(Algerian Sketches: Emile Masqueray: Le Figaro: Translated for Short
Stories by Eleanor Moore Hiestand.)
For two wearisome days I had been journeying back and forth in the
country of the Aoulâd Naîel. I was still far from my tent when I threw
myself prone upon the sands, worn out with fatigue. On the previous
afternoon, my guide and I had made a little excursion to a neighboring
_douar_, and I could still hear echoes of the singular greetings
showered upon me by my entertainers:
“Our father! Thy tent is blessed! Thy spurs are strong!”
Suddenly, as I lay there, the clouds seemed to lower above my head;
they grew strangely dense and shone like brass. The manes and tails of
our horses bristled with apprehension. I felt a prolonged shiver pass
over me. A powerful hand seemed to press its weight upon my temples.
Now the frozen sky was streaked with white; now it settled into
oppressive darkness again; and with no living thing in sight upon the
dry and barren plain, we felt utterly alone and at the mercy of some
awful power. Presently a veil seemed to be thrown over our heads, and
night came upon us as suddenly as when a lamp is extinguished in an
otherwise unlighted room.
My guide shouted. We leaped upon our horses who galloped away with
winged feet, trembling with fear, away into the fathomless shadows. In
vain I tried to check this mad pace. I felt like throwing myself face
downward upon the ground, for I thought death awaited us in the saddle;
but my guide spurred on, quite oblivious of me, murmuring:
“There is no God! but God!”
A moment more and the clouds were cleft in twain with an awful crash.
The sky was spread with a sheet of darting flame, and the earth became
so bright that I saw quite plainly the gray lizards crawling in a tuft
of _chih_. Our horses wheeled about, but we used our spurs, and, giving
them the rein, we fled on, not knowing whither we went. We were quite
beside ourselves; we no longer knew what danger it was that lashed us
on. My guide urged on my horse with a hempen whip; I shouted to his.
Again and again lurid flashes of lightning diffused about as dazzling
circles which we traversed with a bound only to enter again into the
terrible darkness. How long had we been flying? How many times had we
barely escaped those awful thunderbolts? I knew only that we sped like
bullets till we struck suddenly against a black cone which loomed up in
our course.
Human cries rent the air, mingled with the howls of dogs.
We were trampling down somebody’s tent.
“Have a care, friend!” cried a voice from the darkness. “Thou art
welcome. I would that thy countenance were known--that thou hadst come
while it was yet day, but praised be God who sent thee to thy servants
to herald the rain.”
We leaped from our saddles and sprang under cover just in time to
escape a cascade from the clouds that would have drenched our very
bones.
* * * * *
My host told me in the morning that he was about setting out in company
with all the men of the _douar_ to meet a distinguished _hadj_ who had
just made his third pilgrimage to the Kaaba and Medina, one of the
Brotherhood of Lidi-Abd-el-Kader-el-Djilani, who was now regarded as
almost a saint.
Upon their return, there was to be a festival. In the afternoon, a
banquet of cuckoos, several roast sheep and honey-cakes would be
served; this would be followed by target-practice and dancing--that
is, there would be dancing-girls to entertain us. The tent occupied
by these girls was in the remotest part of the semi-circle which the
_douar_ described. I could see it at a distance; the borders were drawn
up and something red showed from beneath.
I was talking to a youth who asked me in good faith whether I believed
in God and whether it were true that the Europeans married their
sisters. He was evidently studying me as a kind of savage beyond the
reach of Mohammed. Several young women passed by us, bending beneath
the weight of black leathern bottles. The water glued their thin robes
to their skin. They wore no undergarments, and the wind which tossed
their torn clothing, revealed their whole figures in clear profile.
Some were bearing on their heads bundles of briars which they steadied
with their hands. Their arms were long and well shaped; their throats
had no voluptuous fullness; their figures were almost straight up and
down. They looked to me like primitive caryatids of Asia.
My host had a daughter who was barely sixteen; his niece was about
twenty. These girls were eyeing me from afar and could not resist
their curiosity to see and speak to the _Roumi_, who was evidently
bored by the youth talking to him. Under the pretext of bringing me
some water, they came up, one behind the other. They looked very pretty
with their abundant hair intertwined with coral and their smooth
cheeks mingling the hues of amber and rose. The _Roumi_ took the bowl
and drank with his eyes on his pretty servitors. As the eldest seemed
surprised at this impertinence, he apologized for daring to drink in
her presence, and, the ice being broken, they chatted freely. They
sank their dark eyes into the depths of mine, and smiled till their
beautiful teeth dazzled me.
“Why do you not cut off your moustache up to your lip? Why don’t you
shave half of your head? you look like a monkey with all that hair
falling over your face! Of what kind of cloth are your clothes made?
Let us see, please, how it is sewed together. Did your wife make it?
Tell us now--won’t you?--if your wives look like us?”
The elder who plied all these questions was half reclining in the sand,
resting her body on her right hand and leaning forward so as to gain my
ear. I answered her with the first lines of a song:
“Thy eyes are black without kohol,
Thy cheeks are red without fard!”
She completed the stanza:
“’Tis thou who hast given me the fever,
Thou who hast hurled me upon the mountain!”
Then she turned her face toward the furthest tent, through whose lifted
borders something red shone, and said, abruptly:
“Dost thou know Khamissa?”
“What Khamissa?”
“The dancer.”
“No!”
“Then give us something right away, because, as soon as thou hast seen
her, thy heart will burn itself out, and then wilt thou have nothing to
do with us!”
I had in my pocket a little mirror which I gave her. The younger girl
took my silk handkerchief and begged also for a red girdle I wore. So
they plundered me outright--the little savages--and I was obliged to
smile.
Fortunately for me, some shots were heard; sharp you-yous echoed along
the line of the tents. The _hadj_ was approaching from the depth of
a ravine. There were at least thirty cavaliers attending him, all
mounted on spirited horses which galloped over the brow of the hill,
their tails flying. More than one of these horsemen wore only a shirt,
a shabby sort of a burnous over his shoulders, a rag twisted around his
head, and was mounted on a wooden saddle with no covering, and only two
ends of rope for a bridle! I cannot describe the effect as they came
riding over the hill, their bronzed legs pressing the flanks of their
steeds. What a superb poverty it was! What wonderful bandits these men
were!
The holy pilgrim permitted himself to be borne on a mule’s back. His
eyes were half closed, his cheeks looked pale beneath a large turban
of white muslin. He trembled a little as he set foot upon the ground,
and still more when he seated himself in the midst of a group of young
people, who looked at him with profound awe. I suggested giving him
some quinine, but I was informed that it was the fear of God which
caused him to tremble; the _hadj_ thanked me with a glance which said I
was only a pagan, or else I was a terrible blunderer! The women of the
_douar_ had hidden themselves. They dared not appear before this holy
man, perhaps for fear his sanctity should suffer. Angels have fallen
for love of women.
* * * * *
Powder was flashing from noonday till sunset. The women emerged from
their tents, clad in their best. They wore long veils, white or
flowered, which fell from the summit of their lofty head-dresses to
the ground. Their faces were uncovered and quite brilliant with ochre
and vermillion. The horses went prancing by them, and the cavaliers,
in their honor, rode so close that the flaming wads from their guns
burned the women’s red robes. They were intoxicated by the acid odor of
smoke, they cried out like birds of prey, but kept waving handkerchiefs
in the air. A cavalier seized one and galloped away with it. Several
shots were fired after him across the plain. He wheeled about and rode
back to his elected mistress. We grew excited. A breath of anger and
combat blew over us, but, at a sign from the senior cavalier, every
gun was discharged at once, and the noise of this fusillade rose to
the very skies. It was not long ere we were gathered around the roast
sheep, whose savory flanks were decorated with gold, white cuckoos
surmounted by pats of butter and bathed in red sauce. We praised God
and their was no one who complained of being slighted. The holy
pilgrim was not with us. The wife of my host had served him apart
with a young lamb, a huge bowl of sour milk, a fine cake of dates and
semoule. Several piles of shining pieces were also given him in a
kerchief and he was now reciting his litanies in honor of God and of
his patron, dead to all the world but living in celestial councils,
Sidi-Aba-el-Kader-el-Ghilâni-el-Baghdâdi. Khamissa had not yet shown
herself. Only her two companions, Fatma and Zeineb appeared. They wore
blue robes and golden diadems. They said that Khamissa must be either
ill or praying.
* * * * *
At last the moon rose and in the open space in the center of the
_douar_, I saw some tapers placed in parallel lines forming a sort of
avenue of light. On either side the women scooped out little holes in
the sand, and executed a few dancing steps. The men squatted alongside
of the rows of tapers, but the women stood in the background, looking
like dark phantoms. I sat with my host and some persons of distinction
at the end and in the middle of the road. Opposite us sat Fatma and
Zeineb, half-reclining in a group of halfa; beyond them a royal profile
was visible. It was she! The words I had heard in the morning rang in
my ears: “Thy heart will be burnt out!” Already the fires kindled as I
looked at her. The flutes discoursed a tender strain. Zenieb and Fatma
were whirling about each other, blue as the sky, shining with golden
stars. Only in the shadow could I see her form outlined softly beneath
the folds of a great piece of white silk which enveloped her.
What said the flutes now? The space was empty. The crackling briars
shot flames up higher than the tents. The flutes called with imperious
vibrating accents, in sad supplications, in wild outbursts, while the
dull thud of the drums in the interval seemed to fire the soul with a
holy enthusiasm.
Khamissa lifted her arms, tossed aside the haïk which enveloped her
and slowly rose. She took several steps and then paused, her elbows
pressed to her sides, her two hands folded against her cheeks, her
head inclining somewhat to the left, her eyes half-closed--it was
the attitude of prayer. She sparkled from head to foot, and, in her
attitude of absolute repose, she looked like a splendid idol.
Her robes were of red, silver and gold. The scarlet drapery, cunningly
drawn about her in thick folds, reached all the way to the ground. A
belt of embossed silver, high under the breasts but low at the sides,
encompassed her like a piece of armor. Upon her bosom lay numerous
golden chains dependant from both sides of her head, which was crowned
by a lofty headdress. This coiffure was made of a black silk turban and
tresses of wool, over which were worn two diadems of gold with pendants
that twinkled upon her forehead. A long white veil parted at her
temples and fell backward over her shoulders to the ground. Neither her
hair nor her ears nor her neck were visible. The perfect oval of her
face, her beautiful cheeks and her long eyes were framed in gold. Her
lips were painted red, her cheeks were touched with saffron and with
rose, her eyelids were colored blue. It was only when she held out her
arms that I saw the velvet whiteness of her flesh, and yet these arms
were laden to the elbows with huge bracelets of silver that bristled
with points.
Was it Pallas-Athene? Was it a Byzantine madonna? Was it a painted
statue from the Acropolis? Who was this coming toward us with slow
steps that glided softly over the sand keeping time with the thunder of
the gongs and the wild flutes that rent the air? She swayed gently and
turned her hands reddened with henna, now holding her head to the right
while her wide-open eyes shone like stars. Her tall and supple body was
invisible, but its movements communicated a divine grace and harmony to
the garments she wore. She swayed to and fro by an insensible movement.
To the young men who gazed upon her, she seemed a goddess! She advanced
in this way till she stood within a few steps of my fascinated eyes;
then she paused and fell back into her first attitude, the pose of a
Virgin in a cathedral window. I watched her deliberately. The pendant
of her diadems were golden fish, the symbols of Jesus Christ, our
Saviour; in the center of her forehead hung the Christian cross; on her
chin which was sculptured out of purest marble, the cross of Buddha
lay; on her blood-colored hands were the seven darts of Solomon’s
candlestick; around her thumbs were two blue threads, the Egyptian
symbol of eternal life. This marvelous creature was unconsciously
consecrated to all religions of the world.
She turned about to retire as slowly as she had advanced. Her long
white veil trailed on the ground. Then she came back with a new rhythm
in her movements, yet still gliding quickly, softly, subtly like
a ray of sunlight. Her steps were longer now. Her lips parted in a
charming smile; her head was half-turned to one side; now the right,
now the left arm was extended to give a playful little tap to some
lover or adorer as she advanced in the midst of beseeching shadows.
Again she paused before the group of which I was a part, turned with
suspended motion and then retreated. As yet not an Arab had stirred.
They were squatting there with their knees pressed against their chins,
half-hidden by their barnous. When she advanced for the third time, the
scene changed. Then she was truly superb!
“O, Heaven! Wonderful! May God bless thy mother! God keep misery from
all who belong to thee!”
Thus the men exclaimed as they pressed each other for a better view,
and the women stifled the _you-yous_ in their throats, pressing their
hands to their eyes.
With a backward motion, she drew off her veil; a quick movement
unfastened the first row of chains from her breast. She turned her
head, spread her arms in a semi-circle, bent her round bust upon her
body, and, as though inspired by the beating of the drums, she tapped
the earth with her naked feet. She came forward with a simple movement,
with no seductive oscillation of the body, yet perfectly intoxicating!
Her eyes shot sparks which fell to her very ankles where circlets of
gold were flashing. It would not have surprised me, had some one of
the young brigands who watched her, snatched her up in his iron grasp,
swung her into his saddle and galloped away. But they seemed content
simply to foreswear and ruin themselves for her. They tossed under
her feet every bit of silver the holy pilgrim had left them; the sand
shone with coins--five franc pieces, the _boudjous_ of Tunis, and old
Spanish _douros_. Now and then, she would pause and start anew, smiling
more radiantly each time she threw out her arms. I shut my eyes for
a moment; I felt she was before me. I saw her kneeling, her breast
swelling beneath the golden chains, raising her blue eyelids, showing
her white teeth set in coral. I leaned toward her; I felt her warm
breath fan my cheek. I laid three gold pieces on her brow and one on
either cheek.
“Khamissa!” I murmured. “Lovely one! Leave me not!”
She smiled her alluring smile. The flutes burst forth in a passionate
appeal. I held out my arms, but she was gone!