NARRATIVE OF A RESIDENCE IN ALGIERS – PART 1

The content of this week’s post comes from a book, published in the early nineteenth century, in which the author narrates his experience of being captured by corsairs from Algiers and of being taken to that city.

The nineteenth century is right at the end of the period of corsair dominance (the French overran Algiers in 1830, putting a final end to the Algiers corsairs), and a work from that period would normally not belong in this blog, which focuses on the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Algiers, however, was an odd place, and though it was a desperately turbulent city in many ways, it also managed to maintain an almost supernatural constancy in terms of basic functional tasks. If you were a captive brought to Algiers in 1605, 1705, or 1805, the experience was essentially the same. And the city itself was essentially the same as well — as if it existed in some sort of weird time stasis.

So a captivity narrative from the nineteenth century is very much like a captivity narrative from the seventeenth century in terms of the activities and places described. What differs is the description. Early nineteenth century writing is much closer in form to the writing we are familiar with today: it evokes a sense of time and place through the use of vivid descriptions in a way that feels familiar and natural to us. As a result, a nineteenth century narrative makes Algiers come alive more than earlier narratives do.

So this week we’ll begin a series of posts derived from an early nineteenth century book titled (believe it or not) Narrative of a Residence in Algiers: comprising a geographical and historical account of the regency; biographical sketches of the Dey and his ministers; anecdotes of the late war; observations on the relations of the Barbary States with the Christian powers; and the necessity and importance of their complete subjugation.

This book was written by an Italian poet named Filippo Pananti and published originally in Italy in 1817, under the title Avventure e osservazioni sopra le coste di Barberia, edito (Adventures and Observations on the Barbary Coast).

Born in Tuscany in northern Italy around 1776, Pananti was forced to flee his homeland because, as a newly minted university graduate, he championed liberal republican views that were considered dangerously radical at the time by the local authorities. As a result, in 1799 he went into exile in England. Some years later, as he was on his way back to Italy, Algerian corsairs captured the ship he was on as it approached the Italian shore, and he was taken to Algiers.

Pananti’s original Italian text was translated into English and published in 1818 under the rather impressive title given above.

Nineteenth century narrative may feel natural to us moderns, but the language is a little too formal and flowery for modern tastes, so I’ve toned down some of the original text (and eliminate the constant, rather irritating literary allusions that litter the pages of the original). So what follows is a gently edited version. However… (*warning*) the language is still rather flowery.

Here, then, is Filippo Pananti’s (slightly abridged) account of his adventures in Algiers.

The squadron of corsairs that had attacked and captured us then set sail, steering along the coast of Mauritania. At length several white specks began to rise in the western horizon, and a fine breeze soon brought us within sight of that great center of piracy — Algiers. An extensive semi-circle of hills rises in amphitheatric beauty round the city, many of them studded with country houses. The view is exceedingly interesting and picturesque as seen from the sea, and the numerous vineyards and the orange and olive groves which surround the town show great marks of industry and cultivation that does not bear much analogy to the fierce character and vagrant life of these African tyrants.

As we approached our anchorage, a shout of joy ran through the ship we were on, marking the satisfaction of the barbarians. Nor had we any reason to be other than joyful ourselves at the idea of having finally ended our tedious sea voyage, embittered as it was by our misfortunes. So perfectly comparative are our notions of happiness that the prospect of landing at Algiers, which, under any other circumstances, would have created the utmost horror, was, in the present instance, hailed with a strong degree of joy. Like the patient, who, rather than bear the agony arising from his wounds, submits to a painful operation, we flattered ourselves that the end of the cruise would also be the end of our sufferings.

No sooner had the corsair ships anchored than preparations were made to land. Rais Hamida, the commander of the corsair squadron, with a stern voice inspired no less by his natural ferocity than a consciousness of having us now completely in his power, ordered the sailors he had captured into the long-boat, under charge of the Aga, the Captain of the janissaries aboard the corsair ships. We captive passengers were destined to grace Rais Hamida’s own splendid triumph, and he ordered us into the pinnace appointed to convey us to shore, towards which we directed our course.

Upon landing, the Rais immediately ordered us to form a procession behind him. He then moved on with colossal self-importance. An immense concourse had collected on the beach to welcome with acclamations the triumphant return of the pirates. We were, however, neither plundered nor insulted, a treatment which many Christian slaves are said to have met with upon disembarking at this inhospitable place. In the manner of the Roman ovation, we made a long circuit, arriving eventually at the palace destined for holding examinations of captives and the assessing of captured prizes.

Rais Hamida entered the building that was our destination, while we remained outside the door until called for. A large awning was extended in front of the house, and under this we eventually passed to confront the members of the regency, in barbarous pomp and horrid majesty, seated before us, accompanied by the Ulemas, or expounders of the law, and the principal Agas of the divan.

We were then, without farther ceremony or preamble, asked for our papers, which were duly examined, nor was that canting gravity wanting, on this occasion, which is usually assumed to justify acts of rapine and plunder. Our collected papers were presented to the English Consul, whose presence is always required on these examinations, to verify any claim he may have to make. This gentleman soon saw the insufficiency of our documents, but, stimulated by the goodness of his heart and sentiments of pity for persons in our unhappy condition, he made every possible exertion to extricate us from the appalling dilemma with which we were now threatened.

The circumstance of some of the party, being natives of a country united to the dominion of France, did not restrain the Consul’s generous efforts: we were unfortunate, and that was sufficient to ensure the protection of an Englishman. But Rais Hamida boldly sustained the remorseless laws of piracy. Drawing the finest distinctions imaginable between domiciliation and nationality, he proved himself a most able lawyer — according, at least, to the African code of public laws.

“A good prize! Prisoners! Slaves !” was now murmured throughout the council, and soon communicated to the crowd assembled without, which, by its cries, seemed to demand such a decision.

The British Consul then formally demanded the English lady who was among us, along with her two children. Upon this being accorded, the Chevalier Rossi, her husband, advanced a few steps and, with dignified courage, supported his claim to liberation on the principle of having married an English woman and of also being the father of two British subjects, his children. This application being successful, he soon rejoined his anxious wife and children.

This was followed by a general cry in the hall of “Schiavi! Schiavi!” — “Slaves! Slaves!” — which horrible word was echoed by the multitude.

The members of the council then rose, and, on the assembly being dissolved, the Consul and his attendants, together with the Chevalier Rossi and family, departed, leaving us, the victims of slavery, in a state of shocked insensibility.

Before we had recovered from our stupor, we were led away across a considerable part of the city, accompanied by a great number of spectators. It being Friday, the Moorish Sabbath, hundreds of the infidels, in coming from the mosques, were soon attracted from every direction to enjoy this new spectacle of degraded Christianity.

When we arrived at the palace of the Pasha, inhabited at present by the Dey, the first objects that struck our eyes were six bleeding heads ranged before the entrance. And as if this dreadful sight was not sufficient of itself to harrow up the soul, it was still farther aggravated by the necessity of our stepping over them in order to pass into the court. They were the heads of some rebellious Agas, who had dared to murmur against the Dey’s authority, but our fears naturally represented them as having been severed from the bodies of Christians and purposely placed there to terrify new inmates of this fatal region.

For the next installment of Filippo Pananti’s experiences in Algiers see Narrative of a Residence in Algiers – Part 2.

For those who may be interested…

The above excerpt from Pananti’s Narrative of a Residence in Algiers comes from Chapter 3, pp. 64 – 68, of the original 1818 edition.

The illustration of Algiers as seen from the sea at the top of this post also comes from that same 1818 edition. It has spawned lots of imitations.