Chapter 11: The old woman’s story 

Note: This chapter contains a scene of kidnapping, as well as indirect references to sexual violence. Viewer discretion is advised. 

“I was not always such an old crone as I am now; my eyes did not used to be so red as this, nor did my nose touch my chin, and I was not always a servant. I’m the daughter of Pope Urban X and the Princess of Palestrina¹. I was raised until the age of fourteen in a palace of such glory that your German barons’ houses wouldn’t be fit to serve as stables, where each of my dresses was worth as much as all the luxuries of your Westphalia. I grew in beauty, in grace, in talent, in a million pleasures, in respect, and in hope. I inspired love; my throat grew, and what a beautiful throat it was! White, firm, as beautiful as the throat of the Venus de Medici. Oh, and my eyes! What magnificent eyes! What precious eyelids! What dark, beautiful eyebrows! What brilliant flames danced in my eyes, eclipsing the scintillation of the stars! The poets of my corner of the world praised me endlessly, and the women who dressed and undressed me each day fell down in awe whenever they saw my body from the front or even back. I imagine many men would’ve loved to be in their place.

“I was made the fiancee of the sovereign prince of Massa-Carrara², a duchy of Italy, and what a prince he was! He was as attractive as I was, full of sweetness and agreeability, with burning love and a brilliant spirit. I loved him like a woman who had fallen in love for the first time, a love that bordered on rapturous idolatry. The wedding arrangements were made; it was a pompous display, its magnificence unheard of. There were banquets, carousels, continuous opera-buffas, and all Italy composed sonnets for me, though not one of them was passable. 

“I was nearing the moment of my happiness when an old marquise, who’d been a mistress of my prince’s, invited me to drink some chocolate with her; she died in less than two hours after many dreadful convulsions. This was trifling to me. My mother, in despair, though much less affected than I was, wished to tear herself away for a time from such a tragic place. She owned a beautiful piece of land near Gaeta: we embarked together on a glorious vessel, covered in enough gold to rival St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. We were on that ship, far into the sea, when a group of corsairs³ found us and boarded our vessel. Our soldiers defended us like the soldiers of the pope; they went straight to their knees and threw away their weapons, imploring of the corsairs an absolution in articulo mortis. 

“Then, the corsairs took their clothes so that they were bare as monkeys, and did the same to my mother, our maids of honor, and myself. It’s an admirable thing, the diligence with which those men stripped our clothes⁴.

“I need not tell you how awful it is for a young princess and her mother to be enslaved and carried off to Morocco: you might imagine the sort of suffering which we endured within the corsair. My mother was still very beautiful: our maids of honor, and even the simple women of our chambers had more charm than could be found anywhere in Africa; as for me, I was ravishing, I was beautiful, I was the epitome of grace, and I remained yet a virgin. I did not remain so for long, though. This flower of mine, reserved for the handsome prince of Massa-Carrara, was stolen from me by the corsair captain. He was an abominable negro, who took all my honor⁵. Certainly the princess of Palestrina and I were strong to endure all that we were subjected to during our voyage. But let us not dwell on that; these things are common and unworthy of mention.

“Morocco was swimming in blood when we arrived. Fifty sons of the emperor Muley-Ismael each had their supporters; this, in effect, produced fifty civil wars. Blacks fought against Blacks, Blacks against Arabs, Arabs against Arabs, and mulattos against mulattos; the carnage was constant throughout all the empire.

“The moment we landed, the men of an enemy faction of my corsair presented themselves to steal his plunder. We were, after the diamonds and gold, the most precious things on the ship. I had to witness a fight such as I’d never seen in Europe. The people of Europe don’t have such hot blood or such hunger for women as is common in Africa. It seems that us Europeans have milk in our veins, but it’s a vitriol, a fire which runs through the veins of those inhabitants of Mt. Atlas and the surrounding countries. They fought with the fury of lions, of tigers, of serpents, even, to see who would claim ownership of us. A Moor seized my mother by her right arm, and a lieutenant of my captain retaliated by seizing her left arm. A Moor soldier took one of her legs, and one of our pirates took the other. Our women were nearly all pulled into quarters in such a fashion, but my captain hid me behind him; with his scimitar, he cut down in his rage all those who opposed him. In the end, all our Italian ladies, along with my mother were seized, torn, cut, and massacred by the monsters who fought over us. The captives, my companions, those who had taken them, the soldiers, sailors, Blacks, Whites, mulattos, and at last my captain were at last long dead, and I remained dying upon a pile of corpses. Such scenes the war’s participants repeated across more than three hundred leagues, but they never forgot their five prayers a day to Mohammad⁶.

“With great difficulty I freed myself from the pile of bloody corpses, and crawled to an orange tree next to a neighboring stream. I fell there, ravaged by horror, dread, and intense hunger. Immediately, my senses failed me and I sank into a deep sleep. I was in this state of weakness and insensibility, somewhere between living and dead, that I felt something pressing upon my body. I opened my eyes and saw a white man of good looks who sighed, whispering under his breath, “O che sciagura d’essere senza coglioni!^7,8”

Translator’s Notes:

1. There are only eight Pope Urbans, not ten. Voltaire invented a fictional pope for this story, as accusing a real-life pope of having an illegitimate child would be scandalous enough to put Voltaire’s freedom in very legitimate jeopardy. He still conveyed his point, though. This detail was meant to attack the fact that in the 18th century, many clergy members took their positions simply for power and influence, and didn’t even attempt to follow any vow of celibacy. Listeners of the time would’ve understood this criticism, as it wasn’t much of a secret during the period. 
2. This is a part of Italy known for its beautiful white marble. 
3. Some English translations translate the word “corsaire” as “pirate ship.” I chose to leave the word in its anglicized form of “corsair,” as this term is more period-accurate and more effectively maintains the tone of the novel.
4. A few sentences which follow the event of the old woman and her crew being stripped have been omitted, as the event which follows afterwards may be disturbing for younger readers, and is a minor detail which does very little to forward the plot. 
5. I elected to translate certain rather racist sentences (e.g. The people in Europe . . .) as closely to their original French as possible for the sake of historical accuracy. These sentiments did exist at the time, but they are obviously very wrong and offensive, and I do not share Voltaire’s sentiments on this issue. 
6. In saying that the African soldiers committed countless atrocities yet never missed their prayers to Mohammad, Voltaire is juxtaposing violence against piety. 
7. In terms of style, I’ve elected to lean into a slightly more formal style of speech for much of this chapter, which remains relatively accurate to the original French. Since the woman speaking is much older and is revealed to come from a wealthy background, her style of speech is a little bit more refined than that of many other characters in the novel. I wanted to embrace this, as it makes for a fun and rather theatrical style of storytelling.
8. The final sentence in this chapter, if the reader is curious, is the man lamenting the fact that he had to be a eunuch.