At the age of twenty-two my uncle turned Turk, from political
conviction. This happened under the Bourbons. The character of his
services in Turkey during the contests between Mehemet Ali and the
Sultan was never very clear, and I fancy he was rather muddled about
them himself, for he served both these princes by turns with equal
courage and equal devotion. As it happened, he was on the side of
Ibrahim at the time that the latter defeated the Turks at the battle of
Konieh; but being carried away in that desperate charge which he himself
led, and which decided the victory, my unfortunate uncle suffered the
disgrace of falling wounded into the hands of the vanquished party.
Being a prisoner to Kurchid-Pasha, and his wound having soon healed, he
was expecting to be impaled, when, to his great joy, his punishment was
commuted to that of the galleys. There he remained three years without
succeeding in effecting his escape, when one fine day he found his
services in request just at the right time by the Sultan, who appointed
him Pasha, giving him a command in the Syrian wars. What circumstance
was it that cut short his political career? How was it that he obtained
from the Pope the title of Count of the Holy Empire? Nobody knows.
All that is certain is that Barbassou-Pasha, tired of his honours and
having returned two years since to settle down in Provence, started off
one morning for Africa, on a ship that he had bought at Toulon.
Henceforth he devoted himself to the spice trade.
It was after one of these voyages that he published his celebrated
ontological monograph upon the negro races, a work which created some
stir and gained for him a most flattering report from the Academy.
These leading events of his Odyssey being known, the more private facts
and deeds of the life of Barbassou-Pasha are lost in obscurity. As for
his physical characteristics, you will remember the great Marseillais
six-foot high, with sinewy frame and muscles of steel; your mind's eye
can picture still the formidable, bearded face, the savage and terrible
eye, the rough voice, the complete type in short of "the pirate at his
ease," as you used to say, when laughing sometimes at his quiet humour.
After all, an easy-going soul, and the best of uncles!
As for my own recollections, so far back as they go, the following is
all I have ever known of him. Being continually at sea, he had placed me
at school quite young. One year, while at his château at Férouzat, he
sent for me during the holidays. I was six years old, and saw him for
the first time. He held me up in his arms to examine my face and
features, then turning me gently round in the air, he felt my sides,
after which--satisfied, no doubt, as to my build--he put me down again
with great care, as if afraid of breaking me.