We also pay visits at the two neighbouring châteaux of the Montanbecs and the Camboulions; but confine ourselves strictly to the customary conventionalities between neighbours, the female element which we encounter at these places belonging, as my uncle puts it, to the very lowest zoological order of beings.
Once a week we dine at Doctor Morand's. He is a man of great ability, who has only missed making his mark through want of a wider field. He is the one mortal capable of exercising an influence over Captain Barbassou, if the character of the latter did not place him out of reach of all external control. In this home family life reigns in its happiest and most charming simplicity, represented by a goodly quiver-full of children. I have already told you about young Morand, the spahi, and his cousin Geneviève.
Geneviève, with her nineteen summers, is the eldest, by several years, of a prolific brood, the offspring of her mother's second marriage. The doctor, who is a rich man for his district, took them all to live with him after his sister's death. A more delightful and refreshing place cannot be found than this heaven-blest home, the very atmosphere of which breathes the odour of peaceful happiness and honest purity. You should see Geneviève, la grande, surrounded by her four petits, her brothers and sisters, with their chubby faces, all neat and clean, obedient and cheeky at the same time, and kept in order by her with a youthful discipline, flavoured now and then with a spice of playfulness. Is she really pretty? I confess I cannot decide. The question of beauty in her case is so completely put out of mind by a certain charm of manner, that one forgets to analyse it. She has certainly fine eyes, for they hold you spell-bound by the soul shining through them. George Morand, her fiancé, adores her, and, headstrong Africain though he is, even he feels an influence within her which subjugates his fiery spirit. They could not be a better match for each other, and will live happily together. She will chasten the exuberant ardour of the Provençal warrior.
My uncle professes to detest "the brats;" it is needless, perhaps, to add that, directly he arrives, the whole of them rush to him, climb on his knees, and stay there for the rest of his visit. He is their horse; he makes boats for them, and all the rest of it. The other day you might have seen him grumbling as he sewed a button on Toto's drawers (which he had torn off by turning him head over heels), fearing lest Geneviève should scold him.
I am very cordially welcomed by the whole house, and you may imagine what interminable discussions the doctor and I carry on. Having been formerly a professor in the School of Medicine at Montpellier, he was led by his researches in physiology to a very pronounced materialism. Now that he has read my spiritualistic articles, he tries hard to break down my arguments. On the third side, my uncle, as a Mahometan, wants to convert him to deism; you may judge from this how much harmony there is between us; you might take us for an Academy!
At El-Nouzha the same life goes on still; but I must take this opportunity of correcting a dangerous mistake you appear to have fallen into, to judge from the tone of your letters. In everything that concerns my harem, you really speak as if you had in mind the fantastic and tantalising experiences of a second blessed Saint Anthony, exposed to the continual provocations of the most voluptuous beauties of the Court of Satan. Indeed, one might say (between you and me and the post), that your Holiness was less scared than inquisitive regarding these terrible scorchings. You old sinner! The real truth is that everything becomes a habit after a while, and that, now the first effervescence of passion is over, this life grows much more simple than you imagine. You must not believe that we lead a riotous existence of continual lusts and orgies. Such notions, my dear fellow, are only the fruit of ignorance and of prejudice.
Let me tell you that my harem is to me at the present time a most tranquil home, and that, but for the fact that I have four wives, everything about it has permanently assumed the every-day aspect of a simple household. Our evenings are spent in conversation round the drawing-room table with music and dancing, conducted in a thoroughly amiable and cheerful spirit, and all set off by the accomplishments of my sultanas. I combine in my conjugal relations the dignified oriental bearing of a vizir with the tender sentimentalities of a Galaor, and in this I have really attained to an exquisite perfection.
In fact, it would be the Country of Love in the Paradise of Mahomet, but for a few clouds which, since my uncle's return, have obscured the bright rays of my honeymoon. I have had some trouble with Hadidjé and Nazli, who seem determined to make a trip over to the château as Kondjé-Gul had done; for, as might have been foreseen, as soon as her alarms had subsided, this silly creature, with the view no doubt of exciting their jealousy, and posing as the favourite, had taken care to relate to them all the wonders of this, to them, forbidden place. Of course I refused at once to permit such an irregularity, contrary as it was to all harem traditions. This refusal was the signal for a scene of tears and jealous passions, which I subdued, but which only gave way to the tender reproaches of slighted affections. Well, I try to jog along as well as I can, as all husbands have to do, but I have a vague presentiment of troubles still in the air.
I have reopened my letter.