A Modern Telemachus. Yonge Charlotte Mary

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      A Modern Telemachus

      PREFACE

      The idea of this tale was taken from The Mariners’ Chronicle, compiled by a person named Scott early in the last century—a curious book of narratives of maritime adventures, with exceedingly quaint illustrations.  Nothing has ever shown me more plainly that truth is stranger than fiction, for all that is most improbable here is the actual fact.

      The Comte de Bourke was really an Irish Jacobite, naturalised in France, and married to the daughter of the Marquis de Varennes, as well as in high favour with the Marshal Duke of Berwick.

      In 1719, just when the ambition of Elizabeth Farnese, the second wife of Philip V. of Spain, had involved that country in a war with England, France, and Austria, the Count was transferred from the Spanish Embassy to that of Sweden, and sent for his wife and two elder children to join him at a Spanish port.

      This arrangement was so strange that I can only account for it by supposing that as this was the date of a feeble Spanish attempt on behalf of the Jacobites in Scotland, Comte de Bourke may not have ventured by the direct route.  Or it may not have been etiquette for him to re-enter France when appointed ambassador.  At any rate, the poor Countess did take this route to the South, and I am inclined to think the narrative must be correct, as all the side-lights I have been able to gain perfectly agree with it, often in an unexpected manner.

      The suite and the baggage were just as related in the story—the only liberty I have taken being the bestowal of names.  ‘M. Arture’ was really of the party, but I have made him Scotch instead of Irish, and I have no knowledge that the lackey was not French.  The imbecility of the Abbé is merely a deduction from his helplessness, but of course this may have been caused by illness.

      The meeting with M. de Varennes at Avignon, Berwick’s offer of an escort, and the Countess’s dread of the Pyrenees, are all facts, as well as her embarkation in the Genoese tartane bound for Barcelona, and its capture by the Algerine corsair commanded by a Dutch renegade, who treated her well, and to whom she gave her watch.

      Algerine history confirms what is said of his treatment.  Louis XIV. had bombarded the pirate city, and compelled the Dey to receive a consul and to liberate French prisoners and French property; but the lady having been taken in an Italian ship, the Dutchman was afraid to set her ashore without first taking her to Algiers, lest he should fall under suspicion.  He would not venture on taking so many women on board his own vessel, being evidently afraid of his crew of more than two hundred Turks and Moors, but sent seven men on board the prize and took it in tow.

      Curiously enough, history mentions the very tempest which drove the tartane apart from her captor, for it also shattered the French transports and interfered with Berwick’s Spanish campaign.

      The circumstances of the wreck have been closely followed.  ‘M. Arture’ actually saved Mademoiselle de Bourke, and placed her in the arms of the maître d’hôtel, who had reached a rock, together with the Abbé, the lackey, and one out of the four maids.  The other three were all in the cabin with their mistress and her son, and shared their fate.

      The real ‘Arture’ tried to swim to the shore, but never was seen again, so that his adventures with the little boy are wholly imaginary.  But the little girl’s conduct is perfectly true.  When in the steward’s arms she declared that the savages might take her life, but never should make her deny her faith.

      The account of these captors was a great difficulty, till in the old Universal History I found a description of Algeria which tallied wonderfully with the narrative.  It was taken from a survey of the coast made a few years later by English officials.

      The tribe inhabiting Mounts Araz and Couco, and bordering on Djigheli Bay, were really wild Arabs, claiming high descent, but very loose Mohammedans, and savage in their habits.  Their name of Cabeleyzes is said—with what truth I know not—to mean ‘revolted,’ and they held themselves independent of the Dey.  They were in the habit of murdering or enslaving all shipwrecked travellers, except subjects of Algiers, whom they released with nothing but their lives.

      All this perfectly explains the sufferings of Mademoiselle de Bourke.  The history of the plundering, the threats, the savage treatment of the corpses, the wild dogs, the councils of the tribe, the separation of the captives, and the child’s heroism, is all literally true—the expedient of Victorine’s defence alone being an invention.  It is also true that the little girl and the maître d’hôtel wrote four letters, and sent them by different chances to Algiers, but only the last ever arrived, and it created a great sensation.

      M. Dessault is a real personage, and the kindness of the Dey and of the Moors was exactly as related, also the expedient of sending the Marabout of Bugia to negotiate.

      Mr. Thomas Thompson was really the English Consul at the time, but his share in the matter is imaginary, as it depends on Arthur’s adventures.

      The account of the Marabout system comes from the Universal History; but the arrival, the negotiations, and the desire of the sheyk to detain the young French lady for a wife to his son, are from the narrative.  He really did claim to be an equal match for her, were she daughter of the King of France, since he was King of the Mountains.

      The welcome at Algiers and the Te Deum in the Consul’s chapel also are related in the book that serves me for authority.  It adds that Mademoiselle de Bourke finally married a Marquis de B–, and lived much respected in Provence, dying shortly before the Revolution.

      I will only mention further that a rescued Abyssinian slave named Fareek (happily not tongueless) was well known to me many years ago in the household of the late Warden Barter of Winchester College.

      Since writing the above I have by the kindness of friends been enabled to discover Mr. Scott’s authority, namely, a book entitled Voyage pour la Redemption des captifs aux Royaumes d’Alger et de Tunis, fait en 1720 par les P.P. François Comelin, Philemon de la Motte, et Joseph Bernard, de l’Ordre de la Sainte Trinité, dit Mathurine.  This Order was established by Jean Matha for the ransom and rescue of prisoners in the hands of the Moors.  A translation of the adventures of the Comtesse de Bourke and her daughter was published in the Catholic World, New York, July 1881.  It exactly agrees with the narration in The Mariners’ Chronicle except that, in the true spirit of the eighteenth century, Mr. Scott thought fit to suppress that these ecclesiastics were at Algiers at the time of the arrival of Mademoiselle de Bourke’s letter, that they interested themselves actively on her behalf, and that they wrote the narrative from the lips of the maître d’hôtel (who indeed may clearly be traced throughout).  It seems also that the gold cups were chalices, and that a complete set of altar equipments fell a prey to the Cabeleyzes, whose name the good fathers endeavour to connect with Cabale—with about as much reason as if we endeavoured to derive that word from the ministry of Charles II.

      Had I known in time of the assistance of these benevolent brethren I would certainly have introduced them with all due honour, but, like the Abbé Vertot, I have to say, Mon histoire est écrite, and what is worse—printed.  Moreover, they do not seem to have gone on the mission with the Marabout from Bugia, so that their presence really only accounts for the Te Deum with which the redeemed captives were welcomed.

      It does not seem quite certain whether M. Dessault was Consul or Envoy; I incline to think the latter.  The translation in the Catholic World speaks of Sir Arthur, but Mr. Scott’s ‘M. Arture’ is much more vraisemblable.  He probably had either a surname to be concealed or else unpronounceable to French lips.  Scott must have had some further information of the after history of Mademoiselle de Bourke since he mentions her marriage, which could hardly have taken place when Père Comelin’s book was published in 1720.