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Tartarin of Tarascon, a novel by Alphonse Daudet |
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Chapter 21 |
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_ The Montenegrin prince was as good as his word. Shortly after the reunion at the Restaurant des Platanes he arrived early one morning at Tartarin's room. "Quick!... quick!... get dressed" he said, "Your Moor has been found... her name is Baia... as pretty as a picture, twenty years old and already a widow." "A widow!.... Well that's a bit of luck" Said Tartarin who was a little uneasy at the thought of Moorish husbands. "Yes, but closely guarded by her brother" "Oh! That's a bit awkward" "A ferocious Moor who sells hookahs in the bazaar" There was a silence, "Good!" Said the prince, "You're not the chap to be put off by a little thing like that, and anyway we can perhaps buy off this villain by purchasing some of his pipes. So come on, get dressed... you lucky dog!" Pale and excited, his heart full of love, Tartarin jumped out of bed and as he climbed into his ample underwear he asked "What shall I do now?" "Write to the lady quite simply and ask for a meeting" "She understands French then?" Said Tartarin with an air of disappointment. For his dreams had been of an Arabian Houri, uncontaminated by the west. "She doesn't understand a word" Replied the prince imperturbably, "but you will dictate the letter to me and I shall translate it." "Oh prince, how good you are." And Tartarin strode about the room silent and deep in thought. As you may imagine one does not write to a Moorish lady as one might to a little shop-girl in Beaucaire. Happily our hero was able to cull from his reading many phrases of oriental rhetoric and combining these with some distant memories of the "Song of Songs" he was able to compose the most flowery epistle you could wish for, full of unlikely similes and improbable metaphors. With this romantic missive Tartarin would have liked to combine a bouquet of flowers with emblematic meanings, but prince Gregory thought it would be better to buy some pipes from the brother, which could not fail to soften the savage temperament of the gentleman and would please the lady, who greatly enjoyed smoking. "Let us go quickly then and buy some pipes," Said Tartarin. "No, no." Replied the prince, "Let me go alone, I shall get them at a better price." "Oh prince! How good you are to take such trouble." And the trusting fellow held out his purse to the obliging Montenegrin, exhorting him to neglect nothing which might make the lady happy. Unfortunately, the affair which had started so well, did not progress as rapidly as one might have wished. Very touched, it seemed, by Tartarin's eloquence, and already three parts won over, she would have liked nothing better than to have received him, but her brother had scruples, and to lay these to rest it was necessary to buy an astonishing number of pipes. Sometimes Tartarin wondered what on earth the lady did with them all, but he paid up nevertheless, and without stinting. At last, after the purchase of many pipes and the composing of many sheets of oriental prose, a rendezvous was arranged. I need hardly tell you with what fluttering of heart Tartarin prepared himself; with what care he trimmed, washed and scented his beard, without forgetting--for one must always be prepared--to slip into his pockets a life-preserver and a revolver. The ever-obliging prince attended this first meeting in the role of interpreter The lady lived in the upper part of the town. Outside her door lounged a young Moor of fourteen or fifteen, smoking a cigarette, it was Ali, her brother. When the two visitors arrived he knocked twice on the postern and retired from the scene. The door was opened and a negress appeared, who, without saying a word, conducted the two gentlemen across a narrow interior courtyard to a small, cool room where the lady awaited them, posed on a divan. At first glance it seemed to Tartarin that she was smaller and sturdier than the Moor on the omnibus... were they in fact the same? But this suspicion was only momentary: the lady was so pretty, with her bare feet and her plump fingers, rosy and delicate, loaded with rings; while beneath her bodice of gold cloth and the blossoms of her flowered robe was the suggestion of a charming form, a little chubby, dainty and curvaceous. The amber mouthpiece of a narghile was between her lips and she was enveloped in a cloud of pale smoke. On entering, Tartarin placed his hand on his heart and bowed in the most Moorish manner possible, rolling big, passionate eyes... Baia looked at him for a moment without speaking, then letting go of the amber mouthpiece, she turned her back, hid her face in her hands and one could see only her neck, shaken by uncontrollable laughter. _ |
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