French and Oriental Love in a Harem | Page 8

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