This week, we continue with the narrative of Elizabeth Marsh. In last week’s post, Ms. Marsh found herself in a precarious position when, in the presence of the Sultan of Morocco, she repeated a phrase in Arabic, the meaning of which she did not know, but which turned out to be the shahad, the declaration of the Muslim faith—and thereby she technically converted to Islam.
We take up the story as she faces the consequences of this inadvertent conversion.
The English renegade who had come to fetch me led the way through a series of noble squares, some of which were of white Marble, with the Pillars of mosaic work. There was a variety of delightful fountains, the water of which fell into large basins, along with lattices above to keep out the sun. But such was my distressed condition that it was beyond my power to make any material remarks on the magnificent objects presented to my view.
When we entered the Salon where the Sultan was waiting to receive me, I was amazed at the elegant figure he made. He was seated under a canopy of crimson velvet, richly embellished with gold. The room was large, finely decorated, and supported by pillars of mosaic work. At the far end of the room, lay a range of cushions with gold tassels. A Persian carpet covered the floor.
The Sultan commanded me and the English renegade to draw near his person. He conversed for some time with the latter in Morisco. After that, the renegade informed me that his Imperial Highness wished to know if I would become a Moor, and remain in his palace, desiring me to be convinced of his esteem for me and hoping that I would properly consider the advantages resulting from doing as he desired and promising me every indulgence he could possibly favor me with.
Though I was alarmed and even greatly terrified by these interrogations, I had the resolution to reply that it was impossible for me to change my sentiments in religious matters, and that consideration was entirely unnecessary for me, for I was peremptorily determined to remain a Christian. I assured him, however, that I would forever retain the highest sense of the honor he had done me, and that I hoped for the continuance of his Highness’s protection.
I could easily perceive that he was disgusted with my answer from his remaining silent for some minutes. Then, throwing off the mask he had hitherto worn, he cruelly informed me that I had that very morning renounced the Christian faith and turned Mohometan, and that a capital punishment—namely burning at the stake—was, by their laws, inflicted upon all who recanted from or disclaimed their religion.
The shock of this pronouncement was so severe that it was with difficulty that I prevented myself from falling, and I invoked Heaven for assistance in my distress.
As soon as I was capable of making a reply, I assured the Sultan that, if I was an apostate, it entirely proceeded from the fallacy of the French boy who had tricked me, and not from my own inclination. I further assured him that if my death would give him any satisfaction, I no longer desired to avoid the last and final remedy to all my misfortunes, for to go on living under the terms he proposed would only add to my misery, and I therefore was resolved that the preservation of my life no longer deserved my care and attention.
The Sultan seemed greatly perplexed by my resolute declaration, and, though he continued his importunities, yet it was more with the air of a supplicant than that of a sovereign—though he was still inflexible to everything I urged against what he proposed.
I, therefore, on my knees, implored his compassion and besought him, as a proof of that esteem he had given me reason to expect, to permit me to leave him forever. My tears, which flowed incessantly, extremely affected him. Raising me up, and putting his hands before his face, he ordered that I should be instantly taken away.
The English renegadeheld me by the hand and hurried off as fast as possible to the gates. We found it no easy matter to pass these, however, for a great crowd had assembled there.
My worthy friend was on the other side, with his hair all loose and with a distracted countenance, demanding me as his wife. The inhuman guards had beat him down for striving to get in, and the black women took hold of me, hallooing out, “No Christian, but a Moor!” and tore all the plaits out of my clothes. My hair hung down about my ears.
After a Number of intense arguments, my friend prevailed and, having torn me from the grip of the women, took me in his arms and, with all possible expedition, got me out of their sight.
When we arrived at our lodgings, my friend immediately sent for a French surgeon, a slave to his Imperial Highness, to bleed me. This news was carried to the Palace, and the Sultan, as we afterwards heard, was extremely concerned. Bleeding in that country is looked upon as very extraordinary and is never practiced but in cases of extremity.
This was, therefore, a fortunate circumstance, as his Highness imagined it was occasioned by his behavior.
Three people, that day, ran the greatest risks to their lives on my account.
One of them risked himself by acquainting my Friend with what they were doing with me at the Palace.
Another, we were informed, was sent for by the Sultan just after he had dismissed me, who ordered him, if I was not yet out of the gates, to bring me back to him, to which that good man answered that he had met me, with my husband, near our lodgings.
I am under the greatest obligation to this worthy slave. He knew all too well knew the fatal consequences of my returning to the Sultan, and he risked his very life by deceiving his Imperial Highness in order to preserve my safety.
My Friend, also, had been in imminent danger, for he had attempted to force his way through the guards in order to rescue me.
I was advised to keep myself very retired for the remainder of the day, and I soon went to my bed. It was impossible, however, for me to sleep. I had too much of a dread on my spirits, for I knew that I was not yet safe.
For those who may be interested, the above excerpt comes from pages 34 – 50 of Volume 2 of the 1766 edition of Elisabeth Marsh’s The Female Captive: A Narrative of Facts Which Happened in Barbary in the Year 1756, Written by Herself.
As with previous weeks’ excerpts, I have taken some editorial license and revised Marsh’s original text to make it more accessible for modern casual readers.
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