The Circassian Chief: A Romance of Russia

“Indeed ’tis bliss to hear you speak such words,” answered the maid. “A short time ago I thought I loved but one – my honoured father; and then, my brother coming, shared my love; but now I feel my heart too small to hold the love I bear for you. The feelings which I bear for those dear ones I would tell to all the world; but what I feel for you is a treasured secret I would tell to none but you.”

“Ina, you are my own,” exclaimed Thaddeus. “Oh never deem that I could share my love for you with any other: the very thought were sacrilege. How ardently have I longed before to say this to you – to learn from your own sweet lips, if you could feel the same for me! But still I feared that I could not be worthy of such love as yours.”

We must no longer attempt to describe the words with which the young Pole told the deep feelings of his heart to the pure and gentle Ina. Side by side they sat, nor thought how fast the hours sped. The sun had long gone down, the stars came out glittering in the dark clear blue sky, and the moon arose in pure and tranquil majesty to witness their guiltless love, throwing her silvery beams through the dark trees of the grove. Yet still they lingered, pouring into each other’s ears the words of soft endearment.

At length they rose from the spot hallowed for ever in their memory, when a gentle step approached, and young Conrin stood before them. Ina thought she heard a sob. He spoke at last in low and hurried tones —

“I came to warn you that night approaches,” he said. “You’ll be sought for anxiously in the hamlet, and great alarm will be felt when you are missed.”

“Ah, is it indeed so late?” said Ina. “I thought we had passed but a few minutes here. We will hasten home.”

“I will guard you to your home, dear Ina!” said Thaddeus, as he supported her steps.

Though both knew that they ought to hasten, yet neither felt any inclination to quicken their pace, as they passed through the sacred grove, and chose, they knew it not, the longest road to the village. They had yet much to say, when they found themselves at the gate of the anderoon. Young Conrin followed slowly, and again they heard that half-stifled sob; but he sought to avoid their observation.

They stopped at the gate to whisper many more endearing words; and perhaps they might have spent another hour, fancying it but a minute, had they not been startled by the harsh sounds of Kahija’s voice, who had bustled out in no sweet temper at the long absence of her young charge.

“Truly, these are pretty doings for a maiden, to be staying from home at this late hour. What would have been said, had any of the inmates of old Mustapha’s harem, at Stamboul, taken it into their silly heads to wander about in this way? They would soon have found themselves at the bottom of the Bosphorus, I warrant. That is the way young ladies are treated, who misbehave themselves in the only civilised country in the world – and a very proper way too. A pretty example you set my young lady, Zara. I suppose that she, who has always been so correct – thanks to my instructions – will take it into her head next, to go gadding about in the same way. But, I’ll take care she does no such thing I’ll promise her. I hope to see the free manners of the girls, of this country, reformed before I die. It’s quite dreadful, scandalous, to see them wandering about in this independent manner, with their veils thrown off their faces to let everybody stare at them who likes. Come, Sir,” she said, turning to Thaddeus; “I wonder you stay here. I thought you knew that the anderoon was forbidden ground to any man but my lord. I should think you had enough of my lady’s company already.”

But Thaddeus felt no inclination to move without speaking a word more of farewell; and old Kahija, having vented some of her wrath; and not being, in reality, ill-natured; saw it was useless opposing an affair, which was, indeed, no business of hers. She therefore turned away for a few minutes, during which time Thaddeus snatched a parting embrace from his mistress, drawing a promise from her to meet him again on the next day.

When the old nurse returned, the intruder, much to her satisfaction, was gone. Ina then entered the anderoon, when Zara, throwing aside the embroidery she was engaged on, sprang forward to meet her.

“Dear Ina,” she exclaimed, “I feared some other danger had befallen you, that you returned not before.”

“No danger could happen to me where I went,” answered Ina; “I was safe from every harm. So lovely an evening to wander out!” she added, with a little pardonable deceit. “I wonder you can bear to be so shut up.”

“I, too, should like to wander out to breathe the air of evening,” answered Zara; “but old Kahija will not hear of it.”

“What is that you say?” said the old nurse entering. “What! are you trying to teach Zara to follow your own wild customs? But you will not succeed; she is too good a girl to wish to do any thing of the sort. When she marries young Alp Beg, she may do what she can; but she will be shut up close enough then; and so will you, Ina, if you marry a true believer, instead of one of these heathen countrymen of ours.”

Happy were the slumbers of Ina that night as she laid her face upon her pillow. She dreamed that again she trod the sacred grove with him she loved – that again she heard his voice speaking those magic words which changed her very being – she felt the pressure of his hand in hers – and she saw the moon rise amidst the trees, the witness of their love.

Volume Three – Chapter Six

Perfect tranquillity reigned in the valley of Abran Bashi, far removed from the loud tocsin of war which hung round the borders, though news occasionally arrived of skirmishes with the Moscov, and sometimes a wounded warrior would come to be recovered by the care of his family.

At times, too, wailing and weeping was heard, when a family received intelligence of some dear relation having fallen in the fight; or a sad train would pass through the valley, accompanying the corpse of some noble, borne on his war-steed, who had lost his life in one of the many useless attacks which were at that time made on the Russian lines; more for bravado, and for the sake of exhibiting bravery and fearlessness of consequences – the characteristic of the Circassian warrior – than for any advantage to be gained.

Notwithstanding the predictions of the old chief, Thaddeus began to hope that the Khan, Khoros Kaloret, had foregone all farther attempts to carry off Ina; and, being ignorant by what hand his clansman had fallen, he would be unable to fix his revenge on any one. Thus all dread of evil consequences left his mind; and even Ina no longer feared to renew her rambles under his protection beyond even her former limits, though sure of receiving a severe lecture from old Kahija after each transgression.

We have as yet given but a slight sketch of her beautiful friend, the young Zara: she was like a sweet rose-bud, fresh and blooming, ere the first rays of the morning sun have dissipated the crystal dew; a complete child of nature. Brought up in that secluded valley, she knew nought of the world beyond the lofty mountains that surrounded it. Within that spot all her thoughts and hopes had been concentrated; she loved her pure streams, her verdant fields, and her shady groves, and grateful to the kind nature who placed her there; she was happy and contented, and would have felt miserable at the idea of leaving them, undazzled even by old Kahija’s descriptions of the gorgeous Stamboul. Her character was pure as her own sweet face; she seemed formed for love and tenderness alone, unfit to buffet with the cares and troubles of the world. Like a delicate plant, requiring some strong tree round which to entwine its slender tendrils, to gain strength and support from it. Her temper was sweet and amiable to all; and even old Kahija’s lectures failed to ruffle her. Dutiful and obedient to her only remaining parent, she tended him in sickness with the most gentle and unremitting care; and dearly in return did the old chief love his little Zara.

Her features were soft and feminine as her character; she was beautifully fair; her delicate auburn locks hung over her swan-like neck in rich profusion, her large eyes of purest blue were shaded by dark lashes, adding to their tender and languishing glance, while a smile playing round her ruby lips, betokened a happy and contented heart. Her figure, though equally graceful, was shorter and fuller than her friend’s; but none could deem it otherwise than perfect.

Such seemed the fair young being who had bestowed all her pure and warm affections on the gallant and youthful warrior, Alp Beg, and truly did he prize the treasured girl he had won.

He had been loved from his childhood by her grandfather for his courage and activity in all manly sports, and now gladly did the old chief accord his sanction to their union, which he had arranged with the Hadji before his departure for the camp. As yet the fair girl knew not that her hopes were to be fulfilled, for though Alp had found time to whisper his love, neither knew that their parents would give their sanction to their marriage; and often would sad forebodings for the future cross her otherwise tranquil mind, fears that their union might be forbid, or that he might be snatched from her by the cruel Urus.

The two fair girls were seated on an ottoman in the anderoon, while Ina worked a belt with golden thread, her first gift to Thaddeus. Zara struck the cords of her lute.

How sweet and thrilling was her voice, as she sang the following simple ballad: —

The sun shone like glittering gold on the lake,While softly the breeze through the green forest play’d;The birds sang their gay notes from rock and from brake,And sweet odours sprung from each flowery glade;There was heard too a fountain’s light murmuring voice,And nature in smiles seemed with glee to rejoice.Though nature was smiling, yet sorrow was nigh,For near a pure stream, ’neath a green willow’s shade,With her quick panting bosom, a bright weeping eye,There stood, trembling with fear, a fair Attèghèi maid,As a gallant youth, pressing her form in his arms,Sought, with love’s parting kisses, to calm her alarms.Mid the clustering forest his charger stood near.And, his streaming mane tossing, was stamping the ground;His squire was holding his buckler and spear,While from far off came booming the cannon’s deep sound.One more agonised pang, and he tore him away,And mounted his war-steed to join the affray,But as slowly he rode through the green leafy wood,With a lingering pace he oft turned his fond gaze,To cast one more glance where his lov’d maiden stood,Till soon she was hid by the thick forest maze;Then, spurring his charger with speed o’er the lee,Soon with fear did the foemen his dancing crest see.Like the willow which gracefully bent o’er the stream.The maiden stood tremb’ling and drooping with grief,Like the dew of the morn did those precious drops seem,When the bright sun-beams play on the spark’ling green leaf.Ah! cruel the war that could make her thus mourn!Ah! sad ’twas to leave that sweet maiden forlorn!Then rising, she clomb o’er the mountain so high,And she look’d o’er the hill and she look’d down the vale;Saw joyous in fancy his gay banner fly,When her ear caught the sound of a funeral wail.Through the glen, as advancing with mournful slow tread,A train bore the bier of a warrior dead.Then fearful and fleet as the chas’d deer she flew,Down the steep mountain’s side, over chasm and brake.For well the bright arms of her hero she knew;Not the whirlwind’s swift course could her flight overtake.Then she threw herself down her slain lover beside;She sigh’d not, she wept not, but heart-broken died.

As she finished, tears stood in her eyes, and her voice trembled at the last lines.

“Why sing you that mournful ditty, dear Zara?” said her friend. “It is too sad for one, whose eye sorrow has not dimmed, to sing.”

“I know not why I sing it,” answered Zara; “but I could not help it, the words came flowing to my lips.”

“Who taught you so sad an air?” asked Ina.

“A venerable bard who travelled once this way. His steps were feeble, and his locks were blanched with years, and, as he rested at our house he sang this air, gazing sorrowfully at my face, and made me learn these words, I know not why. He went his way, nor ever have I seen him since: but still, at times, a sadness comes upon me, and I sing this song.”

A deep-drawn sob was heard from the corner of the apartment where the young Conrin had thrown himself on a divan.

“Come hither, Conrin,” said Ina, in tones of kindness. He had been weeping; for his eyes were red and his features wore an air of sadness.

“Why do you weep, dear Conrin? What makes you thus sorrowful?”

“Sad thoughts and feelings,” answered the page. “I have much to make me weep: but it was that song overcame me. I wept for the sad forebodings that it brought upon my soul, for myself I care not, but for those I have learned to love.”

“What causes have you for grief, dear boy?” said Ina. “Are you not happy here, where all so love you?”

“I cannot tell you, lady,” answered the page.

“Why not tell me your grief? Perchance, confiding it to me, I may aid to mitigate it,” said Ina.

“Oh no, it is impossible; my grief is too deep for consolation; it is a secret I shall never tell,” answered the page.

“But, I may find a means to soothe it,” urged Ina.

“Lady, pray deem me not ungrateful; but again, I beseech you, let me leave you,” exclaimed Conrin. “I love you much; but yet, I love your noble brother more. The only balm you can give to soothe me is to let me go to him.”

“But, why would you leave this calm retreat to hasten amidst scenes of war and bloodshed?” said Ina.

“I would go to my master, wherever he may be, lady,” answered Conrin. “I fear some danger threatens him; I know not what, but dark forebodings steal across my soul. I cannot look upon the future as I used to do, hoping for days of brightness and joy; my heart no longer bounds as it was wont, with thoughts of happiness. Oh let me seek my master, that I may guard him from the threatened harm, if still I may! I would too, gaze upon his loved features once again before I die, for too surely do I feel the troubled inward spirit preparing for its flight to quit this world. I feel that nothing can avert my death, come how it may.”

“Boy, you speak of strange, mysterious things,” exclaimed Ina, in an alarmed tone. “Why think you danger threatens my dear brother? and why these sad forebodings of your own fate?”

“Lady, I come of a race who oft see things hidden from duller eyes; and once, it is said, our ancestors could foretell either the death of mortals, or their destiny; but the power has passed away, as we have mixed our blood with other tribes. Yet, even now, we often see the shadow of a coming evil; and it is a curse upon our race, that we cannot guard against it when it threatens ourselves. For others yet we may, and thus I would attempt to guard my master.”

“Conrin, you persuade me strongly to let you go; and for my dear brother’s sake I will, though I should be loath to part from you. Oh, shield him, if you can, from danger, and may Allah bless you!”

“Thanks, lady, thanks! Even now my spirits lighten of their load,” exclaimed Conrin. “I would set off this day; another may be too late.”

“You cannot journey alone, on that road, dear page,” said Ina; “you shall accompany the first band of warriors who set forward for the camp.”

“Oh, I would find my way alone, through every obstacle, to meet your noble brother,” said the boy, eagerly.

“Conrin, that cannot be; you know not half the dangers which would beset you on the road. To-morrow, perhaps, some warriors may go forth. You said you had a secret that you would not tell; but let me hear it; for much do I love you, for the affection which you bear my brother; and much it pains my heart to think that yours must bleed without a sympathising friend, to soothe your pain. Ah! how blind I have been! a thought has opened now my eyes. Come hither; let me whisper to your ear.”

The gentle Ina bent over her page’s head. A deep blush suffused the boy’s cheeks; his eyes filled with tears.

“Ah! it is so? Let me weep with you,” she cried. “But, be of good hope, all may yet be well. Such love as yours cannot go unrequited.”

Old Kahija was certain to intrude when she was least wanted; and at that instant she made her appearance, hobbling in, for she was somewhat unwieldy in her gait. Her cheeks almost burst with impatience to communicate some important information.

“Here’s news for you, young ladies, from the camp,” she exclaimed. “Ah, Zara, my pretty maid, you’ll not have to sigh much longer, I am thinking, for the young Alp. Now, girls, what would you give to have the information? Your best earrings, I warrant; but I am not cruel, and will keep you no longer in suspense,” she added, as eager to communicate the news, as the fair inmates of the harem were to hear it. “Know then, my pretty Zara, that our noble chief, your grandfather, has given his sanction for your marriage with young Alp Beg, and in a short time, he will be here to bear you from us.”

“Speak you the words of truth, Kahija?” exclaimed Zara, blushing, but looking perfectly happy, as she threw herself upon Ina’s neck. “Oh, say when he will come?”

“He has sent some one to deliver a message to you; therefore wrap your features closely in a veil, and go out to the gate of the anderoon. And that reminds me there is some one to see you, Conrin, from your master.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the page, hastening to the door. “What joy to hear of him.”

“A messenger from my brother!” cried Ina. “I too, must learn what news he brings.”

At the gates of the anderoon, Conrin found Javis waiting his coming.

“I bring news from our master, for his sister,” said the squire. “In a few days he will be here, and then I must quit his service, if I can return to Russia. I have fulfilled my oath, I have obeyed your wish; no mortal, with a spirit that could feel, would do more.”

“Javis, I owe you much;” exclaimed the page. “I would repay you with my life; but the only reward you prize, alas! I cannot give.”

“I ask for no reward,” answered Javis; “the only one I prize, alas! I cannot gain; and after that, death will be the most welcome. But I would see my people first, and breathe my spirit out amongst them. I have done your bidding. I vowed to do what you wished, nor stipulated for reward. I rescued the young chief from the power of the Russians; I have striven to wash away my thought of crime almost perpetrated; I saw him safely landed on his native shores; I have seen him take his place among his people, as a chieftain of Circassia: I even learned to love him for himself, but more I cannot do. I could not bear to see him again at your side; I must go even from you.”

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Ina and Zara.

“Say, when will my brother come?” exclaimed Ina. “Oh, ’twill be joy to see him.”

“In three days hence, if the Russians move not from their encampments,” answered Javis.

“Bring you any message for me?” said Zara, timidly addressing a young warrior, who respectfully saluted her at her approach.

“Yes, lady, I bear a message from my friend, the gallant Alp Beg. Before two days have passed, and ere the shade of yonder lofty tree has reached the stream which flows a short distance from its base, he will be here.”

“You bring me grateful news, indeed. Oh, many thanks!” returned Zara. “Say, is your friend well?”

“Yes, lady, he is well; and bears himself bravely against the foe,” answered the messenger.

“Come, come, maidens,” exclaimed Kahija, bustling up. “It is very incorrect to stop chattering longer than is necessary at the gate of the anderoon. If you have received your messages, come into the house, and let the young men go their way.”

Having no further excuse for remaining, the fair girls were obliged to do as desired, though they would fain have heard more of those so dear to them.

Volume Three – Chapter Seven

We must return again to take a glance at the patriot camp on the Ubin. Except the slight skirmishes already described, nothing of importance had been effected, and as the winter was now fast approaching, the Russians appeared to contemplate no further movement.

A council of war was one day held in a grove, away from the din and bustle of the camp, at which were present, among many of the Princes and nobles of Circassia; Arslan Gherrei, his son and the Hadji, when shots were heard announcing the arrival of some other chief, and presently a band of wild horsemen were seen approaching, dressed in skins and furs, of some of the mountain Tartar tribes.

At their head, rode the Khan Khoros Kaloret; who, after dismounting, singly approached the council ring. The chiefs stood up as he stepped boldly amongst them. His looks were fierce and angry, as his glance passed round on the assembled nobles, who could ill brook his haughty mien. At length, one of the most ancient addressed him —

“Why come you here, Khan, to interrupt our conference? Have you any tidings of importance to communicate?”

“Why come I here?” echoed the Khan, furiously. “Think you, I come for idle sport? No, I come to claim my brother’s blood at your hands. Say, where he is, or I may not continue to be a friend to any here. Say, where is my brother?”

“We know not of your brother, Khan; we have spoken our answer.”

“Does my brother, live? I ask you,” said the Khan.

“We know not of your brother,” answered the former speaker.

“To you then, Uzden Arslan Gherrei, I appeal,” said the Khan. “I sent him to you, to bring back your daughter as my bride; and since he left your house, none of my clansmen know aught of him. At your hands, I require him.”

“Your brother, Khan, quitted my house free to go where he willed. I cannot tell you of him more,” answered the chieftain —

The Khan glanced fiercely around him for a few seconds, without speaking; during which, the members of the council moved to a farther distance, and resumed their seats; leaving the enraged Khan, standing alone; a customary ana sufficient signal, that his presence was not required. The Khan stood irresolute for a few minutes; then, against all rules of established ceremony, again approached them.

“Chieftain,” he cried, addressing Arslan Gherrei; “again, I ask you, where is my brother? If dead, say who slew him, that I may know my enemy; or, if he fell before the foe, why brought you not away his corpse, and arms?”

“Khan,” answered the chief; “is it not enough to say, that I cannot tell you of your brother? then ask me no more.”

Saying which, the whole body returned to their former position, leaving the Khan alone. He again followed them, when the council slowly rising, the aged chief, who had before spoken, again addressed him:

“Twice have we warned you, Khan, not to question us of your brother. Now learn his fate; he died a traitor’s death – fighting in our foemen’s ranks, he fell, attempting treachery. He lies now amongst a heap of cursed Urus; his name disgraced and blotted from our memories. Now go, and ask no more of him. His name is foul.”

“Chieftain, whoever says my brother died a traitor’s death, lies black as Eblis. Back in his mouth, I’ll throw the calumny,” cried the Khan. “My brother was ever a foe to Russia, and deeply will I avenge his slandered honour.”

At these words, the chiefs half drew their swords; but, recollecting that he stood one among many, and having compassion upon him for his grief, and his brother’s crime and death, they returned them to their scabbards, and spoke not.

“Uzden Arslan Gherrei, from henceforth know me as your deadly foe,” cried the Khan; “whatever death my brother died, ’twas you that caused it, and I will have revenge, if I die to gain it.”

Uttering which, with a fierce tone and aspect, he strode from the spot, mounting his war horse, rode furiously from the camp, followed by the troop of his wild clansmen, without waiting to salute any of the chiefs he met.

We must leave the Khan to pursue his headlong course, while we follow the movements of the Baron Galetzoff, and the small army under his command. After marching from Anapa, they proceeded to the newly erected fort, we have described on the south side of the Kouban, which was built on slightly elevated ground, at no great distance; though beyond gun shot of the range of mountains, which girt the territories to which the tribes of the Attèghèi are now confined. On the other side extended a broad plain, formed of the marshes of the Kouban, from which the heats of summer draw forth the noxious miasma, so prejudicial to the health of the soldiers; but the flat marshy nature of the country, added to the security of the position, lessens the chance of a surprise, and gives full scope for the deadly fire of grape and rockets.