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Updated: May 29, 2025
With that she let her dress glide down over her shoulders so that Valentine could see her naked, snow-white neck and back; but he also saw great red wheals, as thick as his finger, stretching right across the velvety skin. Valentine rubbed them well with the fragrant balsam, and then asked Jigerdilla if her wounds felt a little easier.
The only difference between a wife and a slave is that the slave works, the wife doesn't; Jigerdilla did not work. The Turkish damsel had, from the very first, taken a fancy to the handsome, stately Hungarian whom her husband had brought into the house as a slave; but it was impossible to begin to intrigue with him there, because too many eyes were on the watch.
Of course, too, they did not forget to richly indemnify each other for their past woes by a liberal exchange of caresses. In particular, when Valentine recounted the history of Jigerdilla, Michal did not grudge him an ample compensation for the kisses which, for her sake, he had refused the Turkish lady.
When Ibrahim had gone to sleep as usual, Jigerdilla called Valentine to her. "I still feel sore from yesterday's stripes," she said. Then she gave him a silver box of ointment. "I can't reach the wounds on my shoulder. Rub them for me with this balsam."
He had told Valentine beforehand, that if he dared to pluck a single plum, he would break every bone in his body. He had destined all the fruit for the table of the pasha. One afternoon, Jigerdilla again accompanied her lord into the garden.
Finally, Ibrahim presented him with a pair of red morocco slippers, while Jigerdilla sent Valentine a couple of superfine laced pocket-handkerchiefs, with initials embroidered in the four corners in Turkish letters, and wet with the tears from her lovely eyes at the recollection of him.
But in the meantime, Jigerdilla had endured sufficient stripes to convince Valentine that hot indeed must be the passion felt for him by this woman, who was ready to take a slave's fault on her own shoulders, and suffer the punishment which ought to have been his. At noon, next day, all three went into the vineyard together.
But he did not tell Jigerdilla so. Instead of that he pulled a very wry face, bowed himself humbly, and said: "How could I be such a villain as to seduce my master's wife?" At this, Jigerdilla, fairly beside herself with rage, tore off her slipper, struck Valentine in the face, and cried: "Be off, slave! Take your spade and set about your work!"
I did not keep silence for fear of the blows, but because I was afraid that Ibrahim would have killed you if I had told the truth." "And what made you fear that Ibrahim would have killed me?" "Because you took my fault on your shoulders." "And what conclusion could Ibrahim draw from that?" But this Valentine would not tell her. Jigerdilla, however, helped him out.
Sometimes, when Ibrahim was overpowered by sleep and lay stretched out full length on his carpet, Jigerdilla would join in Valentine's songs, and it is no small encouragement on a lady's part when she accompanies a gentleman's song with her own voice. But as soon as Jigerdilla began to accompany his songs, Valentine stopped short. "Why do you leave off?" she asked him.
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