Photograph by Mr. Julian SampsonThe Market-Place of Beni-Sgen
Photograph by Mr. Julian SampsonThe Market-Place of Beni-Sgen
Photograph by Mr. Julian Sampson
The Market-Place of Beni-Sgen
Channel for Watering the Garden of an OasisStreet in Bou Saada
Channel for Watering the Garden of an Oasis
Channel for Watering the Garden of an Oasis
Street in Bou Saada
Street in Bou Saada
As the afternoon draws on, flocks of goats can be seen wandering slowly in from the barren hills. They have a public shepherd, paid for by the town, who is responsible for the animals up to the gate of the city; at this point he leaves them and the goats, separating themselves, go independently up the narrow streets to their respective homes. When they reach the door they butt it with their heads or tap with their hoofs until they are let in.
The doors of the houses in the Mzab, and especially the locks, are very curious. The door itself is usually made of heavy planks studded with nails and closed with a lock usually associated with a prison gate. This, however, is a modern institution, for the native key is unique in the world. It consists of a piece of wood about a foot long, at the end of which is arranged a pattern of nails. This piece of wood is pushed into a kind of deep slot running from the doorpost diagonally toward the door. From the wall and running into the door is a wooden bar or bolt on which is a pattern of nails corresponding to those on the wooden key. The proprietor slips in his piece of wood until its nails coincide with those inside and then he pulls, the bar gives and it is possible to open the door. It is, I suppose, the origin of the latch-key, as no two combinations of nails are the same, and it means absolute safety to the designer of the piece of wood.
At each turn the traveler is experiencing something new, and though he has seen a series of strange customs common to all the cities of the Mzab, the most curious, which is peculiar only to Beni Sgen, has been left to the last. For some reason, which at present it has been impossible to fathom, there are practically no shops in the holy city, and everything is sold by auction. This sounds quite incredible until, climbing down the steep streets, one comes suddenly into atriangular “square” about fifty yards long. At one end on a raised platform sits thecaïd, surrounded by his counselors, while all around squat men of venerable countenance dressed in white robes.
In the middle of the square are a few goats, some camels, a mule, a heap of charcoal, while the auctioneers solemnly carry round the goods to be disposed of, stopping before each person to hear his bid, which is said in a whisper. So he proceeds round and round until the required price is attained. He may be selling a costly carpet or a bottle of pickles, a piece of firewood or some embroidered shoes—it is all the same. The goods can pass only to the highest bidder. Moreover, as the price can only be raised half a franc at a time it often takes days to acquire the object required. Sometimes one sees a man riding round the square on a mule or a donkey which he wishes to dispose of, but it is all the same, and the richest Mzabite can not alter the procedure for untold cash. The spectacle of this auction market is one of the most impressive sights in all North Africa. An atmosphere of an old world, long past and forgotten, is before us, and as one looks at the faces of the men one can not help being reminded of scenes from the Bible, and the legend of the lost tribe springs up unconsciously.
The colored burnous of the Arab has vanished, the bustling merchant of Ghardaïa is no longer before us, there is calmness of demeanor, a whiteness of clothing which speaks of ages and ages in the dim realm of history when Europe was a land of wild beasts and the Britons painted themselves blue.
At times one is almost inclined to cry out:
“But this can’t be real, this is got up for me, it is part of Wembley; in an hour all these men will be settling down to chops and beer in the nearest pub!”
But it is not so. Every day, except on great feasts,year in and year out, for two hours before sunset these silent old gentlemen assemble before thecaïdand purchase what they can by auction, and when it is over they repair to the mosque before retiring to their homes to eat a silent meal prior to returning to bed. The Mzabite is not a gay personality, and he takes life very seriously. Unfortunately some of their more ancient characteristics have disappeared by the appointment of civilcaïds. In the early days of the French conquest of Algeria these people surrendered to the invader before they had even thought of pushing as far as the Mzab, and they still have a separate treaty with France, making of the country a sort of independent little republic exempt from all obligations to the main Government. They kept all their religious dignitaries who ruled the whole confederation as they had done for centuries before, and thecaïd-ship was not imposed on the tribe till after the whole of Algeria had been pacified. Lately the French seem to have rather forgotten their old friends and have voted conscription. This caused great consternation until it was discovered that there was a subparagraph permitting a Mzabite to send an Arab in his place to serve. The authority to spend a thousand francs to find some poor loon to shoulder the rifle brought back the smiles to the smooth, round, white faces, and the placid atmosphere returned to the busy shops of Ghardaïa and to the silent streets of the holy city.
Generally speaking nothing has changed since the foundation of the cities, and even if in some far-off day the railway reaches the Mzab it will probably only have the effect of stimulating trade. The haunt of the children of Carthage will remain as it was when their forefathers imposed their commerce on the whole of the Mediterranean basin as they are now beginning to impose it on the easy-going Arabs of North Africa.
To crossover from the rock desert of the Mzab to the sand of Touggourt it is advisable to be very certain of the reliability of the car, and, if possible, to go accompanied by another vehicle. The country to be traversed is terribly desolate, and, except when the mail bus runs, once a week, it is very seldom that one meets any traffic; if one has a serious breakdown one must wait in the desert for the passage of thediligence, which may be some days.
Water—plenty of water—and some food should be carried, a rope and a spade to help one out of the sand, and all necessary spare parts.
The road on leaving Ghardaïa is the same by which one arrives, but, after following it for ten kilometers, one turns sharply to the right along the desert track. There is at once an impression of desolation and loneliness—no more telegraph poles, no more milestones, little to mark the sides of the road. At first the flat-topped hills are on either side, then gradually they give way to great rolling expanses stretching away, away on all sides; even the scrub has disappeared; it is the first real impression of the Sahara, and, though the noisy rush of the car makes one forget the solitude, the silence and loneliness appal one at any stop one makes.
Some twenty kilometers along the track another track branches off to the right. It must not be taken, as it leads to Ouargla, to the Hoggar, to the far southuntil it reaches Timbuctou. A little farther on, as if nature wished to fool the traveler, one suddenly sees a splash of green winding about among the stony plain. It looks like some lovely river shaded by trees, and, though there is no water running between its banks, it is a river making its way below the surface of the ground, to spring up later at some oasis. But it is soon left behind, and the country becomes more and more desertic, though, curiously enough, it has not such a cruel aspect as the land about Ghardaïa. The hills are of a delicate rose color and the lines less hard; it is the prelude to the sand.
The road starts climbing, then all of a sudden, as it tops the rise, the oasis of Guerrera appears, solitary in the middle of these pink hills. It is the most impressive sight of the whole journey. Battlemented walls surround the town, as it piles itself into a pinnacle surmounted by the cone-like minaret. At its feet lies the oasis, with its thirty thousand palm-trees bowing in the breeze. It is one of the most amazing spectacles any traveler can wish to see—an impression of desolation, of solitude, of green vegetation, of a town of a past age.
There is quite comfortable accommodation in thebordj, and, though the food is almost entirely Arab, it is cleanly cooked. In the itinerary set out at the end of Chapter XXV it has been suggested that Guerrera should be passed through on the way to Touggourt, without stopping, but, though it differs little from the other six towns of the Mzab, its oasis, its remoteness from civilization, make it well worth a longer break in the journey.
On entering the town by one of the turreted gates, one is first of all struck by the business and bustle of the people. Arriving here out of the desolation of the Sahara, one almost expects to see savages or, at anyrate, dark people living in a primitive state, but not at all; the houses are solidly built and are clean and well-kept; the people are gracefully robed in white, shops abound, and practically every one speaks a little French. It is the civilization, the business instinct of the Mzabite, the inherited perseverance of the Carthaginian which permits these squat little people to thrive in this lost city of the Sahara.
But the most beautiful place is the oasis. Unlike those we have seen before, there are none of those high walls which screen the gardens and which prevent our seeing anything behind them. Here there are no walls, the palm-trees grow all about, with vegetables and grass at their feet; vines are trained from stem to stem, and give an impression of virgin forest. Little paths and sun-baked alleys lead one past wells and fruit-trees until, coming suddenly out of the shade, one finds oneself on the desert again. A small group of palm-trees cuts the horizon, and then, away, away, the Sahara as far as the eye can reach. The sun sets in an orange radiance, wrapping the palm-trees in a mantle of gold-dust; the breeze springs up and rustles through the oasis; peace and silence are everywhere, and one is tempted to remain in this quiet for a few days. It is free to the traveler to do as he pleases, but our journey must be accomplished, and sooner or later we must push on toward the east.
After Guerrera the road continues across this rose-colored landscape. It is impossible to describe it adequately, photographs do not give the impression of delicate color or of the limitless horizon, neither can the mind of him who has not been in the real Sahara visualize the vast expanse of sky which seems to cover the world.
Some fifty kilometers before reaching Touggourt one comes into the sand. It is an impression as differentas possible from anything which has been passed up to the present. Soft white dunes rise up before one, curling back and looking like great waves of the Atlantic about to break into foam. In all directions this sea extends without any sort of break, and one realizes a little what it must be to lose one’s way in a desert where there is nothing to guide one, nothing to differentiate one dune from another.
If the wind is not blowing, it is a pleasant drive through this area of sand, but if it is, the drifting grit blinds, gets into the engine, and covers the track, and it is practically certain that sooner or later the car will stick and that it will take infinite trouble to free it.
Touggourt itself is a typical southern town, of little interest beyond its situation in the sand; moreover, it has lost a good deal of its charm by the presence of the railway and the consequent invasion of tourists. Hotels have sprung up, and the streets are infested by guides. It is one of the great date centers of Algeria, and the sweet luscious fruit eaten in England at Christmas-time comes from the one hundred and seventy thousand palm-trees which form its lovely oasis. If one is here in November one can see the Arabs swarming up the trees in a miraculous fashion and cutting off the bunches of golden dates, which are let down to earth by means of a rope slung over one of the branches.
In March and April one will see a still more curious sight, the fertilization of the palm. The flower of the male tree is carried to the top of the female by an Arab who places it in a cleft in the head of the tree while he chants religious airs. A date-palm does not bear fruit for twelve years, but when it does it goes on for over a hundred, and those who own palmeries in the areas which produce the right kind of fruit are excessively rich.
One night will suffice to see Touggourt, and the sunset over the sand-dunes is a spectacle never to be forgotten, while if a caravan from the south arrives it affords a wonderful impression of a period of the past. It is hard to realize that in this sandy country the only really adequate mode of transport is the camel. Some men ride horses, but even then they have a hard time, whereas the ship of the desert, with its spongy padded feet, its nostrils and eyelids hermetically closed to the dust, and its endurance without food or water, prove that it was created for this purpose, and that traveling by any other means is hazardous. It is not a very rapid conveyance, but one can average a good twenty-five miles a day and be certain of reaching one’s destination.
Further south one finds themehari, or trotting white camel, which moves along at a great pace, but it is reserved almost entirely for the Meharistes, or French African camel corps, who guard the lonely caravan tracks of the Sahara.
On leaving Touggourt the road follows the railway through a country of sandy patches which gradually get stonier as it progresses north. Pleasant little oases are passed, as well as salt lakes which are usually practically dry but which give excellent mirage effects.
We are now in the confederation of the Zibans, one of the most famous tribes of the south, and to-night we shall be at their headquarters, the world-famed city of Biskra.
Withthe aid of a railway an English novelist inadvertently made of Biskra what it is to-day. I say inadvertently because there is not the least reference to Biskra in the whole book, and I am sure that Mr. Hichens was the last person to wish to create of a Sahara oasis a kind of Dieppe-on-sand. Neither would this town have been so thronged with trippers had it been miles away in the desert without a railway, but it is so easy to get into the train at Algiers one night and detrain the next day in time for lunch in the Sahara that more people come here than to any other place in the south.
Of course, from the point of view of the country, the change has brought in a great deal of money and the town has an air of fat prosperity unknown in the other places we have visited. Arab guides are paid the wages of colonels and the hiring of camels is as expensive as a motor-car. The cafés of the Quarter charge what they please and the numerous Palace hotels have corresponding prices.
It is a curious place and well worth a visit. It is difficult to decide which arrival is the most attractive—possibly that from the south, because the oasis is the first thing seen. It is an impression of palm-trees, three times as many as at Laghouat, and as one approaches in the evening, the golden light seems to envelop their feathery heads in a mysterious radiance as the wind rustles through them.
From the northern approach the coloring on the rocks and hills will perhaps be as wonderful, but there is not that same feeling of the Sahara because the town masks the oasis.
The largest hotel is the Royal, and from its tower a wonderful panorama of the desert is spread before one. Unfortunately it is difficult to keep up this atmosphere long, as it is impossible to close one’s eyes to the Anglo-Saxon hibernators who have brought with them their knitting and their bridge and their crossword puzzles, while the foreign waiters in their starched dickeys jar horribly after the silence of the Great South. Moreover, if one steps into the street superb guides in sky-blue robes assail one—flight north seems the easiest course only to find a gallery of curiosity shops stocked with gaudy merchandise from Syria. Again fleeing from the oily merchants toward the sounds of a deep flute, one finds oneself in a coffee-house, as dirty as in the other cities, with the only difference that the mint tea costs five francs. Again in a wretched state of persecution mania one turns south again and, seeing a brilliantly lighted building of Moorish architecture, one hurries in; lights dazzle one, the sounds of bad dance-music strike the ear mingled with monotonous cries of“Rien ne va plus!”It is the casino, but, just as one is about to depart again into the night in search of a haven of refuge, the curious scene arrests one’s steps.
Of all thehabituésof casinos in the world I think that those collected in that of Biskra are the most remarkable. The Biskra casino has no kind of pattern or atmosphere; it is just an amazing jumble like the background of one of Mr. Piccasso’s pictures. The hall is full of cheery French inhabitants of Biskra sitting at little tables drinking beer, laughing, and occasionally dancing gaily to the noisy band. A fewsolemn Britons join in the fun, while Arabs of serene countenance sit and watch without showing the smallest trace of emotion. At the gaming-tables a party of travel-stained tourists belonging to a Transatlantic tour are learning the mysteries of the play under the supervision of the company’s guide in his khaki uniform plastered with medal ribbons. Two or three Anglo-Saxons in dinner-jackets, with their consorts in smart evening gowns, contrast vividly with the robes of the Arab chief whose turban, unlike those we have seen up to the present, is bound about with much thicker strands of camel’s hair and crossed and interwoven in a fashion peculiar to the district.
In a kind of theater, a music-hall show is taking place, partly composed of the usual French turns, partly of Arab music and dancing. If one is lucky one may hear the great tenor Mahi-ed-Din sing the ballads of the Tell. The audience is as mixed as in the other room, but it is gay, and in spite of oneself one is drawn back to this scene each night. It has the great advantage over the native quarter in having no pretensions. It is as genuine as possible and is certainly unique.
The only peaceful spot in the whole of Biskra is the famous Jardin Landon, erroneously supposed to be the Garden of Allah. It is unknown who first spread this story, and it was certainly not the fault of the author that the legend arose. The Garden of Allah is, of course, the desert; the land from which Allah has removed all vegetation and life in order that man may not come and interfere with his solitude, and where He can walk in peace. The restful garden in question is a wonderful plantation of tropical trees and flowers. It was created by the Count Landon de Longueville, and it gives the impression of a conservatory in the open air. Paths run about through passagesof trees; green grass grows in abundance, and the ceaseless noise of water ever running through theseguiasis as soothing as soft music.
It is a question as to whether the impression of sunset lights is best seen from its wall or from the tower of the hotel. Both views are enchanting, but perhaps that of the garden is more vivid, as it is closer to the desert and to the herds of camels and goats passing slowly across the dried-up river bed which is the continuation of the Mzi we saw at Laghouat.
This long, long river which bursts up here and there to create oases is said by the natives to rise in the Djebel Amour Mountains above Laghouat and, flowing right across the desert to Southern Tunisia and Tripoli, finally to disappear in the Nile.
If one has not come up from Touggourt and one is anxious to get an impression of the sand desert, there is a tract of land to the southwest, the other side of the oases, which is really worth seeing. It is a natural fake, like Bou Saada, and a photograph of the proud traveler sitting on a hired camel can safely be labeled as having been taken in any part of the “Grand Erg.”
The Village Nègre is worth a visit, and if a horrible curiosity appeals to one, the dervishes who eat scorpions and glass and pierce their faces with nails can be seen without difficulty.
Not far away is the oasis of Sidi Okba, which is a good example of a southern town for those who have cut across from Bou Saada. It is famous for its mosque, where lies buried Sidi Okba, who was killed here in his last battle against Koceila, the Berber chief, in the yearA. D.682.
As far as sightseeing, this is about all Biskra can produce. If, however, one is in this cosmopolitan oasis in the early spring when the races are taking place, an entertainment is provided which will not be forgotten.The Arab chiefs in this district are wealthier than most of their colleagues, due to the richness of the date-palms; and owing to the proximity of Europeans, they are given a great deal more to entertaining than others. Thebash aghaof the confederation of the Zibans keeps open house, and even in the deadest season never dines alone, but calls in his friends from the street to share his repast. At the races he outdoes himself in hospitality, and it is entirely owing to him and to his relations that the meeting is such a success.
The races consist of three quite separate performances. The first are so-called flat races, which consist of a wild gallop round the course for Arab horses of all ages and sizes, mounted by turbaned bandits who just go “all out” for the first place. No pulling here.
The second are the officers’ steeplechases, where one sees some nice horses and some quite good racing.
But the third event, which in reality embraces the whole affair, is thefantasia. The Arab chiefs from all the surrounding land muster their tribesmen, who all come mounted, armed to the teeth, and as wild as children at a birthday party. This kind of irregular cavalry is known as thegoums, and in time of war it is levied to fight for France. During 1915 a contingent was fitted out and sent to Flanders, where it behaved heroically. At the Biskra races thegoumsmake a very brave show, too, in their flowing burnouses, sitting bolt upright in their high-backed saddles, their guns across the bow and the curved scimitar beneath the left saddle-flap. There is a mounted band consisting of two men withraïtasand one with atam-tam, while at the head of the column rides thecaïd, clothed from head to foot in scarlet and purple, his feet in embroidered red leather boots resting on massive silver stirrups, while beside him rides a retainer bearing the banner of the tribe.
It is a splendid and majestic sight to see these wild men of the south passing slowly before the improvised grandstands. After the orthodox racing is over, and after thebash aghahas entertained endless guests at lunch and tea, it is the turn of these nomads to show what they are worth. There is a stir in their ranks, then suddenly two men dash down the course at a furious speed. As they approach the stand they rise in their stirrups and fire their guns and fly on. The women, in gaudy taffetas, raise high tremulous cries. Two more men follow, and then another two; then one man alone who carries two long guns which he fires together, tossing them in the air as he disappears in a cloud of dust. A larger group of horsemen flash past, the air resounds to the crack of the guns and the cries of the women, but they are gone before one has realized that they have passed.
A pause. Then all of a sudden a tall figure in scarlet and gold is seen detaching himself from the othergoumiers; he sets his horse in motion and comes whirling down the course; behind him rides his standard-bearer, so close that he seems to touch. Behind him again four retainers in blue burnouses gallop in hot pursuit. As thecaïdapproaches the stand he turns sharply and, aiming at the center of the crowd, fires. The color-bearer dips the standard, while the retainers, bending forward, draw the curved scimitars which flash in the setting sun as they wave them above their heads and sweep on in a whirlwind of dust, while the cries of the women rend the air.
Oh, it is a brave spectacle, thefantasia, and makes one realize how far separated are we in Europe from these wanderers of the south.
There is an Arab proverb which says that “Love lasts three seconds, thefantasiathree minutes, and misery lasts for ever!”
Theroad, on leaving Biskra, runs due north over a land which usually looks barren, but which in periods of rain produces a plentiful crop of cereals. Very soon a ridge is topped, and Biskra and the Sahara are lost to sight. Some people will heave a sigh of relief at leaving for the last time these desolate expanses; others will look back longingly, and these will return sooner or later. Once the Sahara has gripped the heart there is nothing in the world which will free it from its hold.
Just over fifty kilometers from Biskra the oasis of El Kantara is reached, and of all the beauty-spots in North Africa it is one of the most attractive. It is really better to approach it from the north, descending from a high level toward an apparently unbroken barrier of rock. Some trees proclaim the few houses which cluster about the little Hotel Bertrand, nestling under the towering cliffs while the river gurgles at its feet.
Then suddenly a cleft appears in the rocks, and the road and the railway creep out side by side into the plain beyond. It is the complete contrast of the north and south—of winter and summer. On one side of the mountain the soil is dark and fertile, and on the other it is rosy and desertic. The Arabs say that all rain stops north of the Gorge of El Kantara.
Arriving from the south the first thing we shall see will be the oasis: a long array of palm-trees shadinga river which is more than often full of water. If time permits, it is well worth the trouble to cross over an iron bridge and visit the curious little villages. There are some interesting Roman remains and a series of views of the palmery, which, even if one is not an artist, furnish material for beautiful photographs.
Proceeding through the Gorge of El Kantara, which incidentally means the bridge, we come tothebridge, built by the famous Third Legion which garrisoned this part of North Africa. Unfortunately it has been badly restored, but the stones used by the Romans are still there.
The Hotel Bertrand is a restful place, a paradise for painters, and, if one is interested in climbing or shooting the elusive moufflon, there is plenty of this sport in the district.
The road climbs on, winding up the steep gradient on to the cereal plains of Batna. The tall peaks of the Aurès Mountains rise up, covered with pines and cedars, and in winter often deep in snow. It is a great contrast after the Sahara. The rest of the road is uninteresting, as is also the modern town of Batna, where one will find all comforts as usual at the Transatlantic Hotel.
The traveler will, of course, make his plans before starting, but it seems opportune to put in some suggestion for the visit to Timgad. If time presses it is advised to leave Biskra early, lunch at Batna, or, better still, picnic at Lambèse, go to Timgad, and return to sleep at Batna. If time is not of importance it would be far pleasanter to leave Biskra later, spend some time at El Kantara, lunch there, sleep at Batna, and spend the whole day at Timgad, and sleep again at Batna.
Or, if Roman ruins do not attract one, go toTimgad in the morning, lunch there, leaving about three in the afternoon, and arrive at Constantine for dinner.
As stated in the note at the end of Chapter XXV, it is possible to do Biskra, Batna, and sleep at Sétif in one burst, which permits one to be in Algiers the following day.
The road from Batna to Timgad runs over a rolling, inhospitable country dominated on the right by the frowning Aurès Mountains. The first place of interest is Lambèse, the Roman Lambæsis. It was founded at the end of the first century as the headquarters of that amazing Third Legion which garrisoned North Africa at that period. It is one of the best existing examples of a military camp, with its magazines, parade ground, officers’ quarters and military church. It has also an amphitheater and a few temples, but their remains are not so interesting as in many other Roman cities. The prætorium, or rather its entrance, built of massive blocks of stone, is in a very good state of preservation; through the middle passed the main roads which ran straight across North Africa—north, south, east and west. Traces of this masterpiece of engineering are continually being unearthed.
Leaving Lambèse, the same scenery continues, a triumphal arch is passed, a few relics of Roman houses, then at the thirtieth kilometer there appear in the distance two tall pillars, which seem to leap up out of the plain to a great height and stand pointing to the sky in solitary grandeur. Straining the eyes, one soon discerns buildings and more pillars. A great arch defines itself—we are arriving at the dead city of Timgad. Two thousand years ago the Emperor Trajan decided to found a settlement for the Roman soldiers who had fought in the Parthiancampaigns, and he commanded that Thamugadi should be built by the men of the Third Legion.
Thus Timgad did not grow up according to the needs of the settlers, but was conceived and born in its entirety. For this reason it is one of the most perfect examples of a Roman town of the period. Some writers have called it the African Pompeii, but, though the drifting sand preserved it as did the ashes Pompeii, this is the only thing analogous about the two places. Pompeii was a seaside resort, a town of pleasure and luxury; Timgad was an outpost of a mighty empire. Everything was done to make it resemble as much as possible the settlers’ homes in the mother country, and it must have been a strange sensation for the Berbers of the Aurès who ventured down from their mountain homes to see all the civilized organization going on in the middle of this desolate land. Timgad was, however, never an important nor even a large city. Its area did not exceed one hundred and fifty acres and, though it is interesting to us because it escaped the total destruction meted out by the Vandals and Arabs to most of the other Roman cities, it never created anything in particular.
Entering by the northern gate, we find on our right the big baths. Built with the utmost care and paved with marble brought from Italy, they contained every improvement of the day, and were practically identical with the baths of Caracalla at Rome. They are in a high state of preservation, and it is most interesting to examine the various devices for bringing in water and for heating the many chambers.
Walking up the street from the baths, one passes what must have been shops; only the lower parts of the walls remain. The first building of interest discloses itself on the left. There is a pillared portico and a kind of altar with shelves around; the inscriptionsuggests that it was the public library, but this is not certain. It may have been the shrine of the Lares—household gods.
The Bridge of the Third Legion at El Kantara
The Bridge of the Third Legion at El Kantara
The Bridge of the Third Legion at El Kantara
Photograph by Mr. Julian SampsonAn Arab of Tadjmout
Photograph by Mr. Julian SampsonAn Arab of Tadjmout
Photograph by Mr. Julian Sampson
An Arab of Tadjmout
The street now leads into the Decumanus Maximus, the main thoroughfare. Graceful columns line either side, leading into what must have been large houses. The paving-stones, placed diagonally to prevent their being worn away by the chariots, are nevertheless deeply rutted. Between the chinks can be seen the drain which ran beneath the middle of the way. Immediately opposite this intersection are the steps leading up to the forum: a white-paved court with many pillars, some fifty yards long, with at one end a tribunal where sat the judge. There must have been many statues, but they are no more.
Just below the forum, on the north side, are the public latrines which, with their carved hand-rests, are interesting and worth examining.
On the south side of the forum there is a charming inscription:“Veneri, lavari, ludere, ridere—occe est vita!”“Hunting, bathing, gambling, laughing—this is life!”
Climbing out on an eminence above the forum, we come to the theater. The auditorium is hollowed out of the hill and is in a fine state of preservation. The seating accommodation makes the modern play-goer think, as from every stall the stage is fully visible and the acoustic properties are faultless. Looking across from the theater can be seen the tall pillars we first espied from the road; they are the ruins of the Temple of Jupiter on the capitol. The pillars are immense, fifty feet high, with each capitol three feet, making a total of fifty-six feet. In the middle was a gigantic statue of Jupiter, now in the Louvre in Paris. There is nothing so drearily desolate, so terribly silent, as the two pillars of this temple. It seems as if theystood there to warn the people who pass of the vanity of human things.
Near by are some interesting villas of a more luxurious conception than those we saw before. The rooms are more numerous and spacious, and there is a reservoir for keeping fish.
On the hill behind the capitol, stand the remains of a Christian church, with a baptistery of which the mosaics are in a perfect state of preservation. Leaving this Christian church, we now retrace our steps, leaving the capitol on the right, and make for the triumphal arch of which we have already caught a glimpse from the Decumanus Maximus. Before reaching it there is an interesting market-place. The large court is surrounded by a colonnade, and the stone counters of the shops are just as they were at the time. Opposite the market-place is a small temple, but what strikes the attention at once is the triumphal arch of Trajan. It has three openings, and niches for statues, and is certainly the most imposing monument of Algeria.
Hence we can wander back through narrow streets to the gate by which we entered, and near which stands the museum which is well worth a visit. In addition to all sorts of curiosities such as hair-pins, needles and implements for dentistry of the time, it contains some of the fine mosaics which have been unearthed from the houses and pieced together. If we look at them for a moment and imagine what they looked like up there near the capitol, we can get a small idea of how charming the residences must have been. There are also drawings of what it is supposed Timgad was like in the days of its glory, and certainly, if the artist was not carried away by his imagination— and there is no reason to suppose this—it must have been indeed a noble city. And yet its aspect nowleaves the traveler with a feeling of sorrow. The silence is, first of all, appalling; the atmosphere of desolation is impossible to convey in words, and, as one sits in the forum or on the stone steps of the theater and tries to conjure up the gay figures who once frequented these now silent spaces, one is filled with an unspeakable awe. All this luxury, all this amusement, all these habitations—for what? For the future planned by Imperial Rome, since it is evident that no nation would have built the great town, with all in it, as a mere pastime. They intended to stay; they believed in their unshakable greatness; they believed in the power of the sword.
But Rome fell, as had fallen other empires, and as others will also fall. And Timgad is left to the jackals and to the hyenas, to a few intelligent excavators, and to the host of chattering tourists who rush through these ruins of a glorious past without a thought for the cultured race who once lived there.
“Vanity, vanity—all is vanity!”
For this reason I have said as little as possible on this city of the dead, and I leave it to the traveler to go himself and feel the atmosphere which no painter or writer can reproduce.
If Romanruins are of interest to the traveler there is a second edition of Timgad, to my mind finer and more complete than the subject of the last chapter, but unfortunately not on any main road.
I refer to the town of Cuicul, now called Djemila, situated on the barren hills to the northeast of Sétif. There are two means of access: from Algiers via Sétif, or from Constantine via the road to Djidjelli, described in the next chapter.
From Sétif the main road to Constantine is followed for thirty kilometers to Saint Arnaud, where one turns sharp left and begins climbing into a rolling country of cereals sparsely cultivated until, after some thirty more kilometers of winding roads, one reaches Djemila. The other route branches out of the Constantine-Djidjelli road at Zeraîa, sixty-five kilometers from Constantine, and soon begins climbing up into the rolling country described above, rejoining the Sétif approach some fifty kilometers farther on, and ten from Djemila.
The first aspect of the ruins is certainly more impressive than that of Timgad. The road has been winding along the side of a steep hill, high up through a country so harsh and desolate that one looks about apprehensively as if the dead themselves guarded the bare slopes, watching over the scenes of their great triumphs.
Then suddenly at a bend in this sad road the eyesuddenly distinguishes, on a kind of promontory far below, something which at first looks like a great graveyard. Then gradually, as one watches, the stones detach themselves from the gray surroundings, graceful pillars rise up, triumphal arches, the massive walls of a temple. . . .
We are looking down on what was once one of the most prosperous cities of that dead empire which ruled Algeria as no one since has ruled it. The road winds down toward the miniature village outside the site of the ancient city. The Compagnie Transatlantique has, as usual, a comfortable hotel, in fact it is the only hotel, and if the traveler ventures to this lonely spot out of the tourist season he will have to carry his own food and sleep out-of-doors. This is, as a matter of fact, quite feasible, as during the summer months the heat of Djemila is intense.
The excavation of Djemila has been carried out with much more care and system than that of the other Roman cities in Algeria; this is chiefly due to the intelligent interest taken in the place by its curator, the Comtesse de Crésolles. This charming lady lives in a comfortable house overlooking the ruins, and if the visitor has the good fortune to make her acquaintance he will find in her a fund of information about the excavations, and an untiring guide.
Djemila can be seen in a morning, but a week would seem more like the period required really to study the ruins properly. The first thing that strikes one on entering the precincts of the ruins is why this town was built on a spur so far below the mountains which tower menacingly above. The reason is quite clear. At the end of the first century, when the city was founded, the main roads ran along the bottom of the valleys, and it was therefore necessary to plan the military centers at some point where they not only formeda guard over the long arteries of civilization, but also a stage for the caravans as they passed up and down from Constantine and from the coast. But quite apart from the military side of the question, Djemila under the Romans was one of the great cereal centers of the empire and within its walls the grain was brought to be despatched to the far-flung limits of the mighty empire.
The first portion of the town to be visited is the Christian quarter. Begun in the third century it rapidly grew in importance and was undoubtedly the see of a bishop. The great basilica of Cresconius was built by this Christian bishop as a mausoleum for his predecessors. There are two other churches excavated near this cathedral, and there are no doubt other important buildings still under the earth.
The most interesting edifice, perhaps the most interesting in all the Roman remains on account of its state of preservation, is the baptistery. To the reader used to well-preserved churches and art museums in Europe it is difficult to convey the real impression created on the mind on entering the low doorway of this first evidence of Christianity in this part of the world: outside, the desolation of the barren hills and the sadness of the gray ruins; inside, the fresh color of mosaics, stuccoed niches, graceful pillars. A gallery runs round the actual place of immersion, lined with hollowed-out seats, reminding one of the stalls in some university chapel in England. Rich gold mosaics stud the walls; on the floor all kinds of intricate designs in rich colors, which make one realize the trouble taken by that dead race to beautify all that was their work.
At each end of the baptistery, two doors lead into the center portion where the converts were christened. The floor is carpeted with delicately colored picturesof fishes and seashells; above, a canopy carved out of one block of solid stone rests on four pillars; on the floor of the primitive font a mosaic inscription in Latin reads:
“A day will come when all people will have been baptized.”
It is with a feeling of reverence that one quits this jewel in the midst of the ruins.
It seems useless to describe the other edifices in detail; they are like all Roman ruins, and require the atmosphere of loneliness to produce their effect. A few words will suffice:
The theater is in about the same state of preservation as at Timgad. It is, however, being gradually restored, and will soon be in its original state. Only the other day (1926) a company of the Comedie Française gave a performance ofŒdipus Rexon its stage.
Leaving the theater it is advised to take the path leading to the northwestern extremity of the ruins, passing the baths of the capitol and various private houses. Turning to the left, one enters the capitol which formed the northern extremity of the old forum. The temple of Jupiter, with its six columns forty-two feet high, rose majestically above the other buildings; a colossal statue was in the center. Now only two bases of columns can be seen in place, the remains of others lie about the steps and before the altar of sacrifice.
The ruts of the chariot wheels are less distinct in the Cardo Maximus here than at Timgad. The drain down the center is clearly visible.
The new forum is very impressive. On the right a triumphal arch seems to leap from the earth almostintact in the middle of the ruins. An inscription dated 216 tells that it was raised in honor of Caracalla, conqueror of many nations. On the other side of the open space stands a great temple. Broad steps lead up to the lofty pillars supporting the remains of a roof; the walls, though shorn of their marble facings, are almost intact. Another inscription states that the temple is in honor of the family of the Emperor Septimus Severus and was erected in the year 229 by the Republic of Cuicul. From the entrance a fine view can be had of the original city.
The visit has been rapidly accomplished, and only the great baths remain to be seen on our way to the hotel. As usual they are magnificent in all their luxury; nothing seems to have been omitted by these Romans in their far-away exile to make their homes as like as possible what they had left in the northern country.
It rather reminds one of the Briton who, in all his arrogance, carries his clubs, and his drinks, and his games into whatever distant corner of the Empire he settles himself. To the Roman nothing was good which was not from Rome. It is rather the same with us, and I suppose it will always be so. Machinery makes life more complicated, but it does not change the mentality of mankind.
There is a good museum near the hotel where the excavators have collected the best things found in the ruins. Apart from the usual implements of daily life, seen in greater profusion at Timgad, there are some very fine mosaics. It would take too long to describe them, but to those interested the museum is well worth a visit, and when one looks upon those lovely designs, so intricate, so artistic, one wonders why the Arab and the Algerian of to-day does not copy his floors from these pictures in stone instead of plastering everythingwith hideous modern flags of impossible colors. And yet even the beauties of those Roman cities of the past do not bear comparison with the monuments of the mother country.
There is something coarse, unoriginal in them, which at first leaves one wondering, until one suddenly realizes that one is in the presence of the Roman colonists, the expatriated wanderer who set out to seek his fortune overseas, the retired soldier or the rich grain merchant. He tried to copy what he had at home; he did better than would a present-day colonist from England or France, but it was not the real thing.
Still, the dead cities of that great empire are of vast interest and, to those who like to live in the past, it is a joy to wander through the silent streets and realize how great and civilized this colony once was, and how still greater the desolation and misery caused by the advent of the Arab.
From Djemila the traveler can either return to Algiers direct or continue the voyage through Constantine, or, if time presses, he can leave out Constantine and make direct for Djidjelli.
For the moment we must turn our attention to the third city of Algeria, the first city of Christianity under the Emperor Constantine.
Thescenery along the road to Constantine by either route differs little from that just passed. It is a land of cereals, once upon a time properly irrigated by the people of a great empire, now sadly dependent on the rainfall.
The approach to the city is impressive. It seems to stand out on a rocky pinnacle, and as one crosses the bridge and looks down into the depths of the Gorges of the Rhummel, one suddenly wonders if it is not all a stage setting: chasms, perpendicular cliffs, natural rock bridges and tunnels, the houses clinging dizzily to the rock wall, and, far beneath, the silver streak of the river. Constantine was originally the capital of the Numidian kings, and was known as Cirta. Syphax, Massinissa, and Micipsa ruled here, but it was not until the fourth century and after it had been destroyed during one of the many conflicts which raged round its walls, that it was rebuilt by the Emperor Constantine.
Its history during the rest of time is a series of revolts and conspiracies, and, though a few of the beys during the Turkish rule built some lovely houses, its record is not elevating. There are only three interesting things to visit, and they can all be done in the day. First is the Gorges of the Rhummel, a most amazing spectacle of natural arches and passages hundreds of feet below the level of the town. When finally the river bursts out of this chasm into the openplain at the foot of a perpendicular rock towering up to dizzy heights it is like the entrance of a giant church. To the top of this rock, which watches over the whole plain of historic interest, tiresome or unfaithful wives of the bey were taken, placed in a sack with a cat, and hurled to their doom below. No one has yet been able to explain the cat, but I suppose it added to the fun of the thing.
Standing once on the summit of this pinnacle with a Scotch friend who was traveling without his better half, I recounted this story. He was a man of few words, and for a moment he made no reply; then, peering cautiously over the precipitous edge, he exclaimed, “Oh, for the good old days!”
The next place to visit is the palace of the bey of Constantine. It is now used as the divisional headquarters, and, though it is not properly kept up, one can get an impression of something very lovely: a series of courts open to the sky with marble floors and delicate pillars, enclosing miniature gardens, in the middle of which fountains splash gaily. The walls are covered with multi-colored tiles, while the ceilings and doors of rare wood are adorned with intricate carvings. On a sunny day it is a vision of blue and white and green and orange, and, though the drab clothes of the modern inmates and the click of the typewriting machine jar on the senses, one can imagine the enchanting atmosphere of these quiet courts when men in splendid robes passed in and out, followed by their dark-skinned slaves.
Communicating with the palace is the present-day cathedral, in the old time the mosque of the bey, who could pass unseen from his residence to his devotions. The French have enlarged it, but it is quite easy to see what was the original building. Here again there are some very lovely blue tiles.
There are other mosques, also Jewish and Arab quarters, which are worth a visit if the traveler has not been anywhere else, but after the long journey with all its scenes of Arab life, it will suffice to visit the above-mentioned places and return to rest, prior to the journey to the coast.
By starting early one will be able to lunch at Djidjelli, and the afternoon run along thecornicheto Bougie can then be taken leisurely. The first impression on starting is that of hills. Up to the present all traveling has been done across rolling plains, but serious gradients have been unknown. The descent from the crag on which Constantine is perched again makes one wonder how it was captured by force. The cereal lands continue to give to the country a very desertic appearance, and, though it is not the desert of stones and rock, the rolling fields, with lonely farms, do not attract one to stay. One gets good examples of the desertion of villages by the French colonists, always yearning to get to the big towns near the coast.
Mila, at the fifty-fourth kilometer, was once a Roman city of importance; it is the last village of any size we shall pass. Thence onward the country is very wild. At Zeraïa (junction of the road from Djemila mentioned in the last chapter) we traverse forbidding gorges, after which the road runs for a few kilometers across a small plain of olive-yards, crosses a river, and then starts the long climb to the Col de Fdoules.
The road is a masterpiece of engineering as it climbs dizzily along the steep cliff of the mountain. At the hundred and fourth kilometer the Col, three thousand feet above the sea, is reached; from the watershed there is one of the finest mountain views in North Africa. To the north and to the south the hills rise up sheer and the valleys are lost in deepshade. The road then runs down into the Gorges of Taberkroutz and for the first time after the long travel, trees appear quite close. The road climbs up again and the woods approach, until soon we are in a thick forest. At the Col de Texenna a splendid panorama of forests and mountains is spread out before one. It is a wonderful sensation to return to luxuriant vegetation after the perpetual desert, and the sound of water with the smell of the damp earth revives the mind, weary with staring over limitless expanses. Another sensation of delight seizes one as the sea comes in view and, rapidly approaching the shore, the road follows it to Djidjelli.
One can either lunch at the hotel or picnic in pleasant surroundings, but whatever plan is adopted the new atmosphere and the fresh air will give one the appetite of the proverbial hunter. Djidjelli was originally a Phœnician settlement, and later, under the Romans, was an important harbor. It is most famous as being the first capital of Barbarossa the elder, who came here after his first failure to dislodge the Spaniards from Algiers, and when his original Tunisian lair at the island of Djerba had become too inhospitable for him to return. His greatness began with his election as Sultan of this little seaside city. His conquests and raids are world famous, and though it was his younger brother who eventually ruled Algiers and became the scourge of the Mediterranean, it was the temporary Sultan of Djidjelli who in reality was responsible for the pirate fleet which was to terrorize the sea from its headquarters in Algiers for three hundred years.
At the present day Djidjelli is the center of the cork trade. The forests cover an area of one hundred and fifty thousand acres, and cork is exported from the harbor to ports all over the world.
The road along the seacoast from Djidjelli to Bougie is one of the loveliest in North Africa. Deep red cliffs look down on to the sapphire blue of the Mediterranean, while the green of the forests above contrasts again with the azure of the sky. Natural tunnels are traversed, and here and there the road clings dizzily to the perpendicular rocks. This road, like many others in North Africa, is a wonderful piece of engineering.
At the thirty-sixth kilometer stone there are some marvelous caves well worth a visit. An Arab looks after them, who will illuminate the multitude of stalactites and stalagmites which adorn its fairylike halls, creating a vision of enchantment.
Pretty little villages succeed pretty little villages, where one would like to spend the day lazily watching the tranquil sea. In the hills there are masses of game and wild boar abounds; occasionally one sees monkeys—the famous Barbary ape.
Bougie has a Spanish aspect, but is in itself not particularly interesting. In Roman times it was a colony for veteran soldiers, and later it became like most Algerian ports, a harbor for pirates. Charles Quint spent a few days here after his disastrous attempt to capture Algiers. If time permits there are some delightful excursions round about, but the traveler by this time is probably so weary of motoring and contemplating scenery that he will want to return to his trunks and his comforts in Algiers.
As stated in the plan of the journey there are now four alternatives before us—the direct run to Algiers via Bouira and Palestro, or via Azazga and Tizi Ouzou—or else, if time permits it, by Michelet and the Massif Kabyle or by Tigzirt, the coast, and Dellys.
By Bouira and Palestro the road runs through a smiling valley and the return to Algiers can eitherbe made via the gorges and Menerville or by the Bouzigza Pass. By Azazga and Tizi Ouzou or by Tigzirt the same routes will be followed as far as Azazga; the road rises rapidly up through woodlands to the Col de Tigdint, whence a superb panoramic view of the Kabyle Mountains can be seen on one side, while all about appear those quaint stone villages perched on the summits of every peak. Running down again, the forest of Yakouren is entered, and the road wanders through delightful glades, restful to the eyes, until the little village of Azazga is reached. It is recommended to picnic in the forest.
If Algiers is the goal it is straight ahead.
Tizi Ouzou, apart from its name, has nothing curious; silversmiths make massive jewelry here, but there is no need to stop. The road runs through orchards and tobacco plantations rather monotonously after all the gorgeous scenery of the rest of the journey, and the arrival in Algiers will be welcomed.
If the road via Tigzirt has been selected one must turn off to the right some six kilometers after Azazga. The road continues bearing to the right and climbs steeply up to a Col whence one gets a magnificent view to the south of the Djujura range, deep in snow in winter. The road now runs down to the coast and then follows it for twenty-six kilometers to the little seaside resort of Tigzirt.
Here, if time does not press, and if one does not mind primitive, though clean, comforts, one can pass the night in the hotel and thus have an opportunity of visiting the delightful ruins of an old Phœnician settlement, later Romanized.
Thence the run to Algiers is via the seacoast to Dellys, and after that the dull Tizi Ouzou road—one hundred and fifty kilometers in all.
It is, however, hoped that the season of the yearwill have permitted the traveler to visit the Great Kabyle country, and in the next chapter I will endeavor to describe the scenery and the people of this district, which is almost as unique as the Mzab.
TheKabyle country lies to the northeastern extremity of the department of Algiers, with a small portion lapping over into the department of Constantine as far as Bougie. It begins at Palestro, runs down to the sea, and is bounded on the south by the road from El Kseur to Bouira. It seems curious to speak of a country in the middle of a French department, and yet its physical boundaries are as defined as its people. Like the wild men of the Aurès, the Kabyles are hardy mountaineers of the same race—the Berbers. Perhaps a little purer than the people of the Aurès, who undoubtedly intermarried with Roman soldiers when the Empire fell, whereas their cousins of the north have remained intact since the days when the foreigner had not set foot in Africa.
The actual area of the country is about thirty-eight hundred square miles, and is composed of great mountains running up at some points to an altitude of six thousand feet, and deep in snow from December to March.
Unlike the people of the Mzab, the Kabyle types vary considerably, and though the majority are tall, blond men, one notices many who are small and dark. They have the same spirit of independence as the Berbers of Ghardaïa, with the great difference that they are all warriors and brook no interference. There is no area in Algeria which has caused so much troubleto the French, and even now the inhabitants consider themselves superior to all other races, and only accept the foreign rule because they have to. In spite of this these people never seem to have had any sort of main state, and though the wordzouaoua, from which is derived the appellation of the French regimentZouaves, is the name given to this group of Berbers, they have always been a divided nation; and it is only since the French fully pacified them that they have ceased to be in a perpetual state of internal war. These wars usually originated as vendettas, it being admitted that a man killed required another man killed and that all disputes about land must be settled by the sword.
Before this period each village was a kind of little republic of its own with the principle of government of the people by the people, that is to say that theDjemma, or local council, was supposed to be composed of all the men who had attained their majority. As a matter of fact this was rarely put into practise, and the government of the village lay in the hands of the heads of families, the elders and a few young men of note. These men elected an Amine, who presided over the assembly, which decided every detail concerning the daily life of the community. The Amine had, however, little real power, as his position depended on the good-will of the other members over whom he presided, and who could by a simple ballot dismiss him. It was a state of absolute socialism, and the man of good family or the richest farmer had no more authority than the poorest laborer.
Moreover, to this day there is no distinction of class; there are no fine houses for the prosperous; the beggar and the rich man wear the same rags and live in the same squalor. TheDjemmastill exists and the simple stone seat on which the worthies sit can be seen in any village. The wars or vendettas also continue,but in a somewhat more discreet manner, and though they still speak of theCof Oufella, the clan of the higher levels, and theCof Bouadda, the clan of those below, the French do all they can to keep order.
They are all naturally industrious farmers, and though the difficulty of cultivating this steep land, combined with the density of the population, makes farming no easy matter, the results are amazing. The growing of cereals holds a minor place in their agriculture, and their attention is chiefly directed to trees, especially the fig and the olive, of which the fruits are regularly exported. Owing to the overcrowded population, however, one finds few large landed proprietors, and the ownership of property is carried to the most ludicrous extremes. For instance, a whole family may own a fig-tree without owning the land on which it grows, and cases have been known of a man who owned an olive-tree hiring out the branches to the olive exporters.
The family ideals are the same as among all Berber groups: absolute respect for the head of the family, precedence for the males, but unlike the modern Arab family, no position at all for the women. It is true that polygamy is much rarer here than in the rest of North Africa, but this is largely due to economy rather than to anything else. Otherwise the wife is an absolute slave, and one is at once struck on the roads by the sight of Monsieur riding his mule while Madame trudges behind. As soon as a girl is of marriageable age, and often before, she is bought, and from that moment she must do all her husband’s work, bear and bring up his children and, if he wishes, be divorced. Even if he dies she is not allowed to keep her children, who are taken over by the man’s family as soon as weaned. Moreover, no woman can inherit from a man. When she has passed the period of bearingchildren she is relegated to the status of a beast of burden. Against this she has much more liberty to go about unattended, and she is not veiled. Small compensation!
It is hard to instil different principles into these wild people, as they are very hostile to all forms of European interference, and it is with the utmost difficulty that the children are made to go to the French school.
What is still more extraordinary to note is the fact that men who have been educated and who have actually been to Europe will return to their villages and, without the smallest hesitation, rebegin their old life, sleeping on the floor near their donkeys or their horses, while the women chop wood and do the rough work. Neither are these isolated cases as, since the war, many an old soldier, realizing the unequal struggle in his own country, has gone to France as a workman in a factory, and during that period has made money which has been regularly sent back to the family in the mountains, but once weary of Europe he has returned to his people to lead the same life as before. Berbers they were two thousand years ago, Berbers they are still, and, like the men of the Mzab and of the Hoggar, of the Aurès and of the Riff, they remain unaltered, and there seems little prospect of anything changing them.
As in the Mzab, the villages differ considerably from those of the Arabs of the plain. Here again we find the town built on a pinnacle. Practically every peak in the Kabyle Mountains is dominated by a group of houses which cling dizzily above steep precipices. The houses themselves are small, low and squalid; the better ones consist of three rooms very slightly separated from one another. One room for the men, one for the women and children, and one for theanimals, but there are many cases where men and beasts all dwell together.