(This post is a continuation of Narrative of a Residence in Algiers – Part 1. If you haven’t done so already, it’s best to read that post before continuing on here.)
Last week, we left Filippo Pananti and the other newly arrived captives at the palace of the Pasha (the Dey), having just had to step over six bleeding heads ranged before the entrance in order to pass into the courtyard…
A dead silence reigned within the walls of the building. We were ordered to range ourselves before the Dey’s window, so that the despot could feast his eyes upon us. Soon, he approached, looking at us with a mingled smile of exultation and contempt. Then, after he made a sign with his hand, we were ordered to depart. After a third circuit of the town, we arrived before a large dark looking building. Entering into it, we stumbled, as if by an involuntary impulse.
This was the Great Bagno, or house of reception for Christian slaves, which, without gilding the pill quite so much, may be plainly rendered by a simpler word — prison. Every fiber trembled, and our limbs tottered under us as we were forced to enter that horrid receptacle. The first words which escaped the keeper after our entrance were, “Whoever is brought into this house becomes a slave!”
He might well have added: Lasciate ogni speranza, voi, che ‘ntrate! *
In passing through the dark and filthy courtyard, we were surrounded by a multitude of slaves, bearing about them all the signs of abandoned sufferers. They were ragged, lank, and haggard, with heads drooping, eyes sunk and distorted, cheeks imprinted by the furrows of a protracted wretchedness which seemed to have withered the soul, and, by destroying the finer impulses of their nature, left no trace of pity for the sufferings of others. We passed them by without the slightest manifestation from them of that sympathy so naturally expected in such a situation. Exhausted by long confinement, and wrapped up in a sense of their own melancholy fate, they viewed our appearance with a stupid indifference unaccompanied by any fellow feeling at all.
Our ascent up the prison staircase was not unlike that of a malefactor when mounting the scaffold to a gallows. However, as some indulgence is generally granted to condemned criminals, the keeper treated us during that first day with particular attention and respect, inviting us into his own apartment and insisting that we should partake of his dinner, thus making up for the anxiety and fasting of the preceding day.
The following day was occupied in communicating with the English consul and other friends in the city, together with the principal Jews who were likely to be most useful in forwarding the work of our liberation. For my own part, I began to view things in a somewhat more favorable light: my excellent friends, the Chevalier and Madame Rossi, warmly interested themselves with the consul on my behalf, while that worthy and philanthropic minister did everything in his power to extricate me from the horrid situation in which I was placed.
It was whispered in the Bagnio that my freedom had been formally demanded from the ministers of his excellency the Dey, but that they had refused — or, rather, they had agreed, but upon one condition: my paying down three thousand sequins in gold. This, they said, was because they knew I was a great poet wallowing in riches! Poetry and riches is indeed a strange association of ideas. Little did my new masters know the value of poets in Europe.
It was further said, that it was his excellency the Dey’s intention to avail himself of my wonderful talents in affairs of great importance. What on earth could he have done with me? Poet laureate? Virtuoso of the bed-chamber? Musician extraordinary to his highness the Pasha? None of these brilliant appointments would have turned my brain, for to me chains are not the more acceptable for being made of gold.
While these various speculations were current, the Guardian Basha, or principal keeper of the Bagnio, took me by the arm and commenced a grave sermon on the flattering prospects that seemed to await me. “Surely, said he, “fortune has now evidently taken you under her peculiar protection. For you arrive a slave in Algiers, and the next day you are considered for a post which others do not attain in a hundred years! You should leap for joy.”
“Have I not,” said I, “every reason to be afflicted? What consolation can there be for him who is in chains?”
“Oh, the weakness of human nature!” replied the Guardian Basha. “Slavery is the natural state of man. All…” — these were his exact words — “…all depends on the law of the strongest, on circumstances, and on necessity. We are all the slaves of custom, of the passions, of disease, and of death. But those who rise to power are no longer slaves. And thus you may have slaves at your nod, and by obeying one, command a thousand.”
“You have a good head,” he continued, “can speak well, and are a great acquisition to us. When once you are interpreter and secretary to the Dey, you will swim in gold, become the lamp of knowledge, and possess gardens of voluptuousness. You will be a great personage, and all will bow before you!”
“Too much honor,” I answered. “I do not merit it.”
Then, “But by what accident, “I asked, “has the Dey condescended to cast his eyes on me?”
“Why,” said the Guardian Basha, “it has always been customary for the Pasha to have a slave for his secretary. One of these infidel dogs having betrayed his trust, however, the Dey had his head struck off. Another came, but this rogue used to carry news to the European consuls, and so he was condemned to die under the bastinado. A Jew was next taken into the service of his highness, but as he only thought of making money, his treasures were seized and himself burnt. A Moor and Arab were successively tried without effect, and after being removed had their heads taken off, to prevent them telling tales.”
The Guardian Basha paused, and then said. “The Dey, having once more determined to try a Christian, you are the happy man upon whom he has fixed his choice.”
“Tell me,” said I, “How long did the two Christians, Jew, Moor, and Arab remain in office?”
“Some continued three, six, and ten months. But none reached a year’s servitude. All had a short life and a merry one.”
“These honors,” said I then, “very wonderful as they may be, appear to involve too much responsibility. A thousand thanks, therefore, for the interest you so kindly take in my advancement; but I fear your Pashas are too easily disgusted with their followers, and begin to play the tyrant rather early.”
After the above conversations, I naturally began to reflect on the good fortune which these folks were desirous of heaping on me. If left to my own inclination, I determined I would prefer to take the course of the disappointed candidate for a public employment in London who, after many fruitless applications, one day called on his expected patron, and told him he had a length procured a post. After congratulating him on his success, the patron ventured to ask what his new post might be. He replied that it was a place in the Shrewsbury coach, which should, that very night, convey him far from a town where he was heartily tired of listening to the flattering and unmeaning promises of his patrons.
__________
For the next installment of Filippo Pananti’s experiences in Algiers see Narrative of a Residence in Algiers – Part 3.
* This is the famous line from Dante’s Divina Commedia (the Divine Comedy): “Abandon all hope, ye who enter.” — often slightly mispresented as “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.”
For those who may be interested…
The above excerpt from Pananti’s Narrative of a Residence in Algiers comes from Chapter 3, pp. 68 – 72, of the original 1818 edition.
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