Atlantida

An Egyptian klaft fell over her abundant blue-black curls. Its two points of heavy, gold-embroidered cloth extended to her slim hips. The golden serpent, emerald-eyed, was clasped about her little round, determined forehead, darting its double tongue of rubies over her head.

She wore a tunic of black chiffon shot with gold, very light, very full, slightly gathered in by a white muslin scarf embroidered with iris in black pearls.

That was Antinea's costume. But what was she beneath all this? A slim young girl, with long green eyes and the slender profile of a hawk. A more intense Adonis. A child queen of Sheba, but with a look, a smile, such as no Oriental ever had. A miracle of irony and freedom.

I did not see her body. Indeed I should not have thought of looking at it, had I had the strength. And that, perhaps, was the most extraordinary thing about that first impression. In that unforgettable moment nothing would have seemed to me more horribly sacrilegious than to think of the fifty victims in the red marble hall, of the fifty young men who had held that slender body in their arms.

She was still laughing at me.

"King Hiram," she called.

I turned and saw my enemy.

On the capital of one of the columns, twenty feet above the floor, a splendid leopard was crouched. He still looked surly from the blow I had dealt him.

"King Hiram," Antinea repeated. "Come here."

The beast relaxed like a spring released. He fawned at his mistress's feet. I saw his red tongue licking her bare little ankles.

"Ask the gentleman's pardon," she said.

The leopard looked at me spitefully. The yellow skin of his muzzle puckered about his black moustache.

"Fftt," he grumbled like a great cat.

"Go," Antinea ordered imperiously.

The beast crawled reluctantly toward me. He laid his head humbly between his paws and waited.

I stroked his beautiful spotted forehead.

"You must not be vexed," said Antinea. "He is always that way with strangers."

"Then he must often be in bad humor," I said simply.

Those were my first words. They brought a smile to Antinea's lips.

She gave me a long, quiet look.

"Aguida," she said to one of the Targa women, "you will give twenty-five pounds in gold to Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh."

"You are a lieutenant?" she asked, after a pause.

"Yes."

"Where do you come from?"

"From France."

"I might have guessed that," she said ironically, "but from what part of France?"

"From what we call the Lot-et-Garonne."

"From what town?"

"From Duras."

She reflected a moment.

"Duras! There is a little river there, the Dropt, and a fine old château."

"You know Duras?" I murmured, amazed.

"You go there from Bordeaux by a little branch railway," she went on. "It is a shut-in road, with vine-covered hills crowned by the feudal ruins. The villages have beautiful names: Monségur, Sauve-terre-de-Guyenne, la Tresne, Créon, ... Créon, as in Antigone."

"You have been there?"

She looked at me.

"Don't speak so coldly," she said. "Sooner or later we will be intimate, and you may as well lay aside formality now."

This threatening promise suddenly filled me with great happiness. I thought of Le Mesge's words: "Don't talk until you have seen her. When you have seen her, you will renounce everything for her."

"Have I been in Duras?" she went on with a burst of laughter. "You are joking. Imagine Neptune's granddaughter in the first-class compartment of a local train!"

She pointed to an enormous white rock which towered above the palm trees of the garden.

"That is my horizon," she said gravely.

She picked up one of several books which lay scattered about her on the lion's skin.

"The time table of the Chemin de Fer de l'Ouest," she said. "Admirable reading for one who never budges! Here it is half-past five in the afternoon. A train, a local, arrived three minutes ago at Surgères in the Charente-Inférieure. It will start on in six minutes. In two hours it will reach La Rochelle. How strange it seems to think of such things here. So far away! So much commotion there! Here, nothing changes."

"You speak French well," I said.

She gave a little nervous laugh.

"I have to. And German, too, and Italian, and English and Spanish. My way of living has made me a great polygot. But I prefer French, even to Tuareg and Arabian. It seems as if I had always known it. And I am not saying that to please you."

There was a pause. I thought of her grandmother, of whom Plutarch said: "There were few races with which she needed an interpreter. Cleopatra spoke their own language to the Ethiopians, to the Troglodytes, the Hebrews, the Arabs, the Medes and the Persians."

"Do not stand rooted in the middle of the room. You worry me. Come sit here, beside me. Move over, King Hiram."

The leopard obeyed with good temper.

Beside her was an onyx bowl. She took from it a perfectly plain ring of orichalch and slipped it on my left ring-finger. I saw that she wore one like it.

"Tanit-Zerga, give Monsieur de Saint-Avit a rose sherbet."

The dark girl in red silk obeyed.

"My private secretary," said Antinea, introducing her. "Mademoiselle Tanit-Zerga, of Gâo, on the Niger. Her family is almost as ancient as mine."

As she spoke, she looked at me. Her green eyes seemed to be appraising me.

"And your comrade, the Captain?" she asked in a dreamy tone. "I have not yet seen him. What is he like? Does he resemble you?"

For the first time since I had entered, I thought of Morhange. I did not answer.

Antinea smiled.

She stretched herself out full length on the lion skin. Her bare right knee slipped out from under her tunic.

"It is time to go find him," she said languidly. "You will soon receive my orders. Tanit-Zerga, show him the way. First take him to his room. He cannot have seen it."

I rose and lifted her hand to my lips. She struck me with it so sharply as to make my lips bleed, as if to brand me as her possession.

I was in the dark corridor again. The young girl in the red silk tunic walked ahead of me.

"Here is your room," she said. "If you wish, I will take you to the dining-room. The others are about to meet there for dinner."

She spoke an adorable lisping French.

"No, Tanit-Zerga, I would rather stay here this evening. I am not hungry. I am tired."

"You remember my name?" she said.

She seemed proud of it. I felt that in her I had an ally in case of need.

"I remember your name, Tanit-Zerga, because it is beautiful."^[12]

Then I added:

"Now, leave me, little one. I want to be alone."

It seemed as if she would never go. I was touched, but at the same time vexed. I felt a great need of withdrawing into myself.

"My room is above yours," she said. "There is a copper gong on the table here. You have only to strike if you want anything. A white Targa will answer."

For a second, these instructions amused me. I was in a hotel in the midst of the Sahara. I had only to ring for service.

I looked about my room. My room! For how long?

It was fairly large. Cushions, a couch, an alcove cut into the rock, all lighted by a great window covered by a matting shade.

I went to the window and raised the shade. The light of the setting sun entered.

I leaned my elbows on the rocky sill. Inexpressible emotion filled my heart. The window faced south. It was about two hundred feet above the ground. The black, polished volcanic wall yawned dizzily below me.

In front of me, perhaps a mile and a half away, was another wall, the first enclosure mentioned in the Critias. And beyond it in the distance, I saw the limitless red desert.

XII

MORHANGE DISAPPEARS

My fatigue was so great that I lay as if unconscious until the next day. I awoke about three o'clock in the afternoon.

I thought at once of the events of the previous day; they seemed amazing.

"Let me see," I said to myself. "Let us work this out. I must begin by consulting Morhange."

I was ravenously hungry.

The gong which Tanit-Zerga had pointed out lay within arm's reach. I struck it. A white Targa appeared.

"Show me the way to the library," I ordered.

He obeyed. As we wound our way through the labyrinth of stairs and corridors I realized that I could never have found my way without his help.

Morhange was in the library, intently reading a manuscript.

"A lost treatise of Saint Optat," he said. "Oh, if only Dom Granger were here. See, it is written in semi-uncial characters."

I did not reply. My eyes were fixed on an object which lay on the table beside the manuscript. It was an orichalch ring, exactly like that which Antinea had given me the previous day and the one which she herself wore.

Morhange smiled.

"Well?" I said.

"Well?"

"You have seen her?"

"I have indeed," Morhange replied.

"She is beautiful, is she not?"

"It would be difficult to dispute that," my comrade answered. "I even believe that I can say that she is as intelligent as she is beautiful."

There was a pause. Morhange was calmly fingering the orichalch ring.

"You know what our fate is to be?"

"I know. Le Mesge explained it to us yesterday in polite mythological terms. This evidently is an extraordinary adventure."

He was silent, then said, looking at me:

"I am very sorry to have dragged you here. The only mitigating feature is that since last evening you seem to have been bearing your lot very easily."

Where had Morhange learned this insight into the human heart? I did not reply, thus giving him the best of proofs that he had judged correctly.

"What do you think of doing?" I finally murmured.

He rolled up the manuscript, leaned back comfortably in his armchair and lit a cigar.

"I have thought it over carefully. With the aid of my conscience I have marked out a line of conduct. The matter is clear and admits no discussion.

"The question is not quite the same for me as for you, because of my semi-religious character, which, I admit, has set out on a rather doubtful adventure. To be sure, I have not taken holy orders, but, even aside from the fact that the ninth commandment itself forbids my having relations with a woman not my wife, I admit that I have no taste for the kind of forced servitude for which the excellent Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh has so kindly recruited us.

"That granted, the fact remains that my life is not my own with the right to dispose of it as might a private explorer travelling at his own expenses and for his own ends. I have a mission to accomplish, results to obtain. If I could regain my liberty by paying the singular ransom which this country exacts, I should consent to give satisfaction to Antinea according to my ability. I know the tolerance of the Church, and especially that of the order to which I aspire: such a procedure would be ratified immediately and, who knows, perhaps even approved? Saint Mary the Egyptian, gave her body to boatmen under similar circumstances. She received only glorification for it. In so doing she had the certainty of attaining her goal, which was holy. The end justified the means.

"But my case is quite different. If I give in to the absurd caprices of this woman, that will not keep me from being catalogued down in the red marble hall, as Number 54, or as Number 55, if she prefers to take you first. Under those conditions...."

"Under those conditions?"

"Under those conditions, it would be unpardonable for me to acquiesce."

"Then what do you intend to do?"

"What do I intend to do?" Morhange leaned back in the armchair and smilingly launched a puff of smoke toward the ceiling.

"Nothing," he said. "And that is all that is necessary. Man has this superiority over woman. He is so constructed that he can refuse advances."

Then he added with an ironical smile:

"A man cannot be forced to accept unless he wishes to."

I nodded.

"I tried the most subtle reasoning on Antinea," he continued. "It was breath wasted. 'But,' I said at the end of my arguments, 'why not Le Mesge?' She began to laugh. 'Why not the Reverend Spardek?' she replied. 'Le Mesge and Spardek are savants whom I respect. But

"'Besides,' she added with that really very charming smile of hers, 'probably you have not looked carefully at either of them.' There followed several compliments on my figure, to which I found nothing to reply, so completely had she disarmed me by those four lines from Baudelaire.

"She condescended to explain further: 'Le Mesge is a learned gentleman whom I find useful. He knows Spanish and Italian, keeps my papers in order, and is busy working out my genealogy. The Reverend Spardek knows English and German. Count Bielowsky is thoroughly conversant with the Slavic languages. Besides, I love him like a father. He knew me as a child when I had not dreamed such stupid things as you know of me. They are indispensable to me in my relations with visitors of different races, although I am beginning to get along well enough in the languages which I need.... But I am talking a great deal, and this is the first time that I have ever explained my conduct. Your friend is not so curious.' With that, she dismissed me. A strange woman indeed. I think there is a bit of Renan in her but she is cleverer than that master of sensualism."

"Gentlemen," said Le Mesge, suddenly entering the room, "why are you so late? They are waiting dinner for you."

The little Professor was in a particularly good humor that evening. He wore a new violet rosette.

"Well?" he said, in a mocking tone, "you have seen her?"

Neither Morhange nor I replied.

The Reverend Spardek and the Hetmari of Jitomir already had begun eating when we arrived. The setting sun threw raspberry lights on the cream-colored mat.

"Be seated, gentlemen," said Le Mesge noisily. "Lieutenant de Saint-Avit, you were not with us last evening. You are about to taste the cooking of Koukou, our Bambara chef, for the first time. You must give me your opinion of it."

A Negro waiter set before me a superb fish covered with a pimento sauce as red as tomatoes.

I have explained that I was ravenously hungry. The dish was exquisite. The sauce immediately made me thirsty.

"White Ahaggar, 1879," the Herman of Jitomir breathed in my ear as he filled my goblet with a clear topaz liquid. "I developed it myself: rien pour la tête, tout pour les jambes."

I emptied the goblet at a gulp. The company began to seem charming.

"Well, Captain Morhange," Le Mesge called out to my comrade who had taken a mouthful of fish, "what do you say to this acanthopterygian? It was caught to-day in the lake in the oasis. Do you begin to admit the hypothesis of the Saharan sea?"

"The fish is an argument," my companion replied.

Suddenly he became silent. The door had opened. A white Targa entered. The diners stopped talking.

The veiled man walked slowly toward Morhange and touched his right arm.

"Very well," said Morhange.

He got up and followed the messenger.

The pitcher of Ahaggar, 1879, stood between me and Count Bielowsky. I filled my goblet—a goblet which held a pint, and gulped it down.

The Hetman looked at me sympathetically.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Le Mesge, nudging me with his elbow. "Antinea has respect for the hierarchic order."

The Reverend Spardek smiled modestly.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Le Mesge again.

My glass was empty. For a moment I was tempted to hurl it at the head of the Fellow in History. But what of it? I filled it and emptied it again.

"Morhange will miss this delicious roast of mutton," said the Professor, more and more hilarious, as he awarded himself a thick slice of meat.

"He won't regret it," said the Hetman crossly. "This is not roast; it is ram's horn. Really Koukou is beginning to make fun of us."

"Blame it on the Reverend," the shrill voice of Le Mesge cut in. "I have told him often enough to hunt other proselytes and leave our cook alone."

"Professor," Spardek began with dignity.

"I maintain my contention," cried Le Mesge, who seemed to me to be getting a bit overloaded. "I call the gentleman to witness," he went on, turning to me. "He has just come. He is unbiased. Therefore I ask him: has one the right to spoil a Bambara cook by addling his head with theological discussions for which he has no predisposition?"

"Alas!" the pastor replied sadly. "You are mistaken. He has only too strong a propensity to controversy."

"Koukou is a good-for-nothing who uses Colas' cow as an excuse for doing nothing and letting our scallops burn," declared the Hetman. "Long live the Pope!" he cried, filling the glasses all around.

"I assure you that this Bambara worries me," Spardek went on with great dignity. "Do you know what he has come to? He denies transubstantiation. He is within an inch of the heresy of Zwingli and Oecolampades. Koukou denies transubstantiation."

"Sir," said Le Mesge, very much excited, "cooks should be left in peace. Jesus, whom I consider as good a theologian as you, understood that, and it never occurred to him to call Martha away from her oven to talk nonsense to her."

"Exactly so," said the Hetman approvingly.

He was holding a jar between his knees and trying to draw its cork.

"Oh, Côtes Rôties, wines from the Côte-Rôtie!" he murmured to me as he finally succeeded. "Touch glasses."

"Koukou denies transubstantiation," the pastor continued, sadly emptying his glass.

"Eh!" said the Hetman of Jitomir in my ear, "let them talk on. Don't you see that they are quite drunk?"

His own voice was thick. He had the greatest difficulty in the world in filling my goblet to the brim.

I wanted to push the pitcher away. Then an idea came to me:

"At this very moment, Morhange.... Whatever he may say.... She is so beautiful."

I reached out for the glass and emptied it once more.

Le Mesge and the pastor were now engaged in the most extraordinary religious controversy, throwing at each other's heads the Book of Common Prayer, The Declaration of the Rights of Man, and the Unigenitus. Little by little, the Hetman began to show that ascendancy over them, which is the characteristic of a man of the world even when he is thoroughly drunk; the superiority of education over instruction.

Count Bielowsky had drunk five times as much as the Professor or the pastor. But he carried his wine ten times better.

"Let us leave these drunken fellows," he said with disgust. "Come on, old man. Our partners are waiting in the gaming room."

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the Hetman as we entered. "Permit me to present a new player to you, my friend, Lieutenant de Saint-Avit."

"Let it go at that," he murmured in my ear. "They are the servants. But I like to fool myself, you see."

I saw that he was very drunk indeed.

The gaming room was very long and narrow. A huge table, almost level with the floor and surrounded with cushions on which a dozen natives were lying, was the chief article of furniture. Two engravings on the wall gave evidence of the happiest broadmindedness in taste; one of da Vinci's St. John the Baptist, and the Maison des Dernières Cartouches of Alphonse de Neuville.

On the table were earthenware goblets. A heavy jar held palm liqueur.

I recognized acquaintances among those present; my masseur, the manicure, the barber, and two or three Tuareg who had lowered their veils and were gravely smoking long pipes. While waiting for something better, all were plunged in the delights of a card game that looked like "rams." Two of Antinea's beautiful ladies in waiting, Aguida and Sydya, were among the number. Their smooth bistre skins gleamed beneath veils shot with silver. I was sorry not to see the red silk tunic of Tanit-Zerga. Again, I thought of Morhange, but only for an instant.

"The chips, Koukou," demanded the Hetman, "We are not here to amuse ourselves."

The Zwinglian cook placed a box of many-colored chips in front of him. Count Bielowsky set about counting them and arranging them in little piles with infinite care.

"The white are worth a louis," he explained to me. "The red, a hundred francs. The yellow, five hundred. The green, a thousand. Oh, it's the devil of a game that we play here. You will see."

"I open with ten thousand," said the Zwinglian cook.

"Twelve thousand," said the Hetman.

"Thirteen," said Sydya with a slow smile, as she seated herself on the count's knee and began to arrange her chips lovingly in little piles.

"Fourteen," I said.

"Fifteen," said the sharp voice of Rosita, the old manicure.

"Seventeen," proclaimed the Hetman.

"Twenty thousand," the cook broke in.

He hammered on the table and, casting a defiant look at us, repeated:

"I take it at twenty thousand."

The Hetman made an impatient gesture.

"That devil, Koukou! You can't do anything against the beast. You will have to play carefully, Lieutenant."

Koukou had taken his place at the end of the table. He threw down the cards with an air which abashed me.

"I told you so; the way it was at Anna Deslions'," the Hetman murmured proudly.

"Make your bets, gentlemen," yelped the Negro. "Make your bets."

"Wait, you beast," called Bielowsky. "Don't you see that the glasses are empty? Here, Cacambo."

The goblets were filled immediately by the jolly masseur.

"Cut," said Koukou, addressing Sydya, the beautiful Targa who sat at his right.

The girl cut, like one who knows superstitions, with her left hand. But it must be said that her right was busy lifting a cup to her lips. I watched the curve of her beautiful throat.

"My deal," said Koukou.

We were thus arranged: at the left, the Hetman, Aguida, whose waist he had encircled with the most aristocratic freedom, Cacambo, a Tuareg woman, then two veiled Negroes who were watching the game intently. At the right, Sydya, myself, the old manicure, Rosita, Barouf, the barber, another woman and two white Tuareg, grave and attentive, exactly opposite those on the left.

"Give me one," said the Hetman.

Sydya made a negative gesture.

Koukou drew, passed a four-spot to the Hetman, gave himself a five.

"Eight," announced Bielowsky.

"Six," said pretty Sydya.

"Seven," broke in Koukou. "One card makes up for another," he added coldly.

"I double," said the Hetman.

Cacambo and Aguida followed his example. On our side, we were more careful. The manicure especially would not risk more than twenty francs at a time.

"I demand that the cards be evened up," said Koukou imperturbably.

"This fellow is unbearable," grumbled the count. "There, are you satisfied?"

Koukou dealt and laid down a nine.

"My country and my honor!" raged Bielowsky. "I had an eight."

I had two kings, and so showed no ill temper. Rosita took the cards out of my hands.

I watched Sydya at my right. Her heavy black hair covered her shoulders. She was really very beautiful, though a bit tipsy, as were all that fantastic company. She looked at me, too, but with lowered eyelids, like a timid little wild animal.

"Oh," I thought. "She may well be afraid. I am labelled 'No trespassing.'"

I touched her foot. She drew it back in fright.

"Who wants cards?" Koukou demanded.

"Not I," said the Hetman.

"Served," said Sydya.

The cook drew a four.

"Nine," he said.

"That card was meant for me," cursed the count. "And five, I had a five. If only I had never promised his Majesty the Emperor Napoleon II never to cut fives! There are times when it is hard, very hard. And look at that beast of a Negro who plays Charlemagne."

It was true. Koukou swept in three-quarters of the chips, rose with dignity, and bowed to the company.

"Till to-morrow, gentlemen."

"Get along, the whole pack of you," howled the Hetman of Jitomir. "Stay with me, Lieutenant de Saint-Avit."

When we were alone, he poured out another huge cupfull of liqueur. The ceiling of the room was lost in the gray smoke.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"After midnight. But you are not going to leave me like this, my dear boy? I am heavy-hearted."

He wept bitterly. The tail of his coat spread out on the divan behind him like the apple-green wings of a beetle.

"Isn't Aguida a beauty?" he went on, still weeping. "She makes me think of the Countess de Teruel, though she is a little darker. You know the Countess de Teruel, Mercedes, who went in bathing nude at Biarritz, in front of the rock of the Virgin, one day when Prince Bismarck was standing on the foot-bridge. You do not remember her? Mercedes de Teruel."

I shrugged my shoulders.

"I forget; you must have been too young. Two, perhaps three years old. A child. Yes, a child. Oh, my child, to have been of that generation and to be reduced to playing cards with savages ... I must tell you...."

I stood up and pushed him off.

"Stay, stay," he implored. "I will tell you everything you want to know, how I came here, things I have never told anyone. Stay, I must unbosom myself to a true friend. I will tell you everything, I repeat. I trust you. You are a Frenchman, a gentleman. I know that you will repeat nothing to her."

"That I will repeat nothing to her?... To whom?"

His voice stuck in his throat. I thought I saw a shudder of fear pass over him.

"To her ... to Antinea," he murmured.

I sat down again.

XIII

THE HETMAN OF JITOMIR'S STORY

Count Casimir had reached that stage where drunkenness takes on a kind of gravity, of regretfulness.

He thought a little, then began his story. I regret that I cannot reproduce more perfectly its archaic flavor.

"When the grapes begin to color in Antinea's garden, I shall be sixty-eight. It is very sad, my dear boy, to have sowed all your wild oats. It isn't true that life is always beginning over again. How bitter, to have known the Tuileries in 1860, and to have reached the point where I am now!

"One evening, just before the war (I remember that Victor Black was still living), some charming women whose names I need not disclose (I read the names of their sons from time to time in the society news of the Gaulois) expressed to me their desire to rub elbows with some real demi-mondaines of the artist quarter. I took them to a ball at the Grande Chaumière. There was a crowd of young painters, models, students. In the midst of the uproar, several couples danced the cancan till the chandeliers shook with it. We noticed especially a little, dark man, dressed in a miserable top-coat and checked trousers which assuredly knew the support of no suspenders. He was cross-eyed, with a wretched beard and hair as greasy as could be. He bounded and kicked extravagantly. The ladies called him Léon Gambetta.

"What an annoyance, when I realize that I need only have felled this wretched lawyer with one pistol shot to have guaranteed perfect happiness to myself and to my adopted country, for, my dear fellow, I am French at heart, if not by birth.

"I was born in 1829, at Warsaw, of a Polish father and a Russian mother. It is from her that I hold my title of Hetman of Jitomir. It was restored to me by Czar Alexander II on a request made to him on his visit to Paris, by my august master, the Emperor Napoleon III.

"For political reasons, which I cannot describe without retelling the history of unfortunate Poland, my father, Count Bielowsky, left Warsaw in 1830, and went to live in London. After the death of my mother, he began to squander his immense fortune—from sorrow, he said. When, in his time, he died at the period of the Prichard affair, he left me barely a thousand pounds sterling of income, plus two or three systems of gaming, the impracticability of which I learned later.

"I will never be able to think of my nineteenth and twentieth years without emotion, for I then completely liquidated this small inheritance. London was indeed an adorable spot in those days. I had a jolly bachelor's apartment in Piccadilly.

"Fox hunting in a briska, driving a buggy in Hyde Park, the rout, not to mention the delightful little parties with the light Venuses of Drury Lane, this took all my time. All? I am unjust. There was also gaming, and a sentiment of filial piety forced me to verify the systems of the late Count, my father. It was gaming which was the cause of the event I must describe to you, by which my life was to be so strangely changed.

"My friend, Lord Malmesbury, had said to me a hundred times, 'I must take you to see an exquisite creature who lives in Oxford Street, number 277, Miss Howard.' One evening I went with him. It was the twenty-second of February, 1848. The mistress of the house was really marvelously beautiful, and the guests were charming. Besides Malmesbury, I observed several acquaintances: Lord Clebden, Lord Chesterfield, Sir Francis Mountjoye, Major in the Second Life Guards, and Count d'Orsay. They played cards and then began to talk politics. Events in France played the main part in the conversation and they discussed endlessly the consequences of the revolt that had broken out in Paris that same morning, in consequence of the interdiction of the banquet in the 12th arrondissement, of which word had just been received by telegram. Up to that time, I had never bothered myself with public affairs. So I don't know what moved me to affirm with the impetuosity of my nineteen years that the news from France meant the Republic next day and the Empire the day after....

"The company received my sally with a discreet laugh, and their looks were centered on a guest who made the fifth at a bouillotte table where they had just stopped playing.

"The guest smiled, too. He rose and came towards me. I observed that he was of middle height, perhaps even shorter, buttoned tightly into a blue frock coat, and that his eye had a far-off, dreamy look.

"All the players watched this scene with delighted amusement.

"'Whom have I the honor of addressing?' he asked in a very gentle voice.

"'Count Bielowsky,' I answered coolly to show him that the difference in our ages was not sufficient to justify the interrogation.

"Well, my dear Count, may your prediction indeed be realized; and I hope that you will not neglect the Tuileries,' said the guest in the blue coat, with a smile.

"And he added, finally consenting to present himself:

"'Prince Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte.'

"I played no active rôle in the coup d'état, and I do not regret it. It is a principle with me that a stranger should not meddle with the internal affairs of a country. The prince understood this discretion, and did not forget the young man who had been of such good omen to him.

"I was one of the first whom he called to the Elysée. My fortune was definitely established by a defamatory note on 'Napoleon the little.' The next year, when Mgr. Sibour was out of the way, I was made Gentleman of the Chamber, and the Emperor was even so kind as to have me marry the daughter of the Marshal Repeto, Duke of Mondovi.

"I have no scruple in announcing that this union was not what it should have been. The Countess, who was ten years older than I, was crabbed and not particularly pretty. Moreover, her family had insisted resolutely on a marriage portion. Now I had nothing at this time except the twenty-five thousand pounds for my appointment as Gentleman of the Chamber. A sad lot for anyone on intimate terms with the Count d'Orsay and the Duke of Gramont-Caderousse! Without the kindness of the Emperor, where would I have been?

"One morning in the spring of 1852, I was in my study opening my mail. There was a letter from His Majesty, calling me to the Tuileries at four o'clock; a letter from Clémentine, informing me that she expected me at five o'clock at her house. Clémentine was the beautiful one for whom, just then, I was ready to commit any folly. I was so proud of her that, one evening at the Maison Dorée, I flaunted her before Prince Metternich, who was tremendously taken with her. All the court envied me that conquest; and I was morally obliged to continue to assume its expenses. And then Clémentine was so pretty! The Emperor himself.... The other letters, good lord, the other letters were the bills of the dressmakers of that young person, who, in spite of my discreet remonstrances, insisted on having them sent to my conjugal dwelling.

"There were bills for something over forty thousand francs: gowns and ball dresses from Gagelin-Opigez, 23 Rue de Richelieu; hats and bonnets from Madame Alexandrine, 14 Rue d'Antin; lingerie and many petticoats from Madame Pauline, 100 Rue de Clery; dress trimmings and gloves from the Ville de Lyon, 6 Rue de la Chaussée d'Antin; foulards from the Malle des Indes; handkerchiefs from the Compagnie Irlandaise; laces from Ferguson; cosmetics from Candès.... This whitening cream of Candès, in particular, overwhelmed me with stupefaction. The bill showed fifty-one flasks. Six hundred and twenty-seven francs and fifty centimes' worth of whitening cream from Candès.... Enough to soften the skin of a squadron of a hundred guards!

"'This can't keep on,' I said, putting the bills in my pocket.

"At ten minutes to four, I crossed the wicket by the Carrousel.

"In the Salon of the aides de camp I happened on Bacciochi.

"'The Emperor has the grippe,' he said to me. 'He is keeping to his room. He has given orders to have you admitted as soon as you arrive. Come.'

"His Majesty, dressed in a braided vest and Cossack trousers, was meditating before a window. The pale green of the Tuileries showed luminously under a gentle warm shower.

"'Ah! Here he is,' said Napoleon. 'Here, have a cigarette. It seems that you had great doings, you and Gramont-Caderousse, last evening, at the Château de Fleurs.'

"I smiled with satisfaction.

"'So Your Majesty knows already....'

"'I know, I know vaguely.'

"'Do you know Gramont-Caderousse's last "mot"?'

"'No, but you are going to tell it to me.'

"'Here goes, then. We were five or six: myself, Viel-Castel, Gramont, Persigny....'

"'Persigny!' said the Emperor. 'He has no right to associate with Gramont, after all that Paris says about his wife.'

"'Just so Sire. Well, Persigny was excited, no doubt about it. He began telling us how troubled he was because of the Duchess's conduct.'

"'This Fialin isn't over tactful,' muttered the Emperor.

"'Just so, Sire. Then, does Your Majesty know what Gramont hurled at him?'

"'What?'

"'He said to him, "Monsieur le Duc, I forbid you to speak ill of my mistress before me."

"'Gramont goes too far,' said Napoleon with a dreamy smile.

"'That is what we all thought, including Viel-Castel, who was nevertheless delighted.'

"'Apropos of this,' said Napoleon after a silence, 'I have forgotten to ask you for news of the Countess Bielowsky.'

"'She is very well, Sire, I thank Your Majesty,'

"'And Clémentine? Still the same dear child?'

"'Always, Sire. But....'

"'It seems that M. Baroche is madly in love with her.'

"'I am very much honored, Sire. But this honor becomes too burdensome.'

"I had drawn from my pocket that morning's bills and I spread them out under the eyes of the Emperor.

"He looked at them with his distant smile.

"'Come, come. If that is all, I can fix that, since I have a favor to ask of you.'

"'I am entirely at Your Majesty's service.'

"He struck a gong.

"'Send for M. Mocquard.'

"'I have the grippe,' he said. 'Mocquard will explain the affair to you.'

"The Emperor's private secretary entered.

"'Here is Bielowsky, Mocquard,' said Napoleon. 'You know what I want him to do. Explain it to him.'

"And he began to tap on the window-panes against which the rain was beating furiously.

"'My dear Count,' said Mocquard, taking a chair, 'it is very simple. You have doubtless heard of a young explorer of promise, M. Henry Duveyrier.'

"I shook my head as a sign of negation, very much surprised at this beginning.

"'M. Duveyrier,' continued Mocquard, 'has returned to Paris after a particularly daring trip to South Africa and the Sahara. M. Vivien de Saint Martin, whom I have seen recently has assured me that the Geographical Society intends to confer its great gold medal upon him, in recognition of these exploits. In the course of his trip, M. Duveyrier has entered into negotiations with the chief of the people who always have been so rebellious to His Majesty's armies, the Tuareg.'

"I looked at the Emperor. My bewilderment was such that he began to laugh.

"'Listen,' he said.

"'M. Duveyrier,' continued Mocquard, 'was able to arrange to have a delegation of these chiefs come to Paris to present their respects to His Majesty. Very important results may arise from this visit, and His Excellency the Colonial Minister, does not despair of obtaining the signature of a treaty of commerce, reserving special advantages to our fellow countrymen. These chiefs, five of them, among them Sheik Otham, Amenokol or Sultan of the Confederation of Adzjer, arrive to-morrow morning at the Gare de Lyon. M. Duveyrier will meet them. But the Emperor has thought that besides....'

"'I thought,' said Napoleon III, delighted by my bewilderment, 'I thought that it was correct to have some one of the Gentlemen of my Chamber wait upon the arrival of these Mussulman dignitaries. That is why you are here, my poor Bielowsky. Don't be frightened,' he added, laughing harder. 'You will have M. Duveyrier with you. You are charged only with the special part of the reception: to accompany these princes to the lunch that I am giving them to-morrow at the Tuileries; then, in the evening, discreetly on account of their religious scruples, to succeed in giving them a very high idea of Parisian civilization, with nothing exaggerated: do not forget that in the Sahara they are very high religious dignitaries. In that respect, I have confidence in your tact and give you carte blanche.... Mocquard!'

"'Sire?'

"'You will apportion on the budget, half to Foreign Affairs, half to the Colonies, the funds Count Bielowsky will need for the reception of the Tuareg delegation. It seems to me that a hundred thousand francs, to begin.... The Count has only to tell you if he is forced to exceed that figure.'

"Clémentine lived on the Rue Boccador, in a little Moorish pavilion that I had bought for her from M. de Lesseps. I found her in bed. When she saw me, she burst into tears.

"'Great fools that we are!' she murmured amidst her sobs, 'what have we done!'

"'Clémentine, tell me!'

"'What have we done, what have we done!' she repeated, and I felt against me, her floods of black hair, her warm cheek which was fragrant with eau de Nanon.

"'What is it? What can it be?'

"'It is....' and she murmured something in my ear.

"'No!' I said, stupefied. 'Are you quite sure?'

"'Am I quite sure!'

"I was thunderstruck.

"'You don't seem much pleased,' she said sharply.

"'I did not say that.... Though, really, I am very much pleased, I assure you.'

"'Prove it to me: let us spend the day together tomorrow.'

"'To-morrow!' I stammered. 'Impossible!'

"'Why?' she demanded suspiciously.

"'Because to-morrow, I have to pilot the Tuareg mission about Paris. The Emperor's orders.'

"'What bluff is this?' asked Clémentine.

"'I admit that nothing so much resembles a lie as the truth.'

"I retold Mocquard's story to Clémentine, as well as I could. She listened to me with an expression that said: 'you can't fool me that way.'

"Finally, furious, I burst out:

"'You can see for yourself. I am dining with them, tomorrow; and I invite you.'

"'I shall be very pleased to come,' said Clémentine with great dignity.

"I admit that I lacked self-control at that minute. But think what a day it had been! Forty thousand francs of bills as soon as I woke up. The ordeal of escorting the savages around Paris all the next day. And, quite unexpectedly, the announcement of an approaching irregular paternity....

"'After all,' I thought, as I returned to my house, 'these are the Emperor's orders. He has commanded me to give the Tuareg an idea of Parisian civilization. Clémentine comports herself very well in society and just now it would not do to aggravate her. I will engage a room for to-morrow at the Café de Paris, and tell Gramont-Caderousse and Viel-Castel to bring their silly mistresses. It will be very French to enjoy the attitude of these children of the desert in the midst of this little party.'

"The train from Marseilles arrived at 10:20. On the platform I found M. Duveyrier, a young man of twenty-three with blue eyes and a little blond beard. The Tuareg fell into his arms as they descended from the train. He had lived with them for two years, in their tents, the devil knows where. He presented me to their chief, Sheik Otham, and to four others, splendid fellows in their blue cotton draperies and their amulets of red leather. Fortunately, they all spoke a kind of sabir^[13] which helped things along.

"I only mention in passing the lunch at the Tuileries, the visits in the evening to the Museum, to the Hotel de Ville, to the Imperial Printing Press. Each time, the Tuareg inscribed their names in the registry of the place they were visiting. It was interminable. To give you an idea, here is the complete name of Sheik Otham alone: Otham-ben-el-Hadj-el-Bekri-ben-el-Hadj-el-Faqqi-ben-Mohammad-Bouya- ben-si-Ahmed-es-Souki-ben-Mahmoud. ^[14]

"And there were five of them like that!

"I maintained my good humor, however, because on the boulevards, everywhere, our success was colossal. At the Café de Paris, at six-thirty, it amounted to frenzy. The delegation, a little drunk, embraced me: 'Bono, Napoléon, bono, Eugénie; bono, Casimir; bono, Christians.' Gramont-Caderousse and Viel-Castel were already in booth number eight, with Anna Grimaldi, of the Folies Dramatiques, and Hortense Schneider, both beautiful enough to strike terror to the heart. But the palm was for my dear Clémentine, when she entered. I must tell you how she was dressed: a gown of white tulle, over China blue tarletan, with pleatings, and ruffles of tulle over the pleatings. The tulle skirt was caught up on each side by garlands of green leaves mingled with rose clusters. Thus it formed a valence which allowed the tarletan skirt to show in front and on the sides. The garlands were caught up to the belt and, in the space between their branches, were knots of rose satin with long ends. The pointed bodice was draped with tulle, the billowy bertha of tulle was edged with lace. By way of head-dress, she had placed upon her black locks a diadem crown of the same flowers. Two long leafy tendrils were twined in her hair and fell on her neck. As cloak, she had a kind of scarf of blue cashmere embroidered in gold and lined with blue satin.

"So much beauty and splendor immediately moved the Tuareg and, especially, Clémentine's right-hand neighbor, El-Hadj-ben-Guemâma, brother of Sheik Otham and Sultan of Ahaggar. By the time the soup arrived, a bouillon of wild game, seasoned with Tokay, he was already much smitten. When they served the compote of fruits Martinique à la liqueur de Mme. Amphoux, he showed every indication of illimitable passion. The Cyprian wine de la Commanderie made him quite sure of his sentiments. Hortense kicked my foot under the table. Gramont, intending to do the same to Anna, made a mistake and aroused the indignant protests of one of the Tuareg. I can safely say that when the time came to go to Mabille, we were enlightened as to the manner in which our visitors respected the prohibition decreed by the Prophet in respect to wine.

"At Mabille, while Clémentine, Hortense, Anna, Ludovic and the three Tuareg gave themselves over to the wildest gallops, Sheik Otham took me aside and confided to me, with visible emotion, a certain commission with which he had just been charged by his brother, Sheik Ahmed.

"The next day, very early, I reached Clémentine's house.

"'My dear,' I began, after having waked her, not without difficulty, 'listen to me. I want to talk to you seriously.'

"She rubbed her eyes a bit crossly.

"'How did you like that young Arabian gentleman who was so taken with you last night?'

"'Why, well enough,' she said, blushing.

"'Do you know that in his country, he is the sovereign prince and reigns over territories five or six times greater than those of our august master, the Emperor Napoleon III?'

"'He murmured something of that kind to me,' she said, becoming interested.

"'Well, would it please you to mount on a throne, like our august sovereign, the Empress Eugénie?'

"Clémentine, looked startled.

"'His own brother, Sheik Otham, has charged me in his name to make this offer.'

"Clémentine, dumb with amazement, did not reply.

"'I, Empress!' she finally stammered.

"'The decision rests with you. They must have your answer before midday. If it is 'yes,' we lunch together at Voisin's, and the bargain is made.'

"I saw that she had already made up her mind, but she thought it well to display a little sentiment.

"'And you, you!' she groaned. 'To leave you thus.... Never!'

"'No foolishness, dear child,' I said gently. 'You don't know perhaps that I am ruined. Yes, completely: I don't even know how I am going to pay for your complexion cream!'

"'Ah!' she sighed.

"She added, however, 'And ... the child?'

"'What child?'

"'Our child ... our child.'

"'Ah! That is so. Why, you will have to put it down to profit and loss. I am even convinced that Sheik Ahmed will find that it resembles him.'

"'You can turn everything into a joke,' she said between laughing and crying.

"The next morning, at the same hour, the Marseilles express carried away the five Tuareg and Clémentine. The young woman, radiant, was leaning on the arm of Sheik Ahmed, who was beside himself with joy.

"'Have you many shops in your capital?' she asked him languidly.

"And he, smiling broadly under his veil, replied:

"'Besef, besef, bono, roumis, bono.'

"At the last moment, Clémentine had a pang of emotion.

"'Listen, Casimir, you have always been kind to me. I am going to be a queen. If you weary of it here, promise me, swear to me....'

"The Sheik had understood. He took a ring from his finger and slipped it onto mine.

"'Sidi Casimir, comrade,' he affirmed. 'You come—find us. Take Sidi Ahmed's ring and show it. Everybody at Ahaggar comrades. Bono Ahaggar, bono.'

"When I came out of the Gare de Lyon, I had the feeling of having perpetrated an excellent joke."

The Hetman of Jitomir was completely drunk. I had had the utmost difficulty in understanding the end of his story, because he interjected, every other moment, couplets from Jacques Offenbach's best score.