Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
In the Land of Mosques
and Minarets
_WORKS OF_ _FRANCIS MILTOUN_
[Illustration]
_Rambles on the Riviera_ $2.50
_Rambles in Normandy_ 2.50
_Rambles in Brittany_ 2.50
_The Cathedrals and Churches of the Rhine_ 2.50
_The Cathedrals of Northern France_ 2.50
_The Cathedrals of Southern France_ 2.50
_In the Land of Mosques and Minarets_ 3.00
_Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine and
the Loire Country_ 3.00
_Castles and Chateaux of Old Navarre and
the Basque Provinces_ 3.00
_Castles and Palaces of Italy_ 3.00
_The Automobilist Abroad_ _net_ 3.00
_Postage Extra_
[Illustration]
_L. C. PAGE & COMPANY_
_New England Building_, _Boston, Mass._
[Illustration:
The Caïd
of the
Msaaba
Blanche McManus
1907]
In the Land of
Mosques & Minarets
BY FRANCIS MILTOUN
_Officier du Nicham Iftikhar_
Author of "Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine," "Rambles in
Normandy," "Rambles in Brittany," "Rambles on the
Riviera," "Castles and Chateaux of Old Navarre
and the Basque Provinces," etc.
_With Illustrations
from drawings and paintings done_
BY BLANCHE MCMANUS
[Illustration: colophon]
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
1908
_Copyright, 1908_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, April, 1908
_COLONIAL PRESS_
_Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co._
_Boston, U. S. A._
CHAPTER PAGE
I. GOING AND COMING 1
II. THE REAL NORTH AFRICA 16
III. ALGERIA OF TO-DAY 42
IV. THE RÉGENCE OF TUNISIA AND THE TUNISIANS 57
V. THE RELIGION OF THE MUSSULMAN 74
VI. ARCHITECTURE OF THE MOSQUES 97
VII. POETRY, MUSIC, AND DANCING 113
VIII. ARABS, TURKS, AND JEWS 129
IX. SOME THINGS THAT MATTER--TO THE ARAB 146
X. "THE ARAB SHOD WITH FIRE" 169
XI. THE SHIP OF THE DESERT AND HIS OCEAN OF SAND 178
XII. SOLDIERS SAVAGE AND CIVILIZED--LÉGIONNAIRES AND SPAHIS 197
XIII. FROM ORAN TO THE MOROCCO FRONTIER 209
XIV. THE MITIDJA AND THE SAHEL 227
XV. THE GREAT WHITE CITY--ALGIERS 245
XVI. ALGIERS AND BEYOND 259
XVII. KABYLIE AND THE KABYLES 273
XVIII. CONSTANTINE AND THE GORGE DU RUMMEL 291
XIX. BETWEEN THE DESERT AND THE SOWN 309
XX. BISKRA AND THE DESERT BEYOND 320
XXI. IN THE WAKE OF THE ROMAN 336
XXII. TUNIS AND THE SOUKS 356
XXIII. IN SHADOW OF THE MOSQUE 371
XXIV. THE GLORY THAT ONCE WAS CARTHAGE 389
XXV. THE BARBARY COAST 402
XXVI. THE OASIS OF TOZEUR 414
INDEX 431
List of Illustrations
PAGE
THE CAÏD OF THE MSAÂBA _Frontispiece_
THE APPROACH BY SEA (Map) 8
THE EDGE OF THE DESERT _facing_ 12
"CIREUR" 27
THE FLIGHT OF THE MOORS (Map) 29
ALGERIA AND ITS PROVINCES (Map) _facing_ 42
TOUGGOURT _facing_ 44
FARMING, OLD STYLE 50
BATNA _facing_ 52
TUNISIA (Map) _facing_ 56
AN OLD SEAL OF THE BEY OF TUNIS 58
THE OLIVES WE EAT 68
THE WORLD OF ISLAM _facing_ 74
THE EIGHT POSITIONS OF THE PRAYING MUSSULMAN 81
THE MUEZZIN'S CALL TO PRAYER _facing_ 84
A MARABOUT _facing_ 90
IN AN ARAB CEMETERY _facing_ 96
GROUND PLAN OF A MOSQUE 100
A WINDOW IN AN ARAB HOUSE 105
KOUBA OF SIDI-BRAHIM _facing_ 106
AN ARABIAN MUSICIAN _facing_ 120
A FLUTE SELLER _facing_ 122
"SOUVENIR D'ALGÉRIE" (Music) 123
TYPES OF ARABS 131
JEWISH WOMEN OF TUNIS _facing_ 142
A DAUGHTER OF THE "GREAT TENTS" _facing_ 152
THE LIFE OF THE "GREAT TENTS" _facing_ 156
AN ARAB AND HIS HORSE IN GALA ATTIRE _facing_ 172
THE _MEHARI_ OF THE DESERT _facing_ 180
A DESERT CARAVAN _facing_ 186
THE ILLIMITABLE DESERT 191
THE SAND DUNES OF THE DESERT _facing_ 192
A CAPTAIN OF SPAHIS _facing_ 202
SOME NATIVE SOLDIERY 204
A GOUM _facing_ 206
ARAB MOSQUE AT BENI-OUNIF _facing_ 220
A _KIF_ SHOP _facing_ 222
LAGHOUAT _facing_ 224
HOTEL AT FIGUIG 225
MARKET, BOUFARIK 228
TOMB OF SIDI-YACOUB _facing_ 232
A MAURESQUE OF BLIDA _facing_ 234
FRIEZE AT THE RUISSEAU DES SINGES 243
ALGIERS AND ITS ENVIRONS (Map) _facing_ 244
A CEMETERY GATE _facing_ 256
A BOU-SAADA TYPE _facing_ 268
THINGS SEEN IN KABYLIE 285
A MINARET AT CONSTANTINE 294
A CONSTANTINE MOSQUE _facing_ 294
THE GORGE DU RUMMEL _facing_ 298
A MUSSULMAN FUNERAL 302
THE VILLAGE AND THE GORGE OF EL KANTARA _facing_ 316
BISKRA AND ITS ARAB VILLAGES (Map) 321
THE COURTYARD OF THE HÔTEL DES ZIBAN, BISKRA _facing_ 322
SIDI-OKBA _facing_ 330
THE _KASBA_, BONA _facing_ 338
SO-CALLED TOMB OF CONSTANTINE (Diagram) 342
TOMB OF MÉDRACEN 343
LAMBESSA AND ITS RUINS _facing_ 346
LAMBESSA (Map) 347
TIMGAD (Map) 349
TEBESSA (Diagram) 353
MORSOTT (Diagram) 355
IN THE BAZAARS, TUNIS _facing_ 360
A STREET OF MOSQUES, TUNIS _facing_ 366
DANCING GIRLS OF TUNIS 369
HABIB'S VISITING CARD 380
THE PORTS OF CARTHAGE _facing_ 390
CARTHAGE (Map) 395
ANCIENT UTICA (Diagram) 398
THE _SUD-TUNISIEN_ (Map) 404
IN A KAIROUAN MOSQUE _facing_ 410
AMPHITHEATRE AT EL DJEM 413
EL OUED _facing_ 416
A STREET IN TOZEUR _facing_ 420
In the Land of Mosques and Minarets
CHAPTER I
GOING AND COMING
"Say, dear friend, wouldst thou go to the land where pass the
caravans beneath the shadow of the palm trees of the Oasis; where
even in mid-winter all is in flower as in spring-time
elsewhere."--VILLIERS DE L'ISLE ADAM.
The taste for travel is an acquired accomplishment. Not every one likes
to rough it. Some demand home comforts; others luxurious appointments;
but you don't get either of these in North Africa, save in the palace
hotels of Algiers, Biskra and Tunis, and even there these things are
less complete than many would wish.
We knew all this when we started out. We had become habituated as it
were, for we had been there before. The railways of North Africa are
poor, uncomfortable things, and excruciatingly slow; the steamships
between Marseilles or Genoa and the African littoral are either
uncomfortably crowded, or wobbly, slow-going tubs; and there are many
discomforts of travel--not forgetting fleas--which considerably mitigate
the joys of the conventional traveller who affects floating hotels and
Pullman car luxuries.
The wonderful African-Mediterranean setting is a patent attraction and
is very lovely. Every one thinks that; but it is best always to take
ways and means into consideration when journeying, and if the game is
not worth the candle, let it alone.
This book is not written in commendation only of the good things of life
which one meets with in North Africa, but is a personal record of things
seen and heard by the artist and the author. As such it may be accepted
as a faithful transcript of sights and scenes--and many correlative
things that matter--which will prove to be the portion of others who
follow after. These things have been seen by many who have gone before
who, however, have not had the courage to paint or describe them as they
found them.
Victor Hugo discovered the Rhine, Théophile Gautier Italy, De Nerval the
Orient, and Merimée Spain; but they did not blush over the dark side
and include only the more charming. For this reason the French
descriptive writer has often given a more faithful picture of strange
lands than that limned by Anglo-Saxon writers who have mostly praised
them in an ignorant, sentimental fashion, or reviled them because they
had left their own damp sheets and stogy food behind, and really did not
enjoy travel--or even life--without them. There is a happy mean for the
travellers' mood which must be cultivated, if one is not born with it,
else all hope of pleasurable travel is lost for ever.
The comparison holds good with regard to North Africa and its Arab
population. Sir Richard Burton certainly wrote a masterful work in his
"Pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina," and set forth the Arab character as no
one else has done; but he said some things, and did some things, too,
that his fellow countrymen did not like, and so they were loth to accept
his great work at its face value.
The African Mediterranean littoral, the mountains and the desert beyond,
and all that lies between, have found their only true exponents in Mme.
Myriam Harry, MM. Louis Bertrand, Arnaud and Maryval, André Gide and
Isabelle Eberhardt, and Victor Barrucaud. These and some others
mentioned further on are the latter-day authorities on the Arab life of
Africa, though the makers of English books on Algeria and Tunisia seem
never to have heard of them, much less profited by their
next-to-the-soil knowledge. Instead they have preferred to weave their
romances and novels on "home-country" lines, using a Mediterranean or
Saharan setting for characters which are not of Africa and which have no
place therein.
This book is a record of various journeyings in that domain of North
Africa where French influence is paramount; and is confidently offered
as the result of much absorption of first-hand experiences and
observations, coupled with authenticated facts of history and romance.
All the elements have been found _sur place_ and have been woven into
the pages which follow in order that nothing desirable of local colour
should be lost by allowing too great an expanse of sea and land to
intervene.
The story of Algeria and Tunisia has so often been told by the French,
and its moods have so often been painted by _les "gens d'esprit et de
talent,"_ that a foreigner has a considerable task laid out for him in
his effort to do the subject justice. Think of trying to catch the fire
and spirit of Fromentin, of Loti, of the Maupassants or Masqueray, or
the local colour of the canvases of Dinet, Armand Point, Potter,
Besnard, Constant, Cabannes, Guillaumet, or Ziem! Then go and try to
paint the picture as it looks to you. Yet why not? We live to learn;
and, as all the phases of this subtropical land have not been exploited,
why should we--the author and artist--not have a hand in it?
So we started out. The mistral had begun to blow at Martigues (la Venise
Provençal known by artist folk of all nationalities, but unknown--as
yet--to the world of tourists), where we had made our Mediterranean
headquarters for some years, but the sirocco was still blowing
contrariwise from the south on the African coast, and it was for that
reason that the author, the artist and another--the agreeable travelling
companion, a rara avis by the way--made a hurried start.
We were tired of the grime and grind of cities of convention; and were
minded, after another round of travel, to repose a bit in some
half-dormant, half-progressive little town of the Barbary coast, or some
desert oasis where one might, if he would, still dream the dreams of the
Arabian nights and days, regardless of a certain reflected glamour of
vulgar modernity which filters through to the utmost Saharan outposts
from the great ports of the coast.
By a fortunate chance weather and circumstances favoured this last
journey, and thus the making of this book became a most enjoyable
labour.
We left Marseilles for the land of the sun at six of an early autumn
evening, the "_heure verte_" of the Marseillais, when the whole
Cannebière smells of absinthe, alcohol, and anise, and all the world is
at ease after a bustling, rustling day of busy affairs. These men of the
Midi, though they seemingly take things easy are a very industrious
race. There is no such virile movement in Paris, even on the boulevards,
as one may witness on Marseilles' famous Cannebière at the seducing hour
of the Frenchman's _apéritif_. Marseilles is a ceaseless turmoil of busy
workaday affairs as well. From the ever-present gaiety of the Cannebière
cafés it is but a step to the great _quais_ and their creaking capstans
and shouting longshoremen.
From the _quais_ of La Joliette all the world and his wife come and go
in an interminable and constant tide of travel, to Africa, to Corsica
and Sardinia; to Jaffa and Constantinople; to Port Said and the East,
India, Australia, China and Japan; and westward, through Gibraltar's
Strait to the Mexican Gulf and the Argentine. The like of Marseilles
exists nowhere on earth; it is the most brilliant and lively of all the
ports of the world. It is the principal seaport of the Mediterranean and
the third city of France.
Our small, tubby steamer slipped slowly and silently out between the
Joliette _quais_ and past the towering Notre Dame de la Garde and the
great Byzantine Cathedral of Sainte Marie Majeur, leaving the twinkling
lights of the Vieux Port and the Pharo soon far behind. Past Château
d'If, the Point des Catalans, Ratonneau and Pomègue we steamed, all
reminiscent of Dumas and that masterpiece of his gallant portrait
gallery,--"The Count of Monte Cristo."
The great Planier light flashed its rays in our way for thirty odd miles
seaward, keeping us company long after we had eaten a good dinner, a
very good dinner indeed, with _café-cognac_--or _chartreuse_, real
_chartreuse_, not the base imitation, mark you, _tout compris_, to top
off with. The boat was a poor, wallowing thing of eight hundred tons or
so, but the dinner was much better than many an Atlantic liner gives. It
had character, and was served
[Illustration: _The_ APPROACH _By_ SEA]
in a tiny saloon on deck, with doors and ports all open, and a gentle,
sighing Mediterranean _brise_ wafting about our heads.
We were six passengers all told, and we were very, very comfortably
installed on the _Isly_ of the Compagnie Touache, in spite of the fact
that the craft owned to twenty-seven years and made only ten knots. The
Compagnie Générale Transatlantique has boats of the comparatively
youthful age of twelve and seventeen, but they are so crowded that one
is infinitely less comfortable, though they make the voyage at a gait of
fifteen or sixteen knots. Then again the food is by no means so good or
well served as that we had on the _Isly_. We have tried them both, and,
as we asked no favours of price or accommodation in either case, the
opinion may be set down as frank, truthful and personal. What others may
think all depends on themselves and circumstance.
In Algeria, at any rate, one doesn't find trippers, and there are
surprisingly few of what the French call "_Anglaises sans-gêne_" and
"_Allemands grotesques_."
The traveller in Algeria should by all means eliminate his countrymen
and study the native races and the French _colons_, if he wishes to know
something of the country. Otherwise he will know nothing, and might as
well have gone to a magic-lantern show at home.
It is a delightfully soft, exotic land which the geographers know as
Mediterranean Africa, and which is fast becoming known to the world of
modern travellers as the newest winter playground. The tide of
pleasure-seeking travel has turned towards Algeria and Tunisia, but the
plea is herein made to those who follow after for the better knowing of
the places off the beaten track, Bou-Saada, Kairouan, the Oasis of
Gabès, Oued-Souf or Tlemcen, for instance, something besides Mustapha,
Biskra and Tunis.
Darkest Africa is no more darkest Africa. That idea was exploded when
Stanley uttered his famous words: "Doctor Livingstone, I presume." And
since that day the late Cecil Rhodes launched his Cape to Cairo scheme,
and Africa has been given over to diamond-mine exploiters, rubber
collectors and semi-invalids, who, hearing wonderful tales of the
climatic conditions of Assouan and Biskra, have foregathered in these
places, to the joy of the native and the profit of the hotel
director--usually a Swiss.
Occasionally one has heard of an adventurous tourist who has hunted the
wild gazelle in the Atlas or the mountains of Kabylie, the gentlest
man-fearing creature God ever made, or who has "camped-out" in a tent
furnished by Cook, and has come home and told of his exploits which in
truth were more Tartarinesque than daring.
The trail of the traveller is over all to-day; but he follows as a rule
only the well-worn _pistes_. In addition to those strangers who live in
Algiers or Tunis and have made of those cities weak imitations of
European capitals and their suburbs as characterless as those of Paris,
London or Chicago, they have also imported such conventions as "bars"
and "tea-rooms" to Biskra and Hammam-R'hira.
Tlemcen and its mosques, however; Figuig and its fortress-looking Grand
Hôtel du Sahara at Beni-Ounif; Touggourt and its market and its military
posts; and Bou-Saada and Tozeur with their oases are as yet
comparatively unknown ground to all except artists who have the passion
of going everywhere and anywhere in search of the unspoiled.
When it comes to Oued-Souf with its one "_Maison française_," which, by
the way, is inhabited by the Frenchified Sheik of the Msaâba to whom a
chapter is devoted in this book later on; or Ghardaïa, the Holy City of
the Sud-Constantinois, the case were still more different. This is
still virgin ground for the stranger, and can only be reached by
diligence or caravan.
The railway with a fairly good equipment runs all the length of Algeria
and Tunisia, from the Moroccan frontier at Tlemcen to Gabès and beyond,
almost to the boundary of Tripoli in Barbary. An automobile would be
much quicker, and in some parts even a donkey, but the railway serves as
well as it ever does in a new-old country where it has recently been
installed.
If one enters by Algiers or Oran and leaves by Tunis or even Sfax or
Gabès he has done the round; but if opportunity offers, he should go
south from Tlemcen into the real desert at Figuig; from Biskra to
Touggourt; or from Gabès to Tozeur. Otherwise he will have so kept "in
touch" with things that he can, for the asking, have oatmeal for
breakfast and marmalade for tea, which is not what one comes, or should
come, to Africa for. One takes his departure from French Mediterranean
Africa from Tunis or Bizerte.
Leaving Tunis and its domes and minarets behind, his ship makes its way
gingerly out through the straight-cut canal, a matter of six
[Illustration: _The Edge of the Desert_]
or eight miles to La Goulette, a veritable Italian fishing village in
Africa which the Italian population themselves call La Goletta. Here the
pilot is sent ashore,--he was a useless personage anyway, but he touches
a hundred and fifty francs for standing on the bridge and doing
nothing,--the ship turns a sharp right angle and sets its course
northward for Marseilles, leaving Korbus and the great double-horned
mountain far in the distance to starboard.
Carthage and its cathedral, and Sidi-bou-Saïd and its minarets are to
port, the red soil forming a rich frame for the scintillating white
walls scattered here and there over the landscape. La Marsa and the
Bey's summer palace loom next in view, Cap Carthage and Cap Bon, and
then the open sea.
Midway between Tunis and Marseilles, one sees the red porphyry rocks of
Sardinia. Offshore are the little isles which terminate the greater
island, the "Taureau," the "Vache" and the "Veau." They are only
interesting as landmarks, and look like the outcroppings of other
Mediterranean islands. In bad weather the mariners give them a wide
berth.
The sight of Sardinia makes no impression on the French passengers. They
stare at it, and remark it not. The profound contempt of the Frenchman
of the Midi for all things Italian is to be remarked. Corsica is left to
starboard, still farther away, in fact not visible, but the Frenchman
apparently does not regret this either, even though it has become a
French Département. "_Peuh: la Corse_," he says, "_un vilain pays_,"
where men pass their existence killing each other off. Such is the
outcome of traditional, racial rancour, and yet the most patriotic
Frenchman the writer has ever known was a Corsican.
"_Voilà! le Cap Sicié!_" said the commandant the second morning at ten
o'clock, as he stood on the bridge straining his eyes for a sight of
land. We didn't see it, but we took his word for it. A quarter of an
hour later it came into view, the great landmark promontory, which juts
out into the Mediterranean just west of Toulon.
Just then with a swish and a swirl, and with as icy a breath as ever
blew south from the snow-clad Alps, down came the mistral upon us, and
we all went below and passed the most uncomfortable five hours
imaginable, anchored off the Estaque, in full view of Marseilles, and
yet not able to enter harbour. The Gulf of Lyons and the mistral form
an irresistible combination of forces once they get together.
At last in port; the _douanier_ keeps a sharp lookout for cigars and
cigarettes (which in Algeria and Tunisia sell for about a quarter of
what they do in France), and in a quarter of an hour we are installed in
that remarkably equipped "Touring Hotel" of Marseilles' Cours Belzunce.
_Art nouveau_ furniture, no heavy rugs or draperies, metallic bedsteads,
and hot and cold running water in every room. This is a good deal to
find on this side of the Atlantic. The house should be made note of by
all coming this way. Not in the palace hotels of Algiers, Biskra or
Tunis can you find such a combination.