Château de Férouzat, ..., 18...

No indeed, my dear Louis, I am neither dead nor ruined, nor have I turned pirate, trappist, or rural guard, as you might imagine in order to explain my silence these four months since I last appeared at your illustrious studio. No, you witty giber, my fabulous heritage has not taken wings! I am dwelling neither in China on the Blue River, nor in Red Oceania, nor in White Lapland. My yacht, built of teak, still lies in harbour, and is not swaying me over the vasty deep. It is no good your spinning out laborious and far-fetched hyperboles on the subject of my uncle's will: your ironical shafts all miss the mark. My uncle's will surpasses the most astonishing feat of its kind ever accomplished by notary's pen; and your poor imagination could not invent, or come anywhere near inventing, such remarkable adventures as those into which this registered document has led me.

First of all, in order that your feeble intellect may be enabled to rise to the level of the subject, I must give you some description of "the Corsair," as you called him after you met him in Paris last winter; for it is only by comprehending the peculiarities of his life and character that you can ever hope to understand my adventures.

Unfortunately, at this very point, a considerable difficulty arises, for my uncle still remains and always will remain a sort of legendary personage. Born at Marseilles, he was left an orphan at about the age of fourteen, alone in the world with one little sister still in the cradle, whom he brought up, and who subsequently became my mother: hence his tender regard for me. Nevertheless, and notwithstanding the fact that we two constituted the whole family, I only saw him during the intervals on shore of his sea-faring life. Endowed with truly remarkable qualities and with an energy that recognized no obstacles, he was the best fellow in the world, as you must have observed for yourself; but certainly he was also, from what I know of him, a most original character. I don't believe that in the course of his eventful career, he ever did a single act like other men, unless, may be, in the getting of children—yet even these were only his "god-children." He has left fourteen in the Department of Le Gard, scattered over the different estates on which he lived by turns after he had quitted the East; and we may well believe he would not have stopped short at that number, but that four months ago, as he was returning from the South Pole, he happened to die of a sunstroke, at the age of sixty-three. This last touch completes the picture of his life. As to his history, all that is known of it is confined to the following facts:

At the age of twenty-two my uncle turned Turk, from political conviction. This happened under the Bourbons. The character of his services in Turkey during the contests between Mehemet Ali and the Sultan was never very clear, and I fancy he was rather muddled about them himself, for he served both these princes by turns with equal courage and equal devotion. As it happened, he was on the side of Ibrahim at the time that the latter defeated the Turks at the battle of Konieh; but being carried away in that desperate charge which he himself led, and which decided the victory, my unfortunate uncle suffered the disgrace of falling wounded into the hands of the vanquished party. Being a prisoner to Kurchid-Pasha, and his wound having soon healed, he was expecting to be impaled, when, to his great joy, his punishment was commuted to that of the galleys. There he remained three years without succeeding in effecting his escape, when one fine day he found his services in request just at the right time by the Sultan, who appointed him Pasha, giving him a command in the Syrian wars. What circumstance was it that cut short his political career? How was it that he obtained from the Pope the title of Count of the Holy Empire? Nobody knows.

All that is certain is that Barbassou-Pasha, tired of his honours and having returned two years since to settle down in Provence, started off one morning for Africa, on a ship that he had bought at Toulon. Henceforth he devoted himself to the spice trade.

It was after one of these voyages that he published his celebrated ontological monograph upon the negro races, a work which created some stir and gained for him a most flattering report from the Academy.

These leading events of his Odyssey being known, the more private facts and deeds of the life of Barbassou-Pasha are lost in obscurity. As for his physical characteristics, you will remember the great Marseillais six-foot high, with sinewy frame and muscles of steel; your mind's eye can picture still the formidable, bearded face, the savage and terrible eye, the rough voice, the complete type in short of "the pirate at his ease," as you used to say, when laughing sometimes at his quiet humour. After all, an easy-going soul, and the best of uncles!

As for my own recollections, so far back as they go, the following is all I have ever known of him. Being continually at sea, he had placed me at school quite young. One year, while at his château at Férouzat, he sent for me during the holidays. I was six years old, and saw him for the first time. He held me up in his arms to examine my face and features, then turning me gently round in the air, he felt my sides, after which—satisfied, no doubt, as to my build—he put me down again with great care, as if afraid of breaking me.

"Kiss your aunt!" he said.

I obeyed him.

My aunt at that time was a very handsome young woman of twenty-two to twenty-four, a brunette with great black, almond-shaped eyes, and fine features on a perfect oval face. She placed me on her knees and covered me with kisses, lavishing on me the most tender expressions, among which she mingled words of a foreign language which sounded like music, so sweet and harmonious was her voice. I conceived a great affection for her. My uncle let me do just as I liked, and allowed no hindrances to be put in my way. Thus it happened that at the end of my holidays I did not want to return to school again, and should certainly have succeeded in getting my way, if it had not been that Barbassou-Pasha's ship was waiting for him at Toulon.

You may imagine with what joy I returned to Férouzat the next year. My uncle welcomed me with the same delight, and betook himself to the same examination of my physical structure. When his anxieties were satisfied, he said to me—

"Kiss your aunt!"

I kissed my aunt: but, as I kissed her, I was rather surprised to find her very much altered. She had become fair and pink-complexioned. A certain firm and youthful plumpness, which suited her remarkably well, gave her the appearance of a girl of eighteen. Being more bashful than at our former interview, she tendered me her fresh cheeks with a blush. I noticed also that her accent had undergone a modification, and now very much resembled the accent of one of my school-fellows who was Dutch. As I expressed my surprise at these changes, my uncle informed me that they had just returned from Java. This explanation sufficed for me, I did not ask any more questions, and henceforth I accustomed myself every year to the various metamorphoses of my aunt. The metamorphosis which pleased me the least was that which she contracted after a voyage to Bourbon, from which she returned a mulattress, but without ceasing still to be remarkably handsome. My uncle, it should be mentioned, was always very good to her, and I have never known a happier household.

Unfortunately Barbassou-Pasha, being engaged in important affairs, stayed away three years, and when I returned to Férouzat, he kissed me and received me by himself. When I asked after my aunt, he told me that he was a widower. As this misfortune did not appear to affect him very seriously, I made up my mind to treat it with the same indifference that he did.

Since that time I never saw any woman at the château, except once in an isolated part of the park, where I met two shadowy beings, closely and mysteriously veiled. They were taking a walk, accompanied by an old fellow of singular aspect, clothed in a long robe with a tarbouch on his head, who greatly excited my curiosity. My uncle told me that this was His Excellency, Mohammed-Azis, one of his friends at Constantinople, whom he had taken in with his family after they had undergone persecution at the hands of the Sultan. He lodged him in another little château adjoining Férouzat, in order that they might be able to live more comfortably in Turkish style: those young persons were two of his daughters.

After that year, I never again stayed in Provence: for my uncle, having settled in China and Japan, was absent five years, and my only relations with him were through his banker at Paris, with whom I enjoyed that solid and unlimited credit which you envied so much, and of which I availed myself with such easy grace and in such a superbly reckless spirit.

You remember that I received a few months ago a letter announcing this sudden misfortune, and requesting my immediate presence at Férouzat, to remove the seals and open the will: my poor uncle had died in Abyssinia.

Well, the day after my arrival, I had only just got up, when Féraudet, the notary, was announced. He came in, literally armed with documents. I did not want to act like a greedy heir, but rather to put off for a few days all the most material questions; my notary, however, informed me that "there were certain clauses in the will which demanded an immediate examination." My uncle had charged me, he said, with numerous trusts and legacies "for the benefit of his god-children and of other parties living a long distance off." All this was uttered in a mournful tone suited to the occasion, and at the same time with the manner of a person aware that he was the bearer of an extraordinary document, and preparing me for its effect. Finally he opened the will, which was worded as follows:

"Château de Férouzat, ... 18..

"I, the undersigned, Claude-Anatole-Gratien Barbassou, Count of Monteclaro, do hereby declare that I elect and designate as my universal legatee and the sole inheritor of my property: of all my real and personal estate, and all that I am entitled to of every description soever, such as ..., &c.: my nephew Jérôme André de Peyrade, the son of my sister: And I hereby command him to discharge the following legacies:

"To my much-beloved wife and legitimate spouse, Lia Rachel Euphrosine Ben-Lévy, milliner, of Constantinople, and dwelling there in the suburb of Péra, First, a sum of four thousand five hundred francs, which I have agreed by contract to pay her; Second, my house at Péra, in which she dwells, with all the appendages and appurtenances thereof; and Third, a sum of twelve thousand francs, to be distributed by her, as it may please her, among the different children whom she has by me.

"Likewise, to my much-beloved wife and legitimate spouse, Sophia Eudoxia, Countess of Monteclaro (whose maiden name is De Cornalis), dwelling at Corfu: First, a sum of five hundred thousand francs, which I have agreed by contract to pay her; Second, the clock and the Dresden china, which stand on my mantle-piece; Third, 'The Virgin,' by Perugino, in my drawing-room at Férouzat.

"Likewise, to my much-beloved wife and legitimate spouse, Marie Gretchen Van Cloth, dwelling at Amsterdam: First, a sum of twenty thousand francs, which I have agreed by contract to pay her; Second, a sum of sixty thousand francs, to be distributed by her, as it may please her, among the different children whom she has by me; Third, my dinner-service in Delph, known as No. 3; Fourth, a barrel-organ, set with four of Haydn's symphonies.

"Likewise, to my much-beloved wife and legitimate spouse, Marie Louise Antoinette Cora de La Pescade, dwelling at Les Grands Palmiers (Ile Bourbon), my plantation upon which she lives, including the annexes of Le Grand Morne.

"Likewise, to my much-beloved wife and legitimate spouse, Anita Josepha Christina de Postero, dwelling at Cadiz: First, a sum of twelve thousand francs; which I have agreed by contract to pay her; Second, my pardon for her little adventure with my lieutenant Jean Bonaffé."

If some very precise person should seek to insinuate his criticisms upon my uncle's matrimonial principles, my reply would be that Barbassou-Pasha was a Turk and a Mussulman, and that consequently he can only be praised for having so faithfully obeyed the Laws of the Prophet—laws which permitted him to indulge in all this hymeneal luxury without in the least degree outraging the social proprieties—and for having in this matter piously fulfilled a religious duty, which his premature death alone, so far as we can judge, has hindered him from accomplishing with greater fervour. I trust that the God of the Faithful will at least give him credit for his efforts.

Having said so much on behalf of a memory which is dear to me, and having enumerated the chief clauses of the will, I may add in a few words that, after the payment of my uncle's matrimonial donations, and the various legacies to his "god-children," with those to his sailors in addition, there remained for me about thirty-seven million francs.

"But, these children of my uncle's?" said I.

"Oh, sir! everything is in order! The Turkish law not recognising marriages contracted abroad with unbelievers, excepting in the case of certain prescribed formalities which your uncle happens to have neglected to go through, it results that his will expresses his deliberate intentions. Moreover, he had during his lifetime provided for the future of all his people."

I listened with admiration.

"So much for the legal dispositions of the will, sir," said the notary, when he had finished reading it out.

"Now I have a sealed letter to hand to you, which your uncle charged me to give after his death to you alone. I was instructed in the case of your death preceding his, to destroy it without acquainting myself with its purport. You will understand, therefore, that I know nothing of its contents, which are for you only to read. Have the kindness, please, to sign this receipt, declaring that you find the seals unbroken, and that I have left it in your possession."

He presented a paper, which I read and signed.

"Is that all?" I asked.

"Not quite, sir," he replied, as he took another package out of his pocket. "Here is a document similarly sealed which was addressed to me. I was only to open it in the case of your uncle's will becoming null and void through your death preceding his. This document, he told me, would then give effect to his final wishes. Your presence being duly established, my formal written instructions are to burn this document, now rendered useless and purposeless, before your eyes."

Again he made me attest that the seals were untampered with, and taking up a candle from the writing-table and lighting it, he forthwith committed to the flames this secret document the provisions of which we were not to know. He then departed.

When left alone, and still affected by these lively recollections of my poor uncle, I began to think of the letter which the notary had left with me. I divined some mystery in it, and had a vague presentiment that it would contain a decree of my destiny. This last message from him, coming as it were from the tomb, revived in my heart the grief which had hardly yet been allayed. At last, trembling all the while, I tore open the envelope. These were its contents:—

"My Dear Boy,

"When you read this, I shall have done with this world. Please me by not giving way too much to your grief, and act like a man! You know my ideas about death: I have never allowed myself to be prejudiced into regarding it as an evil, convinced as I have been, that it is nothing but the transition which leads us to a superior state of existence. Adopt this view, and do not cry over me like a child. I have lived my life; now it is your turn. My desire is, that this old friend of yours should be cherished in your memory: you shall join him with you in your happiness, by believing that he takes part in it.

"Now let us have a talk.

"I leave you all my property, desiring to create no business complications for you: my will is drawn up in proper form, and you will enter into possession of your inheritance, which, you may rest assured, is a pretty handsome one. There is, however, one last wish of mine for the fulfilment of which I rely simply upon your affection, feeling sure that between us there is no need of more complicated provisions for ensuring its execution.

"I have a daughter, who has always shared with you my dearest affections. If I have kept this second paternity a secret from you, I have done so because circumstances might occur which would render useless the revelation which I am now approaching. My daughter had a legal father who had the right to reclaim her when sixteen years of age; she is free now, her legal father is dead, she will soon be seventeen, and I entrust her to your charge. Her name is Anna Campbell, she lives at Paris at the Convent of Les Oiseaux, where she is completing her education. Her only relation is an aunt, her mother's sister, Madame Saulnier by name, who lives at No. 20, Rue Barbet de Jony. It will be a sufficient introduction for you to call on this lady and tell her your name. She is aware that I have appointed you moral guardian to my daughter, and that it is you who will take my place. In short, she knows all my intentions.

"I underline these words, for they sum up my fondest aspirations. I have brought up Anna with the view of making her your wife, and thus dividing my fortune between you; and I rely upon you to carry out this arrangement. If marriage is for a man but a small matter, it is for a woman the most serious event in life. With you, I am confident that the dear girl will never be unhappy, and that is the thing of most importance. If I never return from this last voyage, you will have plenty of time to enjoy your bachelor's life; but I count upon your friendship to render me this little service by marrying her when the right time arrives. At present she is scarcely full-grown, and I think it will be best for you to wait one or two years. I can assure you her mother had a fine figure. You will find their portraits in one of the velvet frames in the drawer of my desk. (Don't make a mistake: it is the one numbered 9.)

"Now that this matter is settled, it only remains for me to give you one last injunction. If Férandet has followed my instructions, as I suppose, he will have burnt a paper in your presence. This was a second will, by which my daughter Anna Campbell would have been appointed my universal legatee, had you not been living. So long as all happened in the right order, you surviving me, you will understand I should not have wished to complicate your affairs, by leaving you confronted with a lot of legal formalities and intricacies. Such would be the consequence of a female minor who is a foreigner inheriting jointly with you: this would have plunged you into a veritable mire of technicalities, restrictions, registrations, and goodness knows what. Nevertheless, it is necessary to provide fully for the possibility of an accident arising to you before your marriage with Anna. Our property would go in that case to collaterals ... and God only knows from how many quarters of the world these would not be forthcoming! As I wish my fortune to remain with my children, it is indispensable that you should not forget to make testamentary dispositions in favour of your cousin, so that the whole property may go to her in the event of your death, without any more dispute than there has been in your own case. I leave this matter in your hands. You will find at my bankers all the indications of surnames, Christian names, and descriptions which you will require to enumerate, on the first page of my private ledger, where the account which was opened for her commences, and yours also, forming a separate banking account for you two. Madame Saulnier is accustomed to draw what is required for her: therefore, until your marriage, it is unnecessary for you to occupy yourself with this detail—all you have to do is to confirm her credit.

"Now that we have settled this matter, my dear boy, go ahead! I do not need, I am sure, to remind you to think occasionally of your old uncle: I know you well, and that satisfies me. I thank you for what you have been to me, and bless you from the bottom of my heart!

"Come, don't give way, old fellow: I am in Heaven, my soul is free and rejoicing in the glories of the Infinite. Is there anything in this for you to mourn over? Farewell."

After reading this letter, my dear Louis, need I tell you that I did the contrary to what my poor uncle bade me, and that I gave way to my grief. The tears streamed down my cheeks, my heart was breaking, and I could no longer see this last word, "Farewell," as I pressed the letter to my lips.

Such a mixture of tenderness and elevation of tone, such touching solicitude to console my grief, such boundless confidence in my love and fidelity! I felt crushed with my grief, proud only to think that I was worthy of the generosity with which this noble-hearted man was overwhelming me, prodigal as a father in his kindness. It seemed to me at that moment that I had never loved him enough, and the grief at his loss mingled itself with something like remorse. As if he were able hear me, I swore to him that I would live for the accomplishment of his wishes: from the depths of my soul, indeed, I felt certain that he saw me.

When the flow of my tears had ceased, I did not want to tarry a moment in the accomplishment of his last behests. I ran to his bed-chamber, opened his desk, and found the two portraits. One, a valuable miniature, represents a woman of twenty-five, the other is a photograph of Anna Campbell at the age of fifteen. Although not so pretty as her mother, perhaps, she has a charming childlike face; the poor little thing felt uncomfortable, no doubt, when they made her sit, for her expression is rather sulky and unnatural. Still she gives promise of being attractive when she has passed the awkward age. I felt myself suddenly possessed by a sentiment of affection for this unknown cousin, whose guardian I had become and whose husband I am to be. Upon this cold picture I repeated to my uncle the oath to obey his wishes; then, taking up a pen, I wrote a will appointing Anna Campbell the universal legatee of all the property which my uncle left us.

But one part of my inheritance, the most remarkable and the least expected, was at present unknown either to the notary or to myself.

I don't wish to make myself out better than I really am, my dear Louis: I must declare, nevertheless, that in spite of the very natural bewilderment which I felt on finding myself the owner of such a fortune, my first thought, when once I had disposed of the legal matters, was to pay a tribute of mournful regrets to the memory of my poor uncle. I should have considered it base ingratitude, not to say impiety on my part, to have shown myself too eager to enjoy the wealth bequeathed to me by so generous a benefactor. His loss really left a cruel void in my heart. I decided, therefore, at least to live a few months at Férouzat. I wrote immediately to the aunt of Anna Campbell, to express my resolution to fulfil the wishes of my second father, begging her to dispose of my services in every way as those of a protector and friend ready to respond to every appeal. Four days afterwards, I received from her a most cordial and elegantly-worded letter. She assured me of her confidence in all the good accounts which my uncle had given of me; and she gave me news of my fiancée, "who for one who is still only a child, promises already to develop into an accomplished woman."

Having discharged these conventional duties, I shut myself up in my retreat, and set to work.

For me to say that my retirement was not more distracted than I would have desired, might perhaps be called a dangerous assertion; but what could I do? Was it not my duty to acquaint myself with all that my uncle bequeathed to me? And the Lord knows what marvels my château of Férouzat contained! Every day I made some fresh discovery in rooms full of curious furniture and antiquities of all ages and of all countries. Barbassou-Pasha was a born buyer of valuable objects, and the furniture was crammed with rich draperies, hangings, costumes, and objects of art or curios: my steward himself could not enumerate them all.

But the most delightful of all these marvels is certainly Kasre-el-Nouzha, my neighbouring property. Kasre-el-Nouzha was a Turkish fancy of my uncle's. These three Arabic words correspond to the Spanish Buen-Retiro; or, literally translated, they signify "Castle of Pleasures." This was the retreat, separated only by a party-wall from Férouzat, that was formerly inhabited by the exiled minister who had fled from the persecutions of the Sultan. Picture to yourself, hidden in a great park whose umbrageous foliage concealed it from view, a delightful palace of the purest Oriental architecture, surrounded by gardens, with flowering shrubs covered with a wealth of blossoms, standing in the midst of green lawns, a sort of Vale of Tempé transplanted, one might imagine, from the East. My uncle Barbassou, conscientious architect that he was, had copied the plan from one of the residences of the King of Kashmir. In the interior of the Kasre you might fancy yourself in the house of some grandee of Stamboul or of Bagdad. Luxuries, ornaments, furniture, and general domestic arrangements, have all been studied with the taste of an artist and the exactitude of an archæologist. At the same time European comforts are gratefully mingled with Turkish simplicity. The silken tapestries of Persia, the carpets of Smyrna with those harmonious hues which seem to be borrowed from the sun, the capacious divans, the bath-rooms, and the stores, all contribute in short to the completeness of an establishment, suitable to a Pasha residing under the sky of Provence. A little door in the park-wall gives access to this oasis. As you may guess, I passed many an hour there, and I dreamt dreams of "The Thousand and One Nights."

All this time I had never interrupted my labours; for you need not suppose that my nabob's fortune could make me forgetful of my inclinations towards science. In the midst of my numerous follies, as you know very well, and in spite of the distractions of the more or less dissipated life which I have led up to my present happy age of twenty-six, I have always preserved my love of study, which fills up those hours of forced respite that even the pleasures of the world leave to every man who is conscious of a brain. The Polytechnic School, and the search for x, in which my uncle trained me, developed very inquisitive instincts in me. I ended by acquiring a taste for transcendental ideas. This taste is at least worth as much as that for angling. For my part, I confess that I class among the molluscs men who, being their own masters, content themselves with eating, drinking, and sleeping, without performing any intellectual labour. This is why you call me "the savant."

I worked away, then, at my book with a veritable enthusiasm, and my "Essay upon the Origin of Sensation" had extended to several long chapters, when the critical event occurred which I have undertaken to relate to you.

I had lived thus all alone for two weeks. One evening, on my return from Arles, where I had been spending a couple of days upon some business, I was informed that His Excellency, Mohammed-Azis, the old friend of my uncle, whom I remembered to have seen on one occasion, had arrived at the château the evening before, not having heard of the death of Barbassou-Pasha. I must admit that this news gave me at the time very little pleasure; but in memory of my dear departed uncle, I could not but give his friend the welcome he expected. I was told that His Excellency had gone straight to his quarters at Kasre-el-Nouzha, where he was accustomed to dwell. I hastened to send my respects to him, begging him to let me know if he would receive me. He sent word that he was at my disposition and waiting for me. I therefore set off at once to call upon him.

I found Mohammed-Azis on his door-step. Gravely and sadly he received me with a salute, the respectful manner of which embarrassed me somewhat, coming from a man of his age. He showed me into the drawing-room, in each of the four corners of which bubbled a little fountain of perfumed water, in small basins of alabaster garnished with flowers. He made me sit down on the divan covered with a splendid silk material, and which, very broad and very deep, and furnished with numerous cushions, extends round the entire room. When seated, I commenced uttering a few phrases of condolence, but he replied to me in Turkish.

This mode of conversing had its difficulties, so he, seeing that I could not understand him, started off into a Sabir or Italianised French, pronounced in an accent which I will not attempt to describe.

"Povera Eccellenza Barbassou-Pacha!—finito—morto?"

I replied in Italian, which he spoke indifferently well. We thus managed to get along. I then related to him the accident which had brought about the death of Barbassou, my uncle and his friend. He listened to me with a greatly distressed air.

"Dunque voi signor padrone?" he replied, uneasily; "voi heritare di tutto?—ordinare?—commandare?"—

"Let me assure you, Your Excellency," I answered, "nothing that concerns you will be changed by my uncle's death. I shall make it a point of honour to fill his place exactly."

He appeared satisfied with this reply, and breathed freely, like a man relieved of a great burden. In another minute he asked me if I would like to make the acquaintance of all his people.

"I should be delighted, Your Excellency, if you would present me to your family."

He walked towards the door and summoned them by clapping his hands.

I was expecting to see the wives or daughters of my host appear according to Mussulman custom, covered up with their triple veils. An exclamation of surprise escaped me when I saw four young persons enter, dressed in beautiful Oriental costumes, their faces unveiled, and all four endowed with such glorious beauty and youthful grace that I was, for the moment, fairly dazzled. I took them for his daughters.

Hesitating and bashful, they stopped a few steps from me. In my bewilderment I could not find a word to say to them, until after their father had said something to them, they came up to me, first one, then another, and with shy graces and indescribable charms, each bowed and saluted me with her hand to her forehead, then took my hand and kissed it.

I must admit that I completely lost my head. I don't know what I stammered out. I believe I assured them that they and their father would find me, in the absence of my uncle, their respectful and devoted friend; but, as they did not understand a word of French, my speech was lost upon them. However that may have been, after a minute or so they were sitting with their legs crossed on the divan, and all I was anxious about was to prolong my visit as much as possible. Mohammed told me their charming names. These were, Kondjé-Gul, Hadidjé, Nazli, and Zouhra. He, like a proud father, was not backward in praising their beauty, and I joined in chorus with him, and certainly succeeded in flattering him by my enthusiasm regarding them.

Indeed, all four of them were of such striking beauty, and yet so different in type, that you might have thought them grouped together in order to form the most ravishing picture, their large dark eyes, sweet, timid, and languishing like the gazelle's, with that Oriental expression which we do not meet with in these climes; lips which disclosed pearly teeth as they smiled; and complexions which have been preserved by the veil from the sun's rays, and which—according to the ancient simile—appeared really to be made up of lilies and roses. In those rich costumes of silk or of Broussan gauze, with their harmonious colours, revealing the forms of their hips and of their bosoms, they exhibited attitudes and movements of feline lissomness and exotic grace, the voluptuous languor of which can only be realised by those who have seen it in Mussulman women. I imagined myself the hero of an Arabian story, and mad fancies entered my brain.

While I was endeavouring, for appearance's sake, to talk with their father as well as I could, they, growing tamer by degrees, began to whisper together—now and then came a little burst of laughter, in which I seemed to detect some mischief. I playfully responded by holding up my finger to let them know I guessed their thoughts, and again they burst out laughing like sly children—this going on until, after half an hour or so, quite a nice feeling of familiarity was established between us; we talked by signs, and our eyes enabled us almost to dispense with the laborious intervention of Mohammed's interpretations. Moreover, he seemed delighted to see us frolicking in this way.

In order to teach them my name I pronounced several times the word "André." They understood and tried in their turn to make me say their names. Hadidjé's was the occasion of much laughter, by reason of my difficulty in articulating the guttural breathing. Seeing that I could not manage it, she held me by both hands, her face almost touching mine, and shouted "Hadidjé!" I repeated it, "Hadidjé!" This was charming and intoxicating. I had to take the same lesson from each of them; but when it came to the turn of Kondjé-Gul, it was a delirium of joy. By some chance she let slip a word of Italian. I questioned her in this language, and found she knew it pretty well. You may imagine my delight! Immediately we overwhelmed each other with a torrent of questions. Her sisters watched us with looks of amazement.

At this moment a Greek servant came in, followed by two other women, bringing in the dinner on trays, which they laid upon small low tables of ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

Propriety and good breeding impelled me to take my leave after this very long visit, and I prepared to do so. Upon this my young friends murmured out a concert of confused words, in which I seemed to detect regret at my departure. Fortunately His Excellency intervened by inviting me to stay to dinner with them.

Need I tell you that I accepted!

I sat down on the carpet, as they did, with my legs crossed, and we commenced a delicious banquet. Champagne was brought in for me, an attention which I appreciated. My place was next to Nazli; on my left was Kondjé-Gul, and opposite me, Hadidjé and Zouhra. I will not tell you what dishes were served, my thoughts were set elsewhere.

"How old art thou?" asked Kondjé-Gul, employing in her Italian, which was tinctured with Roumanian, the Turkish form of address.

"Twenty-six," said I, "and how old art thou?"

"Oh, I shall soon be eighteen." This "thouing" of each other was charming. She then told me the ages of the others. Hadidjé was the eldest, she was nineteen: Nazli and Zouhra were between seventeen and eighteen, the age of fresh maturity among the daughters of the East, who ripen earlier than ours. Our gaiety and the prattle of their voices went on without cessation; but as they were drinking nothing but water, I said to Kondjé-Gul, thoughtlessly,

"Won't you taste the wine of France?"

At this proposition she gave such a scared little look that the others asked her to explain what I had said. This caused a great excitement, followed by a discussion in which the father took part. I was beginning to fear that I had given offence to them, when His Excellency at last said a few words which seemed to be decisive. Then Kondjé-Gul, blushing all the while, and hesitating with divine gracefulness, took up my glass and drank—first with a little grimace like a kitten trying strange food, so droll and amusing was it; then, later on, with an air of satisfaction so real that all of them burst out laughing.

By Jove, I must say that at this frank abandonment I felt my heart beat just as if her lips had touched my own in a kiss. Imagine what became of me when Zouhra, Nazli, and Hadidjé held out their hands all at the same time to claim my glass. They passed round the glass and drank, and I after them, perturbed by emotions impossible to describe. This unconstraint varied with bashful reserve, these fascinating scruples, which they overcame one after another, fearing no doubt to offend me by refusing things which they thought were French customs; all their little ways in fact stimulated me, ravished me, and yet daunted me at times so much that I dare no longer brave their looks—although the presence of their father was a sufficient guarantee of the innocent character of these familiarities.

When the meal was over, the same Greek servants cleared the tables. Night-time arrived and they lighted the chandeliers. Through the closed shutters there came to us perfumes of myrtle and lilac. Cigarettes were brought: Zouhra took one, lighted it, and after drawing a few mouthfuls, offered it to me. I abandoned myself to their caprices.

Now, Louis, can you picture your friend luxuriously reclining on cushions, and surrounded by these four daughters of Mahomet's Paradise, in their lovely sultana's costumes, frolicking and prattling, and all four of them so beautiful that I don't know which I should have presented with the apple if I had been Paris? I assure you, it required an effort to convince myself that all this was real. After a little while I noticed that Mohammed Azis was no longer present; but thanks to Kondjé-Gul, who had quite become my interpreter, our conversation became brisk and general. Hadidjé taught me a Turkish game which is played with flowers, and which I won't try to describe to you, as I hardly understood it.

If I were to tell you all that happened that evening, I should be relating a story of giddy madness and intoxication. I taught them in return the game of "hunt the slipper;" you know it, don't you? We played it as follows: there was a ribbon knotted at both ends, which we held, sitting on the floor in a circle, and on which slips a ring, which one of the players must seize in his hands. This, upon my word, finished me up. What laughter, and what merry cries! Each of them, caught in her turn, chose me of course as her mark. Every moment I found myself seized and held prisoner in their naked, snowy arms. Upon my soul, it was maddening!

It was nearly midnight when His Excellency returned. I had lost all reckoning of the time; now I felt I must really make off. While I was getting ready and saying a few words to Kondjé-Gul, Mohammed Azis spoke to Zouhra, Nazli, and Hadidjé. I fancied that he was questioning them, and that they replied in the negative. Then he spoke at greater length to Kondjé-Gul; he appeared to me to be pressing her to give him an account of my conversation with her, and that the result did not please him. I was annoyed with myself at the thought that, maybe, I had been the cause of her being reprimanded. At last he certainly ordered them to retire, for they came to me, one after the other, and each of them, as on entering, bowed to me in a respectful manner, saluting me with her hand to her forehead, and kissed my hand; after this they went out, leaving me in a frame of mind disordered beyond description.

I was just about to offer some apologies to Mahommed, and make my peace with him before I left (for I feared that he might for the future place obstacles in the way of similar evening performances), when he said to me, with an anxious air, in that dialect of his which I translate, in order to avoid reproducing the scene of the mamamouchis in the "Bourgeois Gentilhomme:"

"May I be allowed to hope that your lordship is satisfied?"

"Satisfied, Your Excellency?" I exclaimed, affectionately grasping his hands; "why, I am delighted! You could not give me greater pleasure in this world than by treating me exactly as you treated my uncle."

"The young ladies, then, did not displease your lordship?"

"Your daughters? Why, they are adorable! My only fear is lest I should not find them reciprocate the sentiments which they inspire in me."

"Ah! Then it is not because your lordship is displeased that you will not remain here to-night?" added he, with an anxious look.

"That I will not remain here?" I replied. "What do you mean?"

"Why, Your Excellency has not expressed his will to any of them."

"My will! What will, then, could I express to them?"

"Considering that they belong to your lordship," he continued.

"They belong to me? Who?"

"Why, Kondjé-Gul, Zouhra, Hadidjé, Nazli."

"They belong to me?" replied I, overcome with stupefaction.

"Certainly," said Mahommed, looking as astonished as I did. "His Excellency, Barbassou-Pasha, your uncle, whose eunuch I had the honour of being, commanded me to purchase four maidens for his harem. Since he is dead, and your lordship takes his place as master—I had supposed—"

"Ah!!!"

I won't attempt to render for you the full force of the exclamation to which I gave vent. You may guess the feelings conveyed in it. In very truth I thought I should go out of my senses this time. The dream of "The Thousand and One Nights" was being realised in my waking hours! This extraordinary and sumptuous palace was a harem, and this harem was mine! These four Schéhérazades, whose glorious youthfulness and fascinating charms had scorched me like fire, they were my slaves, and only awaited a sign or token of my desire!

Mohammed, incapable of conceiving my agitation, regarded me with a pitiful, confused look, as if he anticipated some disgrace. At this moment the old Greek woman brought him the keys: there were four. He handed them to me.

"Thank you," I said; "now you may leave me."

He obeyed, saluted me without a word, and went out.

As soon as I found myself alone, not intending to restrain my feelings any more, I began to march about the drawing-room like a madman, and gave free vent to the outburst of a joy which overwhelmed me. I picked up from the carpet a ribbon dropped there by Kondjé-Gul, I pressed it to my lips with avidity; next some scattered flowers, with which Hadidjé and Zouhra had played.

Louis, I hope you do not expect me to analyse for your benefit all the extraordinary sensations which I experienced at that moment. The events which befel me verged upon the supernatural—the supernatural cannot be described—and I know not any legend, romance, or novel, relating to this world, which has ever treated such an astounding situation as that of which I was the hero. Those severe middle-class parents who give their daughters, for New Year's presents, M. Galland's "Arabian Nights," with illustrations of the amorous adventures of the Caliph of Bagdad, would find such a romance as mine quite too "strong," simply because the scene is not laid in Persia, or at Samarcand. Nevertheless, my story is identical in character, and the most modest young lady might read it without a frown, if only my name were Hassan instead of André.

Would you like to know everything that can agitate the mind of a mortal in such a position as mine? Listen, then.

When I had succeeded in reducing to some extent my exaltation of spirit, when I had at last persuaded myself of the reality of this splendid fairyland, I sat down with my elbows on the window-sill—I felt the need of a little fresh air. It was just striking midnight. What were they doing? Were they thinking of me, I wondered, as much as I was thinking of them? I began to examine the four keys which Mohammed had left me. Each key had a tiny label, with a letter and a name on it—Nazli, Zouhra, Hadidjé, or Kondjé-Gul. My eyes were still filled with their beauty. Although far from artless, I felt embarrassed in spite of myself, I might almost say shy. After the fascinations of this evening, I knew that I was in love; I loved with a strange passion suddenly developed; I loved to overflowing these beautiful beings, without being able to separate one from another. So completely were they mingled in my fancy, they might have possessed but one soul between them. By reason of my certitude of equal possession, Kondjé-Gul, Hadidjé, Nazli, and Zouhra constituted in my imagination a single existence, exhaling its unrivalled perfume of youth, beauty, and love.

All this may appear absurd to you. I daresay you are right, but I am only analysing for you an enchantment which still influences me like a dream. While longing for the virginal delights which awaited me, my tumultuous senses were plunged into certain apprehensions at once anxious and sweet. How am I to explain it to you? Sultan though I have been in my life, never before have I come in for such a delightful windfall of pleasures, my heart having been generally occupied, as you know, with much less worthy objects. All at once I was overwhelmed by the idea that they had doubtless misunderstood the reserve which I had affected in their company. According to their harem traditions, customs, and laws, I was their legitimate master and husband: was it not quite likely, then, that they believed me indifferent or even disdainful of their charms? Troubled at this reflection, I was seized with a dreadful pang of conscience. What could they suppose? Good heavens! Ought I to wait till the next day to dissipate their doubts, and justify myself for such strange coldness—coldness which may have seemed like indifference? I had no sooner conceived this thought than my desire concentrated itself upon one object, to see Kondjé-Gul again.

I knew all the domestic arrangements of El Nouzha. In the centre of the edifice is a vast circular hall, to which the daylight is admitted by a cupola of ground glass, supported by pillars of white marble. Lamps hanging between the pillars give out a mysterious light. Once arrived there, I listened. All was silent. I found Kondjé-Gul's chamber, and went close up to it. I listened again, with my ear to the door. An indistinct rustling which I heard, apprized me that she was not yet in bed. With key in hand, I still hesitated before opening. At last I made up my mind.

Picture to yourself a sweetly perfumed room, both rich and coquettish in its arrangements, lined with Indian silk hangings of gay colours, and illumined by the soft light of a small chandelier of three branches. In front of a large glass Kondjé-Gul was seated, her long hair reaching down to the floor. With her bare arms uplifted, and her head turned backwards, she held in her hand a golden comb. Seeing me, she uttered a little cry, got up with a bound, and blushing all the while, and fixing upon me her great frightened eyes, she rested motionless and almost in a tremble. Her agitation communicated itself to me.

"Did I frighten you?" I commenced, trying to speak with a firm voice; "and will you pardon me for coming in like this?"

She did not answer a word, but lowered her eyes, a smile glanced furtively over her lips, and then, with her hand on her bosom, she bowed to me.

"Kondjé-Gul! Dear Kondjé-Gul!" I exclaimed, touched to the depths of my soul by this act of submission.

And springing towards her, I took her in my arms to chase away her fears; I kissed her brow, which she offered to me, pressing her face against my bosom, with a lovely bashful look of alarm.

"You have come, then!" she whispered.

"Did you imagine I did not love you?" said I, as truly affected as she was.

At this question she raised her head with an inexpressible languor and smiled again, looking into my eyes, and so close that our lips met.

Louis, is it true that the ideal embraces the infinite, and that the human soul soars into regions so sublime that the blisses of this world below cannot satisfy it?... I did not want to quit the harem without having also seen Hadidjé, Zouhra, and Nazli. Poor little dears, no doubt they already fancied themselves disdained! I must dry up their tears.

You will understand by this time the complications in my uncle's will which have prevented me, these four months past, from finding a minute to write to you.

I will relate to you the incidents of this remarkable situation, of this quadruple passion by which I am possessed to such an extent that I am sincere in all my professions. You may tell me, if you like, from the commonplace standpoint of your own limited experiences, that it is all madness. I love, I adore, after the manner of a poet or a pagan—as you like, in fact—but what does it all amount to? My uncle, who was a Mussulman, leaves me his harem; what could I do?

If it should happen that your work leaves you a little leisure, don't come to Férouzat; you understand? That's what we sultans are like! The girls are dying to see Paris; very likely I shall turn up there one of these days.

I need hardly impress upon you, I suppose, the advisability of keeping this letter most carefully from the eyes of your wife.

CHAPTER II.

Madam, let me be very candid; I have a warm temperament, certainly—more so, perhaps, than an ordinary Provençal. I will confess to even more than this, if your grace so wills it, and I will not blush for it; but pray condescend to believe that I am also a respecter of conventional proprieties, and that I should feel most keenly the loss of your esteem in this regard. Now, from a few words of satirical wit, concealed like small serpents under the flowery condolences of your malicious letter, I concluded that this miserable fellow Louis, abandoning all considerations of delicacy, and at the risk of ruining my reputation, had played me a most abominable trick, by reading out to you all the nonsense which I wrote to him last week. You need not deny it! He confesses it to-day, unblushingly, in the budget of news which he sends me, adding that you "laughed over it." Good gracious! what can you have thought of me? After such a story, I certainly could never again look you in the face, but that I can clear myself by assuring you at once that all this tale was nothing but a mystification, invented as a return for some of his impertinent chaff regarding my uncle Barbassou's will. Louis fell into the trap like any booby. But for him to have drawn you with him, is enough to make me die of shame.

Madam, I prefer now to make my confession. I am not the hero of a romance of the Harem. I am a good young man, an advocate of morality and propriety, notwithstanding the fact that you have often honoured me with the title of "a regular original." Be so good as to believe, then, that the most I have been guilty of is a too artless simplicity of character. I did not suppose that Louis would show you this eccentric letter, for I had expressly enjoined him to keep it from you. My only crime therefore in all this matter has been that I forgot that a woman of your intelligence would read everything, when she had the mind to do so, and a husband like yours.

In fact, madam, I hardly know why I have taken the trouble to excuse myself with so much deliberation. I perceive that by such apologies I run the risk of aggravating my mistake. What did I write, after all, but a very commonplace specimen of those Arabian stories which girls such as you have read continually in the winter evenings, under the eyes of their delighted mothers? When I consider it, I begin to understand that your laughter, if you did laugh, must have been at the feebleness of my imagination—you compared it with the Palace of gold and the thousand wives of the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid.—But please remember, once more, that I am a poor Provençal and not a Sultan.

"My tastes are those of a simple bachelor."

Observe moreover that, out of regard for probability, no less than from respect for local colouring, I was obliged to decide upon a somewhat simple harem, and to confine it within the strictly necessary limits. Like a school-boy, falling in love with the heroine he has put into his story, I found myself so charmed with my fancy, that in order to further enjoy my pleasures of illusion, I determined not to overstep the limits of a perfectly realisable adventure.

But since I abandoned myself to this folly, does it not seem to you, reconsidering the matter, that a great deal would have been lost if such a romance had never occurred to me? And above all if it had stopped short at the first page? Is it not astonishing that no author had thought of writing such a thing before? Would not this have been just the work for a moralist and a philosopher, worthy at once of a poet and of a scholar? This poor world of ours, madam, moves in a narrow circle of passions and sensations, so limited that it seems to me as if every soul rather more lofty than the average must continually feel itself imprisoned. What felicity it must be, by a single flight of the imagination, to escape from this prison locked by prejudice! To fly away into the regions of dreamland! Slave of our civilized conventions, what bliss to run away unfettered into the shady paths of the pagan world, peopled with its merry, enchanting nymphs! Or again to wander, like a happy child of Asiatic climes in gardens of sycamores, where young sultanas bathe and disport themselves in basins of porphyry. The Bois de Boulogne is a charming place, no doubt, madam; but you will admit that it is inferior to the Valley of Roses, and that the painted and bedizened young women you see there will bear no comparison with my houris.

What, then? Does my thirst after the ideal merit any censure? Do not you consider, you who read novels, that it would, on the contrary, be an instructive as well as a curious study to follow up the strange incidents which would necessarily result from such a very natural conjunction of oriental love transferred to the midst of our own world? What contrasts they would provoke, and what strange occurrences! Does not the absence of such a study leave a void in our illustrious literature?

But I divine upon your lips a word which frightens me—"Immoral! Immoral!" you say.

Madam, this word shows me that you are strangely mistaken about my pure intentions. You are a woman of considerable intelligence; let us understand each other like philosophers or moralists. Suppose my name to be Hassan. You would read without the least ruffle on your brow the very simple narrative of my pretended amours, and if they were hindered by any untoward obstacles, you would perhaps accord them a small tribute of tears, such as you have doubtless shed over the misfortunes of poor Namouna. The question of morality therefore, is in this case simply a question of latitude, and the impropriety of my situation would disappear at once if I inhabited the banks of the Bosphorus, or some palace at Bagdad.

Perhaps you take your stand upon the more elevated ground of "sentiment?" Well, this is precisely the pyschological point of view that I am about to discuss, madam. Yes, if it were only in order to inquire whether the human soul freed from all constraint, is capable of infinite expansion, like a liberated gas. To mix positive and materialist science with etherialised sensualism, such is my object. A simple passion, we all know what that is; but to adore four women at a time—while so many honest folk are well content to love one only—this seems to me a praiseworthy aspiration, fit to inspire the soul of a poet who prides himself upon his gallantry, no less than the brain of a philosopher in search of the vital elixir and the sources of sensation. Such a study would, assuredly, be arduous and severe, and would at any rate not be without glory, as you will admit, if it should happen to terminate logically in the triumph of the sublime Christian love over pagan or Mahometan polygamy.

Again, madam, in reprimanding me for my poor little harem, do you mean to preach against King David, or the seven hundred wives of Solomon? Without going back to the biblical legends of these venerable sovereigns, have you not read the classics? In what respect, may I ask, is the poem of Don Juan more moral than my subject? And did good old Lafontaine drop any of his artless probity, when he dipped his pen into the Boccaccian inkpot? The morality of a given book, madam, depends entirely upon the morality of its author, who respects himself first by respecting his public, and who will not lead the latter into bad company, not wishing to corrupt it with bad sentiments.

It gives me pleasure to draw the picture of those ideal amours which every warm-blooded youth of twenty has at one time or other cherished in his thoughts; to substitute virginal charms and graces for vice and harlotry—and after the manner of those charming heathen poets who have so often filled our dreams with their fancies, to mingle the anacreontic with the idyllic. Open any of your moral stories, madam, and I'll wager my harem you will find that the interest in them is always kept up by adultery, in thought or in deed, which has been erected into a social institution! The same Minotaur has served for us since the time of Menelaus. Adultery, adultery, always adultery! it is as inevitable as it is monotonous!

Do you prefer the novel of the day, on the lives and habits of courtesans? revelations of the boudoir, where all is impure, venal, and degrading? No, madam, I won't proceed any farther, out of respect alike for you and for my pen.

Possibly your taste inclines you to those moralist's studies of "Woman," in which the author warns his readers on the first page that "he does not speak for chaste ears." Madam, it is my boast that I have never written a line which a virtuous woman might not read.... My book will certainly lose thereby in the circulation which it will obtain; but I shall console myself by the thought that if I sometimes cause you to smile, that smile will never be accompanied by a blush. Being the nephew of a Pasha, it struck me as a capital idea to lay the scene of a Turkish romance in Provence, and to found upon it a study in psychology. Every romance must be based upon love. Am I to be blamed, therefore, because oriental customs prescribe for lovers different modes of love? Confess, if you please, that my heroines are more poetic than the young women à la mode, into whose company I had as much right as any other author to conduct my hero if I had so chosen. I will excuse myself by saying, like the simpleton De Chamfort, "Is it my fault if I love the women I do love better than those I don't?"

P.S. Above all things, not a word to Louis about the mystification of which I am making him a victim.

You wretch! Here's a fine pickle you've got me into! What, after I confided to you the extraordinary adventures which I have passed through, relying upon your absolute secrecy and discretion, you go straight off and read my letter to your wife, at the risk of bringing upon me by your recklessness the most cruel gibes on the subject of my pasha-ship! Can't you see that if this story gets wind, Paris will be too hot a place for me? I shall become the butt of the Society journals and the halfpenny press, who will treat me as a most eccentric and romantic personage. Never more shall I be able to set foot in club, theatre, or private drawing-room, without being followed by the stares of the inquisitive and the quiet chaff of the ribald! I can picture myself already in the Bois, with all the loafers in my train pointing out "the man with the harem." Have you lost your senses, that you have betrayed me in this abominable fashion?

In all seriousness I now rely upon you to repair this blunder, by accepting, in the eyes of your wife, the part of one mystified, which I have made you assume. I wrote to her that not one word of this story is true, and that it is a romance I have been composing in order to occupy the leisure hours which I am forced to pass in the solitude of Férouzat, while the business connected with my inheritance is being wound up. In short, as I am positive that the first thing she will do will be to show you her letter, I expect you, if your friendship is good for anything, to pretend to believe it. Upon this condition only will I continue my confidences; and I suspend them until you have given me your word of honour to observe discretion.

Having received your promise, Louis, I now resume my narrative at the point where I broke off. Now you will see what you might have lost.

Just one word by way of preface.

I am relating to you, my dear friend, a story which is more especially remarkable for the multitude of unaccustomed sensations with which it abounds, and which I experience at every step—for my amourous adventures, as you will agree, bear no resemblance to the ready-made class of amours. It would really have been a great loss for the future of psychology, if the hero of such adventures had not happened to be, as I am, a philosopher capable of bringing to bear upon them powers of correct analysis.

First of all, if you wish really to understand the peculiarities of my situation, you must banish from your mind all that you have ever known of such amours as come within the reach of the poor Lovelaces of our everyday world. Those uncertain, ephemeral connections of lovers and mistresses whose only law is their caprice, and which mere caprice can dissolve; those immoral and dubious ties whose permanence nothing can guarantee, and in which one jostles one's rival of yesterday and of the morrow—in all amours of this sort there is something precarious and humiliating. With our habits and customs no secret, no mystery, is possible; for however loving or beloved a woman may be, her beauty is exposed to every eye. It is like the enjoyment of communal property. In my harem, on the contrary, the charms of Zouhra, Nazli, and Kondjé-Gul, concealed from all other eyes, have never excited any passions but mine; my tranquil possession is undisturbed by the anxious jealousies which recollections of a former rival always awaken. Nor is the future less assured than the present, for their lives are my property; they are my slaves, and I their master, in charge of their souls. So much for my preface; now I will proceed.

I will not disparage your powers of memory by reminding you that my interesting narrative was broken off au premier lendemain—at the first glimmer of our honeymoon. The complete bliss, the enchantment of such moments, is certainly the most exquisite thing I have experienced. First the timid blushes, then the growing boldness and the fresh impression of first sensations—all this and more, mingled with the contentment of entire possession. One gives oneself up entirely; all barriers are broken down by love—participation in one tender secret has already united the lovers' souls, which seek each other and mingle together in a common existence.

I had returned to the château before my people were up; after a bath I slept again, and did not wake before noon. I breakfasted, and then waited till two o'clock before returning to El-Nouzha. Too great a haste would have seemed to indicate a want of delicacy, and I wished to show that I was discreet as well as passionate; this time of day seemed appropriate from both points of view.

To describe to you the condition of my feelings would be about as easy, you may imagine, as to describe a display of fireworks. There are certain perturbations of the heart which defy analysis. The enchantment which held me spell-bound, intoxicated my mind like fumes of haschisch, and I could hardly recognise myself in this fairy-world character; it required an effort on my part to assure myself of my own identity, and that I was not misled by a dream. No, it was myself sure enough! Then I remembered that I was going to see them again. My darlings were waiting for me. No doubt they had already exchanged confidences. What kind of reception should I have? My duties as Sultan were so new to me that I trembled lest I should commit some mistake which would lower me in their eyes; I was walking blindfold in this paradise of Mahomet, of whose laws I was ignorant. Ought I to maintain the dignified bearing of a vizir, or abandon myself to the tender attitudes of a lover? In my perplexities I was almost tempted to send for Mohammed-Azis, to request of him a few lessons in deportment as practised by the Perfect Pasha of the Bosphorus; but perhaps he would disturb my happiness? As to introducing a hierarchy into my harem, I would not hear of such a thing; for to tell the truth, the choice of a favourite would be an impossibility for me. I loved them all four with an equal devotion, and could not even bear the thought of their being reduced to three without feeling the misery of an unsatisfied love.

At last the hour having arrived without my mind being decided, I wisely determined to act as circumstances might dictate, and started off in the direction of my harem. I think I have already told you that a small door of which I alone possess the key, communicates between my park and El-Nouzha. From this door a sort of labyrinth leads to the Kasre by a single narrow alley, which one might take for a disused path. When I reached the last turn in this alley which terminates in the open gardens, I perceived under the verandah Mohammed-Azis, who seemed to be watching me—he ran towards me with an eager and delighted appearance, and salem aleks without end.

By his first words I gathered that he knew all.

When I asked after them, he told me that I was expected; then all at once I heard merry voices, followed by the noise of hurrying footsteps mingled with rustlings of silk dresses. Soon I saw coming out under the verandah, struggling together to be the first to reach me, Hadidjé, Nazli, Kondjé-Gul and Zouhra; they threw themselves into my arms all four at once, laughing like children, hugging me, and holding up their rosy lips, each vying with the other for my first kiss. What laughter, what merry, bird-like warbling of voices! And all this with the natural abandonment of youth and simplicity—I was about to say innocence—so much so that I was quite taken aback. But all of a sudden, at a word from Mohammed, who was looking at us affectionately, and more and more delighted every minute, they stopped quite confused. He had, no doubt, reprimanded them for some breach of decorum, for they, slipping gently aside, held their hands up to their foreheads. You may guess I soon cut short these respectful formalities, by drawing them back into my arms.... Whereupon renewed laughter and merriment ensued, accompanied with little glances of triumph at poor Mohammed, who assumed a scandalised expression, lifting up his hands as if to make Heaven a witness that he was not responsible for this neglect of all Oriental etiquette! After this scene, you will easily understand that I did not trouble my head any more about the difficulties which I had anticipated in my family duties. I had apprehended a very delicate situation, aggravated by growing jealousies; by the susceptibilities of rivals, offended airs, perhaps even the reproaches and tears of betrayed love.

Five minutes later we were running about the gardens. Having only arrived two days before, they had not yet been outside the harem. The sight of their domain pleased them immensely, and their young voices prattled away with a musical volubility fit to gladden the hearts of the very birds. At each step they made some new discovery, some bed of flowers, or some shady path at the bottom of which the sound of a waterfall could be heard, carried off by sparkling brooks running on beds of moss over the whole length of the park until they lost themselves in the lake; over these brooks were placed at intervals little foot-bridges painted in bright colours. All these things gave rise to questions. Naturally Kondjé-Gul was always the interpreter; they all listened, opening their eyes wide; then they started off again, plucking flowers from the bushes, which they placed in their hair, in their bosoms, and round their necks. In order to attract my admiration for these adornments, each of them kept running up to me as if she wanted a kiss.

If you want to know the thoughts and feelings of a mortal under these circumstances, I must confess that it is quite beyond my power to explain them to you. I was bewildered, captivated, and surprised by such novel sensations that without reflection or conscious analysis, I simply abandoned myself to them. If you wish to understand them, my dear fellow, you must first acquire some æsthetic notions which, artist though you are, you do not yet possess; you must familiarise yourself with these entirely exotic charms of the daughters of the East, their youthful simplicity and ease combined with a certain voluptuous nonchalance, the undulating movements of their hips acquired by the habit of moving about in Oriental slippers, their lissom and feline graces, and the overwhelming fascination of their languishing eyes. You must see them in these strange picturesque costumes, so artistically revealing their graceful forms, in wide silk trousers, tied round at the ankles, and drawn in at the waist by a rich scarf of golden gauze: you must see them in their jackets embroidered with pearls, and open bodices of Broussan silk transparent as gauze; or in the long robe open in front, the train of which they hold up by fastening it to the waist when they want to walk about freely—all these things in soft well-toned colours, blending wonderfully together. It was a dazzling scene of fresh beauty and strange enchantment, such as I cannot attempt to describe.

Once we arrived at the end of a ravine, where we were obliged to cross the brook by stepping-stones set in its bed. Thereupon they cried out with fright. I prevailed upon Zouhra, who seemed to be the bravest, to cross holding my hand. Hadidjé followed her; but when it came to Nazli's turn, the timid creature hung to my neck as if terrified by some great danger; so I took her up in my arms and carried her across to the opposite side. Kondjé-Gul, like a coquette that she is, followed her example.

"Oh! carry me too," she cried.

As I was holding her over the brook, one of her slippers fell into the water. You may guess how they laughed; there was Kondjé-Gul hopping about on one foot while I was fishing out the little sandal, which I had to dry in order to avoid wetting her soft green-silk stocking.

It was one of the most charming spots in the park: a great carpet of turf shaded by a clump of sycamores. We all sat down....