The Raja of Bourbon

Michel De Grèce, Sadaf Raza

Description

An intriguing tale of grit, courage and adventure, The Raja of Bourbon is a well-researched historical account that traces the 'swashbuckling narrative' of Jean de Bourbon, a nephew of Henry IV, the first Bourbon French king. In the mid-sixteenth century Jean embarks on his first journey from France to survive attempts to assassinate him. Alone in the wide world, he is kidnapped by pirates and sold at an Egyptian slave market. From Egypt to Ethiopia, his journey is full of adventures, each more incredible than the other. In 1560, Jean finally arrives at the court of the Mughal emperor Akbar, ushering in a long trail of Bourbons in India. Balthazar de Bourbon, Jean's sole descendant in India, still stays in Bhopal, proud of his legendary ancestor and family history.

Sujets

• Histoire
• Borbón
• Mughal Empire
• Memoir
• History
• Palace
• Indian
• Jean de Bourbon
• Raja
• Prince
• Akbar
• Bourbon
• France
• Europe

Informations

• Publié par: Roli Books
• Date de parution: 01 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9789351940180
• Langue: English

Extrait

About the book
An intriguing tale of grit, courage and adventure, The Raja of Bourbon is a well-researched historical account that traces the 'swashbuckling narrative' of Jean de Bourbon, a nephew of Henry IV, the first Bourbon French king. In the mid-sixteenth century Jean embarks on his first journey from France to survive attempts to assassinate him. Alone in the wide world, he is kidnapped by pirates and sold at an Egyptian slave market. From Egypt to Ethiopia, his journey is full of adventures, each more incredible than the other. In 1560, Jean finally arrives at the court of the Mughal emperor Akbar, ushering in a long trail of Bourbons in India. Balthazar de Bourbon, Jean's sole descendant in India, still stays in Bhopal, proud of his legendary ancestor and family history.

ROLI BOOKS
This digital edition published in 2014
This translation first published in 2011 by The Lotus Collection An Imprint of Roli Books Pvt. Ltd M-75, Greater Kailash- II Market New Delhi 110 048 Phone: ++91 (011) 40682000 Email: [e-mail] Website: www.rolibooks.com
© 2007 by Editions JC Lattés © This English translation, Roli Books
Le Rajah Bourbon was first published by JC Lattés, Paris, © 2007 by Editions JC Lattés
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, mechanical, print reproduction, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of Roli Books. Any unauthorized distribution of this e-book may be considered a direct infringement of copyright and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Published in association with the French Embassy in India.
Cover Design: Divya Bhardwaj
ISBN: 978-93-5194-018-0
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The Raja of Bourbon
Contents
Preface
1516
1517
1519
1521
1522
1523
1525
1527
Marquisat of Mantoue, 1527
Egypt, 1539
Ethiopia, 1547
Portuguese India, 1555
Hindustan, 1560
Postscript
References
Acknowledgements
Preface
Bhopal, November 2005
I had dreamed of going to Sanchi, the jewel in the crown of Buddhist art, for a long time. Photographs showed enormous stupas with gates adorned with the most delicate sculpture in the middle of the countryside. This art combined the abstraction of spirituality with the refinements of a poetic mythology. Sanchi is situated in central India, approximately mid-way between Delhi and Bombay, a region still not developed for tourists.
Friends advised me against spending the night there, the hotel industry being more or less primitive. However, Bhopal, a large city only fifty kilometres away, catered to my standard of comfort. The old capital of an independent principality ruled by rich Muslim nawabs, Bhopal is today the capital of the vast state of Madhya Pradesh, and has excellent hotels. Bhopal, for me, like for most of the world, remains darkly associated with the horrifying accident at Union Carbide, and the fatal gas leak which took thousands of lives in 1980. Despite this discouraging reference, the city won me over at first sight. A number of lakes marked its irregular design; colossal decrepit palaces stood on lush green hills. Tall, slender minarets in pink stone accentuated the old city. In the residential quarter, a street lined with palm trees leads to the Jahan Numah Palace hotel, one of the older residences of the nawabs, built in the beginning of the twentieth century. I was struck by its lush gardens, the grass impeccably mown, the long white galleries open to the skies and old photographs of exotic sovereigns.
A smiling employee escorted me upstairs to a mahogany door. As he was opening the door, my eyes glanced upon a sleek bronze plate that had engraved upon it: ‘The Bourbon Suite’. I had already noticed in passing a ‘Godard Suite’, a ‘Senator Jeffrey Suite’, and other names of Western origin. But why the name ‘Bourbon’ in the middle of central India? When I asked the employee about it, he advised me to ask the concierge.
‘Why Bourbon? Very simple,’ the concierge replied, ‘because it is the name of one of the most prestigious families of Bhopal, a very old family which has played a prominent role in the history of this region and is the subject of a number of legends.’
I rephrased my question, ‘So how does this family happen to bear the name Bourbon?’ Typically Indian, the concierge refused to admit that he didn’t know anything and proposed to arrange a meeting with the head of the family, whom I could question at leisure. He glanced through the telephone directory and read to me, ‘Bourbon Balthazar, 8 Church Road, Jahangirabad’. He added, ‘It is the address of the school which is run by the family, the Bourbon School.’ He dialed the number. I heard him say, ‘Mr Bourbon, I have here a French tourist (I don’t know him) who would like to meet you.’ A murmur followed. The director hung and turned to me, ‘He will see you in one hour.’
We left the hotel at dusk. The Indian road, ruled by intense chaos by day, now turns to outright pandemonium. In the semi-darkness, entire walls of bicycles, mopeds, vespas speed towards us, goats, buffaloes, camels walk freely, families chat on the asphalt, children cross the road without any regard to safety, and sadhus, the skeletal holy men wrapped in saffron, move between cars as if they didn’t exist.
The driver was not from Bhopal, yet we reached the popular quarter of Jahangirabad without much difficulty. We asked for directions many times; everyone knew The Bourbon School, but some explanations are such that several times they sent us on the wrong route. Finally, we were set on the right road that wound between violently lit shops. On my right, I saw a large building left in darkness with an enormous board, The Bourbon School.
As the gates opened we entered a huge dark, shadowy courtyard. A rather small, portly man with a moustache and a smile appeared and announced, ‘I am Balthazar de Bourbon.’ He took me to another courtyard in the middle of which stood a modern villa, enclosed by a small garden. Next to the door, underneath an enormous metal fleur de lys was engraved in tall letters in golden bronze, ‘House of Bourbon’. Balthazar’s family was waiting for me: his wife Elisha and their three children, Frédéric, aged twenty, Michele, aged seventeen, and the youngest, Adrien.
We entered a living room with high ceilings. In typically Indian fashion, the temperature inside was freezing. Everyone took a seat on huge armchairs. They observe me with curiosity, with warmth, but also perhaps a dash of suspicion. Acutely embarrassed, I began to explain myself. ‘I have just discovered that a family in Bhopal bore the name Bourbon, which happens to be the name of my mother as well (Bourbon Orleans maybe, but Bourbon all the same). I don’t mean to be indiscreet, but I simply wanted to find out by what coincidence you bear this family name.’ In response, Balthazar left the room and soon returned with an old, visibly worn-out volume, held together by strips of scotch tape. I glanced at the back of the book: Louis Rousselet, L’Inde et ses rajahs , 1875. The book opened almost of its own accord to a particular page that Balthazar made me read:
Bhopal 1865. One day while smoking hukkas and savouring sorbets at a gathering that I was invited to, a powerful voice surprised me by announcing: “Padri Sahib, the head priest.” A minute later I saw enter into the room a young man dressed in a catholic priest’s clothes. The entire gathering stood up, for the Muslims always show the greatest respect for our ecclesiastical costume. I went forward to the priest who to my great surprise addressed me in French … What luck! A Frenchman in Bhopal! When everyone sat down, the missionary spoke to me: “On hearing about your arrival, I was eager to come see you as it has been a long time since I had the pleasure of meeting a fellow countryman, but I had to delay my visit for a reason that you will easily understand. I reside here in my capacity as the chaplain of Madam Elisabeth de Bourbon, a Christian princess who is in the first position in the kingdom after the Begum. The princess really hoped that you would come see her as soon as you arrived; she has been awaiting you impatiently. Being but a servant, I had to postpone my visit till the day she authorized me to come find you. I have come today, sent by her, to convey that she will wait for you in her palace, tomorrow, at a time that is convenient to you.” I was listening to the priest talk to me but I could not believe my ears. My journey had already offered me unexpected surprises, but coming to Bhopal to find a French chaplain to a Christian princess, to learn that this princess is one of the most important figures in the country, and that she bears the name Bourbon, all this seemed to be touch by the surreal to me, and I looked at the nice priest, wondering if underneath all this there wasn’t a mystery. Finally, I accepted the invitation of the mysterious princess, and he left us to deliver the news to her.
When he left, I questioned the noble Bhopalis present there, and they confirmed what the priest had said. The princess was commonly known la Doulan Sircar, which means the Queen of the betrotheds, a nickname that she came to merit some fifty years ago, for she now counted some seventy summers; but her real name was Bourbon Sircar, meaning the princess of Bourbon. It is also true that she used to be very rich, possessing important territories and occupying the first rank amongst the great nobles of the crown.
My curiosity was strongly awakened. So the next morning I mounted an elephant and was led towards the palace of the princess. We stopped in front of a p