French and Oriental Love in a Harem

Such, then, is the "anxious existence" which you attribute to me. Find

me a husband who can act in the same way.

Still, as might have been foreseen, great changes have taken place in

the internal arrangements of my household, where it became necessary

that the Turkish elements should be partially replaced by others more

adapted to the exigencies of western civilization.

A memorable event has occurred.

Hadidjé, Nazli, and Zouhra went the other day to the opera. It is

needless to say that I was there. I must admit that their nervousness

was so extreme at making this bold experiment that, watching them from

my own stall as they came in, I thought for a moment that they were

going to run away again.

Already in their walks they were getting into training, and in regard to

their veils exhibited a certain amount of coquetry; but now it became

necessary to disregard the law of Mahomet entirely. They had never seen

the inside of a theatre before, so you can imagine that when they found

themselves in the box, with their unveiled faces exposed to the gaze of

a multitude of infidel eyes, all the bold resolutions which they had

made for this decisive effort were put to the rout. Strange as such

Mohammedan bashfulness may seem to us, they felt, as they afterwards

told me, that appearing there unveiled, was "just like exhibiting

themselves naked."

However, as soon as this first impression was overcome, thanks chiefly

to the exhortations of Mohammed, who was almost at his wits' ends to

manage them, they succeeded in putting on sufficient assurance to

dissemble their very sincere dread, so that at a distance it looked

merely like excessive shyness. The lifting of the curtain for the first

act of "Don Juan" fortunately changed the current of their emotions.

During the entr'acte their box became the object of attraction to the

subscribers and the frequenters of first night's performances. Their

indolent, oriental type of beauty, notwithstanding the partial disguise

effected by their present costumes, could not fail to produce a

sensation.

Who, it was asked, was this old gentleman with his three daughters of

such surprising beauty? In the Jockey Club's box, where I went to hear

the gossip, everyone was talking about them, as of some important

political event; Mohammed was an American millionaire, according to

some, a Russian prince, or a Rajah just arrived from India, according to

others. When I smiled in a significant manner (as I began to do, on

purpose), they immediately surmised that I fancied I knew more about the

matter than the rest of them, thereupon they surrounded me, and pressed

me with questions.