Chapter III: Part 3

The amateur gardener, especially if he has any knowledge of tropical or sub-tropical horticulture, will probably not be long in Algiers without visiting the Jardin d’Essai. This modest title is given to an extremely successful attempt at acclimatization, chiefly of tropical trees, on a large scale. It was established by the Government eighty years ago, and is now the property of the Compagnie Générale Algérienne, which grows vast quantities of young palms and other trees for export to Paris and London.

The garden in itself will be a disappointment to the garden-lover. It is a rectangular piece of ground, intersected by straight alleys, and with the exception of a pool of water at the southern corner, containing a small island, there is little attempt at what is called landscape gardening. And the possibilities of a water-garden are neglected. One wonders what an Algerian Wisley would be like. The whole aspect of the place suggests a not very well kept nursery garden, which in effect it is. But the wealth of its contents completely atones for its poverty in design.

Perhaps the most striking feature is an avenue of india-rubber trees, which have attained a gigantic size,—a height in some cases of sixty feet and a girth of twenty feet. It is a wonder that this garden was not “floated” on the London market during the recent “boom.” At any rate, it does contain rubber trees, which it is understood some of the areas offered to the public did not. Another species of _ficus_ covers a large space of ground, throwing down fresh roots from its lateral branches, and apparently prepared to travel in this way in every direction. It is unfortunate that the trees and shrubs are very insufficiently labelled; occasional fragments of labels more or less indecipherable, and in some cases, I think, incorrect, may be discovered; but there is no systematic attempt to afford information. This ought not to be so in a garden for which the State is partially responsible.

The palms are very fine, and of many different species, including some great rarities which I am unable to name. All the commoner bamboos are in profusion, but being for the most part planted as hedges rather than as clumps they lose their natural effect. Various Yuccas vie with the india-rubber trees in their splendid growth. At the southern end of the garden, where the formality of the avenues gives place to a little wilderness, are some magnificent clumps of _Strelitzia augusta_,—finer in size and growth than I have seen elsewhere,—and towering above them are some lofty specimens of _Chorisia speciosa_ from Brazil. In the drier spots are various species of aloe; and in the wetter papyrus flourishes exceedingly. The fantastic _Monstrera deliciosa_ is quite at home, and imbeds its constricting coils in the palm-trunks, in a way which must be very painful to them.

Not much colour is to be expected in the early months of the year, but two or three Bougainvilleas make a moderate show, and both _Bignonia venusta_ and _B. Smithii_ are in flower. The exquisite _Plumbago Capensis_ is coming into bloom; also the single red _Hibiscus_ and its less attractive double variety. A little trouble spent on this garden would soon make it one of the finest in the world, without in any way impairing its commercial uses. The material is there, and a little skill in rearrangement of walks and in grouping of specimens is all that is wanted.

Perhaps a friendly critic may venture to be also an adviser. It is to be presumed that Algiers welcomes the advent of strangers. And I find that the local press records with satisfaction that hotels are full, and also that great steamers with hundreds of tourists constantly arrive. These strangers do good to trade, and it may therefore be worth while to pay a little attention to their tastes, and to increase rather than diminish the attractions which draw them hither. Even if the inhabitants of Algiers care little about the beauty of the surroundings of their city, they are part of its essential charm, and should be preserved from the destruction which is everywhere threatening them. The ruthless felling of ancient trees, the obstruction of points of view, the vulgarization of pleasant places,—these may seem little things individually, but in the mass they tell. There are, I believe, full powers to deal with such matters, and the Minister of the Interior has recently addressed to the _préfets_ of France a circular calling attention to the necessity of safeguarding sites of artistic and natural beauty. Let Algiers lead the way, and she will not repent it. But she may some day bitterly repent inaction now.

Another suggestion. It would not be a great matter for the town to purchase a block of buildings in the old streets below the Kasbeh, to clean them out and to preserve them without undue restoration. Strangers wish to see what the old town was like, and are not all able to battle with the squalor and turmoil of the old streets as they are. Such a little natural museum would more than pay for its cost. And—this is a smaller matter still—it would be for the convenience of foreigners if notices were affixed to public buildings, stating at what times they are opened to inspection. It is annoying, for instance, to arrive at the Bibliothèque in the morning and to find it closed, with nothing to indicate when it will be open.

I could extend these suggestions. But perhaps it would be too much to expect in a town largely peopled by Mohammedans that strangers visiting the mosques, or even passing in their neighbourhood, should be relieved from the importunities of irresponsible and worrying touts. The town is generally so well policed; the importunity of beggars is so trifling with what one suffers in Egypt, for example; that, like Oliver Twist, one asks for more.

The suburb of Mustapha takes its name from the last Dey but three who erected the palace now used as the official summer residence of the Governor. The vast sums he expended on it excited the anger of the janissaries, and led to his disgrace and death. There are many other Arab villas now modernized; they are well described by the artist Fromentin, a painter in words as on canvas: “To-day without exception they belong to Europeans. So the deep mystery which veiled them has vanished, and much of their charm has disappeared. The architecture of these houses has no great meaning when applied to European uses. We must therefore accept them for the pleasure of their exterior aspect, and study them as the graceful monuments of an exiled civilization. Inhabited by the people who built—I might say, dreamed—them, these dwellings were a creation both of poetry and genius. This people knew how to make prisons which were places of delight, and to cloister its women in convents where they were unseen yet seeing. For the day, a multitude of little apertures through stretching gardens of jasmine and vines; for the night, the terraces;—what more malicious, and at the same time more full of care for the distraction of the prisoners? The gardens resemble those playthings which are designed for the amusement of the Arab woman, that singular being whose life, long or short, is never anything but childhood. You see there only little gravelled walks, little rivulets in marble channels, where the water meanders in moving arabesque designs. The baths, too, suggest the invention of a husband at once a poet and a jealous lover. Imagine vast cisterns where the water is not more than three feet in depth, flagged with the finest white marble, and open through vaulted arches to a wide horizon. Not a tree reaches this height; when you are seated in these aerial bathing-places you see only sky and sea, and are seen only by the passing birds. We have no understanding of the mysteries of such an existence. We walk through the country to enjoy it; when we return it is to be indoors. This secluded life near to an open window, this motionless existence before so vast a space, this household luxury, this enervating climate and radiant country, the infinite perspective of the sea—all this must give birth to strange dreams, must throw the vital forces into disorder, and mingle a sentiment beyond the power of words to describe with the sorrows of captivity. But,” concludes our author, “ne me trompe-je pas en prêtant des sensations très littéraires à des êtres qui assurément ne les ont jamais eues?”

Those who are fortunate enough to have access to some of these villas will find their original features of house and garden carefully preserved; the gardens improved and extended in accordance with more intelligent views of horticulture. Others may see in the spacious and well-ordered gardens of the Hôtel St. George, the largest of the hotels frequented by English visitors, what in the way of vernal loveliness the soil and climate of Algiers are capable of producing. In the grounds of the Hôtel Continental, another large house with a sunny situation and a magnificent view, are some curious and interesting trees, a dragon tree which is considered to be six hundred years old.

There is an excellent Algerian museum at Mustapha Supérieur in a pleasant garden, close to the Governor’s Summer Palace, built with a court-yard, in the Moorish manner, an admirable form for a museum. It is laudably confined to Algerian antiquities and Arab art; there are no irrelevant South Sea Island curios; it has not been used as a receptacle for the rubbish of the local collector, a dumping-ground of the perplexed widow and the embarrassed executor. Algerian history is thoroughly represented; there are the flint implements of primitive man, a collection of Punic pottery from Gouraya, Roman antiquities of every kind, and numerous examples of Arab and Berber handicrafts. These treasures are exhibited with the taste which distinguishes the French in such matters, as is evidenced in their dressing of shop-windows. Of the Roman antiquities perhaps the gem is a bronze figure of a boy with an eagle, two feet high, and of fine style. It was found at Lambessa. From Lambessa come numerous other exhibits, including some gold coins of the period of Septimius Severus, an emperor of African origin, of Julia his wife (with filigree mounting), and Caracalla and his son, of Macrinus and Severus Alexander. These are in mint condition. And there is a very fine gold medallion of Postumus. There are numerous mosaics,—in Roman Africa mosaic pavements were very popular and well executed,—marbles of all kinds from Cherchel, and a very interesting stone tablet recording the rules for the distribution of water from an aqueduct to Roman colonists. The Arab portion includes arms, jewellery, the elaborately embroidered saddlery of Arab cavaliers, pottery, carpets, woven stuffs,— a fine assortment of Arab and Berber handiwork. Altogether a most creditable museum,—a very model of what a local museum should be. In a neighbouring building is a “Forestry” collection;—stuffed examples of Algerian wild animals, and fine specimens of Algerian woods, and so on. Some magnificent examples of slabs of the native _Thuja_ are worth notice.

As with other public buildings in Algeria, the usefulness of this museum is somewhat curtailed by the short time it is open,—only in the afternoon and not every day,—and, what is worse, by the absence of any notice of the hours during which it may be visited. In my ignorance I tried to enter on two or three occasions. Goaded to desperation one morning I rang the bell, and found the amiable custodian at leisure to admit me, but only by favour. Such a collection is worthy of a notice-board in French, Arabic, English, German, Spanish, and Italian, setting forth the hours it is open, and to a foreigner (I make the suggestion with diffidence) it appears that the morning hours should not be forgotten. This is too good a museum to be circumscribed by such antiquated and provincial arrangements as prevail at present. The object of a museum should be to get people to come in, not to keep them out. I was informed that it was closed on Monday afternoon because there were too many people about! The British workman’s Monday is evidently not the insular institution I had supposed. But a museum is not a fortress.

We are wont to speak of “Arab Art,” but the term, if consecrated by usage, is incorrect and misleading. There is, in fact, no such thing. The Arab has never been an artist. The nomad had of necessity no architecture, and architecture is the mother of the arts. Artistic incapacity and an effort to break away from anthropomorphism in religion went hand in hand among the Semitic races;—“Thou shalt not make to thyself any graven image, nor likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or in the earth beneath, or in the water under the earth.” And when Solomon builded his temple he turned for assistance to the King of Tyre; and one Hiram, a brassworker of Tyre, “wrought all his work.” To this day the Jews, who have excelled in finance and statecraft, in literature and in music, have made little mark in art.

The rise of Islam is an extraordinary phenomenon. In one generation the Arab is a wanderer, half patriarch, half brigand, pasturing his flocks on the verge of the cultivated lands of more civilized peoples, and snatching such prey as hazard brought within his grasp; in the next he is a conqueror ruling from the Indian Ocean to the Atlantic, and threatening to extinguish Christendom. On the vanquished he imposed his religion and his social code; he had no art to impose. Having become by force of conquest and the exigencies of government a dweller in cities, he showed his incapacity to understand the work of his predecessors in such eccentricities as re-erecting their fallen buildings with the columns inverted, using the capital as base, and the base in the capital’s place. As architects he employed the natives of the countries he had overrun, in Egypt Copts and Greeks, who reproduced Byzantine forms and fixed the typical lines on which the development of “Arab art” was to take place. In this deference to local tendencies is to be found the origin of the wide divergencies of art in the Mohammedan world,—of Persian art in the east, and Moorish art in the west. The conquered and converted peoples continued to build, as far as the main plan was concerned, in the same way as they had built before their conversion, adapting their previous methods to present needs, and to the requirements of their conquerors.

In Barbary the development of art followed closely that of Spain. The Moorish art of Spain was chiefly Roman or Byzantine in origin; the first mosque built, that of Cordoba, is said to have been designed by architects from Byzantium. Columns used in its construction were brought from the ruins of Merida and other Roman towns, and even from distant parts of the Mediterranean. From this commencement sprang the later glories of Moorish art, exhibited in their most splendid developments at Granada in Spain, and Tlemçen in Algeria.

If in the scheme of its buildings Moorish architecture followed earlier examples, the Byzantine basilica and the Roman house, in its decorative features it was more distinctively Mohammedan. Yet if the Semite nourished his traditional aversion from the graven image, if the Prophet forbade idolatry and his disciples extended the prohibition to the portrayal of the human body, and enjoined that only trees, flowers and inanimate objects should be depicted; it is nevertheless necessary to seek some deeper cause for the objection of the western Mohammedans to any artistic representation of animal forms. This objection was by no means universal in the Mohammedan world. The Persian rejoiced in his pictures and statues. The explanation may be found perhaps in the zeal of the iconoclasts which had rent North Africa before the Arab invasion. Fathers of the Church had thundered against images; humbler Christians, such as the Copts in Egypt, had striven to dissociate their art from materialistic suggestions, and to find in geometric designs some expression of their aspirations for the infinite. But Hellenism, with its delight in nature, and especially the human form, was still dominant in Christian art. It disappeared before the onslaught from Arabia. The Coptic builder saw his opportunity. His abstract ideas fitted exactly with those of his new master. In his rhythmical representations of foliage, his polygonal figures and intersecting angles, may perhaps be found the germ of the characteristic motives of Mohammedan decoration.

Its elements may be divided into three groups;—inscriptions in writing, and interlacements, rectilinear and curvilinear. It will be found that almost all Moorish decoration falls under one of these three heads. The inscriptions as a rule are not historic, but ornamental, verses of the Koran, pious sentences and so forth. The style is at first sober and monumental, more stately than the cursive hand in ordinary use. As we should expect, it became in time more elaborate and fantastic, harmonizing well with the decorative interlacements which commonly surround the lettering. The inscriptions themselves are often in geometrical form, so as to give at first sight the impression of a pattern; for instance, a sentence may be repeated four times around a central letter.

To the variety of geometrical and curvilinear interlacements there is obviously no limit. Angles, straight lines and curves are frequently combined in the style we denominate arabesque, a style which has prevailed far beyond the limits of Arab conquest, and is particularly a feature of Venetian art. Late examples show great development, especially on floral lines. Leaves of particular trees, notably the palm, are represented. But a mathematical suggestion does not cease to prevail. The passion for interlacement and for excessive decoration of surface gives rise to curious vagaries,—such are the intricate intersection of arches, the breaking up of the arch itself into subsidiary arches, and the “stalactites” which commonly adorn the roof of the _mihrab_, the Holy of Holies. It is not without interest when visiting a mosque to note these developments and to strive to trace them to their original elements.

Our insight into the Arab mind is so limited, we have ourselves so slight an inclination to the symbolic and the mystic, so strong a preference for directness in art and speech, for “straight-flung words and few,” that we may well hesitate to dogmatize in such a matter as Moorish decoration. In the light of our own tame submission to a superabundance of ecclesiastical and domestic ornament which is without significance we should regard it as merely a habit of clothing blank spaces with conventional markings. Yet it may be that the spiritual dreamer, ever intent on the conception of an abstract deity, rejecting with scorn the idea of a God made flesh and dwelling among men, finds in the geometrical expressions of unending line and angle, in the interminable intricacies of the interlacing curve, some harmony with his own longings, and some suggestion of the Infinite.

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_V—SWORD AND PLOUGH_

Great events and trivial causes—The Dey’s fan—France roused—England as
dog-in-the-manger—The French expedition and conquest—Clauzel—
Abd-el-Kader—Bugeaud.

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“They shall beat their swords into ploughshares.”
ISAIAH.

It is naturally impossible for a traveller to traverse Algeria without being constantly conscious of the effects of the French conquest. His own presence there otherwise than as a Christian slave is one of them, and not the least important one for him. But in the course of his journeyings he will be so frequently informed of important incidents in the series of campaigns, of the connection of localities he is visiting with some phase of victory or defeat, that a short résumé of the lengthy transactions may not be out of place. With many side-issues the story resolves itself in the end, as such war-histories often do, into a struggle for the mastery between two great men. The Frenchman won the rubber.

Stern as was the lesson which Lord Exmouth inflicted, it was soon forgotten, and the ingrained habit of centuries reasserted itself. A subsequent Dey set himself to re-create a fleet, and in 1820 he had forty-four vessels with 1560 sailors. Fresh trouble arose with the British consul, and the weakness of the admiral who was sent to support him only made matters worse. The Dey refused to see Mr. McDonell, who had been forced to leave, and treated Mr. St. John, who replaced him, with ignominy. “All the disgraceful ceremonies in the intercourse between the representative of Great Britain and the Turkish authorities were continued. The consul was obliged, the moment he came in sight of the Dey’s palace, to walk bareheaded in the hottest sun; in waiting for an audience he had to sit on a stone bench in the public passage; he could not wear a sword in the Dey’s presence, nor ride to the palace, though his own servants, if Mohammedans, might do so.” And the corsair fleet began once more to harry the coasts of France and Spain.

In the early days of the Turkish domination the corsairs had been influenced by political preferences. They had especially waged war against the Spaniards, who had expelled the Moors, and whose sovereign, Charles V, was the enemy of the Sultan. They respected the vessels of Francis I, the Sultan’s ally. So may even pirates follow the dictates of conscience. But as time went on the high character of the Algerian corsairs suffered some abasement through association with the renegades of Christendom, and French and Spanish vessels met a like fate,—all was fish that came to their net. The French, who had formerly felt that the Spaniards were getting no more than their deserts, and had even afforded Kheir-ed-Din a temporary refuge in the port of Marseilles during a storm, were naturally hurt at the ingratitude of these proceedings. They went so far, in the reign of the Grand Monarque, as to bombard Algiers on two occasions,—with the customary result. Their fleets sailed away; Algiers rebuilt itself, and proceeded upon its piratical way. No one has ever rivalled the Deys in the art of taking a beating, and coming up again with a smile,—unless it be their ultimate conquerors.

Great changes in the history of the world have often been, or have seemed to be, the result of accident. Wars have been waged, conquests effected, empires created, not of settled intention and design, but as the outcome of the personal quarrels, and the personal ambitions of individuals, less, in modern times at any rate, of sovereigns than of subjects. The British Empire has been created rather in spite of than by the aid of the governing powers of Great Britain. Cecil Rhodes is but the latest of the long line of Englishmen who imposed imperial responsibilities on a half-hearted England. Governments seldom dream imperial dreams; they are more concerned to keep their seats. Sovereigns like George III may lose an empire. Mere accidental citizens, as Clive or Rhodes, may create one.

So this fertile North Africa, through history the shuttle-cock of Asia and Europe, with an illimitable hinterland of “rather light soil,” to quote the words of a statesman who had little sympathy with African conquest, became French because an Algerian Dey struck a consul with his fan. This incident arose—as modern international incidents frequently arise—out of a financial dispute. Certain Jews of Algiers had a claim against France for corn supplied during the Napoleonic wars. The Dey pressed this claim as his own; and being dissatisfied with the delay in settlement he made a violent scene with the consul, “et s’oublia jusqu’à le toucher de son chasse-mouches.” Apologies were demanded and refused, and for three years, from 1827 to 1830, France endeavoured to blockade the port of Algiers. The Dey Hussein continued obdurate. So little repentant was he that when the _Provence_ entered the port in 1829, having on board a French admiral, charged to make a last effort at negotiation (for the blockade was costing seven millions of francs a year and effecting nothing), all the batteries opened fire on her. Even now the French ministry was reluctant to make war, and proposed to the Sultan of Turkey that Mehemet Ali, Pasha of Egypt, should bring the Barbary states under his rule. The Sultan refused his authorization, and an expedition was decided on. France was destined to become an African power, “un peu malgré elle.”

The naval authorities were strongly opposed to a military expedition; it would, they declared, be absolutely impracticable to land an army with its indispensable materiel; and former experience, especially the failure of Charles V, appeared to support their view. But the French Cabinet decided to make the attempt. With the exception of England, the European powers were complaisant. England demanded explanations as to the object of the preparations. M. de Polignac in a circular note explained that his master desired only to suppress piracy, slavery and the tribute paid by Christian nations to the Dey. England was not satisfied and asked for a formal renunciation of a policy of annexation. The President of the Council replied to the British ambassador that the King was not led by any sentiment of ambition, that he was not aware that he had need to ask the permission of anyone to avenge an insult to his flag; that he had already made known his intentions, and that his word ought to be sufficient guarantee. England returned to the charge. M. de Polignac then produced a second circular note in which he declared that “if Algiers fell into the power of the French army the King would examine in conjunction with his allies what new order of things it would be fitting to establish for the benefit of Christianity.” England complained that this note contained no formal engagement not to keep Algiers; the French minister put an end to the discussion by declaring that the King’s communications required no further development.

It is interesting to recall these diplomatic amenities; _mutatis mutandis_ they bear strong resemblance to certain international passages at the time of the English occupation of Egypt. But France does not seem to have given any undertaking that her operations should be only temporary.

If his memoirs are to be trusted, Admiral d’Haussez, the French Minister of Marine, lacked the diplomatic suavity of his colleague. Even a sailor’s bluffness hardly covers the tone of a declaration he made to the British ambassador. “The King wishes the expedition to be made, and it will be made. France laughs at England. She will do in this instance what she likes, and will put up with neither control nor opposition. We are no longer in the days when you dictated laws to Europe. Your influence rested on your wealth, your ships and your habit of domination. All that is past. I suppose you are not willing to compromise what remains of your influence by going beyond threats. But if you wish to do so, I will give you the means. Our fleet is already assembled at Toulon, and will be ready to sail in the last days of May. It will call at the Balearic Isles, and it will land the troops to the west of Algiers. If the fancy takes you, you may meet it.”

France had her way without interference; the admiral’s prophecy (recorded after the event) was fulfilled to the letter. An army of 35,000 men under General Bourmont was transported in 300 vessels, and disembarked with no great difficulty at Sidi Ferruch, about fifteen miles to the west of Algiers, on June 14th, 1830. The landing was unopposed, Hussein having expected it to take place to the east of the town and collected his army there. A few days later the Dey’s son-in-law and general, Ibrahim, came into conflict with the French troops and was defeated. A second attack had the same result. The French army marched on Algiers, laid siege to Fort l’Empereur, so called because it stood on the heights above the town where Charles V had pitched his tent. The French soldiers knew only one Emperor, and promptly called it Fort Napoleon. The Turkish garrison blew up the fort and fled, and Algiers lay at the mercy of the invaders.

It appears that Hussein was ready to resist to the death, and sooner than submit to blow up the city. But disaffection appeared among his troops, who sent an emissary to Bourmont, offering the Dey’s head as a token of conciliation. The Dey then decided to treat; he was willing to make every reparation for the insult offered to the consul, to abandon his pecuniary claims and to pay the cost of the war. But Bourmont would have nothing but the surrender of the city and its forts. The Dey was to be at liberty to retire to some place to be fixed on, with his family and his riches. As regards the inhabitants,—“l’exercice de la religion mussulmane restera libre. La liberté des habitants de toutes les classes, leur religion, leurs propriétés, leur commerce, leur industrie ne recevront aucune atteinte, leurs femmes seront respectées: le général en chef en prend l’engagement sur l’honneur.” These terms were accepted; the French army entered Algiers on July 5th; and it appears that the conditions were fairly well observed.

An eye-witness has described the attitude of the population. “Algiers,” he says, “on the entry of the French, did not present the sad and desolate aspect of a conquered town. The shops were closed, but the traders, seated quietly before their doors, seemed to await the moment for opening them. You met here and there groups of Turks and Moors who appeared more indifferent than alarmed. A few veiled Mohammedan women could be seen peering through the narrow windows of their dwellings; Jewish women with greater boldness filled the terraces of their houses without exhibiting any surprise at the novel spectacle. Our soldiers threw everywhere eager and curious glances, and all they saw filled them with astonishment at a city where no one seemed astonished at their presence. The resignation to the will of God which is so profoundly graven on the spirit of the Mussulman, the sentiment of France’s power, and her well-known generosity, all made for confidence; and it was soon established.”[3] With such ease and light-heartedness did France enter, on her career of African conquest. Her troubles were to come.

Footnote 3:

Pelissier de Reynaud, “Annales Algériennes.”

The policy to be pursued was the first of them. The expedition had achieved its punitive object, Algeria appeared to be poor and sterile, and there was much to be said for abandoning it altogether. At the other extreme was the proposal to attempt a complete and definite conquest. A middle course was adopted,—to occupy only certain important points on the coast and in the interior. It is easy to be wise after the event; our own colonial experience is full of evidence of the futility of half-measures; and we need not claim much perspicacity for observing that France missed the golden opportunity for occupying the country when the central Government, such as it was, had been destroyed. But, for all the brave words of the truculent admiral, she doubtless felt some diffidence in view of her declaration to Europe, and the continued hostility of Great Britain was not without its effect. France’s own political position, too, was in a very disordered condition. On the 18th of August a revolution took place, Louis Philippe was proclaimed King and Bourmont was recalled.

For the next ten years, from 1830 to 1840, what was known as the policy of Restricted Occupation was pursued. Certain ports on the coast were occupied—Oran, Bougie, Bône, etc.—and attempts were made to bring the plain of the Metidja under French control by placing garrisons in such towns as Medea and Blidah. The army of occupation was much reduced, and Clauzel, the general in command, endeavoured to raise native auxiliary troops, with small success. He was, at any rate, a master of bombast. Having occupied Blidah and ascended one of the passes of the Atlas, he addressed his troops: “Soldats! les feux de nos bivouacs qui, des cimes de l’Atlas, semblent dans ce moment se confondre avec la lumière des étoiles, annoncent à l’Afrique la victoire que vous venez de remporter,” etc. This pronouncement was followed by the withdrawal of the garrison and a hasty retreat to Algiers. Early in 1831 Clauzel was recalled. His successors, Berthezène, the duc de Rovigo and Voirol, essaying a great undertaking with inadequate means, had no better fortune.

Under Voirol General Desmichels was sent to Oran with the object of establishing order in the west. The tribes were in arms, and at their head-quarters at Mascara had chosen as their general a celebrated marabout, or holy man, named Mahi-ed-Dine, who, having attacked Oran several times without success, resigned the command to his son, Abd-el-Kader, then only twenty-four years of age, but destined to become one of the greatest leaders of modern times. He was, says Camille Rousset, “of middle height, but well made, vigorous and untiring. He was the best among the best horsemen in the world. Physical qualities are highly valued by the Arabs; Abd-el-Kader had more—the qualities which make men conquerors: intelligence, sagacity, strength of will, genius to command. In eloquence he was the equal of the greatest orators, and could bend crowds to his will. He spoke in serious and measured tones, and was sparing of gesture, but his pale face was full of animation, and under their long dark lashes his blue eyes darted fire.” It may be remarked that the blue eyes point to a Berber, rather than an Arab origin. Such was the man who for years to come was to bid defiance to the French.

Their first dealings with him were unfortunate. Desmichels arrived at Oran in the spring of 1833. Finding that he could make no headway against Abd-el-Kader, who from his capital of Mascara was preaching a holy war for the extermination of the infidels, he concluded with him a treaty which enormously increased the Arab’s authority. Abd-el-Kader was described in it as Emir; all practical power was placed in his hands; and he was permitted to purchase arms and ammunition in French towns. No mention was made of French sovereignty. The treaty, though contrary to the instructions of the French Government, was accepted by it in the belief that it assured peace. Difficulties soon arose. Desmichels was recalled; his successor, Trezel, at the head of a column of 1700 men, was attacked by Abd-el-Kader in the marshes of La Macta, and defeated with the loss of a third of his force.

The prestige of this victory brought many waverers to the Arab leader’s flag. But France’s disaster brought home to her the seriousness of the position, and in the end the defeat did more towards the ultimate conquest than a victory would have done.

Clauzel, who had left Africa almost in disgrace in 1831, was sent back in full command in 1835. He alone of the French generals had exhibited any military qualities. His grandiose projects have been justified by events. His main plan consisted in occupying Mascara and Tlemçen in the west, Medea and Miliana in the centre, and Constantine in the east. Of Tlemçen and Constantine he said, “Si vous n’occupez pas ces deux Gibraltar de la Régence d’Alger, vous n’en serez jamais les maîtres.” His failure was due to his attempt to effect these objects with the inadequate means with which he was supplied. He commenced by advancing against Abd-el-Kader, who retired before him. Having occupied Mascara and Tlemçen, he returned to Algiers, whereupon Tlemçen was promptly besieged by the Arabs. At this point the great Frenchman, destined to overthrow the Arab power and to conquer Algeria, appeared on the scene. General Bugeaud was sent to command in the west. He was personally opposed to conquest, and regarded French intervention in Algeria not only as having been badly conducted, but as initially a mistake. These views did not prevent him from putting his hand to the plough. He began by revolutionizing the methods of warfare; in spite of the opposition of his officers, he dispensed with heavy trains of baggage and artillery, lightened the loads of the soldiers, and carried their provisions on mules. Attacking Abd-el-Kader at La Sikkah he inflicted on him a signal defeat, his native auxiliaries pursuing the flying enemy with fury and slaughtering them in great numbers. Bugeaud then returned to France.

Meantime Clauzel, having had some success in the neighbourhood of Algiers, attacked Constantine, but was ignominiously repulsed, and was recalled. The city fell the following year to General Valée. In 1837 Bugeaud was sent back to Oran, with instructions to make terms with Abd-el-Kader on the basis of surrendering to him the province of Oran in consideration of his recognizing the sovereignty of France and paying tribute. The two leaders met and negotiated the treaty of the Tafna. It was all in the Arab’s favour; the tribute fixed was nominal, the sovereignty question ignored. In native eyes Abd-el-Kader became a veritable monarch, his territory was assured to him and he had leisure to gather his forces for a further struggle. We must suppose either that Bugeaud’s private preferences carried him away, or that the situation in the west was too desperate to warrant his insisting on better terms. For two years peace reigned, but in 1839 Abd-el-Kader proclaimed a holy war. Arabs and Khabyles invaded the Metidja and burnt the farms of the French colonists. Hostilities lasted for two years with no decisive result. In October, 1840, the Governor-General, Valée, was recalled, and Bugeaud was sent out in supreme command to inaugurate a new policy.

The half-hearted efforts of ten years were at an end, _l’occupation restreinte_ was to give way to _l’occupation totale_. France set herself at all cost to occupy effectively the whole territory of Algeria up to the desert. She had missed her chance at first. “Occasion,” says Bacon, “(as it is in the common verse), turneth a bald Noddle, after she hath presented her locks in Front and no hold taken.” The unwise temporizing with Abd-el-Kader had enormously increased the difficulties of the position. But there was to be no more dalliance.

Bugeaud was one of those born leaders to whom the exigencies of the occasion are more important than military tradition. To seek the enemy’s force and to destroy it was for him a leading principle, as it has been for our great naval commanders. He abolished the garrisons of his predecessors, and substituted for them mobile columns. He believed, and proved, that the manœuvres of such columns were far more effective, even for the protection of colonized districts, than the occupation of definite points. In the main he relied on infantry, supported by a light and very mobile artillery. The _a priori_ view that cavalry is necessary to meet a mounted enemy found in his operations no support, however useful it may be for surprises and pursuit. Can it be that the famous telegram to our Colonies at the beginning of the last South African War,—“infantry preferred,”—was due to a statesman’s study of the memoirs and correspondence of Marshal Bugeaud?

He even conceived the idea of mounted infantry, mounting his men on mules or camels as occasion served. He prohibited the use of waggons for baggage and provisions, and dared, in spite of the indignant protests of his cavalry officers, to use the troop horses to carry rice and corn. Sprung himself from the ranks,—he had fought as a corporal of the guard at Austerlitz,—he understood the soldier’s needs, powers and limitations; and was in turn trusted and beloved,—_le père Bugeaud_ he was affectionately called. Such was the man who was to win for France her African empire.

It is unnecessary to recount the details of the long duel between Bugeaud and Abd-el-Kader. Step by step the Arab leader was driven from the fertile regions to the high plateaux, and with every reverse his authority over the tribesmen waned, even if his own resource and resolution never failed. A severe blow was dealt in the spring of 1843. Abd-el-Kader had established a vast caravan, known as the _smalah_, comprising the families of his forces, their flocks and herds, and a crowd of non-combatants who abandoned their homes and followed his fortunes rather than submit to the foreigner. It was, as Bugeaud said, “la capitale ambulante de l’empire arabe.” It was reputed to contain 40,000 persons, defended by 5000 combatants. The young Duc d’Aumale, son of Louis Philippe, was charged with its capture. Having located its position at Taguine, he attacked it with a force of 600 horse, without waiting for his infantry, consisting of 1300 men. The suddenness of his onslaught broke down all resistance; the defenders fled, leaving much booty and many thousand prisoners in the hands of the French. For some months more Abd-el-Kader continued to make a futile resistance, but finally fled to Morocco. In July Bugeaud received the fitting acknowledgment of his success, and was named Marshal of France.

France now came into conflict with the Empire of Morocco,—the commencement of a page of history still unfinished. The Sultan, perhaps against his own inclinations, was compelled by the sympathies of his people to espouse the cause of the Arab leader. His son led an army of 40,000 men to the frontier. Bugeaud, with a force of 8000, met him on the banks of the Isly. The night before the battle Bugeaud addressed his officers, who were assembled at “un punch” to welcome some comrades arrived from France: “With our little army of 6500 bayonets and 1500 horses I am going to attack the army of the Prince of Morocco, which amounts, according to my information, to 60,000 horsemen. I would the number were double, or thrice as great, for the greater would be its disorder and disaster. I have an army; he has only a mob. And I will explain to you my order of attack. I give my little force the form of a wild boar’s head. The right tusk is Lamoricière; the left tusk, Bedeau; the snout is Pelissier; and I am between the ears. Who can stop our penetrating power? Ah! my friends, we will cut our way into the Moorish army as a knife cuts butter.”

This new eve of Austerlitz was followed on the morrow by an overwhelming victory. By midday the Moors were in flight and their camp of a thousand tents, with all their artillery, was captured. The bombardment of Tangier and Mogador by the Prince de Joinville assisted to bring the Sultan to his senses, and peace was concluded by the Treaty of Tangier.

But the troubles of the French were not over. In 1845 the indomitable Abd-el-Kader, having recruited 2000 men in the Sahara, appeared in the west and raised the whole province of Oran; farms were burnt, crops destroyed and bridges thrown down. Bugeaud, recalled from France, set himself to make an end. He collected a force of 100,000 men, divided into eighteen columns. A mighty hunt began. Abd-el-Kader was everywhere in turn. As ubiquitous as De Wet, he was now in the Tell, now in the high plateaux, now endeavouring to raise the mountaineers of Khabylia. But the end was inevitable. The tribesmen whom, having raised, he left to their chastisement, grew weary of the process. “You are like the gad-fly,” they said to him, “which arouses the bull. When you have done your work of irritation you disappear, and it is we who bear the brunt of the blows.” After a fruitless effort to obtain fresh aid from Morocco, he was captured on the frontier by Lamoricière and sent to France. He was subsequently allowed to retire to Syria, where he lived on a pension paid by the French Government till his death in 1883. He left a name venerated by his countrymen and respected by his conquerors. The French have had to face serious insurrections since, but no native leader has arisen to repeat the exploits or rival the fame of Abd-el-Kader.

Bugeaud was more than a great soldier; he was a statesman and a colonizer. He chose as his motto, “Ense et aratro.” He held that, except as a forerunner to the plough, it was useless to draw the sword. The military and civil control of a subject population, such as the English rule in India, and in recent days the _pax Gallica_ of the Sahara, may be an excellent undertaking for a people of super-abundant energies; for Bugeaud the conquest of Algeria was only a necessary preliminary to its organization as a French colony. “La conquête,” he said in his first proclamation, “serait stérile sans la colonisation. Je serai donc colonisateur ardent, car j’attache moins de gloire à vaincre dans les combats qu’à fonder quelque chose d’utile et de durable.”

The French invasion brought in its train a number of civilians. They were perhaps rather adventurers than of the stuff from which successful colonists are made. And the task before them was a stern one. The breaking of the soil was the first difficulty. It was covered with brushwood and dwarf palms, and its clearance involved much painful toil. There were no roads; even in the Metidja, close to Algiers, no means of communication but the mule paths; and no bridges. It is said that the journey to Blidah, which you may now cover in an hour or two, took four days. The country was most insecure; troops of bandits continually descended on the cultivated plains and robbed and murdered the colonists. Perhaps the greatest trouble of all was the prevalence of fever, especially in the Metidja. “The cemeteries,” said a general, “are populated faster than the villages.” Later the spread of cultivation diminished its virulence, and the use of quinine provided a remedy. It is said that absinthe was used by French soldiers as a febrifuge,[4] and that they took back to their homes a habit which has become so widespread. A treatise might be written on the influence of war on fashions in drink. The introduction of champagne into England is said to be due to the English officers who had discovered its virtues in Paris at the time of Bonaparte’s downfall.

Footnote 4:

See “Notes and Queries,” February 25th and March 4th, 1911.

The Holy War of 1839 had extinguished the feeble flicker of French colonization. The colonists were removed to Algiers for safety; and the Arabs pillaged and burnt their farms. The land reverted to barbarism. Bugeaud set himself to repair this damage, and to place colonization on a firmer basis. His idea was that the state should prepare the way by granting land under certain conditions of military service, that it should make careful selection among applicants for grants, and should provide funds for preliminary works,—roads, wells and farm-buildings. This system was partially carried out, and has been justified by success. In spite of many troubles and setbacks, a constantly increasing area has been brought under cultivation. In 1854 the cultivation of cereals occupied about two million acres; in 1861 it had risen to five millions; in 1885 to seven millions. Since that date the total has not sensibly increased, but methods have improved and the yield is greater. It is said that on the whole agriculture in Algeria is more progressive than in France. And as he traverses Algeria’s interminable cornfields, the traveller may be disposed to render homage to the great soldier who, personally averse from conquest, drew the sword to establish peace, and strove to bring plenty in her train.

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_VI—TLEMÇEN THE HOLY_

Western Algeria—Sidi Bel Abbès—The Foreign Legion—A city of learning—Its
inhabitants—The Mosque of Aboul Hassan—Mansoura—Its story—Sidi Bou
Medine—Oran—Spanish immigrants.

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“A city dreaming of her ancient pride
Amid the orchards on her mountain-side;
Do you sleep sound, O saint that shares her fame,
While stranger horsemen through her portals ride?”

Far to the west, beyond Oran, and close to the frontiers of Morocco, lies a hill city, once the seat of empire and of learning, but now sunk to the condition of a provincial town. Yet Tlemçen has occupied so high a position in the Mohammedan world, and the reputation of its existing monuments is so widespread, that the enterprising traveller will desire to visit it. The distance from Algiers is great, some 800 miles there and back, and as there is little of interest on the road, a journey by motor-car is not inviting. It is perhaps better to make use of the excellent train service between Algiers and Oran. If you leave Algiers at nine p.m., you may change about six a.m. at a junction a little short of Oran and reach Tlemçen about eleven. Or you may go on to Oran and hire a motor-car for the remaining 110 miles, which it will cover faster than the train does. In any case it is a tiresome journey. The road and the rail alike rise through a series of great plains divided by rocky steps, and chiefly devoted to corn-growing. The country is very bare and very uninteresting. There are few trees. It is said to have been once well wooded, but, although the Arab will take care of a tree near his house or his mosque, he has no regard for trees in general. So countless generations of browsing goats have made an end of the woods. One cannot but think that more attention to re-afforesting would meet with its reward.

Here, as elsewhere in Algeria, both in the plain and on the mountain side, the traveller will notice a number of square whitewashed buildings, surmounted by a cupola. They are known by the name of _koubba_, and are generally the tomb of a marabout or saint, and serve as objects of pilgrimage and much local veneration.

At Sidi Bel Abbès, a town of 25,000 inhabitants, about half of whom are Spaniards, are the head-quarters of the famous Foreign Legion. The very name of this corps stirs memories of forlorn hopes and dare-devil enterprises. The inimitable Ouida, whose disregard of the grammatical niceties of her own and other tongues was a generation ago the delight of undergraduates; who could say of her high-born hero that he ignored the proud motto of his haughty race, _Pro patria et rege_, and acted on the principle, _Pro ego_; Ouida has pictured for us after her own fashion, in “Under Two Flags,” the life of a foreign adventurer in the French service during the earlier days of the occupation. The picture, if imaginative in details, is full of life, and it is no doubt true that many broken men of gentle birth and upbringing found in the campaigns on the verge of the Sahara an outlet for energies for which civilization had no use. To-day the Legion is composed largely of Alsatians, Germans and Poles, and is celebrated for its band. But it is still to the fore when stern work is on foot. The situation of Sidi Bel Abbès renders it very convenient in the event of trouble with Morocco, which is constantly recurring. The town and its environs are an agreeable exception to the surrounding country in being pleasantly wooded. The olive trees are most carefully pruned, all the centre branches being cut out, and the outer ones trained to form a cup. This system admits light and air to the fruit, and facilitates the gathering of the crop.

Within a few miles of Tlemçen the scenery becomes more bold. The train climbs on to and encircles a rugged mountain range, traverses a great ravine, down which roars a graceful cascade, and emerges from a short tunnel into the noise and hubbub of Tlemçen station. The high road takes another course. It skirts the base of the rocky hills, and boldly ascends direct to the town, offering pleasant views of its walls and minarets. This is the habit of roads and railroads in many lands; the road approaches boldly to a frontal attack; the railroad creeps in stealthily or remains diffidently outside. So does the traveller by rail too often miss the beauty of the incoming.

The Arab horsemen who in the seventh century of our era rode through North Africa and carried the crescent into Europe were the élite of the race. Not only did they and their sons and those to whom they taught their faith and language and made like unto themselves conquer kingdoms and found great cities, promote commerce and achieve enormous material prosperity, but under their rule were produced works of art worthy to be ranked with the best. It is perhaps lucky that progress in these respects was accompanied, as it is generally accompanied, by a decline in martial prowess, or Western Europe might to-day be tied fast in the chains of Koran, and the women of London and Paris be veiled as was Mahomet’s wife. Among the greatest of Mohammedan cities from the eleventh century to the fifteenth Tlemçen stood high. It was peopled rather by Berbers than by Arabs of pure blood; but, at any rate, they spoke the Arab tongue, held the Arab faith and represented Arab culture at its highest excellence. In spite of the continual stress of war, it was enriched with noble buildings; it became a kind of university of Arab learning for North Africa; and it acquired the reputation and sanctity of a holy city from the selection of a neighbouring village as his last resting-place by a great Mohammedan saint.