Part 3

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.

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.

The lanes of this old town, with its squalid exteriors and possibly rich interiors, are not very clean, and to the Western eye, if not nose, they suggest insanitary conditions. But it is never safe to judge from appearances, and it may be that your brand-new _hôtel de luxe_ is richer in lethal germs than this ramshackle city. I am not armed with any statistics bearing on the point. At any rate, these devious thoroughfares appear to be admirably policed, and in spite of their cut-throat appearance it is said that they are safe for passage by day or by night.

If the aspiring word-painter has failed to convey any due impression of this curious labyrinth, the artist has seldom been more successful. Perhaps it passes the endurance of flesh and blood to sit and paint, where there is too little room to sit, exposed to the torments of an Arab crowd. Even the humble photographer must own defeat. The narrowness of the lanes, the height of the houses and the unwelcome attentions of the passers-by try his skill beyond endurance. The casual wayfarer, content with his own impressions, has the best of it.

It appears that in Turkish times the streets of the city had no distinctive names. It may be that everyone knew where everyone else lived. The Arab, at any rate, had no address. Presumably he had no extensive correspondence. And perhaps he seldom received callers. There were certainly no public vehicles, indeed no vehicles at all. It was all, and is, a strange tangle; an incongruous medley of great houses and squalid shops, of “the grey homes of the people and the palaces of the mighty,” as Mr. Lloyd George said at Mile End. With laudable intentions the French set to work to unravel it—to give at least to every street a name, for to the European mind a street without a name is inconceivable; although we frequently see in new-fledged localities names bestowed on streets which are as yet in embryo. The official who was entrusted with the job deserves immortality in the pillory. A more hopelessly inappropriate collection of titles it would be difficult to conceive. Such aberration almost touches genius. Rue du 4 Septembre, Rue d’Amfreville, Rue du Galmier, Rue Annibal,—such are the gems which greet our astonished eyes. And, above all, Rue Sidney Smith! What is the witty parson—or is it the admiral?—doing in this galley? If only he had lived to know it. But so for all time, or until the next conqueror arrives, will it be.

The amateur will look in vain in Algiers for fine examples of Arab art, such as he may study at Cairo, at Granada, or at Tlemçen, in the province of Oran. The ravages of war, the stress of successive bombardments, amply account for this. The old minarets are gone; such work of the best period as may have existed has long disappeared; what the French have spared is chiefly of the Turkish domination.

But, in truth, during the great days of Mohammedan art Algiers was not of much importance. Its site had been previously occupied by the Roman Icosium, a town of little place in history, but the seat of one of the numerous North African bishoprics of the fifth century. The Arab town was founded in the tenth century, at which time numerous monuments of the Roman period are said to have been still standing. About the year 1500, when the Moors were expelled from Spain, many settled here, and adopted the profession of pirates. It is at this time that the importance of Algiers in the history of Europe commences.

The Penon, the islet which, being connected with the shore by a mole, forms the present inner harbour of Algiers, the old harbour of the corsair fleet, is intimately connected with this period. Some good Arab work is to be seen, notably a magnificent doorway in the Bureau de la Marine, carved in white marble, or ornamented with inscriptions and with tigers,—an infringement of the Moorish law which perhaps indicates its Persian origin.[1] A small and very charming Arab house with good carving and many tiles is used as the residence of the Admiral. As I gazed deferentially at the exterior an obliging sailor invited me to enter. “This,” he said, “is the _grand salon_ of the Admiral; and this,” laying his hand on the handle of a door, “the Admiral’s _bureau_.” I recalled the Oxford undergraduate who showed “his people” over his college: “That,” he said, “is the Master’s Lodge, and that,” hurling a stone at a window, “is the Master.” Perhaps my face showed some apprehension of the possible apparition of a fierce French admiral with bristling moustache hastening to repel the foreign invader, for my conductor reassured me. “M. l’Amiral est absent,” he said. From a pleasant flagged terrace, with a summer-house at the further end, the Admiral may look down on the inner harbour, packed now with the French torpedo-boats which have replaced the lateen-rigged vessels of its former owners.

Footnote 1:

See Chapter IV.

The island and its mole have a strange history,—not the least astonishing episode in the annals of this astonishing city. The depredations of the Moorish pirates soon became extremely harassing to Spain; not only did they seriously interfere with Spanish commerce, but they made frequent raids on the Spanish coast, pillaging towns and carrying away their inhabitants to slavery. The evil became so pressing that at length a determined effort was made to put a stop to it. In 1509 a Spanish expedition, under Cardinal Ximenes, captured Oran and Bougie, and as a check to the pirates of Algiers occupied the island facing the town. Here they built a fort, which still exists in part, and forms the base of the lighthouse. This expedition, for which the Cardinal supplied the funds, was known as the “Crusade of Ximenes de Cisteros,” and was regarded as a holy war, bestowing certain indulgences on those who took part in it.

For nearly twenty years the Spaniards held the island, commanding the roadstead and controlling the maritime proceedings of the Algerines. These found the position so irksome that their Emir, to his own undoing, called in the services of the celebrated pirate, Baba Aroudj, known to Christendom as Barbarossa,

“A corsair’s name, linked with a thousand crimes.”

The romantic story of this king of robbers supplies a curious picture of the times. At the beginning of the sixteenth century Lesbos, in Mytilene, was the head-quarters of Turkish piracy in the Eastern Mediterranean. A simple potter, or fisherman, as some say, of the island had four sons, of whom two, Baba Aroudj and Kheir-ed-Din, rose to fame. Aroudj was in particular of a soaring spirit. Marking the avenues to fortune which the staple industry of the island presented, he became “apprenticed to a pirate.” An early disaster seemed like to blast his promising career; he was captured by a vessel of the Knights of Rhodes and condemned to the galleys. But such checks are to the really great only stepping-stones to higher things. Having, as was inevitable, effected his escape, he betook himself to Tunis, determined in the freer air of a new country to wipe out the memory of his early failure, and to find a fresh theatre for his energies. His professional knowledge stood him in good stead. He proposed to the Sultan of Tunis that they should enter into a partnership, in accordance with which he should conduct the active part of the business, and the Sultan receive half the profits, in consideration of his countenance and support. The Sultan, with that discernment that has so often characterized sovereigns, saw that he had to deal with a man of mark, and jumped at the proposal. A pirate station on the most approved lines was established at Djerba, where Aroudj was shortly joined by his brother, Kheir-ed-Din. The enterprise met with more than the success it deserved. Besides the ordinary dividends of the business, the brothers were able to make many very handsome presents to their partner and patron. On one occasion, it is recorded, they offered to him fifty Spanish youths holding in leash hounds and hawks of the rarest breeds, and four young ladies of noble birth, attired in splendid garments and mounted on magnificent horses. Mulai Mohammed, the Sultan, however keen a hand in purely business matters, was not the man to turn a deaf ear to the appeal of a brother in distress. The plight of his fellow-monarch, the Emir of Algiers, moved him deeply. With a quite distinguished disinterestedness he proposed to his associates that they should abandon for a time the ordinary course of their duties and proceed to Algiers to turn the obnoxious Spaniards out of their eyrie on the island. Baba Aroudj arrived at Algiers with 5000 men, and was hailed as a deliverer. But the instincts of his trade were too strong for him. Instead of attacking the Spaniards on the Penon, he put the Emir to death, proclaimed himself King, and gave the town to pillage. Master of Algiers, with his vessels dominant at sea, he set himself to win an empire. He occupied Medea and Tlemçen, and menaced the Spanish position at Oran. This was too much, and Charles V sent thither a powerful force to check him. He retired on Tlemçen, and fell in an obscure fight at Oudjda, on the frontier of Morocco, a town of some significance in recent history, and now in the occupation of the French.

“He left a name at which the world grew pale, To point a moral and adorn a tale.”

His brother, Kheir-ed-Din, assumed the reins of power at Algiers. Lacking the vaulting ambition of the terrible Barbarossa, he seems to have possessed a sounder business head. His first care was to assure his position; and with this object he offered his African dominions to Selim I, Sultan of Turkey. The Turk accepted the offer, and named Kheir-ed-Din his “Captain-pasha.” So arose the Turkish domination of Algeria, which lasted for three centuries, and inflicted on Europe unnumbered woes. If Europe had only known it, now was the time to cut off the serpent’s head; but Europe, as usual, was busy with its own quarrels. Charles V did indeed conduct an expedition in person in 1535, but it was half-hearted and proved abortive. No native prince arose to repel the Turkish pretensions, which were consolidated by the capture of Tunis and the occupation of Kairouan, the holy city.

Kheir-ed-Din next turned his attention to the Spanish garrison on the Penon. Having procured heavy guns, he bombarded the position for fifteen days with an incessant fire. The garrison of 150 men made a heroic resistance, but when all save twenty-five were killed, the island was captured and the survivors put to death.

The brave commander, Martin Vargas, was offered the alternative of embracing Mohammedanism and a Mohammedan wife or execution. He chose the latter, and was beaten to death with sticks, his body was dragged through the streets, cut into pieces, and thrown into the sea. So did the corsair treat a gallant foe.

It was then that Kheir-ed-Din conceived the project of uniting the island and the city, with the double object of preventing any repetition of the Spanish occupation and of providing a harbour for his fleet. Thirty thousand Christian slaves supplied him with labour, and materials lay near to hand. The ruins of the old Roman city of Rusgania strewed the shore at Cape Matifou; and countless blocks of Roman hewn stone and marble lie buried beneath the floor of the mole. The work, a very big work for the period, was finished in three years, and henceforth for nearly three centuries the corsair fleets lay within, safe from the storms of the Mediterranean and the attacks of their enemies. Kheir-ed-Din’s son mounted batteries on the Penon, and built the lighthouse tower in 1544. It is of octagonal shape, nearly 120 feet high, and visible for a distance of fifteen miles. A band of gleaming tiles below the summit happily relieves the monotony of its elevation.

The present great harbour, covering 222 acres, was commenced by the French in 1836. It was formed by continuing the line of Kheir-ed-Din’s mole to the south-east, and building another of irregular form from a point to the south of the city. In these works blocks of concrete were used for the first time in such operations,—an experiment which has had important results. In the making of this great harbour, as in so many other constructive matters, the French have risen to the level of their opportunities. Their genius in such large matters is unquestioned; and if anyone doubts their pre-eminence in minor arts, let him compare their coinage and their postage stamps with those of any other nation.

The French have done many great things; one thing they have omitted,—to provide an adequate service of passenger steamers between France and North Africa. They have generally fallen behind in the race of maritime improvement in recent years; but the insufficiency of this particular service may be due to the fact that trade between Marseilles and Algeria is held to be French coasting trade, and therefore reserved to vessels sailing under the French flag. The stimulus of foreign competition is absent. But nothing can prevent the indirect competition of the superior steamers of the North German Lloyd to Genoa, which are securing much of the tourist traffic. This company is gradually establishing a network of steamer lines in the Mediterranean. And a service of fast steamers covering the voyage between Barcelona and Algiers in twelve hours is now mooted. This may prove a further nail in the coffin of the Marseilles route. But the French have it in their hands to retain the trade by running adequate steamers properly equipped.

In spite of the heavy hand of the destroyer a few fine houses of the Turkish domination survive, and some are put to public uses and are accessible to the stranger. They exhibit a usual characteristic of the Eastern house; they are insignificant, sometimes even squalid without, but like the princess they are all glorious within. Christendom builds its houses for the public eye. This is not entirely altruistic; not wholly due to a desire to please the neighbours; a man’s credit and importance (even, it is said, the amount of his doctor’s bill) bear some relation in the opinion of his world to the outward appearance of the house in which he lives. And in the northern view, at any rate, a man’s house is a consideration prior to his equipage, his retinue, and his personal adornment. And some value attaches to what is called “a good address.” Wherefore our note-paper headings often contain a _suggestio falsi_; and Glenalmond Villa or The Elms strive to conceal the banality of a mere terrace.

All this is unmeaning to the Mussulman. He fulfils Bacon’s dictum that “houses are built to live in, not to look upon, wherefore let use be preferred before uniformity.” A bare wall with narrow and barred windows facing a mean alley;—such is his house’s exterior. It seems rather to desire to escape than to court observation. It has more the air of a fortress than of a dwelling. The doorways are an exception to the prevailing plainness. They exhibit a great variety of detail, but mainly follow a Roman or Byzantine scheme, of a round arch supported on columns, the whole copiously decorated. The doors themselves are generally of simple woodwork, often heavily studded with iron, and sometimes retaining their fine old handles and knockers. To the wanderer in the Arab town they offer a never-failing source of interest and study. The elaboration of the doorway when all else that is external is plain would seem to be thoroughly congruous with Oriental taste and tradition. The door of the house and the gate of the city stand for much in private and public life, for the line that divides the intimate and the stranger, the friend and the foe. Our fathers had some sense of the dignity of the door, a sense which in our careless acceptance of decadent conventions we have almost lost. We may strive to recover it in contemplating these Arab portals. The charming drawings of Mr. Thoroton, here reproduced, accurately represent their general scheme and the variety of their ornament. A common decorative feature appears to be based on the artichoke; the precision of its symmetry doubtless appeals strongly to Mohammedan prejudices.

When you have passed the portal the very contrast of the squalor without heightens the effect of the splendour and refinement within. The usual type of house is one which the Arabs owe to the Romans, or both to an earlier source. The doorway opens on to a long vestibule, with a row of marble seats on either side, divided at regular intervals by columns, often twisted and generally suggesting the Ionic order. From this you pass into the main dwelling, a square marble court open, or partially open, to the sky, round which are grouped the chief rooms. Marble columns support the gallery of the first floor, the walls are a blaze of tiles, a fine dark balustrade of open woodwork surrounds the gallery; and in the centre of the court-yard perhaps the pleasant plash of a fountain emphasises the pervading peace. It is all very splendid, and yet most dignified. Such a beautiful house is used as the Bibliothèque Municipale, a library with 35,000 volumes, many Arabian and Persian MSS., and an up-to-date card catalogue. Another is the residence of the Archbishop. This is said to be a fragment of the ancient palace of the Deys. It is a pleasant touch of humour which lodges the Archbishop in the last remnant of the harem. To these may be added the Governor’s Winter Palace, with a modern front and rich interior decorations; and a few other houses occupied by officials, and not open to inspection without an introduction.

A mere civilian must bow before the requirements of the military authorities, but he may be permitted to regret that they should have seen fit to turn the Kasbeh, the ancient fortress of the Deys, into a barrack. As may naturally be expected, the decorations and many of the original features have disappeared; marble columns have been replaced by wooden posts, tiles have been picked off,—and the Dey’s pavilion has been repainted! Worse than all, a public road has been driven right through the centre of the old compact mass of buildings surrounded by their embattled wall. The visitor will turn away with disgust from this reckless spoliation, which will some day no doubt be bitterly regretted.

Of the mosques of Algiers, that of Sidi Abd er Rahman, adjoining the tomb of the saint, is the most picturesque. The great mosque of Djama el Kebir has a very handsome exterior, notably a magnificent colonnade fronting the Rue de la Marine. The entrance is pleasing, but the interior rather bare. The mosque in the Place du Gouvernement, known as the New Mosque, was built in 1660 to the designs of a Christian slave, and is in the form of a Greek cross. The Catholic Cathedral was formerly a mosque, and is now an eclectic monstrosity.