Visit to the Consul, Mr Delaporte - fair looking man - a new year’s day figure; one cannot walk on the sand of his yard.

November 27th, 1849, 12am

Bekir Bey, gabbling; nice place with plants and chinoiseries in his living room. Madame Mari, in a white costume, golden tarboosh; former beautiful lady, ass square. Lubbert bey. Linant bey [pictured] shows us his drawings. On the evening of our arrival, feast of a Muslim saint: men lined in a parallelogram and singing with gestures indicated by a man in the middle, and another in the corner singing the melody. Silly figure of a young man (thin, thick-lipped, skull receding, nose protruding) quite taken ​by the dizzying pace. A child sang as well, gesturing like the men. Entertainers. We enter a house where a wedding party is taking place. Buffoons, one of them played a woman, she went to the door of the Doctor’s house: “Who’s there? - A sick man. - I won’t open.” Further knocking. “Who? - It’s… it’s… it’s. - No. -Who?” (etc., repeated several times). “Who? - A whore. - Ah! Come in.” “What is the Doctor doing? - He is in his garden. - With whom? - His donkey, he buggers it.”


Cassie and David Wade said thanks.

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Gustave Flaubert

"Travel makes one modest, you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world." [extracts from Flaubert's travel diary written in 1849-1851]

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