I have always considered as a fable, what I have been told of the breasts of a Moorish woman, but am now convinced of my error. I have seen (to cite no other examples), I have seen, I say, one of these women teazed by one of her children, throw them one of her breasts with such force, that it reached the ground.
Their male children can scarcely walk, when the mother treats them with the same respect as her husband, that is to say, prepares food for them, and will not eat herself till her son has been served. The Talbe who teaches them to read and write, gives them instructions with a loud voice; and as each of them is learning a different lesson, it occasions a horrid noise. The lessons they give them are written upon small boards of polished wood. One lesson learned, they efface it, and write another upon it; they make their pen of a small piece of wood. Their ciphers pretty much resemble ours.
After what I have related of these barbarians, was it possible that I should not be anxious to be again restored to my native country! We complain when we change our dwellings; weep, when we part with friends; are uneasy when we forget a handkerchief, or have a beard two days without being shaved; and I have been a slave, naked, bit with vermin, wounded in every part of my body, my bed among sand, either burning or moist, for fourteen months. O Divine Providence! It is by Thee I have been supported in what I have undergone, to Thee I have sacrificed my sufferings, and from Thee I expect my reward.