Princess Caraboo

Sumatra, Java, Sulawese

these are places with names so beautiful

that they must have been given by poets.

My boyhood imaginings were that my destiny lay

sailing down the trade routes to those Spice Islands.

That I would carve a fortune

and marry a potentate's daughter.

But destiny has taken a less romantic turn.

Instead I have become an ink-stained printer

and journalist, none too successful financially

and I will admit, not to fortunate in love either.

Reluctantly in my profession I've had to learn

the difference between the imaginary world

and the world that is real.

But this story is not imagined, and even though

in its way it's a fairy tale, it is true

and became as much my story as it was hers.

In the summer of 1817 England may have appeared

a green and pleasant land, but it could be

a dangerous and unwelcoming place to a lone traveler.

Repressive laws had been enacted, and it was not uncommon

for beggars and vagrants to end hanging

from a soldier's rope.

But in spite of these measures, one traveler

managed to avoid the army until farm workers

came upon her near the village of Almondsbury.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

- Where is my wife, where is Mrs. Hunt?

She's gone inside.

- George, will you all go home, please?

- The villagers are after the five shillings

for reporting a vagrant but

she doesn't look like a beggar to me, Mr. Hunt.

- George do get about your business.

She's not a fairground attraction.

A foreigner?

Yes, but she's not French

so you don't need to be alarmed.

- Maybe she's not French Vicar but what if she's a Corsican?

- I can assure you she's not, and I can speak French

personally, and in Corsica they speak French

or possibly Italian.

Italian, I had no idea.

I happen to believe she is a Turk.

Vicar, we had a Portuguese servant girl

during the Spanish campaign and she

turned out to be a man.

- And what has such a story to do with

this unfortunate young girl?

He was a French spy.

She's obviously female.

For God's sake man, you're not in Spain now.

More's the pity.

I'm very sorry my dear.

I'm very sorry, I'll take you somewhere more civilized.

Whoa, thank you Valjet, will you wait for me please?

Yes Sir.

Come along my dear.

Big house but very ordinary people.

I think you might have a gift for it Ma'am.

- Yes I think I'm getting a little more skillful.

Yes Ma'am, really truly.

- Ma'am, Vicar's here, he's brought somebody.

- Mr. Worrall has gone to Bristol.

He won't be back until tomorrow.

Well I had hoped that--

- What makes you think she's Turkish?

- Her hat, madam. - Oh.

Caraboo.

Caraboo, is that her name?

- I haven't heard her utter the word before.

You, Caraboo?

Caraboo.

- Worrall, Worrall, I am Mrs. Worrall.

Worrall, Worrall.

- Ella, have Mr. Frixos attend me in the drawing room.

Hurry along.

- She not Greek, she not Turkish.

I would know if she is Turkish and she definitely not Greek.

- Well perhaps you could ask her something

in your language, Mr. Frixos.

- Perhaps Mr. Hunt will take her back where he find her.

- Frixos, ask her something please.

Yes madam.

- Do you speak any other foreign language?

Only English.

- Is it her turban that makes her

look so foreign, do you think?

Perhaps it is.

My dear, Caraboo.

- Madam she is gypsy, I throw her out.

I'm not so sure.

Frixos, take her down to the servant's hall

and make sure that she gets some food and a bed.

Yes madam.

So have you got a name then?

Leave her be.

Cat's got her tongue?

Hey.

Don't you like meat then?

She saying she loves your cooking

Mrs. Wilberforce.

I don't trust her.

Mrs. Worrall, I a little anxious what Mr. Worrall say

when he come home.

- Oh Frixos, what Mr. Worrall has to say

should be of no concern of yours.

Yes Ma'am.

Sweet dreams.

God almighty, I need a shot.

Frixos, get me a drink.

Frixos! - Coming Sir.

Good morning Sir, Sir.

What the hell is that?

- That is a bust of Homer on the table

designed by Chippendale, the marble come from

a quarry in Carraba, Italy.

- Don't you bloody well patronize me, Frixos

especially not at this hour of the morning.

Who is it?

Oh, that is a filthy beggar.

- A beggar? - Yes Sir.

Mrs. Worrall take her in last night.

You know the story of the Good Samaritan?

- A beggar? - Yes Sir.

Oh.

- The poor were rioting last night.

The goons were called in to restore order.

Seven dead, I couldn't get back.

Oh, that's terrible dear.

- There were beggars sleeping in the doorway

to Tulsey's bank, I come home and find

you've got beggars sleeping under my roof.

- Our roof Mr. Worrall, I paid for it.

And she's not a beggar dear, she's a stranger in need.

- We're all in need, I've sent her to Bristol.

You've done what?

I've sent her to the assizers in Bristol.

Does she have any property

other than the clothes on her back?

- A bundle containing a change of linen

and a piece of soap, your worship sailor's marlin

spike and an apple Sir.

What is your name?

What is your name?

And she has no money.

- These coins Sir, foreign coins, but not a penny Sir.

- All persons or foreigners going from door to door

and placing themselves in the streets to beg

are to be deemed idle and disorderly.

Three months in a house of detention.

- Sir, I've seen one of the prisoners talking with her Sir.

You have?

Bring him in.

Do you know this woman?

No Sir.

I've seen him jabbering with her Sir.

- No, no, no, no Sir, she's just been teaching me

a few words of her language.

And what is that?

I don't know, Sir.

Where did she come from?

I don't know that either.

Well ask her what she means by going

from door to door in Almondsbury?

Caraboo.

- Worrall. - Worrall.

Mrs Worrall, you fool.

Oh.

What is she saying?

- I think she's saying something about a

I know it sounds stupid but I think that she's saying

that her father is a, is a, is a king.

- Are you mocking this court, McCarthy?

I don't believe it either.

- Mr. Haythorne, may I inquire as to

the correct spelling of?

Bloody journalists.

- Mr. Haythorne, may I approach the bench?

- Well I wouldn't believe a word that comes out

of this Irish wretch's mouth or hers, king.

She's obviously a foreigner.

I know that ignorance of the law is no defense

but how would she know that to ask for food

was a criminal act, well she wouldn't.

Besides, the Vicar says she wasn't begging.

I implore you, Mr. Haythorne.

- I've placed this girl under the supervision

of Mrs. Worrall until more can be learned of her origins.

McCarthy, three months in the house of detention, vagrancy.

- Mrs. Worrall, Gutch, Felix Farley's Bristol Journal.

Oh, so you're Mr. Gutch.

I've been wondering what manner of a man

has been writing such scurrilous things about my husband.

- I would be most grateful for an opportunity

to hear the young lady's history

at any time it might be convenient to you both.

- Mr. Gutch, in view of the articles

you've published about my husband's bank

I think it unlikely that he will allow you