Fiction With Purpose Romantic French and Oriental Love in a Harem

French and Oriental Love in a Harem

French and Oriental Love in a Harem
Catalog # SKU2882
Publisher TGS Publishing
Weight 1.00 lbs
Author Name Mario Uchard


French and Oriental
Love in a Harem

with Decorations
by Paul Avril

Mario Uchard

Erotica from the 1800s. Erotica was so much more artful in days past when they could spin language, love, and sex into literature that's worth teasing the imagination with.



The deed is done! We managed everything without the slightest hitch. I write to you from Paris, from our house in the Rue de Varennes; it seems like years since I was last there, so many things have happened during the six months since I left it. All my surroundings belong to a life so different from my present one, that it requires an exertion of thought to identify myself and realise my position here.

My harem is established in the Rue de Monsieur--in the former "Parc aux Cerfs" of my uncle--a splendid mansion, the gardens of which reach to the Boulevard des Invalides. My uncle has absolutely the genius of an ancient Epicurean transferred by accident into our own century. To look at the street, with its cold and deserted aspect, one might imagine oneself in a corner of aristocratic Versailles. My mystery is safely hidden away there. Mohammed while at Paris is no longer an exiled Minister, but simply a rich Turk who has acquired a taste for European civilisation. His name is Omer-Rashid-Effendi, a name under which he has already passed here twice.

My houris are astonished with all they see, and their pleasure is indescribable. Of course my first care was to Europeanise their toilettes. In pursuance of my orders (for, as you may be sure, I do not appear in such matters) a fashionable dressmaker was sent for by Mohammed. What a business it was! The difficulty was to avoid making them, with their oriental styles and deportments, look stiff and awkward when confined for the first time in the garb of our civilised torture-house.

By a happy compromise between fashion and fancy, the clever artiste has contrived for them costumes which are marvels of good taste and simplicity. Nothing could be more successful than this metamorphosis; their coiffures complete the picture, and I can hardly recognise my almèes under the bewitching little hats worn by our Parisian women. I assure you it is a transfiguration replete with surprises and unexpected charms. Attired like our women of fashion, their striking and original beauty, which was my admiration at El-Nouzha, impresses me in quite a novel manner, which I seem to understand better as I compare them by the side of our own women. Like young foreign ladies of distinction habited in the costumes of our civilisation, they seem to shed around them wherever they go a sort of exotic fragrance.

Everything, of course, had to be changed now that they are in Paris; they could no longer follow the routine of their former existence within the four walls of the harem. They were now at liberty to go out walking, and take little trips; but here at once appeared a most serious difficulty for them to overcome. How could they show themselves in the streets, the Champs Elysèes, or the Bois, without their veils just like infidels? That was a serious question! It was impossible for them to make up their minds to such a shameful breach of Mussulman law; and, if I must admit it, I myself experienced a strange sort of revulsion at the thought of it. Yes, to this have I come! Nevertheless, on the other hand, it was quite out of the question for them to shew themselves out of doors enshrouded in their triple veils, attracting wherever they went the remarks of the idle crowd.

At last, after a great many hesitations, Zouhra, who is the bravest of them all, ventured to go out with me, buried in the recesses of a brougham, and protected by a very thick kind of mantilla, which after all was hardly any less impenetrable than a yashmak. Then they grew bolder, and impelled by curiosity, their coquetry getting the better of their bashful timidity, they took a drive one day in a landau to the Bois with Mohammed. I mounted on horseback and met them, without appearing to know them. Everything went off as well as could be.

The carriage which I had purchased is severely simple in style, as is suitable for a foreigner of distinction. In his European disguise Mohammed maintains that expression of serene dignity which so excellently suits his part of a father escorting his three daughters. There is, in short, nothing about the latter to excite attention. If a dark pair of eyes is sometimes distinguishable through the embroidered veils, the fashion, at any rate, permits the features to be sufficiently disguised to conceal the beauty of my sultanas from over-bold glances.

250+pages - 6¾ x 8¼ softcover

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