In the detailed account which I gave you, my dear Louis, of my honeymoon, I described pretty nearly the history of every day which has passed since I last wrote. “Happy nations have no history,” said a wise man; happiness requires no description. First then, you must understand that I am now writing after recovery from the natural excitement into which my strange adventures had plunged me. Three months have passed; I am now enjoying my life like a refined vizir, and no longer like a simple troubadour of Provence, transported of a sudden into the Caliph’s harem. I have recovered my analytical composure.

As you may well imagine I set to work, after the second day, to learn Turkish, an easy task after my studies in Sanscrit. Add to this that, with the aid of love, my houris have learnt French, with all the marvellous facility and linguistic instinct of the Asiatic races. You will not be astonished to learn, then, that I can now share with them all the pleasures of conversation; a happy result which will permit me henceforth to furnish a more complete description of their different characters.

Having said this, I will give you in the present letter, with a view of enabling you to understand this narrative more perfectly, the most precise details upon the following subjects:

First The organisation, laws, and internal regulations of my harem;

Second Full-length portraits of my odalisques, and a description of their characters;

Third A careful dissertation upon the advantages of polygamy, and its applicability to the moral regeneration of mankind.

I will first confess, without any presumption, that the ingenious system established for the conduct of my harem is all due to my uncle Barbassou, who, as much as any man in the world, was always particularly careful to maintain what the English term “respectability.” In the eyes of the whole neighbourhood, nay, even of my own household, Mohammed-Azis is an exile, a person of high political rank, to whom my uncle had given a hospitable retreat.

Barbassou-Pasha always addressed him respectfully as “Your Excellency,” nor did any servant in the chateau speak in different terms of him. He had had the misfortune to lose one of his daughters so the story goes for he seems to have had originally five. Whether his daughters are young or old, no one knows. In the interior of the Kasre all the services are performed by Greek women, who do not know a word of French; they never go out of doors. The gardeners have to leave the gardens at nine o’clock in the morning. All these arrangements, as you will perceive, are extremely correct. The story about Mohammed is a very plausible one; his solemn and melancholy expression together with his solitary life, are thoroughly in conformity with the fallen grandeur of a minister in disgrace. He is writing, according to report, a memoir in justification of his conduct. He works at it both day and night, and it is well-known that I very often sit up quite late with him, in order to assist him in this task.

As for me, I do not suppose you imagine that, like the Knight Tannhauser on the Venusberg, I am continually wasting my spirit and my strength over what Heine calls “the sweets and dainties of love;” or that the philtres of Circe have transformed me into a hog like the companions of Ulysses. Go gently, my dear fellow! I am a representative of the learned cohort, please to remember! I keep a careful diary of my observations, from which I intend to draw up a report for the Academy. Like those bold investigators of pathological science who inoculate themselves with a deadly virus in order to study its effects upon themselves, I, a serious analytical student, am devoting myself to a course of experiments in pure sensualism, to the sole profit of Science. Without restrictions, but in full consciousness of the high mission which I have undertaken; without cheating myself with too small a dose of the intoxicating draught, I act like an honest Epicurean. I take of the voluptuous delights of my harem as large a dose as an intelligent and refined student of nature ought to require, but without imprudently overstraining the springs of sensation. Armed with the dexterity of superior wisdom, I, floating on this Oriental stream of Love, know how to remain faithful to my charge, by avoiding the rocks of satiety and the shipwreck of illusions.

Every day then, about three o’clock, after having devoted the morning to my business affairs or to my “Essays on Psychology,” I go to El-Nouzha, and stay there usually until the middle of the night. However, I sometimes go there of a morning, for a bath; I am teaching my houris to swim. I must tell you that in this matter, indispensable for the comfort of the sultanas, Barbassou-Pasha designed a marvel. In the middle of an island in the lake (which is taken from the delightful garden of See-ma-Kouang, the famous Chinese poet), picture to yourself a great marble basin surrounded by a circular arcade, a sort of atrium open to the sky. Under a colonnade and in its cool shade, a fine Manilla mat covers the flag-stones. The base of the inner walls is enlivened with frescoes, after Pompeian and Herculanean models. Round the white pillars cling myrtles and climbing roses, reaching up to the terrace ornamented with vases and statues, which stand out in relief against a mass of purple drapery. Here are set capacious divans in leather, hammocks, carpets, and cushions to recline upon. Such is the aspect of this enchanting place. On many a hot morning we have breakfasted there, and it is from there that I write to you to-day, dressed in a Persian robe with wide sleeves, while around me sports my harem; affording me, therefore, an excellent excuse for at once proceeding to sketch the portraits of my almées.

In all beings the internal character is so closely allied to the external form, that it appears to be only an equation of the latter. Thus certain features of the face announce peculiarities of nature, inclinations, and instincts even to the vulgar; the physiologist, with his more special knowledge, discovers quite a series of concealed revelations in the innermost recesses of that pretty sphinx which constitutes God’s masterpiece, and which we call woman. In the same way grace is always the result of the harmony of lines; from the slightest outline, from the position of a dimple, or the tension of a smile, from a glance, or from the most transient gesture, one can always trace the origin of a feeling, and lay bare the mind. Thus, at this moment, I behold Hadidje leave the water, and saunter quietly in the direction of Nazli and Zouhra, who are reclining on cushions and smoking cigarettes. By the air of indifference that she affects I could wager that she contemplates playing them some trick!

And indeed, when close to the smokers, she suddenly shook her hair. The two others jumped up under the spray of sparkling water, and ran after her, beating her with their fans and fly-flaps.

Kondje-Gul, the heedless beauty, who is rocking herself in her hammock beside me, scarcely raises her lazy head to follow them with a glance, at the sound of their cries and laughter. Since her name is at the end of my pen, I will begin my series of portraits with her.

Kondje-Gul is a Circassian by race. Her name in Turkish signifies a variety of rose which we are not acquainted with in France; she was brought when quite a child to Constantinople by her mother, attached to the service of a cadine of the Sultan. She is now eighteen. Imagine the Caucasian type in the flower of its beauty, tall, with the figure of a young goddess, an expression of natural indolence which appears to indicate a consciousness of her sovereign beauty, and a fine head crowned with thick chestnut hair falling down to her waist. Her features are clean cut, and of a remarkably pure type. Large brown eyes with heavy eyelids, imparting a languishing expression; lips somewhat sensual, which from her habit of carrying her head erect, she seems always to be holding out for a kiss; a mixture of Greek beauty with a strange sort of grace peculiar to this Tcherkessian race, which still remains a trifle savage. All these characteristics make up an ensemble both exotic and marvellous, which I could no more describe to you than I could explain the scent of the lily. Of a loving and tender nature, she exhibits the disposition of a child in whom ardent impulses are united with a profound gentleness of sentiment. She is the jealous one of my household but, hush! the others know nothing of this.... Certainly she is the most remarkable and the most perfect of my little animals.

Hadidje is a Jewess of Samos, a Jewess of a type singularly rare among the descendants of Israel. She is a blonde of a mingled tint, soft and golden, of which the Veronese blonde will give you no idea. Her beauty is undoubtedly one of those effects of selection and crossing admitted as the foundation of Darwin’s system.... England has left her trace there! Picture to yourself one of those “Keepsake” girls escaped from Byron’s “Bride of Abydos” or his “Giaour;” take some such charming creature, fair and fresh-complexioned, white and pink, and plunge her in the atmosphere of the harem, which will orientalise her charms and give her that whatever it is which characterises the undulating fascinations of the sultanas.

My dear friend, an incredible event has happened an event astounding, unheard of, supernatural! Don’t try to guess; you will never succeed, never! It surpasses the most prodigious and miraculous occurrence ever imagined by human brain.

Yesterday I had broken off my letter, distracted by Hadidje, at the very moment when I was tracing her portrait for you. The day passed away before I again found leisure to finish it. This morning I was breakfasting at the chateau all alone in my study, where I generally have my meals, in order not to interrupt my work. While I was ruminating over the last number of a scientific magazine, my ear was struck by the noise of a carriage rolling over the gravel walk. As I very seldom receive visits, and my friend George, the spahi, always comes on foot, I thought it must be my notary coming to stir me up about some business matters; he had been reproaching me the last fortnight for neglecting them. The carriage stopped in front of the doorsteps. I heard the servants running across the antichamber. Suddenly I heard a cry, followed by confused voices, which sounded as though trembling with fright, and finally fresh sounds of steps, rushing headlong, as in a sudden rout. Wondering what this might mean, I listened, when all of a sudden a stentorian voice shouted out these words:

“But what’s the matter with those blockheads? How much longer are they going to leave me here with my bag?”

Louis, imagine my amazement and stupefaction! I thought I recognised the voice of my dead uncle, which in the brazen notes of a trumpet grew louder and louder, adding in a pompous, commanding tone

“Francois! if I catch you, you rascal, you’ll soon know what for!”

I jump up, run to the window, and see quite distinctly my uncle, Barbassou Pasha himself.

“Hullo! you here, my boy?” says he.

As for me, I leap over the balcony, and fall into his arms; he lifts me up from the ground, as if I were a child, and we embrace each other. You may guess my emotion, my surprise, my transports of joy! The servants watched us from a distance, frightened and not yet daring to approach near.

“Ah, well!” repeated my uncle; “what on earth’s the matter with them? Have I grown any horns?”

“I will explain everything,” I said; “come in, while they take up your luggage.”

“All right!” he replied; “and get some breakfast for me, quick! I’m as hungry as a wolf.”

All this was said with the dignity of a man who never allows himself to be surprised at anything, and in that meridional accent, the ring of which is sufficient to betray the origin of the man. My uncle speaks seven languages; at Paris, as you know, he pronounces with the pure accent of a Parisian, but directly he sets foot in Provence, that’s all over; he resumes his brogue, or as they call it down here, the assent.

He came in, stepping briskly, and holding his head erect; I followed him. Once in my study, and seeing the table laid, he sat down as naturally as if he had just returned from a walk in the park, poured out two large glasses of wine, which he swallowed one after the other with a gulp of deep satisfaction; and then made a cut at a pie, which he attacked in a serious manner, rendering it quite impossible to mistake him for a spectre. I let him alone, still contemplating him with amazement. When I considered him ready to answer my questions, I said

“Well, uncle, where have you come from?”

“Te! I come from Japan, you know very well,” he answered, just as if he were referring to the chief town of the department; “only I have dawdled a bit on the way, which prevented me from writing to you.”

“And during the last five months what has happened to you?”

“Pooh! I made an excursion into Abyssinia, in order to see the Negus, who owed me two hundred thousand francs. He has not paid me, the scamp! But how odd you do look! And that great arleri, Francois! how he stares at me with his full round eyes, as if I were going to swallow him up. Is there anything so very fierce about me? Hullo, you have altered my livery!” he went on; “they all look like ecclesiastics; have you taken orders, then?”

“Why, uncle, these five months past we have been in mourning for you.”

“In mourning for me? You must be joking!”

“These five months past we have believed you to be dead, and have received all the documents proving your death!”

“Perhaps these documents informed you that I was buried, then?” he added, without changing countenance.

“Why, yes, certainly!” I said. “We have also the certificate of your interment!”

At this my uncle Barbassou could restrain himself no longer, and was seized with one of those fits of silent laughter which are peculiar to him.

“In this case you would be my heir?” he said, in the middle of his transport of gaiety, which hardly permitted him to speak.

“I am already, my dear uncle,” I replied, “and am in possession of all your property!”

This reply put the finishing touch to his hilarity, and he started off again into such a fit of laughter that I was caught by it, and so was Francois.

But suddenly my uncle stopped, as if some reflection had crossed his mind, and seizing my hand with a sudden impulse he said:

“Ah! but now I think of it, my poor boy, you must have experienced a severe blow of grief!”

This was said with such frank simplicity, and proceeded so evidently from a heart guiltless of any dissimulation, that I swear to you I was stirred to the bottom of my soul; my eyes filled with tears, and I threw myself on to his neck to thank him.

“Well, well!” he said, patting me on the shoulder to calm me, while he held me in his arm; “never mind, old fellow, now that I’m back again!”

When breakfast was finished and the table cleared, we remained together alone.

“Come, uncle, as soon as you have explained to me what has happened to lead to this story of your death, the next thing will be to take early steps for your resuscitation.”

“Take steps!” he exclaimed, “and for why?”

“Why, to re-establish your civil status and your rights of citizenship as a live person.”

“Oh, they’ll find out soon enough, when they see me, that I don’t belong to the other world!” said he, quite calmly.

“Now that you are regarded as defunct, you will not be able to do anything, to sign, to contract ”

“So, so! Never mind all that. Barbassou-Gratien-Claude-Anatole doesn’t trouble himself about such trifles.”

“But your estates?” I said; “your property which I have inherited?”

“Have you paid the registration fees?” he asked me, in a serious tone.

“Certainly I have, uncle.”

“Well! Do you want to put me to double expense for the benefit of the government, which will make you pay it all over again at my real death?”

“What is it you mean to do, then?” said I.

“You shall keep them! Now’s your turn,” he added, in a chaffing tone; “all these forty years I have had the worry of them; it’s your turn now, young man! You shall manage them, and make them your business; it will be for you now to pay my expenses and all that!”

“I hope you don’t dream of such a thing, my dear uncle!” I exclaimed. “Why even, supposing that I continue to manage your property ”

“Excuse me,” he said, “your property! It is yours, the fees having been duly paid.”

“Well, our property, if you like,” I replied, with a laugh; “all the same, I repeat you cannot remain smitten with civil death.”

“Bah! Bah! Political notions! But first explain to me how I come to be dead that puzzles me.”

I then related to him what I have told you of this strange story; the notary’s letter informing me of the cruel news brought by my uncle’s lieutenant Rabassu, confirmed by the most authentic documents, and accompanied by a portfolio containing all his papers and letters, securities in his name, and agreements signed by him; proving, in short, an identity which it was impossible to dispute.

“My papers!” he exclaimed. “They were not lost then?”

“I have them all,” I replied.

“I begin to understand! It’s all the fault of that stupid Lefebure.”

“Who is this Lefebure?” I asked.

“I am going to tell you,” replied my uncle; “the whole thing explains itself and becomes clear. But I wonder, did not Rabassu with the news of my death bring some camels?”

“Not a single camel, uncle.”

“That’s odd! However, sit down, and I will tell you all about it.”

I sat down, and my uncle gave me the following narrative. I write it out for you faithfully, my dear Louis; but what I cannot render for you, is the inimitable tone of tranquillity in which he related it, just as if he were describing a fête at a neighbouring village.

“In returning from Japan,” he said, “I must tell you that I put in at Java. Of course I landed there. On the pier-head, I recognised Lefebure, a sea-captain and an old friend of mine; he had given up navigation in order to marry a mulattress there, who keeps a tobacco-shop. I said to him ‘Hullo, how are you?’ He embraces me and answers that he is very dull. ‘Dull?’ I reply, ’well, come along with me to Toulon for a few days; my ship is in the harbour here, I will give you a berth in her, and send you home next month by “The Belle-Virginie!” My proposal delights him, but his answer is that it is impossible. ’Impossible? Why?’ ‘Because I have a wife who would not hear of it!’ ’We must see about that,’ I say to him. Well, we go to their shop; the wife makes a scene, cries and screams, calling him all sorts of names, and they fight over it. At last, while they are taking a moment’s rest, I add that I shall weigh anchor at six o’clock in the evening. ’I will wait for you until five minutes past six,’ I say; and then I go off to my business. At six o’clock I weighed anchor, and began to tack about a bit. At 6:10 I was off, when I saw a barque approaching. I gave the order ‘Stop her.’ It was Lefebure, who was making signs to us to stop. He comes up, gets on board, and off we go.”

Fifteen days after that we put in at Ceylon for a few hours. On the twenty-sixth day, as we arrived in sight of Aden, we observed a good deal of movement in the harbour. There was an English man-of-war displaying an admiral’s flag, which they were saluting. On shore I learnt that she was carrying a Commission sent out to make some diplomatic representations to the Negus of Abyssinia. And who should I meet but Captain Picklock, one of my old friends whose acquaintance I made at Calcutta, where he was in one of the native regiments. He informed me that he was in command of the escort accompanying the envoys. I said to Lefebure ’By the by, the Negus owes me some money shall we go and make a trip there?’ Lefebure replied, ’By all means let us!’ I bought four horses and half-a-dozen camels, which I sent on board with my provisions; and we started with the envoys. We had some amusement on the way. I knew the country very well myself, but when we were half-way, at Adoua, where we halted for half a day, Lefebure picks up with an Arab woman. He wants to stay with her until the next day, and says to me, ’Go on with the captain; I will join you again to-morrow with the convoy of baggage.’ I started off accordingly. Next day, no Lefebure. That annoyed me rather, because he had kept the camels. However, I continued my journey, thinking that I should find him again on my return. Finally I arrived at the Negus’s capital, just in time to hear that they were on the point of dethroning him. My intention was to apply to the English commissioners to help me in getting my little business settled. I found, however, that my portfolio and papers were with Lefebure, who had the baggage; fortunately, I still had the gold which I carry in my belt. Then I naturally availed myself of this opportunity to go off and wander about the interior, as far as Nubia, where I had some acquaintances. I commissioned Captain Picklock to tell Lefebure to come on and join me at Sennaar, with the camels. So off I go, and arrive in ten days’ time at Sennaar, where I find the King of Nubia, who was not very happy about the political situation; he treats me very hospitably, and I buy ivory and ostrich feathers of him.

Three weeks go by, but no Lefebure! So I naturally avail myself of the delay, for pushing on a bit into Darfour; when, lo and behold! just like my luck, on the ninth day, as I am entering the outskirts of El-Obeid in Kordofan, I am met by a predatory tribe of Changallas! They surround me; I try to defend myself, and a great burly rascal jumps at my throat, and trips me up. I feel that I am being strangled by him; I deal him a blow in the stomach with my fist, and he tumbles backwards; only, as his hand still grips my throat, he drags me down with him; the others attack me at the same time, and I am captured! My blow appears to have been the death of the negro which did not mend matters for me. They thrust me, bound fast like a bundle of wood, into a sort of shed, after robbing me of all my gold.

I was carefully guarded. At the end of eight days I said to myself, ’Barbassou, your ship lies in the harbour of Aden; you have business to attend to, and you won’t get out of your present scrape without conciliatory negotiations. You must resign yourself to a sacrifice!’ I send for the chief, and offer him as my ransom a cask containing fifty bottles of rum, ten muzzle-loading guns, and two complete uniforms of an English general. This offer tempts him; but as I ask him first of all to have me safe conducted to the King of Nubia, he answers that if once I got there I should send him about his business. They confined me in a pit, where I had only rice and bananas to eat, to which I am not at all partial. As to the women, they are monkeys. However, after four months of negotiations we came to an agreement that I should be conveyed back to Sennaar, where I engaged upon my word of honour to give guarantees.

I set off, still bound fast, with ten men to guard me. After a fortnight we arrive in the town. I enquire for Lefebure. No Lefebure. I then go to the king’s palace but he had just started off on a week’s hunting expedition. However, I find the sheik who was in command of the town, and relate my difficulty to him. He informs me that the treasury is closed. I tell my guards that they can return, and that I will have my ransom sent from Aden, but that does not content them; one of them seizes hold of me by the arm, but I gave him a good hiding. Finally the sheik furnishes me with an escort, and I return to Gondar. The English had gone back, and I started on my voyage across to Aden. When I reached Adoua, where I had left my friend Lefebure, I asked for him. Again no Lefebure! However, I had the luck to find his Arabian sweetheart, whom I questioned about him. Her reply is, that the very day I left him, the stupid fellow went and caught a sunstroke, of which he died the same day. I inquire after my baggage and my camels. No baggage, no camels! They had all been forwarded to the Governor of Aden.

“When I arrived at Aden, the Governor told me that everything which had been received had been sent on board my ship, including the papers found on my friend, and that a certificate of death had been duly drawn up, which my lieutenant was instructed to convey to the family. I asked no more questions, and wrote at once a little note of condolence to Lefebure’s wife. I sent the agreed ransom to my Changallas, and at the same time a letter of complaint to the King of Nubia. Altogether, it was four months since my ship had left Aden. The following day I took the mail boat to Suez arrived last night at Marseilles and here I am!”

“Yes, indeed,” I said to my uncle, when he had concluded; “that explains it all. They drew up the certificate of decease according to the papers found on your friend Lefebure, and as they were yours ”

“Why, they mistook him for me; and that ass Rabassu went off with the ship to bring the notary the news of my death.”

“That’s clear,” I added.

“But what puzzles me most,” replied he, “is to know what has become of my camels!”

As you may well imagine, my dear Louis, this unexpected resurrection of my uncle plunged me into a state of excitement, which took entire possession of me. I could not see enough of him, or hear enough of him; and all that day I so completely forgot everything which did not concern him, that I did not even think of moving outside the chateau. I followed him from room to room, and kept looking at him, for I felt the need of convincing myself that he was really alive. As to him, quickly recovering from the very transitory astonishment into which the news of his supposed death had thrown him, he had resumed that splendid composure, which you remember in him. He superintended all his little arrangements, and unpacked all his boxes, full of all sorts of articles from Nubia, whistling all the while fragments of bamboulas which were still ringing in his ears.

After dinner in the evening, he said to me, stretching out his long legs over the divan, with the air of a man who loves his ease:

“By Jove, it’s very snug here! If you like, we will stay down here several weeks.”

“As many weeks as you like, uncle,” I answered “months even!”

“Well done! But,” he continued, “won’t you be rather dull? for, unless you have some little distraction ”

“Ah!” I exclaimed, remembering all at once my harem; “I forgot to tell you about this little affair!”

“What affair?” he said. “Have you found your distraction already, then?”

“I should just think I have, uncle!”

“Is she pretty?”

“Why, I have four!”

At this information my uncle did not raise his eyebrows any more than if I had told him that I was occupying my leisure by practising the rustic flute; he only stretched out his arm, took my hand and shook it smartly in the English fashion, saying,

“My compliments, my dear fellow! I beg your pardon for my indiscretion.”

“But, my dear uncle, I have quite a long story to tell you!” I added, not without a certain embarrassment “ and it is your death again that has been the cause of it!”

“How was that? Tell me all about it.”

“You know, your Turkish pavilion Kasre-el-Nouzha?”

“I know, well?”

“Well, four months ago, Mohammed-Azis arrived there.”

“Hullo!” he said, “Mohammed?”

“Yes, and you had entrusted him with a a commission,” I continued.

“True,” he exclaimed, “I had forgotten that!”

“Well, then, uncle ”

“He had accomplished his commission, I suppose,” continued he.

“Yes,” I replied. “And as you were dead, and Mohammed’s commission formed part of my inheritance from you, I thought that it was my duty ”

“Bigre!” said my uncle, “you know how to act the heir very well, you do!”

“Why indeed ” I continued, “remember that I could not suppose ”

“In short you’ve done it,” said he, “and it’s all over, so don’t let us say anything more about it! And once more, forgive me. Now that I know all about it, nothing more need be said. Turks never discuss harem matters. Only,” he added, “in order to avoid the necessity of returning to the subject, let me now recommend you to keep Mohammed; you understand? He knows the run of the ropes. And in order to make everything safe, as it would not do for me to be seen about there any more, tell him to come and see me.”

“Do you wish me to send for him at once?”

“No, no, to-morrow will do. We have plenty of time. Come, give me a little music, will you? Play me something from Verdi ”

And he began to hum in his bass voice, slightly out of tune, snatches from the air:

“Parigi o cara, noi lasceremo.”

We passed a charming evening together, what with conversation, music, and cards. He won three francs of me at piquet, with a ridiculous display of triumph. About twelve o’clock I took him to his bedroom. When he was ready to get into bed, he exclaimed:

“Te! I have some securities here which I had forgotten!” And taking a penknife, he proceeded to cut the stitches of his coat lining, from which he drew out some papers.

“See!” he said, as he held them out to me, “here are seven hundred thousand francs’ worth of bills on London and Paris. You shall get them cashed.”

“Very well, uncle,” I replied. “And what do you want me to do with the money?”

“Oh, upon my word, that’s your affair, my pichoun! You may be sure, now that you have come into your inheritance, I am not going to be troubled with such matters!”

“Well, at least advise me about them.”

“But, my good fellow, that means that I am still to have all the bother about them . After all,” he continued, “keep the money if you like it will do for my pocket money.”

Thereupon he went to bed, I wished him good night, and was about to leave the room, when he called me back.

“Come here, Andre! Write, if you please, to the notary and ask him to come here to-morrow.”

“Ah!” I replied, “you’re coming round to that at last!”

“I am coming round to nothing whatever!” he exclaimed, in a most decided tone. “Only I want to know what has become of my camels! As you may guess, I intended to present them to the Zoological Society. I must have them found! Good night!”

I should certainly annoy you, my dear Louis, if I were to endeavour to impress upon you the full significance of the amazing events through which I have passed during these four months. I don’t know of a single mortal who has experienced more original adventures. The dreadful letter from the notary, my installation at Ferouzat, my uncle’s will, the harem tumbling down upon me from Turkey, the entering into complete possession of my fortune, and the whole crowned by the return of the deceased. Certainly you will agree with me that these are incidents which one does not meet with in everyday life. Nevertheless, if you want to know my ideas about them, I confess that they seem to me at the present moment to be nothing but the Necessary and the Contingent of philosophers, in their simplest application. I would go so far as to assert that, to a nephew of my uncle, things could not fall so to happen, for it would show a want of training in the most elementary principles of logic, to exhibit surprise at such little adventures, when once Barbassou-Pasha has been introduced on the scene as Prime Cause. The substratum of my uncle so powerfully influences my destiny, that to my mind it would seem quite paradoxical to expect the same things ever to happen to me as to any other man. Cease being astonished, therefore, at any strange peculiarities in my life, even if they be eccentric enough to shock a rigidly constituted mind. Like those erratic planets which deviate occasionally from their course, I move around the remarkable star called Barbassou-Pasha, and he draws me into his own eccentric orbit. In spite of a semblance of romantic complications among the really simple facts which I have related to you, I defy you to discover in them the slightest grain of inconsistency. They can be perfectly well accounted for by the most natural causes and the most ordinary calculations of common sense. Cease your astonishment, therefore, unless you wish to fall into the lowest rank in my estimation.

Having postulated the fact that I am the nephew of my uncle, I will now return to the summarising of my situation. Well, my late uncle had come to life again, but he wanted to keep all the advantages of his status as a dead man, by obliging me to remain in possession of his property. I had just said “good night” to him, while he was dreaming about his camels. Nothing could be less complicated than that. If all that is not in strict conformity with the character of Barbassou (Claude Anatole), I know nothing about him. Nevertheless, it was only natural that the day celebrated by his return should give birth to some other incidents of importance.

I had just left my uncle, and was walking towards the library to write at once to the notary, when Francis informed me that a woman from the Kasre had been waiting an hour to see me. One of the Greek servants came sometimes to the chateau, either with messages or to await my orders. I concluded at once that, not having seen me either during the day or in the evening, my little animals had grown anxious and were sending to inquire after me. I went to my room, where Francis said the woman was. As I entered I saw her standing up, motionless, near the window, wrapped in her great black feridjie; but I had hardly shut the door behind me when, all at once, I heard a cry and sobs. The feridjie fell down, and I recognised Kondje-Gul, who threw herself on to my neck and seized me in her arms with signs of the deepest despair.

“Good gracious!” I said, “is that you? You come here?”

Breathless and suffocated with tears, she could not answer me. I guessed, rather than heard, these words:

“I have run away! I have come to die with you!”

“But you are mad, dear, quite mad!” I exclaimed. “Why should you die? What has happened then?”

“Oh, we know all!” she continued. “Barbassou-Pasha has returned. He is a terrible man. He is going to kill you; us also; Mohammed also!”

And raving with fear she clung to me with all her strength, just as if she were already threatened with death.

“But, my dear child,” I said, “this is all madness who in the world has told you such nonsense?”

“Mohammed. He heard of the Pasha’s return he has hidden himself.”

“But my uncle is a very kind man he adores me, and does not even intend to see you. Nothing will be changed for us by his return.”

Seeing me so calm, she was gradually reassured. Still she was too much possessed by her Turkish notions to believe all at once in such a departure from correct oriental usages.

“Well then,” she said as she dried her tears, “he will only kill Mohammed?”

“Not even Mohammed!” I exclaimed, with a smile. “Mohammed is a poor coward, and I will give him a bit of my mind to-morrow, so that he shan’t worry you with any more nonsense of this kind.”

“You don’t mean it?” she replied. “Then he will only get a beating?”

I was about to protest, when I perceived by her first words that she suspected I wanted to play upon her credulity. There was thus a danger of reviving her worst fears, for she would not believe any more of my assurances. I contented myself therefore with promising to intercede with Barbassou-Pasha. Once convinced that Mohammed’s punishment would extend no further than his hind-quarters, she troubled herself no more about it, but with the characteristic volatility of these little wild creatures, began to chatter and examine all the things in my room, touching and feeling everything with an insatiable curiosity.

“Come now, you must go home,” I said to her, not wishing this little excursion of hers to be discovered.

“Oh, no! Oh, no!” she cried, with childlike delight. “It’s your home do let me look at it!”

“Oh, but you must go and comfort Zouhra, Nazli, and Hadidje!”

“They are asleep,” she said. “I want to stay a little time here alone with you! Besides,” she added, with a little frightened look still lingering on her face, “suppose Barbassou-Pasha has been deceiving you, suppose he is coming to kill you to-night?”

“But once more I tell you, dear, you are mad!”

“Well then, why send me back so soon?”

“Because it is not proper for you to leave the harem,” I answered. “Come along, off you go!”

“Oh, just a little longer! I beg you, dear!” she said, with a kiss.

How could I resist her, my dear Louis? Tell me?

I sat down, watching her moving about and rummaging everywhere. I must tell you that under her feridjie (which she had let down on my entrance into the room), she was dressed in a sort of loose gown of pale blue cashmere, embroidered with lively designs in silk and gold. Her snow-white arms emerged from wide, hanging sleeves. This costume produced a charming picturesque effect in the midst of my room, which, although comfortable, was very prosaic in its style although to her it seemed wonderful. She touched everything, for she could not be satisfied with seeing only, and her questions never ceased.... At last, after half-an-hour, considering her curiosity to be satisfied, as she was beginning to ransack the books lying on my table, I said once more,

“Come, Kondje-Gul, you must go.”

With these words, I picked up her feridjie, and took her back to the harem. A pale light was shining through the windows of the drawing-room. Hadidje, Nazli, and Zouhra were still there. To describe the terror which came over their faces directly I appeared, would be impossible. Hearing steps in the night, they made sure their last moments had arrived. At the sound of the door opening, they cried out loud the three poor miserable things took refuge in a corner.

When they saw me enter with Kondje-Gul, they were thrown into a great consternation. With a few words I reassured them at once.

As to Mohammed, it was impossible to find him. I will confess, moreover, that I felt very little interest in searching for him I was far from ill-pleased with the thought that he was paying for the trouble which his stupidity had caused my poor darlings, by a night of fear and trembling.

My lamb having returned to the fold, I eventually retraced my steps to the chateau.

Is it necessary to tell you that the surprising events of the day had caused me emotions which I was scarcely able to understand?

My uncle’s resurrection

Lefebure

The Changallas

The camels

They all kept my brain at work the whole night long.