“Walk in, walk in! ladies and gentlemen,” cries the showman at the top of his voice; “walk in and see the _danse du ventre_, as danced at Bardo before the Bey of Tunis! Walk in, walk in! Hurry up!” We enter. The booth is clean and prettily decorated; at one end three women in Oriental dresses are singing a harsh melody accompanied by the traditional thrumming on the bamboo drums, which look like butter pots. They are called, if names are asked for, Aïcha, Dora, and Hardiendja. But there is a Fatma in the house. She is a negress about twenty years old, a fine specimen of her race: at its base the nose is almost as wide as her thick lips, and by this detail Fatma shocks all our ideas of classic proportions; still, when looking at this tall, well-made girl, I, for the first time, understood what travellers mean when they speak of the beauty and exquisite grace of negro women. In spite of all defects there is a pleasant harmony in the dark face, brightened by the modest mischievous eyes. And when Fatma dances before the negro Bouillabaisse,—first comic actor to the Sultan of Zanzibar,—her graceful swaying movements, her languid attitudes and smiling gestures rouse in her audience that innate sympathy with Oriental views of women, the gentle, soulless creature of the East, which lies dormant in the heart of every man. [Illustration: LA BELLE FATMA.] Another “Hall of Mystery” worth visiting is the “House [p073] of Metamorphosis,” Manager Stenegry, at the sign of the “Secret des Dieux.” The real attraction of this establishment is Mdlle. Stenegry herself, a Romanische of rare beauty, who with her golden sequins and Egyptian diadem forms the most perfect “Esmeralda” that you ever dreamed of at sixteen. Inside we find a second young lady, equally lovely, a charming blonde—Mademoiselle Lutèce. She fills the _rôle_ of Galatea, “the marble statue that acquired life beneath the burning kisses of Pygmalion.” [Illustration] [p074] “Pygmalion” does not appear, but in a darkened room, by some device of slanting mirrors, the beautiful head of Mdlle. Lutèce changes into a death’s-head before the eyes of the spectators. Then from the youthful polished ivory skull a rose bush suddenly appears. This eminently philosophical contrast has inspired M. Stenegry, the father, with some wonderful variations of the original idea. I recommend his “Programme of visible and mysterious apparitions” to all collectors of comicalities. “Everything pales. . ,” he says, “everything dissolves, everything blends. Come and see the _chef-d’œuvre_ produced by my researches upon metempsychosis; it will submit its revelations and revolutions to the judgment of the spectators, who will become its sincere admirers.” But just now the most æsthetic entertainment in the fair is the series of _tableaux vivants_ presented to the public by M. Melchior Bonnefois.