Later, Jussuf strove to win Bodenstedt by repeated messages, accompanied by songs in the most exquisite handwriting.  Mirza-Schaffy’s opinion concerning these compositions is embodied in quite a number of songs, of which space must be found for one: 

  Forsooth! is Mirza-Jussuf a very well-read man! 
  Now searcheth he Hafiz, now searcheth the Koran,
  Now Dshamy and Chakany, and now the Guelistan. 
  Here stealeth he a symbol, and there doth steal a flower,
  Here robbeth precious thoughts, and there a true word’s power. 
  He giveth as his own what has been said before,
  Transplanted! the whole world into his tedious lore;
  And proudly decketh he his prey with borrowed plumes,
  Then flauntingly that this is poetry assumes.

  How differently lives and sings Mirza-Schaffy! 
  A glowing star his heart to lighten paths of gloom,
  His mind a blooming garden, filled with sweet perfume,
  And in his rich creations no plagiarist is he: 
  His songs are full of beauty, and perfect as can be.

Mirza-Schaffy himself was a miracle of skill in chirography:  none could equal him in wielding the kalem.  His aim was not to impart a precise regularity to the characters, but to indicate by the writing the matter and style.  Proverbs or utterances of wisdom were indited by him in a firm, bold hand with unadorned simplicity; love-songs with delicate, clear-cut lines, attractive capricious curves, enigmatical, almost illegible minuteness, designed to set forth the type of female character.  The chirography of the songs to wine and earthly pleasure is full of fire and flourish—­that of the songs of lamentation neat, legible and unadorned.  To impart this skill to his pupil was one of his most earnest endeavors.

One day, when inspired by choice wine and soothed by the fragrant fumes of his tschibuq, Mirza-Schaffy was moved to tell of the love his heart had cherished—­love such as man had never before known.  The object of his adoration was Zuleikha, daughter of Ibrahim, the chan of Gjaendsha.  Her eyes, darker than the night, shone with a brighter glow than the stars of heaven:  passing description were the graceful loveliness of her form, the dainty perfection of hands and feet, her soft hair long as eternity, and the sweet mouth whose breath was more fragrant than the roses of Schiraz.  He who was destined to be her slave had watched her daily for six months—­as she sat on the housetop at midday with her companions, or on moonlight evenings when she amused herself with the dancing of her slaves—­before he received so much as a sign that she deemed him worthy of her regard.  He rejoiced in the splendor of her countenance, but dared no more approach her than the sun in whose warm rays he might bask.  By day he was compelled to exercise the utmost caution, as his life would have been in jeopardy had Ibrahim Chan descried him casting loving looks at Zuleikha, but in the evening he was safe to draw attention to himself, as after eight o’clock the old man never crossed his threshold.  Then the flames of the lover’s heart burst into song, and he gave utterance to a ghazel now of Hafiz, now of Firdusa, while still more frequently he sang his own songs.