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Footnotes have been moved to follow the paragraphs in which they are
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_ABOUT ALGERIA_
_ALGIERS—TLEMÇEN—CONSTANTINE—BISKRA—TIMGAD_
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE SAME AUTHOR
LEAVES FROM A
MADEIRA GARDEN
CROWN 8vo, 5_s._ NET
[Illustration: ALGIERS: DOORWAY IN THE RUE KLEBER]
_ABOUT ALGERIA_
_ALGIERS *flower* TLEMÇEN *flower* CONSTANTINE *flower* BISKRA *flower*
TIMGAD *flower* *flower* *flower* *flower* BY CHARLES THOMAS-STANFORD
F.S.A. *flower* WITH A MAP AND THIRTY-TWO ILLUSTRATIONS FROM DRAWINGS BY
F. DORRIEN THOROTON AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_ *flower* *flower* *flower*
*flower* *flower*
------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD_
_NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY. MCMXII_
WM. BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH
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PREFACE
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The following pages are a record of impressions received from a visit
Algeria in the early months of 1911. In a former volume I dared to
ridicule the pretensions of those who, on the strength of a short stay
in a foreign country to enlighten the public. My chickens have come home
to roost.
If I must seek an excuse for hasty conclusions I may find it in the
motor-car. It has revolutionized the relations of time and space, and
abolished the barren interludes of travel. It has increased fourfold the
traveller’s opportunities of observation. Algeria, a land of great
distances and admirable roads, is especially suited to its use. And it
is a country brimful of interest, historical and actual. The scholar may
dig in the debris of the Roman and Byzantine dominions; the connoisseur
revel in the relics of Moorish art; the politician contemplate the
colonization of a conquered territory in the face of a subject
population alien in race and religion; the ordinary traveller will be
content to sip a little at each source. So have I sipped in these pages.
Much that I have written will be trite to those who know the country.
But perhaps I shall induce others to go and see for themselves. And on
their gratitude I rely with confidence.
The reproduction here of some of Mr. Thoroton’s admirable drawings of
Arab doorways may serve to lead the attention of travellers—and perhaps
of the authorities—to these interesting features of the old town of
Algiers. The destroyer is busy, but here, as elsewhere, his ruinous
energy makes what he has spared more precious. There are signs that his
days are numbered, of the rise of a more enlightened public opinion
concerning the preservation of features of antiquarian value or natural
beauty. The excellent work of the _Service des monuments historiques_ is
bearing good fruit. At Timgad it has given a Roman City to the modern
world; at Tlemçen it is safeguarding the treasures of Arab decorative
art; the less important antiquities of Algiers and Constantine, and of a
hundred less considerable places, should be its future care.
It is too much to expect that a trading and agricultural community
should wax enthusiastic over such matters for their own sake. The point
we have to emphasise is that there is money in them; that they have a
very distinct and rising commercial value, easily destroyed, and, once
lost, irrecoverable.
The guide-books to Algeria, in the English language at all events, are,
in view of modern conditions of travel, hopelessly out of date. The
motorist will, of course, provide himself with Messrs. Michelins’
admirable road-book. There he is furnished with precise and condensed
information as to distances, surfaces, and hotels. The traveller who
desires to look beyond these primary facts will find in M. Maurice
Wahl’s “L’Algerie” (Cinquième Edition, Paris, 1908), a compendium of
information—concise, logical, and complete, after the French manner; and
he will regret that its usefulness is much diminished, in accordance
with an unfortunate French fashion, by the absence of an index.
C. T. S.
BRIGHTON, _July, 1911_.
_CONTENTS_
I—ARABY’S DAUGHTER
PAGE
Europe and the Mediterranean—Algiers—The clash of 17
civilizations—Things ancient and modern—The strangers’
quarter—Arabs, Berbers, Moors, Jews, and others—A tale of
a telegram
II—THE CORSAIR CITY
The old town—The Arab ménage—The Penon—Barbarossa—French 48
achievements and shortcomings—The Arab house—Christian
slavery—Lord Exmouth
III—NEW ROADS AND OLD CITIES
Rome’s successors—The Road and its influence—Algerian 77
highways—The motor-car and modern travel—An aqueduct—
Cherchel—Cleopatra’s daughter—Tipasa—The French as
Colonists—Viticulture
IV—A GARDEN AND SOME BUILDINGS
Jardin d’Essai—A lost opportunity—Some suggestions—The 104
villas of Mustapha—A model museum—Arab art—Its origins—Its
limitations—Its significance
V—SWORD AND PLOUGH
Great events and trivial causes—The Dey’s fan—France roused— 122
England as dog-in-the-manger—The French expedition and
conquest—Clauzel—Abd-el-Kader—Bugeaud
VI—TLEMÇEN THE HOLY
Western Algeria—Sidi Bel Abbès—The Foreign Legion—A city of 148
learning—Its inhabitants—The Mosque of Aboul Hassan—
Mansoura—Its story—Sidi Bou Medine—Oran—Spanish immigrants
VII—THE CITY OF PRECIPICES
Road and rail to the eastward—Constantine—Its remarkable 178
site—Its chequered history—French Conquest—Roman remains—
Fronto—The Mairie—The road northward—The Aurès
VIII—THE ALLURING OASIS
El-Kantara—The Gateway of the Desert—Biskra—Its attractions— 201
The dancing-girls—"Hichenstown"—A garden and a vision—
Railway extension—Conquering Mohammedans—Sidi Okba—The
Arab’s point of view
IX—THE SAHARA
The desert in imagination and reality—Underground water— 228
Artesian wells—Mozabites—Touaregs—The camel—Recent
developments—Railway projects—The Army of Africa
X—TIMGAD
The Roman frontier—Lambessa—The Empire ruined by bad 242
finance—African Emperors—The plan of Timgad—Buildings,
inscriptions, and mosaics—Prosperity of Roman Africa—Local
patriotism—The Roman tradition
XI—A PUBLIC LIBRARY
A romantic find—A municipal library of the third century—A 266
Roman Carnegie—Christian Africa—The Donatists—Genseric the
Vandal—Justinian—Timgad and Pompeii
XII—THE ROAD THROUGH KHABYLIA
Sétif—The Chabet pass—A fishless river—A lovely coast— 285
Bougie—Khabylia—Greek types—Fort National
INDEX 305
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_ILLUSTRATIONS_
Algiers: Doorway in the Rue Kleber _Frontispiece_
TO FACE PAGE
" Carved Stone Doorway in the Native Quarter 17
" Doorway in the Rue de la Kasbah 24
" Moorish Doorway, Rue Porte Neave 35
" Marble Doorway, Rue Bruce 36
" Doorway, Rue Medea 48
" Doorway in the Rue Ben-Ali 54
" Entrance-door of the Mosque, Rue de la Marine 68
Cherchel: the Aqueduct 90
Algiers: Garden of the Hotel St. George 104
" Fountain in the Kasbeh 108
" Dragon Tree in the Garden of the Hotel 112
Continental
" Fountain, Rue de l’Intendance 118
Evening Prayer 138
Caravan of a Caid 141
Tlemçen: the Minaret of Agadir 153
The Walls of Mansoura 164
The Tower of Mansoura 169
Sidi Bou Medine: the Bronze Doors 172
Constantine 181
Zouaves 191
El Kantara 201
Old Biskra 215
Biskra: Statue of Cardinal Lavigerie 217
Sidi Okba: a Street 222
The Outskirts of the Sahara 228
An Artesian Well 232
A Native Well 234
A Caravan 238
A Street at Timgad 245
Timgad: Arch of Trajan 255
" The Public Library 271
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_ABOUT ALGERIA_
_ALGIERS—TLEMÇEN—CONSTANTINE—BISKRA—TIMGAD_
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[Illustration: ALGIERS: CARVED STONE DOORWAY IN THE NATIVE QUARTER]
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_ABOUT ALGERIA_
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_I—ARABY’S DAUGHTER_
Europe and the Mediterranean—Algiers—The clash of civilizations—Things
ancient and modern—The strangers’ quarter—Arabs, Berbers, Moors,
Jews, and others—A tale of a telegram.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
“E’en now the devastation is begun
And half the business of destruction done.”
GOLDSMITH.
Some of the ashes of the Roman Empire have been recovered. The
Mediterranean is once more a European lake. The Turk indeed still holds
its eastern shores; the amazing Sultanate of Morocco yet persists in the
west; strong, after the manner of Barbary for centuries, in the
jealousies of Europe. Yet the Turk, while maintaining his assertion of
the Unity of the Godhead, which divides him from Christendom, is,
nevertheless, in other ways almost to be accounted a member of the
European family; and even in the vigorous days of the Empire the wild
tribes of the Greater Atlas recked little of the might and majesty of
Rome. These are the limitations; our concern is with the achievement,
and especially with the fertile country, once Rome’s granary, now after
a thousand years of neglect and abasement restored to the orderly uses
of civilized man. We are to visit a land unsurpassed in the variety of
its historical vicissitudes, and strewn with the stones of many empires;
a land where to-day a European nation, cherishing, perhaps more than any
other, Roman traditions in its law and polity, controls by force of arms
and of character a vast and heterogeneous population, previously united
only in its submission to the brooding blight of Islam.
“The grand object of travelling,” said Dr. Johnson, “is to see the
shores of the Mediterranean; on those shores were the four great empires
of the world; the Assyrian, the Persian, the Grecian, and the Roman. All
our religion, almost all our law, almost all our arts, almost all that
sets us above savages has come to us from the shores of the
Mediterranean.” The Doctor’s aspirations were doubtless confined to its
northern shore. If he had indiscreetly placed himself within the
jurisdiction of the Dey of Algiers or the Bey of Tunis he might have
found his value appraised on a basis different from that which prevailed
at The Club, and in default of ransom have been set to uncongenial
tasks. We are more fortunate in our generation.
To men trained in the traditional scholarship of English schools and
universities certain places of the earth are holy places. The Acropolis
of Athens, the heights and harbour of Syracuse, the Roman forum; perhaps
in a scarcely less degree, Constantinople seen from the Bosphorus;—these
stir to life sentiments born of youthful struggles and enthusiasms, but
buried beneath a load of years crowded with other interests. Such
sentiments may even prevail over those which attach to more recent
history and national predilections. The approach by sea from the
Atlantic to the Straits of Gibraltar is an experience to move the most
indifferent; to an Englishman a very moving experience. He has passed
Cape St. Vincent, with its undying fame, and the Rock is ahead, with its
triumphant symbolism of his country’s world-power. Across the straits
lies the rocky coast between Tangiers and Ceuta, a rampart of that vast
continent, the last home of mystery, which has played so great a part in
the lives of the present generation of Englishmen. And the Rock itself,
detached, impregnable, is rich in English memories from Blake to our own
day.
Yet to him who has preserved some shreds of his classical learning, the
passage from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean has a still deeper
significance. It marks the separation of the old and the new worlds. At
the Pillars of Hercules the old world ended; they guarded the threshold
of the unknown. On the inland sea within were cradled the civilizations
on which our own is mainly based—Hebrew, Hellenic, Roman. Perhaps we may
wonder at their limitations, especially at the comparative inefficiency
of Rome in maritime affairs. If Rome with her vast resources had owned a
spark of the naval enterprise of ancient Phœnicia or modern Britain;
if she had spent on the sea a tithe of the energy she exercised on land—
exhibited nowhere more completely than in that Northern Africa to which
we are bound—the history of the world might, indeed, have taken a
different course. But it was reserved for the great awakening of the
fifteenth century to probe the secrets of the mysterious Atlantic, and
to throw open vast fields for conquest and colonization to the European
races. And when through the gathering darkness we look back to the twin
peaks, we recall the legend of the two dragons guarding the entrance to
the Garden of the Hesperides, and wonder if it was invented by ancient
mariners to cover their lack of enterprise.
Many Mediterranean cities present a fair prospect to him who comes by
sea, especially in the pearly radiance of the Mediterranean dawn.
Algiers surpasses all. The steepness of the hill-side which it fills and
its own white brilliancy give to it a special distinction. Many writers,
following a leader as sheep that have gone astray, have compared it to
the tiers of seats rising one above another in a Greek theatre—a
fanciful and baseless comparison. There is no such ordered arrangement.
The straight lines of modern houses enclose a central mass of strange
irregularity, so confused that from a distance it has the semblance of a
heap of ruins. This is the remnant of the Arab city, a swarming ant-heap
of native life, filled with strange and savage memories of the
astonishing pirates who were through centuries, and even until living
memory, the scourge of Christendom. The sea front has entirely lost its
ancient aspect; its long line of symmetrical houses, with its Boulevard
de la République, and its Boulevard Carnot, recalls Palermo or Messina.
And stretching south and east along the hills which encircle the bay the
city’s suburbs seem to have no end; white houses gleam amid dark foliage
and splendid villas crown the heights.
The first view of the streets is something of a shock and a
disappointment. We have heard of the ancient Arab city, we have seen
photographs of narrow lanes with quaint Moorish houses almost meeting
over the wayfarer’s head; and yet we find ourselves driving at a hand
gallop through wide, modern streets, with their normal garniture of
tramways and motor-cars. An occasional snow-white mosque, a public
building or two of Arabesque style, suggest the Orient; in other
respects the streets are those of a very prosperous and busy modern
French town. It is easy to see that Algiers enjoys a municipality
anxious to be in the forefront of civic progress; that M. le Maire is
determined that his city shall not be ashamed to look Marseilles and
Nice in the face; and that as the native and the stranger wander
incuriously through the streets, earnest committees—sanitary committees,
waterworks committees, lighting committees, tramway committees,
committees for the regulation of everything that can be regulated—are
seated in upper chambers eagerly concerting measures for their welfare.
And it may even be that civilization is sufficiently advanced for a
Ratepayers’ Association to be keeping a bilious eye on the proceedings
of its chosen representatives, and endeavouring to solve the eternal
problem—_Quis custodiet custodes?_
It will be recalled that the immortal Tartarin suffered a similar
disenchantment. He had figured to himself an Oriental town of fairy
mythology, holding a middle place between Constantinople and Zanzibar—
"_il tombait en plein Tarascon_." But that soaring and romantic spirit
refused to be bound in the chains of the commonplace, and, following
humbly in his wake, let us strive to see an Arab beauty beneath the veil
of our neighbour in the tram-car, and to hear in the rumble of a distant
train at night the roar of ravening lions.
[Illustration: ALGIERS: DOORWAY IN THE RUE DE LA KASBAH]
The hasty and inconsiderate modernization of an ancient and historic
town such as Algiers suggests serious considerations. The process of
destroying what is noteworthy for age or beauty in the name of
improvement would seem to be generally accepted as one of the conditions
of progress. Cities and towns, it is not unnaturally held, are not
museums or curiosity shops; men are massed in them to gain their
livelihood, or to pursue their pleasures. The antiquaries, those who
admire and study the works of the past, because they are the works of
the past; the nature-lovers, who “cultivate the beautiful without
extravagance”; these are an insignificant section drawn for the most
part from that hard-working class which is known to politicians as the
idle rich. Their protests are of no great avail. Governments, if
well-meaning, are lukewarm; local authorities, eager to be in the
municipal movement, are commonly apathetic as regards the claims of mere
ancientry or natural comeliness. Of what the modern Italians are doing
to desecrate Rome and despoil Florence it is difficult to speak with
patience. And it is the work of their own fathers that they are pulling
down or vulgarizing. The conditions here are quite different, and the
reforming zeal of the French so far less flagrant. They have replaced by
their own civilization what they regard as the barbarism of a conquered
race; they wanted the city of that race to live in, and they found it in
every way repugnant to their tastes and unsuited to their needs. The
soldiers began the work of destruction; soldiers destroy ruthlessly in
the day of battle; but the persistent waste of the horde that follows
after—the engineers, the architects, the speculative builders, the
railway constructors, and the great industrial companies—is infinitely
more damaging in the long run.
And what are we that we should cast a stone at the French? How much have
we spared of old London and its suburbs? How much of the urban beauty
and rural charm of England did our rude forefathers of the nineteenth
century wantonly and light-heartedly destroy? When have railway projects
or proposed public works been stayed on æsthetic grounds? Do the station
and bridge at Charing Cross lend dignity to our great river? And, to
look further afield, to what fate have we, masters of the Nile,
condemned Philae?
In this changeful North Africa succeeding conquerors have imposed their
civilizations and their works upon those of the conquered in a manner
which has scarcely any parallel in Europe. Carthage destroyed, Rome came
in her might and built a hundred cities, conducted water, brought huge
areas into cultivation, and made roads after her manner; and in due time
overthrew her own ancient altars in zeal for a new faith. In the age of
her decrepitude Byzantium strove to maintain the Pax Romana, to curb the
Vandal usurpation and the Arian schism, and to keep the aspirations of
the indigenous population within bounds. All went down in a day before a
troop of Arabians who rode as conquerors from Egypt to the Atlantic.
Islam followed in their wake. The civilization derived from Europe
disappeared; the watercourses were broken, the desert resumed its sway,
and the stones of Roman temples and basilicas went to build the mosques
and villas of the visitors. For twelve centuries the creed of Mahomet
held dominion; Europe was busy with its own affairs, and endured the
insolent depredations and exactions of the Deys with scarcely a serious
attempt to suppress them. But at length the cup was full. An English
fleet struck the first blow; a few years later France took the
subjugation of Algeria seriously in hand; and to-day European
civilization is once more paramount in the ancient provinces of Rome.
There are hotels in the town, frequented, perhaps, more by commercial
than by leisurely travellers, and the visitor will probably prefer to
lodge himself at Mustapha Supérieur. Here, if he chooses a house in a
good situation, and obtains a room with a southern aspect, he may feast
his eyes untiringly on a scene of great beauty. At his feet lies the bay
where Charles V landed his ill-fated expedition—a shallow bay in which
often the waves breaking afar out roll to the land in foam. Towering
above the lesser hills which front its opposite shore are the snow-clad
mountains of the Djurjura range, guarding the highlands of Khabylia, and
glistening as if with crystals in the strong southern light. All around,
on the well-wooded heights, are countless villas, of high and low
degree, almost all of dazzling white, the whiter for the sombre foliage
of cypress and stone pine and olive in which they are set. Perhaps no
city of the earth possesses a lovelier suburb. The Englishman will find
himself quite at home. The villas and the hotels are to a great extent
occupied by his compatriots; and the institutions of his country are
fitly represented by an Anglican church and a nine-hole golf-course. If
he should be led to climb through an aromatic wood of eucalyptus to the
home of “le golf,” and be able to remove for a moment his eye from the
ball, he may enjoy a most glorious prospect. The snowy Djurjura of the
south-east finds a rival in the Lesser Atlas to the south-west, and
between the two lies a billowy champaign of cultivated and wooded hill
and plain. If his preconceived notions of Algeria, like the great
Tartarin’s, are dominated by the Sahara, if of Africa he knows only the
river banks of Egypt and the rolling veldt of the South, he will perhaps
recognize once more that Africa is ever the continent of surprise.
To return to the town. If at first sight the aspect of the French quays,
and the modern streets, shops, and boulevards, destroys pre-existing
illusions, ample amends are made by the colour and variety of the crowds
which frequent them, a very _colluvies gentium_. Jews, Turks, infidels,
and heretics jostle the faithful on equal terms; men and women sprung
from very diverse stocks in Africa, Asia, and Europe, impartially and to
all appearance fraternally throng the pavements and the public
conveyances. The eye is dazzled by the combination of European fashions
and smart French uniforms, with the outlandish aspect of Zouaves and
Spahis, the white-robed dignity of the stately Arab and the rich colours
of the impassive Turk. It is only after a time that one is able to
separate them into classes, and to perceive that the native inhabitants
fall naturally into further subdivisions.
The greater part of the inhabitants of Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco,
known collectively to Arabs as the Maghrab, and to our forefathers as
Barbary,—an island girt by sea and desert,—still represents those
original peoples who preceded the Phœnicians and the Romans. They
have endured and survived many conquests, for the most part
accommodating themselves to the conquerors’ institutions and religions.
The Arabs called them Berbers,—the origin of the name is doubtful. Being
to-day Arab in all but descent,—and very mixed in that,—they are
described in common parlance as Arabs.
In A.D. 647, when the Sultan Othmar decided to attempt the conquest of
North Africa, it was still under the rule of the weak Byzantine
Emperors, Gregorius being its governor. Othmar collected 20,000 of the
élite of the Arab forces, and added to them a similar number of
Egyptians. This small army performed a brilliant feat of arms. Advancing
against Gregorius, who was stationed at Sbeitla (in Tunisia), the Arab
leader, Abdulla Ibn Säad, offered the Christian leader terms: that he
should embrace Islam and render tribute to the Sultan. These being
declined, a fierce battle raged for several days. Gregorius was in
command of 120,000 men, but they were probably no match for the
disciplined Arabs. It is said that his daughter, a maid of incomparable
beauty, fought at her father’s side, and promised her hand and a fortune
to whoever should kill Abdulla. This seems to have been a somewhat
ill-advised proposal, for Abdulla, hearing of it, offered the same
reward to the slayer of Gregorius. After several days of desperate
fighting the Christian host was utterly defeated. Gregorius fell in the
final onslaught, and his daughter was bestowed on Ibn Ez-Zobeir, who had
slain him.
So ended the first Arab attack on Northern Africa. It had momentous
consequences. Not only did it bind to Islam for twelve hundred years the
provinces which for centuries before had been Christian and an appanage
of Europe, but it paved the way for the Arab invasion of Spain.
Abdulla’s raid was shortly followed by other military expeditions.
Eighteen years later Sidi Okba, having established a permanent
government, pursued his course through what is now Morocco to the
Atlantic Ocean. In order to complete the downfall of Christianity, a
special tax was imposed on Christians, a leaf out of the book of
Constantine the Great, who, in order to ensure its spread through the
Roman world, had ingeniously enacted that no pagan master should own a
Christian slave. The tax had the effect desired, and the whole
population embraced the faith and rule of Islam.
Four hundred years later a great Arab immigration took place. The
brigand tribes of Hillal and Soleim being driven from Arabia into Egypt,
speedily found their way thence into Northern Africa, which they overran
like a flight of locusts. From these nomad hordes are descended in the
main the Arabs of to-day.
If the true Arabs only represent a fraction of the total Mohammedan
population, variously estimated at a third and a sixth, they have
imposed on the remainder their language, their religion, their
institutions, and their customs, with the result that in a sense all are
Arabs, though not of race. The pure-bred Arab is of an aristocratic
type—tall, thin, muscular, and of dignified carriage. His narrow and
retreating forehead indicates no great brain power; this feature is
sometimes so marked as to give an aspect of semi-idiocy.
A rigorous childhood ensures the survival of the fittest; the Arab
children are left to themselves, naked in heat and cold, in sun and rain
and frost, and only the hardiest reach manhood. The result is seen in
the finely tempered physique of the race, in the Arab’s extraordinary
powers of endurance, and in his disregard of hardship and suffering.
Whole tribes are infected with what are called the diseases of
civilization; typhus and smallpox sometimes blaze like a flame among
them; the Arab scorns precaution or cure, and lives or dies with
indifference.
As becomes his aristocratic traditions, he prefers war to peace, and
plunder to work. His nomad life, which accords with these tastes, is
probably an accident forced upon him by the climatic conditions of the
country. His wealth depends on his flocks and herds, his very existence
is tied to the necessity of finding pasture for them. New ground has
ever to be sought, different altitudes being visited according to the
season and the period of rainfall. For a people of filthy habits a nomad
life has many advantages; the constant change of camping-ground
counteracts in some degree the want of sanitary conditions.
[Illustration: ALGIERS: MOORISH DOORWAY, RUE PORTE NEUVE]
According to European ideas the Arab is a barbarian, _sans foi ni loi_.
With some limitations, as in his hospitality, although he will not
scruple to rob his guest next day, he has no sense of honour, and aims
not at telling the truth, but at telling a lie adroitly. His women are
mere beasts of burden, absolutely at the mercy of their lord. A whole
world of progress lies between the Frenchman who works his fingers to
the bone to give his daughter a dower, and the Arab who sells his to the
highest bidder. And in love as in life the Arab is often a nomad, as the
desert towns bear witness. But as he stalks haughtily through the
streets of Algiers, he is an attractive and interesting figure. And who
may measure his disgust at the triumph of the infidel?
It is impossible to contemplate this strange being, moving among a
medley of races, without wondering what the future has in store. Will
the Arab live apart, as the Jew has often lived apart, or can he be
brought to assimilate the ideas and methods of his conquerors? At
present he seems dazed; his civilization founded on war has failed him
in war. It is useless to think of France converting him to Christianity;
you cannot convert a man to a faith you have abandoned yourself. And his
religion, absolute and absorbing—not of his life a thing apart, but his
whole existence—seems to oppose an impassable barrier to European
influences. You cannot reason with a man under a spell. Yet it is
impossible to suppose that the present situation can continue
indefinitely, and this is fully recognized by the French themselves. The
only solution so far attempted is in some kind of education for Arab
children. Our problem in India and Egypt is a less urgent one; we have
not colonized either country as the French have colonized Algeria.
The _sang pur_ of the original inhabitants, called Berbers by the Arabs,
is most fully represented by the Khabyles, who inhabit the mountainous
tracts of the littoral, both east and west of Algiers. They were
Christian under the later Roman rule, but adopted the religion of Islam
after the Arab invasions. Otherwise they have little in common with the
later comers; physically they are more nearly allied to the races of
Southern Europe. Living in their mountain fastnesses they have retained
their own customs and institutions, some of which are said to show a
trace of Roman influence. Their women are not veiled, and occupy a much
more independent position than is usual in Mohammedan countries. Their
men, to be seen in the streets of Algiers, may frequently be
distinguished from the Arabs by their fair complexions, blue eyes and
reddish hair. They have no inclination to a nomad life, and are
naturally industrious, freely offering their labour to the French
colonists. They would seem to present a more likely field for the spread
of social progress according to European ideas than does the lazy
indifference of the Arab; but in their case, too, religion is a bar.
[Illustration: ALGIERS: MARBLE DOORWAY, RUE BRUCE]
The Mohammedan townsfolk, chiefly engaged in commercial pursuits, are
called Moors, a name which has no connection with Morocco. Chiefly Arab
or Berber in ultimate descent, there is among them much admixture of
Turkish and European blood. Their somewhat effeminate appearance
exhibits the influence of generations of town life. They affect brightly
coloured clothing, embroidered waistcoats and voluminous trousers
fastened at the ankle. They deal largely in embroidery, perfumes, and
fancy articles, and may commonly be seen lolling in their little shops
in attitudes of exaggerated indolence and unconcern. The Moorish women,
like those of the Arabs, are veiled; a white linen handkerchief is tied
closely across the nose, leaving the eyes visible, and perhaps somewhat
heightening their effect. A white shawl, called a _haik_, is thrown over
the head and extends to the knees or lower; the legs are encased in very
voluminous trousers tied at the ankles, and setting in a way which gives
them the appearance of being stuffed full. Altogether a very ungainly
costume. But even so they are less wanting in dignity than the
middle-class European women decked in a travesty of a mode which is
itself absurd. The veiling of all Mohammedan women for the last twelve
hundred years is due to the jealousy of the prophet of his young and
beautiful wife Ayesha.
Since the decree of 1870, which constituted them French citizens, the
Jews have gradually ceased to wear a distinctive dress, and have become,
as far as outward semblance goes, merged in the European population; but
their physiognomy bewrayeth them. It is, however, as far at least as the
men are concerned, of a less marked type than that of the German and
Russian Jews, with whom we are more familiar; and, possibly from some
admixture of Arab and Spanish blood, has an air suggestive of better
breeding. The Jews have existed in Algeria from early times; according
to tradition since the fall of Jerusalem. It is certain that the first
Arab invaders found many Jewish colonies which had made numerous
proselytes among the indigenous population. But the modern Algerian Jews
are probably derived in the main from the Jews who were expelled from
Italy in 1342, and from the emigrants from Spain in the fourteenth and
fifteenth centuries. These Spanish Jews, better instructed and more
cultivated than their African brethren, have exercised a dominating
influence, exhibited to-day in their names, their customs and their
language. The Jew of the South is scarcely to be distinguished from the
nomads among whom he lives.
The Jew will go to any country, and live under any government; and he
can make a living anywhere, except, it is said, in Aberdeen. He has been
trained for countless generations to endure the restraint of princes and
the buffets of outrageous fortune; but probably at no time and in no
place has he had to put up with such treatment as was commonly meted out
to him by the Deys of Algiers. Habitually subject to every kind of
indignity, he was liable on the smallest provocation to be put to
torture and to death. If he raised a hand to the striker the hand was
lopped off. “But,” said one of them to an English traveller, “look what
a lot of money we make.”
Profits may no longer be what they were, but the ancient race has ceased
to quail before the oppressor. It is indeed not slow to exhibit the
contempt which it was long forced to conceal. A little Jew entered a
railway carriage in which every seat was taken but one, and over that
sprawled a big Arab, who showed no intention of making room. The Jew
pushed him aside with scant ceremony, whereupon the Arab turned and
said, “Est-ce que vous desirez me manger?” “Vous manger? Moi?” replied
the other; “je suis juif.” The refined insult of this reference to
Jewish rules of diet was doubtless lost on the barbarian, but it is a
happy illustration of the passing of the old order.
In Algeria the Jews number about 70,000, or in the proportion of one to
six of the European population. Since their admission to French
citizenship they appear to have performed the civil and military duties
attaching to it in the most exemplary manner. This has not prevented the
rise of a very strong anti-Semitic feeling among the European
immigrants. It is based partly on the objection to the Jews which is
felt in other countries, on the fact that they toil not, neither do they
spin, but that by commercial arts they grow rich where others fail, and
are able to make more money in five days than “Christians” can in six.
This is appreciated, it may be, with especial force in a new colony, to
which adventurous spirits resort in hope of fortune, only to find that
every avenue is already closed to all but Jewish enterprise. Partly this
animosity is due to local causes, to the solidarity with which they have
used their electoral privileges, with a view, it is said, to support
their own interests, rather than for public objects. It will be recalled
that in 1898, at the instigation of the notorious Max Régis, a mob
composed of the turbulent elements always present in Mediterranean towns
attacked and pillaged the shops and warehouses of Jewish traders in
Algiers. This tribulation, however serious in itself, must have seemed
comparatively slight to a race which remembered the rule of the Deys.
And the crisis past things have settled down again. An agitation for the
abrogation of the rights of citizenship granted in 1870 still exists,
but it is unable to produce serious grounds in support of such an
extreme step. To an observer it would appear that the commercial and
financial enterprise of the Jews must be of immense advantage. Algiers
itself is booming. Mr. Lloyd George’s mouth would water at the rise in
the value of suburban land from a few pence per metre ten years ago to
more than as many francs to-day; and building is progressing in all
directions. The command of capital which the Jews with their
international connections possess is almost certainly an important
factor in this prosperity. And the decline of credit in England, the
fear of spoliation by predatory politicians, from which its capitalist
classes, rightly or not, are suffering, may be having unsuspected
results in assisting the development of other countries.
Another race of traders will attract the attention of the observant
stranger. Of heavy build, flat-faced, broad-nosed, and thick-lipped, the
Mozabites have nothing in common with the physical qualities of the
Arab. They represent a section of the original Berber inhabitants;
although, it may be from the different conditions under which they have
lived for many centuries, their appearance bears no great resemblance to
that of their Khabyle connections. They inhabit a far country, the
district of El-Mzab, in the most arid part of the Sahara. By persevering
toil they have turned this inhospitable region into a garden; have dug
wells and created a complicated system of irrigation. They are no less
active as traders than as agriculturists. They have established markets
in their own oasis, and frequent others throughout the Sahara. A
considerable portion of the tribe has long lived in Algiers, being
encouraged by the Deys. They have almost a monopoly of certain of the
more humble trades; they are especially butchers and greengrocers.
The Biskris, a very low-class Berber tribe from the neighbourhood of
Biskra, are the water-carriers and scavengers of the city. They form
picturesque groups around the fountains in the Arab quarter. Their dark
complexions suggest a considerable admixture of negro blood. The true
negroes are also numerous, and with their alert and smiling faces offer
an agreeable contrast to the sombre impassiveness of the Arab. As
elsewhere, they do much of the hard work of the country, as masons and
workers on the roads and railways. Negresses are employed as servants,
and especially as masseuses in the Moorish baths.
Such, mingled with Frenchmen, Italians, Spaniards, Maltese, and a
sprinkling of almost every European race, are the numerous types of
diverse humanity which the streets of Algiers everywhere present. In so
rich a scene the artist will find fruitful sources of inspiration, both
of form and colour; the ethnologist will have scope for studying the
features and carriage of different races, and for tracing the effects of
their not infrequent intermixture; to the politician it will all give
furiously to think. During the last century or two a large portion of
the Mohammedan world has fallen under Western dominion. France, like
England, has acted on the Roman principle, _parcere subjectis et
debellare superbos_, but neither has succeeded in infusing the conquered
races with the ambition of citizenship, as Rome did. Their attitude at
best seems to be one of sullen acquiescence in the inevitable, at worst
that of a hunted beast who waits his opportunity to spring. And the most
incurious tourist will not escape a certain wonder at the strange and
varied inhabitants of a city so near his home that he may read his
Monday’s “Times” on Wednesday afternoon.
To outward appearance Algiers is a busy French town. But when we come to
probe below the surface we find that the Golden East, with its leisurely
and slipshod methods, holds us in fee. The mere sending of a common
telegram is no light matter. I desired to telegraph five words to an
inhabitant of the city of Funchal in the island of Madeira. I took the
despatch to a branch office at Mustapha, officered by female clerks. It
caused some commotion. The young women laid their heads together, pored
over several tattered volumes, and finally informed me, with a certain
touch of commiseration, that the charge was four francs and fifteen
centimes a word. Now as the charge from London is one shilling a word,
this was obviously too much. What visions of Madagascar or Macao they
had conjured up I know not; they are, I believe, both islands, both,
like Macedon, Monmouth and Madeira, have M’s in them, and both are
distant enough to justify some such charge. I tried to point out that
Madeira does not ride in such remote seas, but to no purpose; and
wearily I betook myself to the chief post office. This is a magnificent
building in the finest style of neo-Arab art, glorious within and
without. It is agreeable to find that the French authorities are now
erecting great buildings in the local style, instead of reproducing the
monotonous ugliness of the Third Empire. If only the Boulevard facing
the harbour could be so transformed, the view of the port would indeed
be worth looking at. In this resplendent Temple of Mercury one youthful
clerk is considered sufficient to receive the telegrams of Algiers. He
took my paper, counted the words backwards and forwards, and said
airily, “Un franc.” I inquired whether he meant for each word, or for
the whole. He replied for the whole. Now he was evidently erring on the
side of moderation, as his sisters had erred on the side of excess. I
protested that I would not pay so little. Books were consulted, higher
officials interviewed, many shoulders shrugged and many palms spread,
but to no purpose. Meantime in a somewhat impatient _queue_ the
telegraphic business of Algiers stood waiting. At length I was invited
to state what I would like to pay, and I suggested a suitable amount. It
was then discovered that as the charge for Teneriffe, which is also
situate in the Atlantic Ocean, is one franc twenty centimes (or
thereabouts) a word, this figure might not be unsuitable for Madeira; on
that basis the account was adjusted, and Algiers restored, after a
considerable interval, to telegraphic communication with the outer
world.
Although the words colonization and colonists are on everybody’s lips,
Algeria is not in fact a colony. It is attached to the Ministère de
l’Intérieur, and is therefore technically a part of France. It is
divided into three departments, each of which sends to Paris two
deputies and one senator. The suffrage is “universal,” but confined to
citizens of French origin or naturalized. The Mohammedan natives are
subjects, not citizens. A colonial air is given by the existence of a
Governor-General, appointed by the President on the advice of the
Ministre de l’Intérieur. The organization of local government is similar
to that of France.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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_II—THE CORSAIR CITY_
The old town—The Arab _ménage_—The Penon—Barbarossa—French achievements
and shortcomings—The Arab house—Christian slavery—Lord Exmouth.
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“That execrable sum of all villanies.”—WESLEY.
A perambulation of the town of Algiers removes much of the impression of
its over-modernization which is received on landing. The boulevards
facing the sea and the streets immediately behind them are all new, but
where the hill begins to rise steeply the traveller will pass at a step
from the French city to the old Arab town. A greater contrast could not
be imagined. The French love broad streets, lofty houses, big windows,
open spaces, and above all straight lines. The Arab town is a labyrinth
of narrow lanes, twisting and curling according to no sort of plan, in
fact to all appearance so inextricably confused and so full of blind
alleys that one might suppose no living man capable of mastering their
meanderings. But a stranger need be under no apprehension of being lost.
He has only to keep ascending to reach the Kasbeh, the old Turkish fort
at the top of the town, or descending, a course which sooner or later
will bring him back to civilization. The lanes are very narrow, in many
cases only just wide enough to permit a horseman to pass a
foot-passenger; and as a rule the first floors of the houses, supported
on diagonal cedar poles, in themselves an interesting and picturesque
feature, extend over the footways, and almost meet. In many cases the
road is completely vaulted. Beyond the general suggestion of ancientry
there is really little in this old town to engage the attention of the
stranger; a few charming marble doorways of conventional Arab design; an
occasional glimpse of a colonnaded court-yard within; that is all.
Writers on Algiers have strained their vocabularies in frenzied efforts
to make something of this curious maze of dwellings; to produce any
effect they have generally had to fall back on their imagination of what
is happening behind those locked portals and those heavily barred
windows; of that life of the Orient of which we know and comprehend
nothing. Perhaps there is nothing very extraordinary to be known. The
sombre, tyrannical master and husband, the infantile and enslaved wife,—
that is our general impression of the Oriental _ménage_. Yet even Arab
wives are not dumb animals, and all men that are born of women are born
to be henpecked. Perhaps even here _les paroles de l’oreiller_ have
their force, and it may be that the stately lord sometimes meets his
match.
“From a vixen wife protect us well;
Save us, O God! from the pains of hell,”
says The Gulistān. The conventional sternness of the husband’s control
suggests a sense of his own weakness. It certainly confesses a curious
diffidence as to his own charms, perhaps with reason, for, says an Arab
proverb, “Quand la femme a vu l’hôte, elle ne veut plus de son mari.” So
even if the Western idea of Mohammedan domestic tyranny is correct (I am
far from believing that it is), we may at least console ourselves with
the hope that the wife sometimes has as much of her own way as is good
for her.
[Illustration: ALGIERS: DOORWAY, RUE MEDEA]
And it would seem that women everywhere must still have chains to hug.
If in Western countries the husband is no longer lord, and the priest no
more director, the tyranny of the dressmaker is cheerfully, nay,
eagerly, accepted. In one decade a tight cape prevents the lifting of
the arms, in the next a skimpy skirt hobbles the legs; a mere man may
venture to see in these disagreeable manifestations a surviving badge of
ingrained servitude.