But then, in the matter of THE PANTHER'S SKIN, the work of the
famous Georgian poet Rustavelli, prince Nijeradze fell down
completely. The beauty of the poem, of course, consisted in the
way it sounded in the native tongue; but scarcely would he begin
to read in sing-song his throaty, sibilant, hawking phrases, when
Liubka would at first shake for a long time from irresistible
laughter; then, finally, burst into laughter, filling the whole
room with explosive, prolonged peals. Then Nijeradze in wrath
would slam shut the little tome of the adored writer, and swear at
Liubka, calling her a mule and a camel. However, they soon made
up.
There were times when fits of goatish, mischievous merriment would
come upon Nijeradze. He would pretend that he wanted to embrace
Liubka, would roll exaggeratedly passionate eyes at her, and would
utter with a theatrically languishing whisper:
"Me soul! The best rosa in the garden of Allah! Honey and milk are
upon thy lips, and thy breath is better than the aroma of kabob.
Give me to drink the bliss of Nirvanah from the goblet of thy
lips, O thou, my best Tifflissian she-goat!"
But she would laugh, get angry, strike his hands, and threaten to
complain to Lichonin.
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