I have called the Seraglio, united. Upon the question, solely, whether
the Commander of the Faithful durst exercise a right of kissing in that
sanctuary of the palace, were its peerless inmates divided. Zobeide
asserted a counter-right in the Favourite to scratch, and the fair
Circassian put her face, for refuge, into a green baize bag, originally
designed for books. On the other hand, a young antelope of transcendent
beauty from the fruitful plains of Camden Town (whence she had been
brought, by traders, in the half-yearly caravan that crossed the
intermediate desert after the holidays), held more liberal opinions, but
stipulated for limiting the benefit of them to that dog, and son of a
dog, the Grand Vizier—who had no rights, and was not in question. At
length, the difficulty was compromised by the installation of a very
youthful slave as Deputy. She, raised upon a stool, officially received
upon her cheeks the salutes intended by the gracious Haroun for other
Sultanas, and was privately rewarded from the coffers of the Ladies of
the Hareem.
And now it was, at the full height of enjoyment of my bliss, that I
became heavily troubled. I began to think of my mother, and what she
would say to my taking home at Midsummer eight of the most beautiful of
the daughters of men, but all unexpected. I thought of the number of
beds we made up at our house, of my father’s income, and of the baker,
and my despondency redoubled. The Seraglio and malicious Vizier,
divining the cause of their Lord’s unhappiness, did their utmost to
augment it. They professed unbounded fidelity, and declared that they
would live and die with him. Reduced to the utmost wretchedness by these
protestations of attachment, I lay awake, for hours at a time, ruminating
on my frightful lot. In my despair, I think I might have taken an early
opportunity of falling on my knees before Miss Griffin, avowing my
resemblance to Solomon, and praying to be dealt with according to the
outraged laws of my country, if an unthought-of means of escape had not
opened before me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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