THE SACRED CITY
Seven visits to the sacred city of Kairouan are equivalent for the
devout Mussulman to one pilgrimage to Mecca. A pleasant alternative for
those who wish to gain a high degree of sanctity at a small cost, for
since the railway simplified the journey there are neither terrors nor
difficulties to overcome.
Picturesque hill towns are passed on the way, and also the first of the
chain of _Chotts_, or shallow salt lakes, almost or quite dry in summer,
strange reminders of the time when the Mediterranean penetrated the
desert as far as Biskra. Plans have often been proposed for letting in
the water again from the Gulf of Gabès to the Ziban. But though in some
ways this might bring added prosperity, in others the change of climate
would probably spell ruin. The date harvest at Gafsa and Gabès would be
spoilt, and most likely that of Biskra and Tougourt as well.
The Tunisian oases vie with, if they do not surpass, those of Algeria,
but they are little visited, partly because it is not the fashion, but
much more in consequence of the discomforts to be faced, as travellers
are mostly dependent on their own resources, a native _fonduk_, or the
kindness of some French officer. The _fonduks_ by all accounts are
intolerably dirty, and sleep has to be snatched during a lull in the
noisy talk, in the corner of a crowded space, with a portmanteau for a
pillow, the mud floor and a rug by way of bed. No food or refreshment
are offered except coffee. The inns when they exist give rise to
pathetic tales of food and dirt. Birds apparently made of india-rubber,
quite black and utterly impervious to the blunt knives, pose as chicken,
the eggs are of untold age, and the bread sour. Cous-couss is the best
thing; it is not at all a bad variety of stew when well made, rather
like curry, but laid on a bed of semolina instead of rice, with a very
hot, piquant sauce. The number of ingredients is always rather
mysterious, and when ill-made it is horribly greasy.
These various drawbacks make even the excursion to the fine Roman ruins
of Sbeitla too uncomfortable without a camp, as it is a two days’ ride
from Kairouan. The road is supposed to be fit for carriages, but owing
to the badness of the track, a strong country cart cannot stand the
strain, and is always coming to grief, or losing a wheel at critical
moments, so that a rider finds he has chosen the better part. Then it is
rather a shock to be told on the return journey, with many miles yet to
travel and darkness coming on apace, that no Frenchman considers this
district safe without a revolver loaded and ready to hand.
Altogether it is decidedly annoying as well as disappointing, because
drawings and photographs of curious places and buildings make the
longing for adventure in the wilder regions so strong as to be almost
unbearable. There are houses at Tozeur with decorative façades, built
with raised designs in projecting sun-dried brick. At Matmata and
Douïrat the Troglodytes dwell in rock-hewn cells, forming hill cities
cut out of, not built on, castellated crags, whilst at Medénine the
houses are built one above the other, five stories high, with doors that
serve as windows. Most of these houses are reached by climbing up on
jutting stones built into the wall, which, even with the assistance of a
cord, needs a steady head, though a few have the luxury of an outside
staircase.
There is great consolation in the thought that until quite lately
Kairouan itself was almost a sealed book, for travellers could only see
it when provided with an escort and a special permission, and these were
not sufficient to admit them to the mosques, or to protect them from
insult or stones in the streets, so that little joy came from a visit
even so late as 1888.
Now the nervous need have no misgivings, as the train crawls like a
snail over the barren waste, redeemed from desolation by the flowers,
more glorious than ever in contrast with the monotonous brown-hued
desert framed by distant mountains.
The old walls that encircle Kairouan, with their tones of dusty brown,
blend with the plain they rise from, and would be invisible at a little
distance were it not for the white minarets and domes within their
bounds, which stand out clear-cut as a cameo against the blue of the
sky, the purple of the hills, and the faded tints of the soil.
Tradition says that in the year fifty-five of the Hegira (675 A.D.) this
was a vast forest, almost impenetrable, and full of wild and terrible
beasts of prey and still more alarming serpents, huge and poisonous.
Hither, surrounded by his conquering host, came the warrior-saint, Sidi
Okba. Here he planted his lance in the ground, saying, “This is your
‘Kairwan’” (caravan, or resting-place). After which he caused fifteen
chosen men, the companions of the Prophet who were with the army, to
come together for prayer. Then advancing he called out, “Serpents and
savage beasts we are the companions of the blessed Prophet; retire! for
we intend to dwell here.” At the sound of his inspired voice they fled
in a body with their young, and took refuge in the wilderness, whilst
the woods that had been their home vanished also. Moreover, it is said
that this miracle so astounded the Berbers who dwelt in that land, that
they were one and all converted at once, and further it is alleged that
it is for this reason that the holy city continues to stand in the midst
of a desert unto this day.
Mohammed is said to have taught that there are in this world three
gardens of Paradise, four cities, and four oratories. The three gardens
include Mecca and Jerusalem, whilst Kairouan is the best known of the
oratories or gates of heaven.
[Illustration: LA GRANDE RUE, KAIROUAN]
Kairouan has evidently no doubt about its own sanctity, and tries to
live up to its reputation, for it is most serious, full to overflowing
with mosques and Zaouïas, or tomb-mosques, which are often both
oratories and schools.
An air of austerity seems part of the religious character of this place,
as yet untouched by the stir and onward rush of modern life. The easy
ways of Tunis, the smooth, smiling faces of the Moorish dandy, the
wealth of harmonious colour, are not found here. The men are of a grave,
stern race, not given to bright garments, but content, as a rule, with
white, or tones of brown. A woman is a rare apparition in the streets,
and her closely shrouded form in its sombre black reminds one of a
misericordia brother in Tuscany,—though she, poor thing, scurries away
as if in search of a hiding-place instead of boldly begging an alms.
The main street, or _Zankat Touila_, runs from the Bab Djelladin to the
Porte de Tunis. Though unusually wide and nearly straight it has a charm
of line that makes the irregular grouping of minarets, mosques, and
domes, set as they are amidst a tangle of booths, shops, and balconies,
into a bewildering succession of ready-made pictures. Both minarets and
domes are as white as white can be, like those of any and every city in
Tunisia, nevertheless Kairouan, whitewashed as it may be with the same
brush, has a few little peculiarities to distinguish it from its
fellows. Some of the minarets, for instance, severe to plainness in
their construction, have for their sole decoration an inscription in
projecting bricks, carried round all four sides, setting forth the creed
of the Mohammedans. “There is no God but God; Mohammed is the messenger
of God.” Many of the domes, again, differ from those in other places by
being fluted, which not only gives variety to the surface, but also a
peculiarly graceful curve.
The well-house of El Barota stands in this street; outside it resembles
a marabout, but instead of the tomb within there is the sacred well, the
only well in Kairouan. The water is brackish in taste, and was
discovered after the orthodox legendary method in time of need, by a
greyhound scratching up the soil. To add to its sanctity it is said to
be in touch in some mysterious way with the still more sacred well of
Zemzem at Mecca. This underground communication is in such perfect
working order that a pilgrim who lost his drinking-vessel by dropping it
into the fountain at Mecca, found it again, on his return to his native
city, in the waters of El Barota.
The entrance to the bazaars is through a gateway decorated with black
lines, whilst black and white are used alternately round the horse-shoe
arch. Inside the bazaar is simple—a whitewashed tunnel, dimly lighted
from above, with the usual square, cavernous recesses. Shoemakers,
coppersmiths, and tailors are to be found, the latter have already
succumbed to the fascinations of a sewing-machine—one of the first signs
that the thin end of the wedge of so-called improvement is being driven
in. Most of the shops, however, are given up to carpets, the well-known
industry of the place. Here, though there is some dread of the coming of
aniline dyes and other European enormities, the work is still carried
on, as it always has been in hundreds of homes, principally by the women
and children. The designs and methods are matters of tradition, vary in
different families, and are handed down like heirlooms from generation
to generation.
[Illustration: CARPET-MAKING]
It is purely a home industry; there is nothing of the factory or
workshop about it as yet. The loom, large as it is, with its heavy beams
and many cords, takes a good deal of space in the characteristic narrow
room, yet it is set up in the guest-chamber opening out of the quiet
court. It is placed as near the door as may be, for the sake of light
and air, the windows being small and of little account. It casts a dark
shadow over the divan in the alcove, which in Kairouan is often of wood
elaborately turned or carved, gilt and painted in brilliant colours. The
mother sits and works steadily; the babies play with her skeins and
balls of wool; the husband dozes or meditates; other women come and
chat, and prepare vegetables, though the cooking is done in another room
on the other side of the courtyard. All the time the threads are being
deftly tied and knotted, clipped with big scissors, and beaten down at
intervals with much energy and a heavy iron comb, shaped like a hoe. The
carpet grows visibly in a rather mysterious way, as often there is no
pattern to be seen, the worker apparently evolving the design out of her
inner consciousness, which accounts for the delightful irregularity and
vagaries of hand-made rugs.
The maze of the narrow streets is more puzzling than usual; there is a
mean and squalid look, a hopeless sameness about them that makes
threading one’s way difficult at first. The great Mosque has to be
sought carefully, although from outside the town it is the most
conspicuous object. Massive walls, huge buttresses, and towers with
fluted domes, protect the inner court, which is entered by gateways
under the towers. Vastness and simplicity as befits its name are the
keynotes of the building, the slight efforts at decoration lost in the
blinding whiteness that is almost unbearable in those hours when the
noonday sun beats down upon the city.
Sidi Okba is said to have traced out the foundation of the mosque
himself, which he called the Mosque of Olives, and on this ground,
already held sacred, he caused prayers to be celebrated before the work
of building was even begun. The great difficulty was to find the true
position of the _Mihrab_, the niche which indicates the direction of
Mecca. In all other mosques the Imaum who leads the prayers turns
slightly to one side or the other of this Mecca niche, to show that the
direction is not absolutely correct. Here, however, he stands perfectly
straight, because the _Mihrab_ was miraculously revealed to Sidi Okba in
this wise. Wearied out by long prayer he fell asleep, and in his dreams
an angel appeared unto him saying: “Thou favourite of the Ruler of the
Universe, thy prayer is heard. Behold, when day dawns, thou shalt take
thy standard and bear it upon thy shoulder, then shalt thou hear a voice
crying before thee _Allah Akbar_ (‘God is great’). No ear but thine will
hear this voice. Follow, and where the cry ceases, in that place shalt
thou build the _Mihrab_.”
[Illustration: MOSQUE OF SIDI OKBA, KAIROUAN]
At daybreak Sidi Okba heard a cry, and when he demanded of his
companions whether they heard ought, they answered, “Nothing.” “It is
the command of God, the All Powerful,” he said, and raising the standard
he followed the voice till the cry ceased. Immediately he planted the
standard, saying, “Here is our _Mihrab_.”
The minaret stands at one end of an immense courtyard, partly paved with
Roman tombstones and surrounded by a double cloister. Underneath the
court is a vast cistern to hold a reserve of water. At the opposite end,
under a fine colonnade, in which Roman columns are found as usual, are
the nine great doors of the mosque. These doors are of good old Moorish
design, worn with age and softened in colour, but still truly
magnificent.
The sudden change from the glare outside to the darkness within
transforms the mosque into a forest, mysterious and vast, glowing with
rich colour beneath the gloom. And indeed it is a forest of stone, for
there are seventeen naves and who knows how many columns. The columns
are antique and of fine marbles, onyx, and porphyry, rubbed by the
shoulders of the Faithful till they shine. The capitals are also spoils
from other buildings, Roman or Byzantine, and one there is of a design
so unusual as to be considered unique in its treatment of plant form.
Matting is swathed round the base of the columns and covers the floor
with its cool cleanliness. The great horse-shoe arches are whitewashed,
the roof is rather plain, with heavy beams like a network between the
columns. In the central nave hang some wonderful old lustres, with
myriads of tiny lamps.
Before the _Mihrab_ is the one incongruous and tawdry decoration—a
crystal chandelier, but the darkness happily hides it, and prevents its
interfering with the general impression of stately simplicity.
The _Mihrab_, with its inlaid work and tiles, its coloured marbles,
graceful columns, and finely cut capitals, is worthy of the shrine, and
shares the admiration of the pilgrims with an exquisitely carved
_Mimbar_, or pulpit, polished and worn with age, which is said to be
made of wood brought from Baghdad on purpose.
Most of the pilgrims strive to squeeze themselves between two closely
wedded columns standing near by, because, so the old Sheikh said, “those
who can pass through this narrow portal will also be able to enter
Paradise.” Besides this appeal to the future, there is the less romantic
inducement that the passage of the pillars is a certain cure for
rheumatism. Whichever reason prevails, no one minds taking off cloaks
and burnouses and then trying hard to wriggle through. It is a less
difficult feat to accomplish than the trial of truth between two similar
pillars in the mosque of ’Amr at Cairo.
A few years ago, strangers of an alien faith had to content themselves
with a bare glance at the outside of this famous mosque as they rode
past. Now a solitary Christian, having duly deposited a pair of European
shoes amongst the Oriental slippers at the door, may enter boldly, rest
and dream the day away, tranquil and alone, without let or hindrance. No
rude word will be spoken, nor will angry looks trouble or annoy. Nothing
will disturb the quiet, for the pilgrims wander softly to and fro,
making no sound on the matted floor with their slipperless feet. Now and
again the voice of a reader echoes through the silence of this house of
prayer, and occasionally a man, bent on asking questions and trying to
pick up a few words of useful French, will take his place on the matting
beside the stranger, or, if sketching is going on, a small boy will come
and kneel for hours absorbed in wonder, watching each movement of the
brush, his eager face almost resting on the paper. Yet perhaps this
boy’s own father was one of those who indulged in throwing stones at the
_Roumis_ less than twenty years ago.
These peaceful ways are the direct result of war. The Sacred City alone
resented the coming of the French sufficiently to resist in arms, and
therefore alone pays the penalty of its daring in being forced to throw
open the mosques and holy places to the tread of the Infidel.
The upper gallery of the minaret commands a wide view over a scene
curious enough to attract those already accustomed to Eastern cities.
The houses are more like cubes than ever, and lie so close together that
their flat roofs seem to form one continuous terrace, broken only by
domes and minarets. Every house is square, with a central court. The
court and the house-tops are the women’s domain; etiquette does not
permit a man to enjoy the air on his own roof, but if business calls him
there, he must send warnings to his neighbours, so that their womenfolk
may withdraw from courts and terraces and seek refuge indoors.
Quaint and characteristic as the outlook from the minaret undeniably is,
yet there is no doubt that its own picturesque outline adds much to the
charm of the view from other housetops. The sturdy tower with its warm
tones has a look of strength that matches the equally massive walls of
the city, and suggests a watch-tower crowned by the white galleries of a
minaret.
All round the city walls, towers and battlements dating from the
fifteenth century draw a strong dividing line between the white houses
and the sandy waste, still dreary, desolate, and treeless as in the time
of Okba.
The breach made by the French in 1881 is still left, partly as a
warning, and partly because it is now used instead of the old Tunis gate
on account of its greater width, and also to avoid an awkward turn; for,
like many Moorish gateways, there is a double turn in the thickness of
the wall, to assist in keeping out the foe. With this exception, the
walls and gates are perfect as in the days of old: perfect not only in
preservation but in form. But of all the gates none is so fine as this
same Porte de Tunis with its double arch. Both façades are remarkable
for the skill shown in the use of black and white marble as decoration.
Deep shadow throws a mysterious gloom over the interior of the gate, now
a picturesque Souk with an arched roof, beneath which many merchants
spread out their wares.
[Illustration: MOORISH GATEWAY, KAIROUAN]
Outside the gate, more stalls and booths nestle against the walls, and
the large open space beyond is crowded with all the bustle and confusion
of a market. Men come and go, or gather in wide circles round the snake
charmers and story-tellers. Horses and donkeys furtively steal a meal
from the piles of grain and fodder. Camels snarl and growl whilst men
pack burdens on their unwilling backs, as the caravans prepare to start
on their journey. Other camels hop about on three legs, the fourth being
doubled back and bound up in what looks a cruel fashion, but which the
Arabs declare to be quite comfortable, and the only effective way to
prevent their straying.
Beyond the market, again, are some curious reservoirs, called the
_Bassins des Aghlabites_, which receive water from the Oued Merguelli in
time of flood; they were probably constructed by Ziad el Allah, who
restored the great Mosque.
Still further on, amongst hedges of prickly pears, or _figues de
Barbarie_, rises the mosque of Sidi Sahab, the barber, the rival to the
mosque of Sidi Okba, both as regards sanctity and beauty.
A square minaret slightly decorated with coloured tiles is surrounded by
an apparently uninteresting pile of white buildings and a dome, but
these walls conceal a series of halls and cloistered courts, full of
exquisite Moorish work worthy of the Alhambra, though, alas! like the
Alhambra they have suffered somewhat at the hands of the restorer, with
his distressing want of taste in colour.
Roman columns support the arches in the quiet courts, the floors are
paved with marble, tiles of rich design line the walls, the light
filters through coloured glass, set jewel-like in tiny windows, and the
stucco work adds to the whole effect a touch of light and grace.
The tomb-mosque itself is a domed building of no great size, where
behind an open-work screen lies the sarcophagus in which reposes the
body of Abou Zemaa el Beloui, the companion and, as some suppose, the
barber of the Prophet. Carpets and embroideries cover this tomb, numbers
of lamps and ostrich eggs are suspended before it, and all round are
ranged quantities of flags, the standards and colours of Islam.
Tradition says, that during his life this singular man carried three
hairs from the Prophet’s beard—one under his tongue, another next his
heart, and the third on his right arm. These three precious hairs are
now united in a silken sachet placed on the dead man’s breast, and
whether the reputation of the saint or these relics of the Prophet have
the greater power in drawing pilgrims to the shrine, is a doubtful
question.
Delicate finish, suited to its smallness of scale, makes a yet more
perfect shrine of the tiny forecourt, and dome over the tomb of another
Marabout, Sidi Abid el Ghariani. Of all the Moorish work in the city,
this Zaouïa is perhaps the gem—at any rate the hand of time has touched
it lightly, so that nothing has been done to spoil its charm of colour.
[Illustration: THE MOSQUE OF THE THREE DOORS, KAIROUAN]
Quite other considerations make it worth while to go on pilgrimage to
the Mosque of the Swords, though its only beauty lies in the distant
effect of its seven fluted domes. It is dedicated to a comparatively
modern saint, who had great influence in Kairouan. His name was Sidi
Amer Abbada, and he began life as a blacksmith. To astonish his admirers
he made, and they now say he used, gigantic swords, covered with
inscriptions, one of which prophesies the coming of the French. His
pipes are the pipes of a nightmare—too huge for mortal man to smoke. As
for the colossal bronze anchors he is said to have carried on his
shoulders from Porto Farina, quite unaided and alone, are they not now
reposing in a courtyard close by? There the sceptical can go and see for
themselves and come away abashed, saying, “Truly this was a great
Marabout.”
The Djama Thelata Biban, or Mosque of the Three Doors, is noteworthy
because of its great age (some six or seven hundred years old) and also
for the decorative value of its façade. The plan is not in the least
original, the outline is elementary—a square block with an equally
square minaret beside it. But it is the treatment of the flat surface
that is remarkable. The upper part of the front is shaded by a tiled
roof supported by wooden brackets, old and mellow in tone. Underneath
comes a broad space of golden stone, adorned by alternate bands of
raised inscriptions in Cufic characters, and fragments of Roman carved
work. Below this all is white, the surface broken by three archways with
old capitals and columns, that cast fascinating shadows on the three
brilliant green doors that give the mosque its name. Coloured tiles in
the same way relieve the whiteness and add to the charm of the minaret.
Unfortunately the building is badly placed across the end of a dull
street, so that it cannot be seen at a picturesque angle.
The pleasures of Kairouan are by no means exhausted by merely walking
through the streets, visiting the mosques, and wandering outside the
walls, not even by watching the life of the people either out of doors
or at the cafés.
Sunsets as beautiful as those of Biskra may be enjoyed from the roof.
Afterglows, with a depth and glory of red and crimson unrivalled even in
Egypt, created by the magic atmosphere of the dry and somewhat dreary
plain, which they transform into a land of mystery and romance.
When the moon rises, another scene of enchantment is revealed. The pale
moonlight of our island home is unknown in Africa: here the contrast is
wonderful, the brilliance positively startles. The first impression on
leaving a lighted room is that it has been snowing heavily. Then
gradually one begins to grasp the extraordinary depth of the shadows,
the absolute clearness of each outline, the suffused glow, the positive
warmth that throws such glamour over each common thing. Last of all, one
sees that in this moonlight there is colour, soft and low in tone, but
yet distinctly recognisable.
As a little change, or perhaps because sunset and moonlight might be
thought dull, the authorities kindly decreed that a military tattoo
should be held. Gay sounds of martial music, the light tramp of marching
feet, the hum of many voices, drew every one to the balcony, to find the
street bright with flaming torches. The lights flared up, casting weird
shadows over the crowd of eager faces as the wind blew the flames to and
fro. The gay uniforms, the lightly stepping, almost dancing feet of the
soldiers as they marked time, contrasted strangely with the statuesque
pose of the sober citizens, or the wild unkempt figures of men from some
distant oasis, or nomads from the desert. How they all enjoyed the
show!—soldiers as much as any one else, and the band seemingly most of
all.
The terrible rites of the Aïssaouas may be witnessed every night. The
sect is powerful in Kairouan, has its own mosque, and they welcome all
those whose curiosity is strong enough to overcome their feelings of
horror or of self-contempt for wishing to look on at such doings.
The Marabout Aïssa (a name which means Jesus), who came from Morocco,
was once wandering in the desert, far from home and friends, and
suffered much from hunger. In fact he would have died of starvation had
he not been endued with miraculous power, and this enabled him to eat
all kinds of impossible food, including snakes, scorpions, fire, glass,
and leaves of prickly pear, spines and all. His followers imitate him,
or pretend to do so, to this day, having previously worked themselves
into a state of frenzy after the manner of the Howling Dervishes. Their
feats in this direction, and also with swords and daggers run through
their bodies, seem so hideous and disgusting even in the telling, that
one wonders how any Europeans can bear to see the sight. Yet numbers do,
and get so excited that they forget to be horrified or feel sick till
they get home.
A wedding feast is a very different ceremony, so that to be invited to
see one in old-world Kairouan is a piece of real good-fortune. After
dinner the Arab servants hurried us off, with two French officers and
their wives, through the still marvel of a moonlight night. The music of
the tom-toms and the trilling cries, half-shrill, half-sweet, of
rejoicing women, could be heard long before the house was reached.
The outer gate, decked with boughs, stood wide open, though as yet only
the ladies were allowed to enter and cross the courtyard to an inner
court full of flickering lights and a bewildering number of restless,
ever-moving women. Gay as butterflies they fluttered round us, whilst
with pretty gentle ways they patted and stroked our hands and clothes,
pulled, pushed, and led us in and out of three tiny rooms, showing us
all the preparations, the embroidered linen and hangings, the lights,
the robes, the state bedstead, and, last of all, within a circle of
elder women seated on the floor, the bride herself. Demure, a little
wistful, with a studiously impassive expression, in all her finery of
silk and veils, bedizened with jewels, she posed like an image, aloof
and very lonely in the crowd.
[Illustration: A DESERT AFTERGLOW]
Then suddenly the cry was heard, “The bridegroom comes,” and in the
twinkling of an eye we found ourselves alone in an empty court, the
women had all vanished, though how they packed themselves into those wee
rooms was a mystery.
Our loneliness was only momentary, for the men swept in like a flood to
the sounds of the usual wild music and much banging of tom-toms. Then a
group of Aïssaouas began their prayer or incantations, swaying and
shouting as they swung themselves backwards and forwards. Happily the
bridegroom was impatient, and stopped the performance before any horrors
occurred. Whereupon the men were all hustled off the premises, the
French officers very reluctantly going with the rest. As the last man
disappeared, out fluttered all the butterflies again. It was the woman’s
hour, and they made the most of it. They enthroned the bridegroom, a
handsome young man, on a dais, covered his head with a beautiful new
burnous, arranged to fall like a veil on either side of his face, which
it almost concealed. Like the bride, he was preternaturally solemn, and
sat there with his eyes shut, pretending to see nothing, whilst
thoroughly enjoying many furtive peeps.
Then the revels began, pretty girls danced round him laughing, with
lighted candles held on high. With a certain quaint grace they mingled
merciless chaff with all manner of elfish tricks, pinching and giving
him saucy kisses, deceiving him with pretences that his bride was
coming, even going so far as to play at being the bride themselves, and
doing their utmost to make him laugh. Only Rembrandt could have done
justice to the delightful effects of light and shade, the marvellous
play of colour. The girls, with their bright beauty enhanced by the
quaint horned caps, the gay silk veils, and chains and jewels gleaming
under the flickering lights, the lace sleeves falling away from their
bare arms, and their lithe, graceful forms wrapped in bright-hued silk,
were a perfect picture.
The bridegroom bore all the teasing with a stolid countenance and a mock
air of meekness—it is considered most unlucky to smile—but at last he
received his reward. The real bride stood before her lord, veiled, with
her head slightly bowed. He rose, lifted her veil, and kissed her. The
little ceremony was at an end.
Index
A
Ain-Tunga, 129
Aïssaouas, 201, 223
Algiers, 3-33, 38, 40, 42, 195
Arab Cemetery, 25
Bois de Boulogne, 31
Carpet school, 8
Casbah, 5, 31
Cathedral, 33
Chateau Hydra, 31
Colonne Voirol, 27
Embroidery school, 7
Fort des vingt-quatre heures, 33
Jardin d’Essai, 20, 25
Koubba, 31
Marabout of Sidi Noumann, 27
Moorish houses, 7
Moorish villas, 23
Mosque of Sidi Abder Rahman, 9
Museum, 33
Notre Dame d’Afrique, 31
Penon, 12
Tiger Gateway, 12
Atlas Mountains, 130
Aures Mountains, 74, 78, 83, 95, 130
B
Batna, 42, 93, 94, 98
Belisarius, 109, 185
Berbers, 78, 82
Biskra, 42, 44, 58-89, 207, 222
The races, 84
Bizerta, 189
Bône, 46
Bougie, 46
Bou Korneïne, 183, 194
Bouzareah, 27, 28
Bruce, 98, 103, 134
C
Carthage, 127, 141, 154, 173, 179-189, 199
Aqueduct, 185
Byrsa, 182, 189
Cathedral, 184
Chapel of St. Louis, 184
Museum, 182
Punic cisterns, 184
Punic tombs, 186
Roman amphitheatre, 186
Cervantes, 32
Charles V., 142, 173
Chehoud el Batal, 128
Cherchell, 30, 126
Chotts, 207
Claudian, 30
Col de Sfa, 83
Constantine, 107-115, 195
Baths of Sidi Meçid, 115
Bridge of el Kantara, 108
Casbah, 112
Cathedral, 114
Chemin des Touristes, 112
Gorge of the Roumel, 110
Mansoura, 110
Palace of the Bey, 115
Sidi Rached, 111
Constantine the Great, 108
Creuly (General), 125
D
Damrémont (General), 109
De Bourmont (General), 30
Dely Ibrahim, 20
Dey of Algiers, 5, 11, 32
Dido, 180
Diocletian, 132
Djebel Ahmar Kreddou, 81
Djebel Chenoua, 29
Djebel Djouggar, 185
Dougga, 126-135
Bab el Roumi, 134
Mausoleum, 135
Temple of Celestis, 133
Theatre, 134
Douïrat, 209
E
El Ariana, 173
El Bahira, 173, 174, 183
El Biar, 17, 21, 28
El Djem, 196-203
El Guerrah, 40
El Kahina, 197, 200
El Kantara, 43-54, 67, 75, 78, 130
Exmouth (Lord), 11
G
Gabès, 207
Gafsa, 207
Gates of the desert, 43
Gildon (Count), 97
Gordian, 200
Goums, 87
H
Hadrian, 185
Hædo, 32
Hamilcar Barca, 181
Hammamet, 195
Hammam Meskoutine, 119-126, 198
Le mariage Arabe, 122
The hot springs, 120
The subterranean lake, 123
Hammam R’hira, 121
Hammam Salahin, 83
Hannibal, 181
Hanno, 181
Hercha, 195
Himilco, 181
Honorius, 97
J
Julius Cæsar, 108
Justinian, 108
K
Kabylia, 18, 78
Kairouan, 153, 207-226
Bab Djelladin, 211
Mosque of the Barber, 219
Mosque of the Olives, 214
Mosque of the Swords, 221
Mosque of the Three Doors, 221
Porte de Tunis, 211, 218
Well of el Barota, 212
Zankat Touila, 211
Zaouia Sidi Abid el Ghariani, 220
Khroumirie, 129
L
Lactantius, 188
Laghouat, 86
La Goulette, 173, 183, 189
La Malga, 185
La Marsa, 173, 188
Lambessa, 95
Lavigerie (Cardinal), 73, 184
Lucius Munatius Gallus, 97
M
Mago, 182
Masinissa, 108
Matmata, 209
Maximin, 200
Medenine, 209
Medjerda (River), 127, 133
Medjez el Bab, 127, 135
Micipsa, 107
Mohammed, 66, 154, 156, 189, 210, 212
Mustapha (Lower), 19, 25
Mustapha (Upper), 5, 17, 19, 21, 27, 39
N
Nero, 97
O
Optatus (Bishop), 97
Oran, 33
Ouled Naïls, 88
P
Perrégaux (General), 109
Playfair, 134
Pliny, 200
Ptolemy, 96, 200
R
Robson (John), 24
Ruspina, 195
S
Sahara, 50, 57, 61, 72, 80, 83
St. Arcadius, 30
St. Augustine, 97, 132, 188
St. Cyprian, 187, 188
St. Felicita, 187
St. Louis of France, 183, 184, 188
St. Marcian, 30
St. Nemphanion, 186
St. Perpetua, 187
St. Vincent de Paul, 143
Sallust, 108, 195
San Geronimo, 32
Sbeitla, 208
Scipio, 179
Sedjoumi (Lake), 173
Sfax, 197
Shaw, 98, 109
Sidi Bou Saïd, 183, 188
Sidi Mohammed Bou Kobrin, 26
Sidi Okba, 82, 210, 214
Sidi Okba (village), 80
Sophonisba, 108
Sousse, 193-197
Staouëli, 30
Syphax, 107
T
Tacitus, 97
Tebessa, 126
Teboursouk, 130
Tertullian, 188
Testour, 128
Tibilis, 124
Timgad, 93-104, 134
Arch of Trajan, 103
Baths, 102
Forum, 100
Market, 101
Museum, 99
Salle de réunion, 100
Via Decumanus Maximus, 100
Tipaza, 30, 126
Tomb of the Christian, 29
Touaregs, 78, 85, 88
Tougourt, 84, 88, 207
Tozeur, 209
Trajan, 97, 195
Tunis, 11, 139-175, 195, 196
Bab Djazira, 143, 171
Bab Djedid, 170
Bab el Fellah, 172
Bab el Khadra, 172
Bab Souika, 143, 168
Bardo, 163
Belvedere, 172
Casbah, 141, 173
Dar el Bey, 153, 163
Hara (Jewish quarter), 164
Harem, 160
Medina, 143, 168
Mosque el Zitouna, 154
Mosque Sidi Ben Arous, 141
Mosque Sidi Ben Ziad, 141, 153
Mosque Sidi Mahrez, 143
Place Halfaouine, 166, 168
Porte de France, 144, 173
Souk des Etoffes, 146
Souk des Femmes, 150
Souk el Attarin, 148
Souk el Belat, 152
Souk el Blagdia, 149
Souk el Hout, 164
Souk el Trouk (tailors), 150
U
Utica, 141, 173, 180, 189
V
Vandals, 78, 109, 142, 185
Varro, 182
Z
Zaghouan, 172, 185
Ziban, 81, 207
THE END
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[Illustration: _Sketch Map of_
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Transcriber’s Notes
--Research into publication date and location determined that this book
is in the public domain.
--Corrected a few palpable typographical errors.
--In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by
_underscores_.