French and Oriental

Love in a Harem

by

       MARIO UCHARD

with Decorations by
Paul Avril



Privately Issued
by FALSTAFF PRESS
NEW YORK

CHAPTER I.

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