I hope that you all have been getting my emails! The wifi has been iffy, though I did receive yours Mr. Pope, and you’ll be happy to know that, no, I am not dead and buried, although at times I feel I like I might as well be I care so little about what goes on at home. The heat of the city has driven us off to Belgrade Village, where I’m blogging from now. It’s very beautiful here and I feel so disconnected from what’s going on in the world I really might as well be a ghost. Although I do miss my friends, the things they tell me about home don’t excite me in any way and I can’t seem to care about the same old drama. As an admirable author once said:
That spirits departed are wondrous kind
To friends and relations left behind:
Which nobody can deny. [1]
Truth be told, I sometimes I really get tired of all the singing, and dancing, and sunshine (yea right) but I always try an persuade myself that I’m better off than you at home…
I spend my week reading English; studying the Turkish language, (which I am awesome at!) and classical authors; writing; sewing; seeing visitors, and listening to music-- a much better use of my time than, sitting drawing rooms and listening to all the same gossips and scandal, seeing the same follies acted over and over.
But of course, Mr. Pope, this apathy does not extend to you and I hope that you remember me, even though I'm dead to the world…
Now, to my dear ladies, I'm sorry, but I can’t help but laugh at the outrageous things you're all are asking me! No, I will not be buying anyone a slave. The slaves kept here are brought up from a young age and very carefully educated to serve their ladies. Their patrons rarely sell them except as punishment for an extreme mistake, so they do not face the markets, and if they ever get tired of them, they give them to a friend or free them.
I know that this is not what you expect to hear and that the stories in England don’t sound like this at all, but you’ll have to take my word for it, because I’m here and I'm telling you the truth. All of you with your questions and assumptions are completely ignorant about what life is like here and it’s clear that you’ve derived your ideas from Dumont’s own ignorance. Really, reading these travel accounts is quite entertaining. They never fail to discuss women, which they definitely have not seen in their travels, speak of great men who they could never have gotten an audience with, and describe mosques which they were too afraid to even peep into.
Anyway…
I finally tried this Balm of Mecha (it’s hard to get but I’ll try and send some home soon!) and it made me break out like crazy! So be warned if you’re going to try it! Though, if we judge it’s effectiveness by the women here, it must be working; their skin is flawless.
Funny though, the women here seem to have quite a different way of getting noticed by men than looking good (which is what we do at home)—they pretend to have a magic, secret knowledge that gives them control over others. I couldn’t help but argue this point with one Lady, explaining that there’s no magic in a man playing the fool for a woman…but its no use, they all firmly believe in this power. Oh well, until next time!
That spirits departed are wondrous kind
To friends and relations left behind:
Which nobody can deny. [1]
Truth be told, I sometimes I really get tired of all the singing, and dancing, and sunshine (yea right) but I always try an persuade myself that I’m better off than you at home…
I spend my week reading English; studying the Turkish language, (which I am awesome at!) and classical authors; writing; sewing; seeing visitors, and listening to music-- a much better use of my time than, sitting drawing rooms and listening to all the same gossips and scandal, seeing the same follies acted over and over.
But of course, Mr. Pope, this apathy does not extend to you and I hope that you remember me, even though I'm dead to the world…
Now, to my dear ladies, I'm sorry, but I can’t help but laugh at the outrageous things you're all are asking me! No, I will not be buying anyone a slave. The slaves kept here are brought up from a young age and very carefully educated to serve their ladies. Their patrons rarely sell them except as punishment for an extreme mistake, so they do not face the markets, and if they ever get tired of them, they give them to a friend or free them.
I know that this is not what you expect to hear and that the stories in England don’t sound like this at all, but you’ll have to take my word for it, because I’m here and I'm telling you the truth. All of you with your questions and assumptions are completely ignorant about what life is like here and it’s clear that you’ve derived your ideas from Dumont’s own ignorance. Really, reading these travel accounts is quite entertaining. They never fail to discuss women, which they definitely have not seen in their travels, speak of great men who they could never have gotten an audience with, and describe mosques which they were too afraid to even peep into.
Anyway…
I finally tried this Balm of Mecha (it’s hard to get but I’ll try and send some home soon!) and it made me break out like crazy! So be warned if you’re going to try it! Though, if we judge it’s effectiveness by the women here, it must be working; their skin is flawless.
Funny though, the women here seem to have quite a different way of getting noticed by men than looking good (which is what we do at home)—they pretend to have a magic, secret knowledge that gives them control over others. I couldn’t help but argue this point with one Lady, explaining that there’s no magic in a man playing the fool for a woman…but its no use, they all firmly believe in this power. Oh well, until next time!
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