A BARGAIN.
Iskander was neither rich nor married: his door, therefore, was quickly opened, not half way, but wide open; for he had no fear that in coming to see him people would see either his wife or his strong-box.
Hence Iskander received his visitors, not on the threshold, as do Mussulmans who are fathers of a family, but in his innermost room. There was nothing in his house to tempt the pilferer of either hearts or money.
“Welcome!” he cried from the other side of the door to the arrivals, even before knowing who they were..
And the door was opened.
Iskander Beg himself had come to let them in, as his noukar was grooming his horse. He stood amazed at beholding Mir Hadji Festahli and his associates in the street.
The blood rushed to his head, and his first impulse was to feel for his dagger.
But, thanks to a violent effort, curiosity overcame the anger within him.
He respectfully placed his hand upon his heart, bowed to his visitors, and invited them to enter.
They seated themselves upon the rugs, stroked their beards with oriental gravity, regulated the folds of their garments, and the conversation opened with commonplaces.
Finally, after five minutes lost in trivialities, Mir Hadji Festahli broached the question.
He spoke of the misfortunes which threatened Daghestan in general and the town of Derbend in particular, if such a drouth should continue eight days longer.
At every pause he turned to his companions, as if to ask their support; but it was now their turn to be silent, and if they spat not upon his beard, it was certainly not the desire that was lacking.
Iskander, on his part, appeared very little moved at the pathetic picture that Mir Iladji Festahli drew of the hardships of the city and province; but from the flush on his face it could be seen that a fire was smouldering in his bosom.
Finally, Hadji Festahli rounded up his discourse with this threefold lamentation: —
“Woe! woe! woe to Derbend!”
“Probably!” answered Iskander.
“Certainly!” added Hussein.
“Absolutely!” whimpered Ferzali.
After which ensued a moment of silence.
During this pause Iskander looked from one to another of his visitors with questioning glance; but they were dumb.
Iskander began to be impatient.
“You have not come, brethren,” said he, “that we might wipe away our perspiration and shed our tears together, and I presume that, on your part, or on the part of those that sent you, — for you impress me as being ambassadors to my august presence, — you have something to say to me of more importance than what you have communicated.”
“Our brother is possessed of great penetration,” returned Hadji Festahli, inclining his head.
And then, with an abundance of oriental circumlocution on the honor to Iskander of being the object of such a choice, he recounted what the inhabitants of Derbend were expecting from his devotedness.
But at that, Iskander’s brow began to cloud threateningly.
“Strange choice!” he cried with emphasis. “Until now the inhabitants of Derbend, for whom, however, I have fought tolerably well, — though it is true that I fought on my own behalf rather than theirs, — not only have not spoken to me, but they have hardly saluted me. And here they offer me a commission which I was not soliciting and of which I am unworthy. It is true that there are many precipices on the heights of Schach Dagh; true, too, that in the gorges of Schach Dagh are the haunts of the brigand Mullah Nour, that there are ten chances to one of my rolling over a precipice, and twenty to one of my being killed by Mullah Nour; but little it matters to them, — I can be of use to them in this, and they have turned to me. And why, pray, should I, who love warmth and sunshine, ask Allah for clouds and rain? On the contrary, I am delighted that my house is dry, my stable wholesome, and that there is neither fog in the air nor mud in the street. Besides, the sun hatches my raven’s-eggs, and my nettles grow well without rain. You scoffed because I have no grain to reap! Why, having no grain, should I disturb myself about yours? You have maligned my father, you have robbed him, you have persecuted him, you have scorned me, and now, you wish me to risk my life for your sake, and to pray God to have mercy upon you! But I mistake, — doubtless it is for some new affront that you come to me, and, that nothing may be wanting to the insult, the task of making me such a proposition has been confided to this holy man, the respectable Hadji Festahli. They do not load the camel when he is on his feet, but when he kneels; and I, pray observe, am on my feet.”
And Iskander stood as haughty as a king, as terrible as a god.
“Now,” said he, “we have a little matter to settle, Hadji Festahli and I will absent ourselves a few moments; excuse us, worthy lords!”
And he beckoned Hadji Festahli to follow him into an adjoining room.
Thereupon the face of the holy Mussulman became as long and sombre as a night in autumn. He arose smiling; but, as every one knows, there are two kinds of smiles; one puts out the lips as if to kiss, the other shows the teeth as if to bite.
They passed together into the next room.
What black-bearded Hussein and red-bearded Ferzali were talking about meanwhile, we are unable to tell our readers, because we were listening at the keyhole of the room to which Hadji Festahli and Iskander had retired.
The two enemies returned in a short time with radiant faces; they looked like the two diamond-set medals of the Lion and the Sun, hung side by side on the breast of a Persian Minister.
Iskander then turned to his other guests and said:—”At first I had certain motives, best known to myself, for not conforming to the desires of the people of Derbend; but the honorable Hadji Festahli, whom God preserve, has given me such excellent reasons for complying that I am now ready to go and bring the snow from the summit of Schach Dagh, at the risk of plunging over precipices and getting my moustache singed by Mullah Nour. Allah is all-powerful, and if an earnest, fervent prayer can touch his heart, I venture to prophesy that it will soften, and that the very clouds will weep so many tears that the earth’s thirst will be quenched not only for this year, but for a year to come. I set out this evening. Pray, — I will act.”
Then he added: —
“Time is precious, I will not detain you.”
The ambassadors thanked Iskander; their feet glided into their slippers and the visitors were gone.
Iskander was left alone; it was what he wanted. “Well,” cried he, joyfully, when he was sure that no one could hear him, “he is a little better than I took him to be, that old knave of a Hadji Festahli. He could have killed me because my father, one day, before everybody, had called him a son of — no matter what! and now, like a true patriarch, he sacrifices his resentment for the public good, and gives me his niece in exchange for a little snow. Excellent man, that!”
Hussein and Ferzali, as they went away, were saying: —
“That Iskander is not a man, but an angel. He was furious against Derbend, enraged against Festahli; but when we had spoken of the wailing and suffering of the poor, he could refuse us no longer.”
And as for the people, overjoyed that Iskander had given his consent, they began to dance and sing.
Festahli — laughed in his sleeve.
“A promise, a promise!” murmured he. “What is a promise, especially when no witnesses are by? He cannot hold me to it; I should have died of shame if I had gone before the people with Iskander’s refusal. And besides, I added, ‘If your journey ends happily/ Now, Iskander has not returned, the paths of Schach Dagh are very steep, and Mullah Nour is very brave. We shall see! We shall see!”
A very holy man was Mir Hadji Festahli Ismael Ogli! he was a direct descendant of the prophet.
Iskander kissed his good Karabach from very joy, saying: —
“They are fools, on my word of honor, to suppose that I am doing all this for the sake of their wheat. Ah! for Kassime, for my beloved, for my adored Kassime, I would climb not only Schach Dagh, but the moon besides! Ibrahim! Give my horse some oats. Oats!”