LETTER VII. Fatme to Usbek, at Erzeron.

THOU hast been gone two months, my dear Usbek, and, in the trouble that I am in, I cannot yet persuade myself that it is so. I run all over the seraglio, as if thou wert there, nor is my fancy disabused. What wouldest thou have become of a woman who loves thee; who hath been accustomed to hold thee in these arms; whose only concern was to give thee fresh proofs of her affection; free by the advantage of her birth, but by the violence of her love a slave? When I married thee, my eyes had never seen the face of man, thou yet art the only one they have ever been permitted to see The Persian women are much more closely kept than those among the Turks and Indians. ^†312; for I do not place in the order of men these hideous eunuchs, whose least imperfection is to have nothing of man. When I compare the beauty of thy countenance with their deformity, I cannot forbear esteeming myself happy. My imagination cannot supply me with a more ravishing idea than the

inchanting charms of thy person. I swear to thee, Usbek, that if I should be permitted to quit this place, where I am shut up from the necessity of my condition; could I escape from the guard that surrounds me; if I were allowed to chuse from among all men who live in this capital of nations, Usbek, I swear to thee, I should chuse none but thee. Think not that thy absence has made me neglect a beauty dear to thee. Though I must not be seen by any person, and though the ornaments with which I deck myself do not contribute to thy happiness, yet I endeavour to amuse myself by a habit of pleasing; I never go to rest till I am perfumed with the most agreeable essences. I recal to my mind the happy time when you came to my arms: a flattering dream deceives me, shews me the dear object of my love; my imagination loses itself in its desires, as it flatters itself in its hopes. I sometimes think that, disgusted at a toilsome journey, thou wilt return to us; the night wears away in these kind of dreams, which are not verified either waking or asleep; I seek for thee at my side, and it seems to me that thou fliest from me; at length the fire itself which burns me, disperses these delusions, and recals my spirits; I then find myself reanimated—Thou wilt not believe it, Usbek, it is impossible to live in this condition; the fire burns in my veins. Why cannot I express to thee what I so sensibly feel? and how can I so sensibly feel what I cannot express? In these moments, Usbek, I would give the empire of the world for one of thy kisses. How unhappy is the woman who has such strong desires, when she is deprived of him who only can satisfy them, who, left to herself, has nothing that can divert her; she must live in a course of sighs, and in the fury of an irritated passion; who, far from being happy, has not the privilege of promoting the felicity of another, an useless ornament of a seraglio, kept for the honour, and not the happiness of her husband. You men are very cruel! you are delighted that we have passions which we cannot gratify, yet you treat us as if we were insensible and would be sorry if we were so; you think, that our desires, though a long time mortified, will be quickened at the sight of you. It is very difficult to make one’s self be beloved; it is the best way to obtain by doubting of our understanding, what you dare not expect from your own merit. Farewel, my dear Usbek, farewel: be assured that I live only to adore thee; my soul is full of thee, and thy absence, far from making me forget thee, would quicken my love, if it were capable of becoming more vehement.

From the seraglio at
Ispahan, the 12th of the moon of the 1st Rebiab,
1711.