SUSA
“A happy journey until our next meeting, and may Allah preserve
you from cholera!”
These were the parting words of my friend Gauckler, Inspector of
Antiquities and Arts, who bade me a last farewell at the Italian
railway station of Tunis.
Numbers of flamingoes stalked along the shores of the lagoon,
showing like white patches on the blue-grey expanse of water. Out
on the horizon, where the lake ended, I could see Goletta’s white
houses, and beyond them a deep, dark blue line—the Mediterranean.
At midday the heat was stifling, but after we reached Goletta Bay
the sun sank rapidly, and the air grew cooler as a little steamer
took us through the entrance to the harbour, past the homeward-bound
fishing-boats. Just at sunset we reached our large steamer. To the
north, Carthage’s white church on the heights near Marsa appeared
on the horizon, and, in the south, the blue mountains of Hammamlif.
Amid the noisy whistling of the steamer, mingled with screams and
shouts, I tumbled on board with my numerous bundles and packages;
finding my way at last to the saloon, where a frugal dinner awaited
us.
Next morning, when I went on deck, the coast lay like a flat,
grey stripe ahead of us. I went forward and enjoyed the fresh sea
breeze for which I had so longed in Tunis. Near the bows of the ship
were two dolphins. One of them rose to the surface of the water and
spouted a stream of spray through the little orifice in its head,
then sank again. The other then rose in its turn.
The white bundles on the fore part of the deck now began to stir into
life, and each as it rose threw back its burnous, and showed a dark
face. One Arab had with him his whole family. He had spread a rush
mat on which, amongst their numerous belongings, lay, closely packed,
husband, wife (perhaps wives), several children and a large poodle. A
roguish little girl came to discover what I was contemplating. She
was sweet, brown, and clean, and peeped up at me, hiding her face
the while with one hand, evidently conscious of wrong-doing. The
tips of her fingers and toes were stained red with henna, which was
not unpleasing. Soon after, a closely veiled figure, apparently the
mother, came to fetch the little one. I had just time to perceive
that she was pretty, as she threw back a fold of her haik to wrap
round her child and herself. What a charming picture they made as
they leant against the bulwarks and gazed towards the land!
Upon a slope, quite near, lay Susa—white, white, everything
was white.
On the summit of the slope were some towers and a crenelated wall,
and on the seashore beneath, yet another wall. Below lay the harbour,
too shallow, however, for our ship to enter; we had therefore to
lie out in the open.
A boat took me to the quay, where some twenty black-eyed boys
of all ages, with gleaming teeth and red caps, lay watching for
their prey. As the boat drew alongside, they rushed down to seize my
luggage. The boatmen attempted to push them aside, but, nevertheless,
one caught up my little handbag, another my umbrella, and a third my
photographic apparatus. There was nothing for me to do but to jump
ashore and chase the thieves. It was long before I could collect
everything under the charge of one lad. Then, with a couple of smart
taps right and left, my little guide and I marched up to the Kasba,
where the Commandant lives. Here are the magazines and barracks,
and here, too, I knew that I should find a collection of antiquities.
Susa was originally a Phœnician colony, and played no small part
in the Punic Wars. Trajan called it “Hadrumetum,” and made
it the capital of the province. It was laid waste by the Vandals,
rebuilt by Justinian, and destroyed by Sid Obka, who utilised the
greater portion of its ancient materials to build the holy city
of Kairwan. Later the town was rebuilt by the Turks, who had here
for a long time one of their hiding-places for their piratical
fleets. The town was therefore assaulted by Charles V. in 1537, and
again by Andreas Doria in 1539, and, lastly, was occupied without
a struggle on the 10th of September 1881, by a force under General
Etienne. It is, after Tunis, the most important town in the Regency,
and is governed by a Khalifa in the name of the Bey.
[Illustration: SUSA.]
Numerous remains of all these periods are to be found in Susa. In
the houses, mosques, and in the surrounding country, antiquities
and ancient ruins abound. From the Commandant I learnt that the
foundations of the Kasba date from the time of the Phœnicians. Later,
the Romans, as also those conquerors who followed them, built
over these.
In the _salle d’honneur_ are arranged many earthen vessels of
Phœnician origin found in tombs, together with other objects of
the same period.
From Roman times remain magnificent mosaics, partly buried in the
walls; vessels, vases, and broken fragments of marble figures. The
Kasba itself, with its many arches, gateways, turrets, and walls
inlaid with tiles, dates from the days of the Arabs or Turks.
In nearly every instance the mosaics depict horses, their names being
introduced beside them. Evidently, in those days, this was already
deemed an important mart for horses bred in the country. The breeding
of Barbs appears to date further back than is generally believed,
and, in fact, to be older than the Arabian conquest of this land. One
sees horses depicted with red head-stalls, decorated on the top with
tufts of feathers, and with their near quarters branded, exactly as
seen on the troop horses of to-day.
The outlines of the horses on the mosaics prove that the Barbs of that
period were the same in type as those of the present age; also that
their careful treatment is not of recent date. Even the same class
of flat iron shoes is used now, as then, on the horses’ forefeet.
I inquired of the Commandant whether particularly fine horses were
reared in this region. He replied in the affirmative, and that in
the direction of Kairwan there are nomad tribes whose horses are of
noble race.
I climbed the high tower of the Kasba,—now used as a
lighthouse,—whence I overlooked the town which lay below me
encircled by its protecting wall. Over the country, on all sides,
olive woods met my view, and far away on the horizon I could catch
a glimpse of villages, looking like white specks. There dwell the
ill-disposed tribes who, in 1881, held out against the French. They
never ventured on an open engagement, but at night assembled in
their hundreds and kept up an incessant fire on the French lines;
killing a number of both officers and men. These were avenged by
heavy levies and fines on the inhabitants. Poor people, they had
only defended their hearths and homes.
My boy guide followed me through the streets, where drowsy lazy Moors
crouched, half asleep in their shops, waiting for purchasers. The
loveliest small boys and girls were lying about in the streets,
much to the obstruction of traffic, here conducted by means of small
donkeys and large mules.
Stepping into a little Moorish coffee-house, I found, to my
astonishment, that the interior resembled in construction an
old Byzantine basilica, its dome being supported on arches and
pillars. The whole was white-washed, but well preserved. The
coffee-house was named “el Kaunat el Kubba,” which may be
translated Church Café.[1] Nothing could be more artistic than the
cooking utensils, mats, and pottery scattered here and there about
this very old building.
At five o’clock it was dark. The stream of wayfarers diminished,
and the streets were deserted and empty. I dined at the Hotel de
France on the seashore, not far from the esplanade, and sat after
dinner reading my papers, till I heard a frightful noise outside,
and, peering out, saw a crowd of Arabs gathered behind an unfurled
banner. They shouted and yelled in measured time. One of them said a
few words which all the others repeated. I was told that they were
praying to Allah for rain. They halted a few paces from a kubba,
called Bab el Bahr, and the procession dispersed, the banner being
taken into the kubba.
I went for a turn on the seashore by the road which leads along
the walls to Bab el Jedir. The sun was melting hot. Against the
walls were built a number of mud huts and sheds, in which, amongst
carriages and carts, horses and donkeys were stabled.
Outside were piles of pottery, vessels of all shapes and sizes,
from the largest receptacles for wine or water—reminding one of
those found belonging to the Roman age—to cups and jars of spiral
or other strange forms, such as I have seen in the museum at Carthage.
This clay ware is brought from Nebel, where, since very ancient times,
there has been a manufactory that produces pottery the same to-day
as it was a thousand years ago.
The gateway is deep, and has, as have most gates in this country,
recesses with seats on both sides, always filled by idlers and
beggars. Indeed, it is quite an Eldorado for the blind, halt, and
maimed, as well as for many who have nothing the matter with them. The
whole day they sit there and stretch out their hands for alms.
I placed myself near the corner stone of the gate, where the shade
was cool and pleasant; through the dark archway I could see the sun
blazing on the shore, and the road looking like a bright streak of
light, and, beyond it, the harbour and the beautiful blue sea.
[Illustration: TWO KHRUMIR WOMEN.]
In the space of half an hour, at least a hundred little donkeys
passed me, laden with vessels of water or bundles of straw, with
often a man or boy perched behind the load. A solitary rider also
passed, his small but wiry horse going at an amble. Along the seashore
came, picking their way, a herd of goats, most of them wearing small
bells that rang incessantly. The herd settled in the corner outside
the gates between the towers and the town wall. Then came unveiled
Bedouin women, dark-skinned almost as negresses, but with very fine
features. Then other veiled Arab women with black masks that covered
their faces. A number of boys followed these, all good-looking and
black-eyed. One held out his hand; they are accustomed to European
good-nature, and a copper is a foretaste of Paradise to an Arab boy.
Lastly passed a strange couple. On an ordinary Arab saddle a veiled
woman rode astride, and behind her, on her horse, a little boy;
he held the reins in one hand, and a parasol in the other.
Towards evening it grew cooler. Amongst the shipping lay the _Ville
d’Oran_, which next morning was to take me south. It was lit up
with numbers of lanterns, and the town was illuminated and hung
everywhere with flags, in honour of the Russian fleet, which that
day was to enter Toulon. Festival was kept, not only all over France,
but also in her colonies. Illustrated editions of French newspapers,
with coloured pictures of Russian and French admirals and of the
ships of both countries, were displayed on the walls of all cafés,
tobacco shops, taverns and drinking booths in Susa.
The light on the Kasba had been lit. The moon rose over the town,
and lanterns gleamed along the seashore and the promenade. The
irregular line of the wall and the Kasba tower showed dark against
the heavens. Mingling with the ripple of the water against the quay,
I heard the Marseillaise played, followed by cheers, and on the
terraces and balconies appeared dark figures, enjoying the cool air
and the music.