In the detailed account which I gave you, my dear Louis, of my
honeymoon, I described pretty nearly the history of every day which has
passed since I last wrote. "Happy nations have no history," said a wise
man; happiness requires no description. First then, you must understand
that I am now writing after recovery from the natural excitement into
which my strange adventures had plunged me. Three months have passed; I
am now enjoying my life like a refined vizir, and no longer like a
simple troubadour of Provence, transported of a sudden into the Caliph's
harem. I have recovered my analytical composure.
As you may well imagine I set to work, after the second day, to learn
Turkish, an easy task after my studies in Sanscrit. Add to this that,
with the aid of love, my houris have learnt French, with all the
marvellous facility and linguistic instinct of the Asiatic races. You
will not be astonished to learn, then, that I can now share with them
all the pleasures of conversation; a happy result which will permit me
henceforth to furnish a more complete description of their different
characters.
Having said this, I will give you in the present letter, with a view of
enabling you to understand this narrative more perfectly, the most
precise details upon the following subjects:
First--The organisation, laws, and internal regulations of my harem;
Second--Full-length portraits of my odalisques, and a description of
their characters;
Third--A careful dissertation upon the advantages of polygamy, and its
applicability to the moral regeneration of mankind.
I will first confess, without any presumption, that the ingenious system
established for the conduct of my harem is all due to my uncle
Barbassou, who, as much as any man in the world, was always particularly
careful to maintain what the English term "respectability." In the eyes
of the whole neighbourhood, nay, even of my own household, Mohammed-Azis
is an exile, a person of high political rank, to whom my uncle had given
a hospitable retreat.
Barbassou-Pasha always addressed him respectfully as "Your Excellency,"
nor did any servant in the château speak in different terms of him. He
had had the misfortune to lose one of his daughters--so the story
goes--for he seems to have had originally five. Whether his daughters
are young or old, no one knows. In the interior of the Kasre all the
services are performed by Greek women, who do not know a word of French;
they never go out of doors. The gardeners have to leave the gardens at
nine o'clock in the morning. All these arrangements, as you will
perceive, are extremely correct. The story about Mohammed is a very
plausible one; his solemn and melancholy expression together with his
solitary life, are thoroughly in conformity with the fallen grandeur of
a minister in disgrace. He is writing, according to report, a memoir in
justification of his conduct. He works at it both day and night, and it
is well-known that I very often sit up quite late with him, in order to
assist him in this task.