Hadidjé 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 Hadidjé, 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 château 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-"François! 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.