Part 2
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.
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.