Chapter XI: Last Days at Tunis

A retrospect — The captain of the _Aristides_ — A curious meeting — Tunis again — Farewell visits — Rich shopkeepers — A last tussle with Mohamed — A real Arab gentleman — The Jewellers’ Bazaar — A visit to the Jewish quarter — An Arabian Night’s Entertainment — Dining, drinking, dancing.

_Thursday, November 3rd._—My last day on the shores of Africa has arrived; but before I say “good-bye” to my faithful Afrigan, to B——— and P———, and Mr. Reade, and to the wonderful streets of Tunis, I must indulge in a retrospect, and put together some notes from those pages of my journal which I have been compelled to skip in the course of this narrative. First of all, let me tell how, when the _Ville de Naples_ cast anchor in the gulf yesterday, I was reassured by seeing the Italian steamer for Malta still lying at her moorings. The weather was far too rough to permit of her sailing; the consequence of this is that I shall, after all, be able to reach Malta before the close of this week. Even in the gulf, and within half a mile of the little breakwater of Goletta, the sea was so high that the _Falcon_ gunboat was rolling in a fashion the mere sight of which might have made any squeamish spectator on shore feel sick. Six sturdy Arabs rowed me ashore from the _Ville de Naples_—a long and somewhat dangerous operation, for which, despite the remonstrances of the economical Afrigan, I felt compelled to pay double the usual fee.

The rain of the past night had converted the main street of Goletta into a swamp; but how gay and delightful the whole place looked after the wretchedness of Susa! Strange indeed is the extent to which our sense of comfort is relative merely. When I sat down under the trees in front of the wretched Italian café of Goletta, I felt almost as much pleased as though I had found myself in the Grand Café at Paris. There were French officers all round me, smoking, gossiping, drinking coffee, and reading the latest number of _Figaro_, which was being hawked about by a bright little Jew. Presently up came my old friend the captain of the _Aristides_, the English steamer which was wrecked off Bizerta two days before I first landed in Tunis. He has been kept here ever since, but with British impassiveness seems quite at home at Goletta, and well able to rub along comfortably, in spite of the fact that he speaks no word of any language save his own. We hob-nobbed together over our coffee, and the captain being, like all men in his line of life, a little of a doctor, began to prescribe for Afrigan. He, poor fellow, was in dismal plight. The gale had completed the work which the mosquitoes had begun, and I do not think that anybody could have recognized in this forlorn wreck the gay and lively Afrigan of a week before. But not a word of murmuring escaped his lips. His prevailing feeling seemed to be one of profound thankfulness at having survived the storm and reached land in safety. I expressed my regret for having induced him to go with me to Susa, seeing he had suffered so much from the journey. “Well, sir, you see, it is a good thing I did go. I always have said that I am the best sailor in Tunis, and that nothing would make me ill; but I know now that I did tell a lie when I said so.” And Afrigan shook his melancholy head, and declining to partake of any refreshment on the plea that all Goletta seemed to his dizzy brain to be dancing around, relapsed into silence and a cigarette.

For the first and only time during our acquaintance I was compelled to look after my baggage myself. A sturdy Arab porter was called, and hoisting my portmanteau and a long white waterproof coat upon his shoulders, he set off for the station. Presently, in a moment of carelessness, he let the portmanteau fall into the mud, thus making necessary the slight application of my stick to his back. As we were settling this little difficulty, I heard the voice of an unmistakable Englishman shouting “Bravo! bravo!” and looked round. The face of the speaker was strange to me, but I saw at once that he was a fellow-countryman. “An Englishman, I see,” I remarked casually. “Yes, sir; and you are Mr. Reid, I suppose. I knew it must be you as soon as I saw that English waterproof, for Mr. B——— told me of your being in the Regency. May I ask, sir, if that waterproof coat came from Leeds?” “Certainly,” I answered, feeling rather surprised at the question; “it came from Leeds, and so did I. But what do you know about Leeds?” “Why, I was born there, sir.” And then my newly found friend explained all about himself, and I discovered that his paternal home was _within two hundred yards of my own house_ in a suburb of Leeds. The world is small, indeed; is it not? I have had so many experiences of the fact that I have almost ceased to be surprised at incidents of this kind; but I confess it seemed more than ordinarily strange thus to meet on the shores of North Africa a man to whom the sound of the Headingley Church bells was as familiar as it is to myself. It turned out that he was the locomotive superintendent on the line between Goletta and Tunis, and that he lived in Goletta with his wife and her mother.

Once more I found myself walking along the Marina of Tunis, and entering the Grand Hotel. Little as I liked the place, it almost seemed as though I were getting home again when I entered the familiar doorway and made my bow to Madame. Then I posted off to see B———, who started up in surprise when he saw me, believing that I must have got inside Kairwan by this time. A farewell visit to Mr. and Mrs. Reade, who have now come up to their house in Tunis for the winter, was the next duty I had to discharge. I found a pleasant, youthful-looking man taking afternoon tea with them in the closed verandah of the Consulate, through the Venetian blinds of which you may catch a glimpse of the busy scene in the square below. This gentleman proved to be Captain Selby of the _Falcon_, and we chatted for some time together, chiefly about the prospects of sport for the captain during the coming winter. He hopes to get some partridge-shooting in Albania, and looks forward to it as a delightful relief to the monotony of sea-life. Then Mr. Reade gave us an account of how _he_ visited Kairwan some thirty years ago, and of the tremendous excitement of the populace when he went to the baths, from which the natives were rigorously excluded on the occasion of his visit. And then I said “good-bye.” May the genial Consul-General and his gracious wife long continue to prosper! So long as England is represented at Tunis by Mr. Reade, the best traditions not only of English hospitality but of English diplomacy are certain to be maintained. One other task still remained to be performed before I could join B——— at a farewell dinner. So once more I toiled up the narrow, winding street which leads to the Bazaar, passing all the well-known shops, where the same well-known figures, clad in their brilliant garments, were seated cross-legged on the little divans, amid the piles of candles, herbs, slippers, silk stuffs, and Manchester goods. Many of these shops it is notorious are not what they seem to be. Their owners have no wish to sell. A good many of them, indeed, could afford to buy up the richest of the visitors from abroad who occasionally come to pester them with their custom. They have simply opened these shops in the Bazaar in order to divert the attention of the Bey’s officials from their accumulated wealth. If they were to give up the pretence of business everybody would know that they had made money, and presently, under one pretext or another, a means of making them disgorge part of their wealth would be found. But as it is, so long as they sit here, in one of the quaint little caverns which are called shops in the Bazaar, they manage to go free from all except the collective extortion to which the whole community is at times compelled to submit. Moreover, the Bazaar furnishes the only source of amusement open to the Tunisian. It is here that he learns all the gossip of the day, and perhaps takes his share in inventing it. He knows nothing of the kind of hospitality which is familiar to us in England. The house of his dearest friend is closed against him, unless it be upon the occasion of a wedding or a funeral; but the Bazaar is his club, his exchange, his coffee-house, his news-rooms, and the chief pleasure of life would be gone if he were no longer permitted to frequent it. I picked my way over the broken pavement of the narrow darkened alleys of the Bazaar until I came to Mohamed’s. He was not in his shop; but his assistant at once ran to fetch him, whilst the inevitable cup of fragrant coffee was served for my benefit. Mohamed seemed much pleased at my return, but his face fell when I told him that I was about to leave for good. This fact, however, did not interfere with a very smart tussle between us over the price of a silk _jebba_—the principal garment worn by the town Arabs—which I was anxious to possess. I had sent Afrigan home because of his melancholy plight, so I was compelled to rely exclusively upon myself in conducting this bargain. I had, however, a very simple and efficient method of handling Mohamed. I allowed him to ask all manner of enormous sums for the _jebba_, simply contenting myself with repeating in a monotonous voice “Thirty francs”—that being just ten francs less than the sum I meant to pay.

Never was Mohamed more eloquent than upon this occasion. He had summoned an old Turk who spoke a few words of French to his aid, and this worthy expatiated as well as he could upon the beauties of the particular _jebba_ upon which I had fixed my attention; its colour, its texture, its workmanship were all perfect, and it was worth at the very least 100 francs. When I thought that a sufficient amount of time had been spent in this way I rose, and shaking my head blandly, held out my hand to Mohamed saying as I did so, “Forty francs, and not a caroub more.” The good merchant seized my hand with the utmost cordiality, and the bargain was struck in an instant. Then he made a desperate attempt to induce me to buy some carpets, some of the curious inlaid Moorish tables, and similar articles, of which he possessed a large quantity. Finding, however, that I had now completed my transactions with him, and that no more money was to be made out of me, his whole demeanour changed. But it changed not in the way familiar to me in Constantinople, in Vienna, in Paris, aye and even in civilized London, where the cringing subserviency of the vendor too often turns to rank insolence when he discovers that he has extracted the last sou from the pocket of his customer. This Arab shopkeeper of the Bazaar of Tunis, despite those characteristic failings of which I have spoken, is a noble-minded gentleman; and as soon as he discovered that I had ceased to be his customer, he began to treat me as a guest.

More coffee was brought, cigarettes were lighted, and by the aid of the disreputable old Turk we struck up a friendly conversation, in which a great deal was said about Tunis, about England, and about the French. Mohamed is an Anglomaniac. He believes that the banner of St. George will yet bring freedom to the Arabs of Northern Africa, and he prays morning and evening for the hour when the deliverance of his country shall be effected by means of English courage. “Tell them when you cross the seas, illustrious Englishman, that the Arabs are waiting for your countrymen, and will welcome them with all their hearts; tell them that all that we have is theirs, and that we love them and long for them, because we know we can trust them to do us justice!” One could not look at that handsome, grave, beautiful face, which the picturesque turban set off to such advantage, without feeling that this merchant of the Bazaar was a true aristocrat, and that the race which could boast of such men could not be regarded as altogether effete. Then Mohamed when the time came for me to leave him, begged that I would stay yet a little longer; and presently he produced from some dark recess a small Tunisian purse in scarlet leather, richly embroidered with silver, and asked me to accept the trifle in remembrance of the man whom I had honoured with my patronage. So finally we shook hands once again, and “I went on my way and saw him no more.”

I still had one additional experience to encounter in the Bazaar, however, before I finally quitted it. I was anxious to obtain some of the silver coffee-cup holders which are used by the wealthy Tunisians, and for this purpose I had to visit the jewellers’ quarter. My readers will accuse me of exaggeration if I attempt to give them an exact description of this part of the Bazaar. I regretted whilst I was there that I had not provided myself with a measuring-tape, in order to ascertain the precise dimensions of the streets through which I passed, and of the shops and houses I saw. I seemed to have entered a sort of Lilliput Land; where, however, the inhabitants were of normal size, though all their surroundings were extraordinarily narrow and minute. The little unpaved alleys were in no instance more than three feet wide, and at certain places they were little more than half that width, so that two persons found it difficult to pass each other. The houses were of the size of ordinary English pig-sties, and I am afraid I must say that size was not the only matter in which the resemblance was to be found. Under the guidance of an astute Jew, I threaded my way through a labyrinth of these wonderful passages. On all sides of me were the shops where the workers in silver and gold were hammering the precious metals on tiny anvils, or melting them in little charcoal stoves. At last my conductor, stooping low, entered one of these shops, in which two workmen were busy. Passing them with a nod and a murmured word, he led me into a somewhat larger apartment at the back of the shop. I should think it was about seven feet square. Here, in a glass case, were the objects which I wanted. I bid him a price, but found that my rude method of bargaining was not effectual here. There is a fixed price for the precious metals; and even these delicate silver cups are sold by weight. I bought two of them for a sum which, if not literally “an old song,” was yet hardly more in the figurative sense.

This visit to the Jewellers’ Bazaar, where the business is chiefly carried on by Jews, reminds me of one of the most interesting incidents of my stay in Tunis—the visit I paid in the company of Mr. Levy to the Jews’ quarter of the city. It was one Saturday afternoon when Mr. Levy invited me to accompany him on a walk through the wonderful maze of narrow streets in which the Jews live. Saturday had, of course, been selected because it is the day on which the Jews are in the habit of showing themselves most freely, and also the day upon which the women put on their most gorgeous dresses. During the other days of the week the short silk chemise or jacket and cotton tights form the principal articles of their attire. On the Sabbath, however, instead of the cotton tights being worn, their shapely limbs are encased in glittering breeches, richly adorned with gold and silver embroidery; the silk jackets are of the gayest colours, and a quaint conical cap is worn on the back of the head—something after the style of the head-dress of Englishwomen in the days of the Plantagenets. The young men, too, wear on Saturday their newest and smartest burnouses, white, blue, and a pale olive green being their favourite colours. It is easy to conceive that a crowd of men and women thus attired wear a strange appearance in the eyes of the Europeans. Not a black coat or an ordinary bonnet is to be seen in such a crowd, but everywhere the most brilliant hues and the most graceful forms of drapery are mingled in a confused mass, the component parts of which it is almost impossible for the eye to distinguish. It was a wonderful network of narrow streets through which Mr. Levy led me. Few were more than five feet wide, many of them being still narrower; and everywhere the architecture showed that the Jew’s house in Tunis is of necessity his fortress also. Every window was heavily barred, the grating generally being of the curious curved shape which is one of the distinguishing features of street scenery in the Regency. The doors of stout oak were studded with heavy iron bolts, and secured by ponderous locks and bars. As in other parts of Tunis, the streets often run under a kind of tunnel, the houses being built over them for a considerable distance. In these places it was necessary to tread very carefully, for the thoroughfare was wrapped in darkness, and the pavement was always atrociously bad.

On this particular Sabbath all the doors of the houses seemed to be thrown open, and through them one caught glimpses of cool airy courtyards, where the children were playing, and the women in their quaint and—according to European notions—indecent attire, were gossiping together; the men of each particular family being squatted apart, solemnly smoking, or wagging their beards in grave conversation. Hundreds of young men and women—the faces of both sexes being strikingly beautiful—were promenading up and down the narrow winding lanes, but there was no love-making visible, and no intermingling of the sexes such as we are accustomed to in Europe. It is not the fashion here for a pair of lovers, even of the humblest class, to “walk out” together. Yet, even in Tunis, and in this dark and crowded ghetto, love asserts its rights, and women are true to their inborn nature. From a hundred grated windows bright black eyes flashed down upon me as I walked through the gloomy labyrinth of filthy lanes, and many faces dusky of hue yet beautiful of feature were to be seen; and once, as I passed one of the jealously barred windows, I noticed that the lattice was open, and I heard a musical “_Bon soir! monsieur!_” fall upon my ears like a benediction.

It was under Mr. Levy’s guidance that on one evening during my stay in Tunis I had the pleasure of enjoying an experience that I may well call unique—a real Arabian Night’s Entertainment. I had met at the house of Mr. Reade a Tunisian gentleman of high family and enormous wealth, General Ben Ayad by name. This gentleman is justly regarded as being the finest specimen of the Moorish aristocracy now living in Tunis. Strange to say, he is an English subject by birth; his grandfather having some fifty years ago got himself enrolled as a subject of the King of England in order the better to secure his property from the rapacity of the French, who, even at that time, had begun to cast covetous eyes upon Tunis. The possessor not only of splendid estates in the country, but of many fine palaces in and about Tunis, General Ben Ayad takes pleasure in showing hospitality to all English visitors to the Regency. He made many apologies to me for being unable to offer me any sport, explaining that the disturbed state of the country prevented his visiting his sporting estates. Learning, however, that I had not seen one of the characteristic native dances, he kindly sent me an invitation to an entertainment at his house, which was got up entirely in my honour. Mr. Levy acted as my conductor, and I was accompanied by two of my English friends resident in the Regency. The hour fixed for our arrival was half-past seven in the evening, and shortly before that time we started from the hotel. A walk of twenty minutes through the most wonderful network of narrow lanes with blank, whitewashed walls on either side, here and there diversified by a door opening into a dismal-looking vaulted apartment, or a long, low archway spanning the path, brought us at last to a little courtyard surrounded by buildings apparently of the utmost squalor. All was dark and silent, and not a creature was to be met with. Levy pushed open a door, and cautiously sounding the pavement with his iron-shod staff, led the way up a large staircase with oaken balustrade, marble steps, and tiled walls. Still no one appeared. A solitary oil-lamp cast a flickering light over the staircase, but we seemed to have entered a deserted house.

Suddenly a door was thrown open, and, as if by magic, the scene changed. We saw before us a vast and brilliantly lighted apartment, the extreme length of which could not have been less than sixty feet, nor its breadth less than forty. Brilliantly illuminated both by gas jets and countless candles, its richly tiled walls and gaily painted ceiling fairly glittered with light. It was furnished with huge looking-glasses, set in swinging frames like those used by ladies in their dressing-rooms, and wardrobes and cabinets of large size. The woodwork of all these was of the most brilliant vermilion red, lavishly picked out with gold, and the general effect of this barbaric splendour was so grand that I was filled with surprise as I found myself in this noble hall, and felt fairly dazzled by the magnificence of the scene. Couches and settees in glowing colours, besides many chairs, small tables, &c., were scattered about the floor of the apartment, and on the walls were hung many fine old engravings, including, strange to say, a portrait of the late Pope—a rather curious object to find in the house of a Mahometan. Ben Ayad, his eldest son, and several relatives and domestics, were awaiting us in this apartment, and the tall and stately Arab general gave me the warmest of welcomes. He apologized at the same time for not being able to entertain me properly. His household, it seemed, was still at his country mansion at Sidi bou Said, and in consequence he could only invite me to sup with him _en garçon_. With this explanation he pointed smilingly to a great round table, on which was laid out a repast that promised well for the satisfaction of our creature comforts. Then he led me into a second drawing-room, an apartment still more beautiful than the first.

This room was forty feet square. On all sides of it were doors and windows with rich hangings; splendid couches and chairs in crimson and gold were placed round it, except on one side, where there was an enormous settee, at least twenty-five feet in length. On marble console tables stood valuable vases of Sèvres, and two beautiful ormolu clocks, the gift of Louis Philippe to Ben Ayad’s grandfather. But the finest feature of this room was the lovely arabesque ceiling—one of the most perfect specimens of Moorish decoration I ever saw. How it would have gladdened the heart of Owen Jones! An enormous crystal chandelier was pendant from this ceiling, but it was not used, the room being lighted by gas and oil lamps. I confess that for a time I was completely bewildered by the sudden change from the squalor and darkness of the streets outside to the brilliant interior in which I now found myself.

After I had talked a little time with Ben Ayed, and had partaken of coffee, served in beautiful silver holders by servants in graceful Arab dress, the musicians and dancers who were to entertain us entered. These were Jews and Jewesses—in their national costume. They squatted down on cushions arranged on the floor, and after being supplied with refreshments presently began to play. Their instruments were a violin, a mandolin, a tambourine, and a tabouka, or native drum, the barrel of which is made of earthenware, and which is struck with the points of the fingers. They played a long, plaintive Arab melody, quaint and even weird, and strikingly unlike anything I have heard before, except in Turkey and from the gipsies in Roumania. This music, which was a sort of prelude to the entertainment, having ceased, we went to dinner. It was a really sumptuous repast, nearly all the dishes, however, being Arab. We began with delicious couscousoo; then came, as a relish, potarga, the dried roe of the red mullet. This delicacy, which is made at Bizerta, bears some resemblance to caviare, though without the oiliness of that article. Olives, radishes, &c., were also eaten with this course. Next another Arab dish was served, which, however, was not quite so palatable—it consisted of hot and rather greasy fritters, enclosing meat and eggs; cold chicken served with a kind of egg paste, very light and dainty; excellent roast mutton; _foie gras en aspic_, and a most wonderful assortment of pastry and sweets completed this part of the repast. I ought to say that the sweets and pastry were of Arab not Italian cookery, and were most deliciously flavoured with pistachio. Melons, pomegranates, and other exquisite fruits were served after the meal, which was accompanied by capital Bordeaux, very fine Malaga, and excellent champagne, ice being plentifully supplied with the wine. We all drank to each other, to the prosperity of Tunis, &c., and many very polite speeches were made by the host and the rest of us. Returning to the drawing-room at the close of this meal, we listened to a song given by all the musicians and dancers. No words can convey any idea of the peculiar melody, or rather, to my uncultivated ears, want of melody, which characterized this production. It was melancholy in the extreme,—a long wail, accompanied by sudden bursts of discord. It was, however, said to be the favourite love-song of Tunis.

The youngest and best-looking of the dancers having left the room for a few minutes, reappeared in Greek costume. She clapped her hands loudly to keep time to the music and began to dance, the figure bearing some resemblance to the Highland Fling, the motions being grotesque rather than graceful. Sometimes she hopped round the room on one leg, sometimes she jumped like a frog; at times she bounded from the floor, waving gay silken scarfs above her head. Then the peculiar part of the dance began—and here I must stay my pen. Though there was nothing coarse in the performance, the woman herself being decently clad, no one could mistake the indelicacy of the _motif_. The long dance at an end, coffee, cigars, and liqueurs were served to us by the retinue of servants. Ben Ayad had sent to procure some of the best Arab dancers to add to our amusement; but his retainers had returned unsuccessful. They had procured the women, it appeared; but when it was found that they were to be asked to dance before a Christian, their neighbours rose in a mass, stoned the unfortunate domestics, and rescued the women! It was not until long after midnight that I left the hospitable roof of my Arab friend, five of his servants escorting me through the streets with lanterns and arms to the door of my hotel.