke with joy, knowing that he should meet her in reality. His strength rapidly returned, and with his strength grew his attachment to Seltanetta.

AmmalÁt was married; but, as it often happens in the East, only from motives of interest. He had never seen his bride before his marriage, and afterwards found no attraction in her which could awake his sleeping heart. In course of time, his wife became blind; and this circumstance loosened still more a tie founded on Asiatic customs rather than affection. Family disagreements with his father-in-law and uncle, the ShamkhÁl, still further separated the young couple, and they were seldom together. Was it strange, under the circumstances, that a young man, ardent by nature, self-willed by nature, should be inspired with a new love? To be with her was his highest happiness—to await her arrival his most delightful occupation. He ever felt a tremor when he heard her voice: each accent, like a ray of the sun, penetrated his soul. This feeling resembled pain, but a pain so delicious, that he would have prolonged it for ages. Little by little the acquaintance between the young people grew into friendship—they were almost continually together. The Khan frequently departed to the interior of AvÁr for business of government or military arrangements, leaving his guest to the care of his wife, a quiet, silent woman. He was not blind to the inclination of AmmalÁt for his daughter, and in secret rejoiced at it; it flattered his ambition, and forwarded his military views; a connexion with a Bek possessing the right to the ShamkhalÁt would place in his hands a thousand means of injuring the Russians. The KhÁnsha, occupied in her household affairs, not infrequently left AmmalÁt for hours together in her apartments—as he was a relation; and Seltanetta, with two or three of her personal attendants, seated on cushions, and engaged in needlework, would not remark how the hours flew by, conversing with the guest, and listening to his talk. Sometimes AmmalÁt would sit long, long, reclining at the feet of his Seltanetta, without uttering a word, and gazing at her dark, absorbing eyes; or enjoying the mountain prospect from her window, which opened towards the north, on the rugged banks and windings of the roaring OuzÉn, over which hung the castle of the Khan. By the side of this being, innocent as a child, AmmalÁt forgot the desires which she as yet knew not; and, dissolving in a joy, strange, incomprehensible to himself, he thought not of the past nor of the future; he thought of nothing—he could only feel; and indolently, without taking the cup from his lips, he drained his draught of bliss, drop by drop.

Thus passed a year.

The AvarÉtzes are a free people, neither acknowledging nor suffering any power above them. Every AvarÉtz calls himself an OuzdÉn; and if he possesses a yezÉer, (prisoner, slave,) he considers himself a great man. Poor, and consequently brave to extravagance, excellent marksmen with the rifle, they fight well on foot; they ride on horseback only in their plundering expeditions, and even then but a few of them. Their horses are small, but singularly strong; their language is divided into a multitude of dialects, but is essentially Lezghin for the AvÁrtzi themselves are of the Lezghin stock. They retain traces of the Christian faith, for it is not 120 years that they have worshipped Mahomet, and even now they are but cool Moslems; they drink brandy, they drink boozÁ, [16] and occasionally wine made of grapes, but most ordinarily a sort of boiled wine, called among them djÁpa. The truth of an AvarÉtz's word has passed into a proverb among the mountains. At home, they are peaceful, hospitable, and benevolent; they do not conceal their wives and daughters; for their guest they are ready to die, and to revenge to the end of the generation. Revenge, among them, is sacred; plundering, glory; and they are often forced by necessity to brigandize.

[Footnote 16: A species of drink used by the Tartars, produced by fermenting oats.]

Passing over the summit of AtÁla and TkhezerÓuk, across the crests of Tourpi-TÁou, in KakhÉtia, beyond the river AlazÁn, they find employment at a very low price; occasionally remaining two or three days together without work, and then, at an agreement among themselves, they rush like famished wolves, by night, into the neighbouring villages, and, if they succeed, drive away the cattle, carry off the women, make prisoners, and will often perish in an unequal combat. Their invasions into the Russian limits ceased from the time when Azlan Khan retained possession of the defiles which lead into his territories from AvÁr. But the village of KhounzÁkh, or AvÁr, at the eastern extremity of the AvÁr country, has ever remained the heritage of the khans, and their command there is law. Besides, though he has the right to order his noÚkers to cut to pieces with their kinjÁls [17] any inhabitant of KhounzÁkh, nay, any passer-by, the Khan cannot lay any tax or impost upon the people, and must content himself with the revenues arising from his flocks, and the fields cultivated by his karavÁshes (slaves,) or yezÉers (prisoners.)

[Footnote 17: Dagger or poniard. These weapons are of various forms, and generally much more formidable than would be suggested to an European by the name dagger. The kinjÁl is used with wonderful force and dexterity by the mountaineers, whose national weapon it may be said to be; it is sometimes employed even as a missile. It is worn suspended in a slanting direction in the girdle, not on the side, but in front of the body.]

Without, however, taking any direct imposts, the khans do not abstain from exacting dues, sanctified rather by force than custom. For the Khan to take from their home a young man or a girl—to command a waggon with oxen or buffaloes to transport his goods—to force labourers to work in his fields, or to go as messengers, &c., is an affair of every day. The inhabitants of KhounzÁkh are not more wealthy than the rest of their countrymen; their houses are clean, and, for the most part, have two stories, the men are well made, the women handsome, chiefly because the greater number of them are Georgian prisoners. In AvÁr, they study the Arabic language, and the style of their educated men is in consequence very flowery. The HarÁm of the Khan is always crowded with guests and petitioners, who, after the Asiatic manner, dare not present themselves without a present—be it but a dozen of eggs. The Khan's noÚkers, on the number and bravery of whom he depends for his power, fill from morning to night his courts and chambers, always with loaded pistols in their belt, and daggers at their waist. The favourite OuzdÉns and guests, TchetchenÉtzes or Tartars, generally present themselves every morning to salute the Khan, whence they depart in a crowd to the KhÁnsha, sometimes passing the whole day in banqueting in separate chambers, regaling even during the Khan's absence. One day there came into the company an OuzdÉn of AvÁr, who related the news that an immense tiger had been seen not far off, and that two of their best shots had fallen victims to its fierceness. "This has so frightened our hunters," he said, "that nobody likes to attempt the adventure a third time."

"I will try my luck," cried AmmalÁt, burning with impatience to show his prowess before the mountaineers. "Only put me on the trail of the beast!" A broad-shouldered AvarÉtz measured with his eye our bold Bek from head to foot, and said with a smile: "A tiger is not like a boar of DaghestÁn, AmmalÁt! His trail sometimes leads to death!"

"Do you think," answered he haughtily, "that on that slippery path my head would turn, or my hand tremble? I invite you not to help me: I invite you but to witness my combat with the tiger. I hope you will then allow, that if the heart of an AvarÉtz is firm as the granite of his mountains, the heart of a DaghestÁnetz is tenpered like his famous boulÁt. [18] Do you consent?"

[Footnote 18: A species of highly tempered steel, manufactured, and much prized, by the Tartars.]

The AvarÉtz was caught. To have refused would have been shameful: so, clearing up his face, he stretched out his hand to AmmalÁt. "I will willingly go with you," he replied. "Let us not delay—let us swear in the mosque, and go to the fight together! Allah will judge whether we are to bring back his skin for a housing, or whether he is to devour us."

It is not in accordance with Asiatic manners, much less with Asiatic customs, to bid farewell to the women when departing for a long or even an unlimited period. This privilege belongs only to relations, and it is but rarely that it is granted to a guest. AmmalÁt, therefore, glanced with a sigh at the window of Seltanetta, and went with lingering steps to the mosque. There, already awaited him the elders of the village, and a crowd of curious idlers. By an ancient custom of AvÁr, the hunters were obliged to swear upon the Koran, that they would not desert one another, either in the combat with the beast or in the chase; that they would not quit each other when wounded; if fate willed that the animal should attack them, that they would defend each other to the last, and die side by side, careless of life; and that in any case they would not return without the animal's skin; that he who betrayed this oath, should be hurled from the rocks, as a coward and traitor. The moollah armed them, the companions embraced, and they set out on their journey amid the acclamations of the whole crowd. "Both, or neither!" they cried after them. "We will slay him, or die!" answered the hunters.

A day had passed. A second had sunk below the snowy summits. The old men had wearied their eyes in gazing from their roofs along the road. The boys had gone far on the hills that crested the village, to meet the hunters—but no tidings of them. Throughout all KhounzÁkh, at every fireside, either from interest or idleness, they were talking of this; but above all, Seltanetta was sad. At every voice in the courtyard, at every sound on the staircase, all her blood flew to her face, and her heart beat with anxiety. She would start up, and run to the window or the door; and then, disappointed for the twentieth time, with downcast eyes would return slowly to her needlework, which, for the first time, appeared tiresome and endless. At last, succeeding doubt, fear laid its icy hand upon the maiden's heart. She demanded of her father, her brothers, the guests, whether the wounds given by a tiger were dangerous?—was this animal far from the villages? And ever and anon, having counted the moments, she would wring her hands, and cry, "They have perished!" and silently bowed her head on her agitated breast, while large tears flowed down her fair face.

On the third day, it was clear that the fears of all were not idle. The OuzdÉn, AmmalÁt's companion to the chase, crawled with difficulty, alone, into KhounzÁkh. His coat was torn by the claws of some wild beast; he himself was as pale as death from exhaustion, hunger, and fatigue. Young and old surrounded him with eager curiosity; and having refreshed himself with a cup of milk and a piece of tchourek, [19] he related as follows:—"On the same day that we left this place, we found the track of the tiger. We discovered him asleep among the thick hazels—may Allah keep me from them!"

[Footnote 19: "Tchourek," a kind of bread.]

Drawing lots, it fell to my chance to fire: I crept gently up, and aiming well, I fired—but for my sorrow, the beast was sleeping with his face covered by his paw; and the ball, piercing the paw, hit him in the neck. Aroused by the report and by the pain, the tiger gave a roar, and with a couple of bounds, dashed at me before I had time to draw my dagger: with one leap, he hurled me on the ground, trode on me with his hind feet, and I only know that at this moment there resounded a cry, and the shot of AmmalÁt, and afterwards a deafening and tremendous roar. Crushed by the weight, I lost sense and memory, and how long I lay in this fainting fit, I know not.

"When I opened my eyes all was still around me, a small rain was falling from a thick mist … was it evening or morning? My gun, covered with rust, lay beside me, AmmalÁt's not far off, broken in two; here and there the stones were stained with blood … but whose? The tiger's or AmmalÁt's? How can I tell? Broken twigs lay around … the brute must have broken them in his mad boundings. I called on my comrade as loudly as I could. No answer. I sat down, and shouted again … but in vain. Neither animal nor bird passed by. Many times did I endeavour to find traces of AmmalÁt, either to discover him alive, or to die upon his corpse—that I might avenge on the beast the death of the brave man; but I had no strength. I wept bitterly: why have I perished both in life and honour! I determined to await the hour of death in the wilderness; but hunger conquered me. Alas! thought I, let me carry to KhounzÁkh the news that AmmalÁt has perished; let me at least die among my own people! Behold me, then; I have crept hither like a serpent. Brethren, my head is before you: judge me as Allah inclines your hearts. Sentence me to life; I will live, remembering your justice: condemn me to death; your will be done! I will die innocent, Allah is my witness: I did what I could!"

A murmur arose among the people, as they listened to the new comer. Some excused, others condemned, though all regretted him. "Every one must take care of himself," said some of the accusers: "who can say that he did not fly? He has no wound, and, therefore, no proof … but that he has abandoned his comrade is most certain." "Not only abandoned, but perhaps betrayed him," said others—"they talked not as friends together!" The Khan's noÚkers went further: they suspected that the OuzdÉn had killed AmmalÁt out of jealousy: "he looked too lovingly on the Khan's daughter, but the Khan's daughter found one far his superior in AmmalÁt."

Sultan Akhmet Khan, learning what the people were assembling about in the street, rode up to the crowd. "Coward!" he cried with mingled anger and contempt to the OuzdÉn: "you are a disgrace to the name of AvarÉtz. Now every Tartar may say, that we let wild beasts devour our guests, and that we know not how to defend them! At least we know how to avenge him: you have sworn upon the Koran, after the ancient usage of AvÁr, never to abandon your comrade in distress, and if he fall, not to return home without the skin of the beast … thou hast broken thine oath … but we will not break our law: perish! Three days shall be allowed thee to prepare thy soul; but then—if AmmalÁt be not found, thou shalt be cast from the rock. You shall answer for his head with your own!" he added, turning to his noÚkers, pulling his cap over his eyes and directing his horse towards his home. Thirty mountaineers rushed in different directions from KhounzÁkh, to search for at least the remains of the Bek of BouinÁki. Among the mountaineers it is considered a sacred duty to bury with honour their kinsmen and comrades, and they will sometimes, like the heroes of Homer, rush into the thickest of the battle to drag from the hands of the Russians the body of a companion, and will fall in dozens round the corpse rather than abandon it.

The unfortunate OuzdÉn was conducted to the stable of the Khan; a place frequently used as a prison. The people, discussing what had happened, separated sadly, but without complaining, for the sentence of the Khan was in accordance with their customs.

The melancholy news soon reached Seltanetta, and though they tried to soften it, it struck terribly a maiden who loved so deeply. Nevertheless, contrary to their expectation, she appeared tranquil; she neither wept nor complained, but she smiled no more, and uttered not a word. Her mother spoke to her; she heard her not. A spark from her father's pipe burned her dress; she saw it not. The cold wind blew upon her bosom; she felt it not. All her feelings seemed to retire into her heart to torture her; but that heart was hidden from the view, and nothing was reflected in her proud features. The Khan's daughter was struggling with the girl: it was easy to see which would yield first.

But this secret struggle seemed to choke Seltanetta: she longed to fly from the sight of man, and give the reins to her sorrow. "O heaven!" she thought; "having lost him, may I not weep for him? All gaze on me, to mock me and watch my every tear, to make sport for their malignant tongues. The sorrows of others amuse them, Sekina," she added, to her maid; "let us go and walk on the bank of the OuzÉn."

At the distance of three agÁtcha [20] from KhounzÁkh, towards the west, are the ruins of an ancient Christian monastery, a lonely monument of the forgotten faith of the aborigines.

[Footnote 20: "AgÁtcha," seven versts, a measure for riding—for the pedestrian, the agÁtcha is four versts.]

The hand of time, as if in veneration, has not touched the church itself, and even the fanaticism of the people has spared the sanctuary of their ancestors. It stood entire amid the ruined cells and falling wall. The dome, with its high pointed roof of stone, was already darkened by the breath of ages: ivy covered with its tendrils the narrow windows, and trees were growing in the crevices of the stones. Within, soft moss spread its verdant carpet, and in the sultriness a moist freshness breathed there, nourished by a fountain, which, having pierced the wall, fell tinkling behind the stone altar, and, dividing into silver ever-murmuring threads of pure water, filtered among the pavement stones, and crept meandering away. A solitary ray slanting through the window, flitted over the trembling verdure, and smiled on the gloomy wall, like a child on its grandame's knee. Thither Seltanetta directed her steps: there she rested from the looks which so tormented her: all around was so still, so soft, so happy; and all augmented but the more her sadness: the light trembling on the wall, the twittering of the swallows, the murmur of the fountain, melted into tears the load that weighed upon her breast, and her sorrow dissolved into lamentation: Sekina went to pluck the pears which grew in abundance round the church; and Seltanetta could freely yield to nature.

But sudden, raising her head, she uttered an exclamation of surprise! before her stood a well-made AvarÉtz, stained with blood and mire. "Does not your heart, do not your eyes, O Seltanetta, recognize your favourite?" No, but with a second glance she knew AmmalÁt; and forgetting all but her joy, she threw herself on his neck, embraced it with her arms, and long, long, gazed fixedly on the much-loved face; and the fire of confidence, the fire of ecstasy, glimmered through the still falling tears. Could then the impassioned AmmalÁt contain his rapture? He clung like a bee to the rosy lips of Seltanetta; he had heard enough for his happiness; he was now at the summit of bliss; the lovers had not yet said a word of their love, but they already understood each other. "And dost thou then, angel," added AmmalÁt, when Seltanetta, ashamed of the kiss, withdrew from his embrace: "dost thou love me?"

"Allah protect me!" replied the innocent girl, lowering her eyelashes, but not her eyes: "Love! that is a terrible word. Last year, going into the street, I saw them pelting a girl with stones: terrified I rushed hone, but nowhere could I hide myself: the bloody image of the sinner was everywhere before me, and her groan yet rings unceasingly in my ears. When I asked why they had so inhumanly put to death that unhappy creature, they answered, that she loved a certain youth!"

"No, dearest, it was not because she loved one, but that she loved not one alone—because she betrayed some one, it may be, that they killed her."

"What means 'betrayed,' AmmalÁt? I understand it not."

"Oh, God grant that you may never learn what it is to betray; that you may never forget me for another!"

"Ah, AmmalÁt, within these four days I have learned how bitter to me was separation! For a long time I have not seen my brothers NoutsÁl and SoÚrkha, and I meet them with pleasure; but without them I do not grieve: without you I wish not to live!"

"For thee I am ready to die, my morning-star: to thee I give my soul—not only life, my beloved!"

The sound of footsteps interrupted the lovers' talk: it was Seltanetta's attendant. All three went to congratulate the Khan, who was consoled, and unaffectedly delighted.

AmmalÁt related in a few words how the affair had occurred. "Hardly had I remarked that my comrade had fallen when I fired at the beast, flying, with a ball which broke his jaw. The monster with a terrific roar began to whirl round, to leap, to roll, sometimes darting towards me, and then again, tormented by the agony, bounding aside. At this moment, striking him with the butt of my gun on the skull, I broke it. I pursued him a long time as soon as he betook himself to flight, following him by his bloody track: the day began to fail, and when I plunged my dagger into the throat of the fallen tiger, dark night had fallen upon the earth. Would I or not, I was compelled to pass the night with the rocks for a bed-chamber, and the wolves and jackals for companions. The morning was dark and rainy; the clouds around my head poured their waters on me like a river. At ten paces before my face nothing could be seen. Without a view of the sun, ignorant of the country, in vain I wandered round and round: weariness and hunger overwhelmed me. A partridge which I shot with my pistol restored my strength for a while; but I could not find my way out of my rocky grave. In the evening the only sounds I could hear were the murmur of water falling from a cliff, or the whistling of the eagles' wings as they flew through the clouds; but at night the audacious jackals raised, three paces off, their lamentable song. This morning the sun rose brightly, and I myself arose more cheerful, and directed my steps towards the east. I shortly afterwards heard a cry and a shot: it was your messengers. Overcome by heat, I went to drink the pure water of the fountain by the old mosque, and there I met Seltanetta. Thanks be to you, and glory to God!"

"Glory to God, and honour to you!" exclaimed the Sultan, embracing him. "But your courage has nearly cost us your life, and even that of your comrade. If you had delayed a day, he would have been obliged to dance the SÉzghinka in the air. You have returned just in time. DjemboulÁ't, a famous cavalier of Little KabÁrda, has sent to invite you to a foray against the Russians. I would willingly buy beforehand your glory; as much as you won in your last battle. The time is short; tomorrow's sun must see you ready."

This news was by no means unwelcome to AmmalÁt: he decided instantly; answering, that he would go with pleasure. He felt sure that a distinguished reputation as a cavalier would ensure him future success.

But Seltanetta turned pale—bowing her head like a flower, when she heard of this new and more cruel separation. Her look, as it dwelt upon AmmalÁt, showed painful apprehension—the pain of prophetic sorrow.

"Allah!" she mournfully exclaimed: "more forays, more slaughter.
When will blood cease to be shed in the mountains?"

"When the mountain torrents run milk, and the sugar-canes wave on the snowy peaks!" said the Khan.