Chapter XXXVII: Inside Kairwán

Although Kairwán is only six days’ journey from London, it was a month ago quite as much a _terra incognita_ as many of the great towns of Central Africa. Few still existing cities have played so important a part in the world’s history, yet the world knew it not. Only a hundred miles south of Tunis itself, and but forty miles away from the great and busy highway of the Mediterranean, Kairwán, secure in its exclusiveness and its sanctity, has slumbered away the 1200 years of its existence, until it suddenly finds itself in the presence of a foe that it is powerless to resist, and discovers that even its most venerated shrines and sanctuaries can no longer be hidden from the gaze of unbelievers. It would be difficult to describe the precise offence which Kairwán has committed to merit the signal punishment it has received. For centuries it has been the centre of the great nomadic tribes which surround it, and in the early days of the Tunisian insurrection the old spirit of its inhabitants may have momentarily revived. If such was indeed the case, the Kairwánis must have soon realised their own impotency. The bombardment of Sfax and Gabes conveyed to them a very practical lesson; and the religious authorities of Kairwán in council were not likely to rely on their own legend—that their crumbling ramparts and ruined bastions were shot and shell proof. In vain they begged their more courageous disciples to retire from the city: the latter refused to act contrary to the theoretical teaching of their _Ulemas_; and it was only when the French columns were actually visible, and the destruction of the city imminent, that the nonagenarian Bash-Mufti of Kairwán succeeded in persuading the Zlass chiefs to rapidly retire to the neighbouring mountains, and then saved the town from certain destruction by sending a frightened _muezzin_ to wave a square yard of white calico from the crenellated minaret of the mosque of the conqueror of Africa.

1. Grand Mosque of Okhbah.

2. Kisla (Citadel).

3. Záonia Abd el Kadir el Ghiláni.

4. Djáma bou thletha Biban.

5. Záonia Tidjania.

5. Bab et-Tunis.

6. Covered Market.

7. Three Mosques in chief street.

8. Governor’s House.

9. Záonia Sidi Abíd.

10. Bab Djelladín.

11. Záonia Aïssouriá.

12. Gate of Peaches.

13. New Gate.

14. Mosque of Olive tree.

15. Mosque Amîr Abáda.

16. Road to Záonia Sidi Essaheb.

17. Cistern.

18. Citadel Gate.

19. Mounds now fortified.

20. Great Cemetery.

21. Market extra muros.

A. Faubourg Jibliyeh.

B. Faubourg Kabliyeh.]

Kairwán is built in the centre of a wide-stretching sandy plain, fringed on three sides by mountains, and towards the west by a low range of hills which separates it from the sea-coast. This plain is traversed on the same side by two streams, dry in summer, but strong enough in winter to surround the city with a marsh. Excepting scanty tufts of esparto grass, no sort of verdure is to be seen in any direction. It was in such a spot as this that about the year A.D. 675 (A.H. 55), the Emir Okhbah Ben Nafi Ben Abdullah Ben Kaïs el Fahri laid the foundation of the Holy City of North Africa. For a thousand years, as far as can be ascertained, no Christian ever visited it. Since then a few travellers have been at intervals allowed to enter it on sufferance, the local authorities being entitled to reject the Bey’s order if so disposed. When once admitted, visitors were carefully allowed to see as little as possible. An entrance to any building was of course out of the question, and the traveller had to be generally contented with a rapid passage through the most unfrequented streets under a strong escort; and finding a prolonged stay useless, he generally seems to have taken his departure as speedily as possible. Dr. Shaw accordingly only devotes two pages of his book to his stay at Kairwán in 1730. He identifies it, however, on insufficient grounds, with the Roman Vicus Augusti, and says it contained 500 mosques. Sir Grenville Temple, just one century later, journeyed “to the present hotbed of all the bigotry of Muhammedanism in Africa.” He was, nevertheless, able to tell very little about it beyond the names of its gates, for his “promenade through the town was managed with the greatest mystery;” and after rejecting a proposal of the Caid to take a walk in the dark, he was finally allowed to parade the streets, “observing a most dignified silence and a steady solemn pace.” When the Marquis of Waterford entered Kairwán ten years afterwards, a riot ensued, in which he very nearly lost his life from a well-directed brickbat. Dr. Davis added nothing whatever to the information given by Shaw and Temple. In 1861, Monsieur Victor Guérin devoted three sultry days in August to an attempt to explore the mysteries of Kairwán. He remarks, that “although Tunis has become for centuries the political metropolis of the Regency, Kairwán has always held in the minds of the masses of its population the position of its religious capital. Founded by the conqueror Okhbah at the time of the invasion of North Africa by the Arabs, it has preserved on account of its origin a _prestige_ which no other place in the Regency even attempts to dispute. It is _the_ Holy City _par excellence_, the capital of a belief, the metropolis where the Crescent rules with undisputed sway. There the _muezzin_, who calls the faithful to prayer from its many minarets, has never yet seen the symbol of a creed which knows not Muhammed or a rival sanctuary. There, too, the _Imám_, interpreter and apostle of the Koran, has never found himself in the presence of a minister of the Gospel of Christ, Kairwán has been effectually closed against Christians from the time of its foundation.”

The existence of the city sprang originally from the necessities of conquest. The Berbers of the first century adopted towards their invaders the same tactics as the Bedouins of to-day: they either submitted to or fled before the armies of Islam, but revolted as soon as the troops of the Caliph withdrew. Okhbah himself describes the _raison d’être_ of Kairwán: “When the Mussulman generals enter Africa, the inhabitants protect their lives and property by a profession of the faith of Islam. When our armies retire, they again fall into infidelity. We must therefore build a city which will serve as the camp and the ramparts of the faith of Muhammed.” Although the original site selected was abandoned for another two miles off during the temporary absence of its great founder, the first care of Okhbah on his return to Africa in A.D. 684, was to restore and enlarge his favourite city. Tradition associates with the original foundation of Kairwán a legend almost identical with those of St. Patrick and St. Hilda. At the word of Okhbah wild beasts and reptiles alike withdrew from its neighbourhood. The etymology of its name has been a matter of dispute. According to Shaw, Kairwán is only the equivalent of _Caravan_, a place of meeting; while others contend it was so called after Käyrawán or Cyrene, the capital of Cyrenaïca. The most plausible explanation is, that the name signifies simply _Kahira_ or victory. Kairwán is the Cairo of Tunis and its adjacent provinces. During the year of his return to power (A.D. 684), Okhbah carried the victorious banner of Islam to the shores of the Atlantic; but he never lived to return to the “camp and ramparts of the faith of the Prophet.” Slain in an ambush by a Berber king, he was buried thirty miles from Biskera in Algeria, where his tomb, covered by a comparatively humble _kouba_, is still the object of reverence and pilgrimage. Upon this subject Mr. Rae (the only European traveller who has even attempted anything like a complete survey of Kairwán) falls into a curious mistake. Speaking in his “Country of the Moors” (p. 237) of the Great Mosque of Kairwán, he describes it as “the shrine _and tomb_ of its founder, Okhbah Ibn Aghlab—the spot chosen, from its sanctity, as the last resting-place of the kings of Tunis.” Mosques are rarely if ever used as places of interment. The kings of Tunis sleep under the Green Cupola of the Turba, in the political capital of the Regency, and Okhbah the Victorious rests in the Algerian Sahara.

The history of Kairwán has been of sufficient importance to influence appreciably the history of Europe and Africa. On the untimely death of Okhbah, the Berber king, Kassila, succeeded in occupying it. Twenty years later he was slain by Zohair Ben Kaïs outside its walls. His successor, Hassan Ben Nouman, was defeated by a Berber queen, who endeavoured to render the country unattractive to the Arabs by converting it into a desert. This policy alienated her own subjects, and in A.D. 708, Musa Ibn Noseir obtained an easy victory. Then came the golden period of its existence: the gallant Tarik marched out of its gates to conquer Spain. Having “burned his ships” at Tarifa, Granada, Cordova, and Toledo fell in rapid succession. The aged Musa hurried westwards to participate in his glory before Seville, which, after a protracted resistance, shared the fate of its sister cities. His son, Abd el Aziz, laid the solid foundations of the Moorish empire in Spain, which lasted for well-nigh eight centuries. Before thirty years had elapsed since Tarik left Kairwán, the Caliph of Cordova had conquered Tours. But the time of Moslem conquest was now soon destined to be stayed. The reflection of the glories of Kairwán, of Tarik, and Musa, is to be found in the ruins of Granada and Cordova. Vanquished in Europe, the Moors of Andalusia brought back at last the keys of their Spanish houses to the cradle of their faith in Africa.

To return to the chronicles of their holy city. During its earliest days its site had been, as it were, consecrated to Islam by the presence of Abdullah Ben Wádib el Belawi, or Abou el Awib—_Saheb Ennabi_, or Companion of the Prophet—who died and was buried at Kairwán. For years after its formation, its Emirs were engaged in continual conflicts with the Berber tribesmen. In A.D. 756, the Emir Abd el Rahman was strong enough to send an expedition against Sicily. In the Great Mosque of Okhbah he afterwards declared himself independent of the Caliph: his son, however, once more acknowledged his suzerainty. Nine years later the city fell under the cruel sway of the Werfadjoumah. Once more the Berbers seized Kairwán; but after enduring the horrors of a siege, they destroyed a large portion of the city, and finally withdrew to the Atlas. The Caliph sent Yezid Ibn Hatem to restore order; and after inflicting a second signal defeat on the Africans, he “rebuilt the Great Mosque, established numerous bazaars, and assigned to each trade a distinct quarter—in fact, remodelled and half rebuilt the city.” At length the Caliph el Reschid appointed the Emir Ibrahim Ibn el Aghlab hereditary Emir of Kairwán. Ibrahim then became the founder of the Aghlabite dynasty. He constructed a sort of fortified palace on the west of the old town, called the Abassiyeh. Here Ibrahim proclaimed himself Caliph of the West, and here he received the ambassadors of Charlemagne, who asked for the surrender of the remains of St. Cyprian. His sons, the Caliphs of Kairwán, waged war on Italy and Sicily: one of them, Muhammed, captured Malta. In 877, Ibrahim Ibn Ahmed founded most of the towns on the Tunisian littoral. He also built the suburban city of Raccadah, and successfully besieged Tunis after it had been captured by some insurgents. His grandson, Ziadet Allah, was the last of his race; and a line of Green Caliphs, beginning with Obeid Allah, reigned in Kairwán. He “ravaged Lombardy, took Genoa, and ruled in Sicily.”

From the eleventh century the history of Kairwán has been one of gradual decay. The pleasant places of the Abassiyeh and Raccadah have become shapeless mounds; the power of its rulers has been gradually merged in that of the Beys of Tunis; and the halo of sanctity and exclusiveness which surrounds it has alone saved it from actual effacement. Its story and traditions rendered Kairwán a Moslem Rome—revered throughout Western Islam, but the particular sanctuary of the tribes which encamp around it. Kairwán has had its theologians, historians, philosophers, and poets: they, however, have all passed away. The famous Schanoun died there towards the end of the ninth century; and Kairwán has its own annalist—the celebrated Sheikh Ben Naji.

For years Kairwán has lived on traditions and hopes. Thirty years ago Sheikh Amír Abádah fanned the expiring flame, and announced that Kairwán would one day receive the remains of the founder of the Moslem faith. In spite of its vicissitudes, Kairwán in its decline always remained the virgin Moslem town of Northern Africa.

“De là,” writes M. Guérin, “l’espèce de sainte et mystérieuse auréole dont la foi Musulmane l’entoure; les caravans qui s’y rendent constamment de tous les points de la Tunisie viennent s’y retremper en quelque sorte dans l’Islamisme; sa grande mosquée dont toutes les pierres, suivant une tradition populaire, que les Imáms ont soin de perpétuer dans les masses, seraient venues miraculeusement se poser d’elles-même à la place qu’elles occupent, et sans cesse visitée avec un profond respect par les adeptes du Coran: les sanctuaires de ses santons sont également le but de pélerinages fréquents; tout cela entretient dans l’esprit des masses un fanatisme que rien jusqu’ici n’a pu affaiblir.”

Reasons such as these have rendered the past, present, and future of Kairwán a matter of deep interest wherever the faith of Islam exists; and it is hardly to be wondered at that the Moslem press of Turkey, Egypt, and India has dwelt with peculiar earnestness on the entry of a Christian army into this one remaining stronghold of their common creed in Africa.

As late as 1877, Mr. Rae was assailed with threats and abuse on somewhat rashly endeavouring to survey the circuit of the city walls; and when, in 1880, an Italian lady first appeared in their midst, the inhabitants told her in no measured language “to cover her face,” but these days of intolerance were soon to end. In April 1881, Lord and Lady Bective journeyed to Kairwán; and although they only saw the streets and exteriors of buildings, the remembrance of Lady Bective’s graceful and kindly sympathy still survives in the hearts of the Kairwánis, who about then for the first time began to hear the dark rumours of an approaching French invasion of their country.

Reproduction by Maclure & Macdonald.]

The chief men of Kairwán hastened to take Lord Bective into their confidence and entreated him to put the case of the Arabs before the Queen and “the justice of the English nation,” and even the Moorish ladies, in the deep recesses of their lattice-windowed cages, clung to Lady Bective and implored her to save them from the coming storm. “If you tell us to fight,” said one of the Zlass chiefs to Lord Bective, “we would only let the French come to the tomb of Sidi es Saheb over our bodies, but your English Consul says we are to be quiet and all will be well, we shall therefore trust to you and receive the French as brothers.” The old Governor did his best to entertain his guests with music and _fantasia_, but his heart and the heart of the people were far away with their brethren in Khamír-land. When at last Lord Bective and his wife left the Tanners’ Gate on their return to Susa, they were followed far on their road by a crowd of the citizens, who again and again asked them to remember their message to the Queen.

It was with feelings of no little enthusiasm that I left Susa to explore the hitherto hidden treasures of Kairwán, to see sights till now hidden from Christian eyes, and to tread where Christian had never dared to enter before. My sole guide was the works of Messrs. Guérin, Pélissier, and Rae; and a strong recommendation from General Lambert to General Étienne led me to hope that my voyage of discovery would not be altogether fruitless. On the 5th of November I quitted the New Gate of Susa in early morning. It was as yet hardly light; but during our passage across two lines of low hills covered with olive-trees, the scenes of the combats of the past five weeks were just visible. As day dawned we emerged from the olive-groves on to a wide-spreading open plain. After two hours we began to skirt a shallow lake. This was the Sebkha Sidi el Hani—the Lake of Kairwán. Shortly afterwards we came in sight of two stunted cupolas on a mound. These were the tombs of Sidi el Hani and his son. A small French camp surrounded them. A convoy had miscarried, and the soldiers made loud complaints. The wooden sarcophagi of the Moslem saints (or perhaps, as M. Guérin terms them, _santons_) had served for firewood on the previous day. In the open plain below the tomb and the camp were nine wells, one of which at least contained drinkable water. We pressed forward and passed a sandy ridge. Kairwán became visible in the far west. The city seemed a mere streak of white; but the Minár of Sidi Okhbah stood out in conspicuous relief against a background of purple hills. We came nearer, and countless smaller domes and minarets seemed to spring into existence. Crossing two dried-up water-courses (the principal of which is the Oued Beghla), we approached the city walls and then the Tanners’ Gate (Bab-el-Djelladín). The governor’s residence almost adjoins it. Within an hour of my arrival, Sy Amor Ben Yunes el Khaia offered me the hospitality of his house. Sy Amor was the _Khaia_ or military governor of one of the divisions of the Zlass clan, which had joined in his defence of the country; and during my stay he was chiefly engaged in the evidently uncongenial task of persuading his tribesmen to return.

The Tunisian governor, whom I visited, seemed to feel acutely the humiliation of his position. His normal occupation gone, he was allowed the solace of a guard of Tunisian soldiers in receipt of French pay. Sidi Muhammed el Mourabet comes of ancient lineage. His great ancestor, Sidi Abíd el Khiryáni, died five centuries ago, and he was of the Almoravides. The Mourabets have been guardians of his shrine ever since. Sidi Muhammed’s father, Sidi Othmán, received Sir Grenville Temple in 1835. He told me, mournfully enough, that as the French had entered the mosques he could not forbid my doing so; but he seemed exceedingly depressed. It afterwards transpired that the shrine of Sidi Abíd had been that morning taken possession of to serve as the quarters for the _Commandant de la Place_ and his staff. During my six days’ stay in the city, the French authorities gave me every possible facility for the prosecution of my inquiries. Colonel Moulin (the occupant of the sanctuary of Sidi Abíd) procured me an authentic plan of Kairwán, just completed by the French engineering department; and both he and his aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Walewski, accompanied me in many of the visits I paid to the most noteworthy objects of interest in the last “intact Moslem town” in Africa.

The city of Kairwán has seven irregular sides, and is surrounded by a high brick wall intersected by towers and bastions, and pierced by five principal gates and four posterns (now closed). The rampart is composed of very small well-baked bricks, and terminates in round-headed crenellations, about a foot wide, with loopholes below for musketry. It varies in thickness from six to nine feet, and a terrace four or five feet from the top allows a line of combatants to pass along it. In some places the _enceinte_ is ruinous, in others it is in fairly good repair, and its complete circuit measures 3125 French metres. Outside the walls are several mounds, which consist probably of the remains of its ancient suburbs. Three of these are now being fortified with earthworks and artillery. On every side of the town except one, are large cisterns, in which a walled receptacle allows the rain-water to pass into covered vaults below. To the south of the town are its chief suburbs—Kubliyeh and Jebliyeh, the latter having two gates and portions of a wall still standing. The population of the town does not exceed 14,000 souls. Kairwán is technically divided into five quarters—an arrangement based apparently on a consideration of the Moslem confraternities to which their inhabitants belong. Around the Great Mosque is the Haoumah or Arbat Djama. Those who live there are generally followers of the religious school of Sidi Abd el Kádir el Ghiláni. In the quarters known as Chorfa, El Mahr, Jebliyeh, and Kubliyeh, the inhabitants nearly all belong to the religious brotherhood of the Aïssaouia, except in the latter, where many adherents of Sidi Abd es Selem are to be found. I shall have occasion to refer again to the powerful influence exercised by these great systems of semi-political, semi-religious Moslem freemasonry.

Inside the rampart runs a narrow street, but this is often traversed by the walls of enclosures adjoining the houses below. The main feature in the public and private buildings of Kairwán is the wholesale appropriation of Roman materials,—Roman and Byzantine capitals, shafts, and friezes meet the eye in all directions. If you draw water, the well is reached by a perforated Roman column; the very stones of the corn- mills have a similar origin, and many of the slabs now bearing Arabic inscriptions are probably reversed Roman tablets. Most of these stones are believed to have come from the neighbouring ruins of Sabra, but the gorgeous pillars of the Great Mosque probably represent the architectural spoils of all North Africa. The streets of Kairwán are narrow, ill paved, and wholly devoid of any systematic arrangement. The main thoroughfare crosses the southern portion of the city from the Tanners’ Gate (Bab-el-Djelladín) to the Tunis Gate (Bab-el-Tunis), a distance of less than half a mile.

The northern quarter of Kairwán is almost wholly taken up by the Great Mosque, which is only approached by narrow lanes. The exterior has been well described by Mr. Rae, and can hardly be said to be particularly imposing. The south-east end of the Mosque measures 85 yards. A single porch in its centre is appropriated exclusively for the entrance of the Bash-Mufti. The sides of the building are 143 yards in length, and each possesses four entrance porches, the finest of these facing the ramparts. Mr. Rae thus describes it: “It has an outer horse-shoe arch, and an inner one which contains the door opening direct into the prayer- chamber. The exterior is a finely proportioned piece of Saracenic work: it has a row of arched panels along the upper portion of its sides, and the dome and interior of its arches are in plaster fretwork.” Midway, on the same side, is the sacred well of _Kefâyat_ (Plenty). It is fenced in by a low wall, its aperture is lined with different coloured marbles, and tradition asserts that it communicates directly with the spring of Zemzem at Mecca. It has hardly ever failed to yield a plentiful supply of water. The north-west end is somewhat narrower than that facing the south-east. It measures only 75 yards across, and the Minár rises in its centre. The four porches on both sides of the building correspond, and they are divided by enormous buttresses of solid masonry. The interior of the Mosque may be divided into the prayer-chamber (40 yards in length by 85 in breadth), the vestibule adjoining it, and a great cloistered court. The roof of the prayer-chamber is loftier than that of the vestibule, and that of the vestibule higher than that of the court. The prayer-chamber is divided into a great central nave, with eight aisles on each side of it. These are formed by parallel rows of ten columns each, the two nearest to the eastern wall being close together. The pillars of the lesser aisles are of various-coloured marble, and are about fifteen feet in height. The capitals in many cases evidently do not belong to the columns on which they rest, but they are generally of white marble or stone. From the capitals spring semicircular arches supporting a flat ceiling of dark-coloured wood. In the south-west walls of the prayer-chamber, thirteen columns are embedded in the masonry, three close together on one side of the porch, and one on the other. The latter evidently came from some Byzantine church, and its capital consists of a grotesque arrangement of birds and flowers. The columns of the central nave are at least twenty-two feet high. Their arches support a wall covered with tracery, and a lofty circular roof. The nave terminates in a dome lighted by small painted-glass windows. Two groups of four columns each mainly support the weight of the cupola. The _mihráb_ niche in the east stands between two red porphyry pillars of great beauty, and is lined with delicate mosaic in marble and lapis- lazuli. On one side of it is a large square of white marble covered with emblems in mosaic, and surmounted by a slab of _verde antique_; on the other stands the ancient _mimbar_ or pulpit of carved dark wood, some ten feet high, and having twelve steps, and a number of small receptacles with bronze hinges below them. The pillars of the nave are arranged in groups of two or three together, and one of these clusters is worn away by the faithful squeezing themselves between them to prove their “purity of soul.” The total number of columns in the prayer chamber is 296. The pavement consists of small slabs of white marble hopelessly broken. The vestibule is approached by seventeen elaborately carved and panelled wooden doors. When these are open, the dim religious light which generally pervades the seventeen aisles disappears. The great central door is surmounted by a horse-shoe arch, the head of which is filled up by fine arabesque fretwork. In the vestibule are 34 pillars, those in the centre being much higher than the rest. This part of the building opens on to the cloister beyond—a vast quadrangle paved with white marble, and almost entirely surrounded by a covered arcade, only broken by the Minár. This arcade contains 86 columns on either side, and 27 at the end. The total number of the pillars in the interior of the Great Mosque is therefore 439, not far short of the 500 spoken of by El Bekiri—a statement usually looked on as fabulous.[7] In this court are several other Byzantine columns. On four of the pillars Arabic inscriptions are carved. One belongs to the fourth century of the Hegira, and its design is extremely curious.

Below the court are enormous cisterns, and in the centre an ancient sun- dial. The Minár is a massive square building of stone, consisting of three storeys, one smaller than the other, and each having a battlement of round-headed crenellations. In the interior is a white marble staircase, composed of fragments of Roman pavement and ornamentation. It has 129 steps, and is about 100 feet high. The view from the summit was one never to be forgotten. Immediately below were the cupolas, terraces, tortuous streets, and battlements of Kairwán. Farther on, its suburbs, with its border of _koubas_ and tombs. To the west, the great camps of Generals Logerot and Forgemol, with their almost countless tents and vast convoys. Far away to the north, the mountains over which the French troops had marched on Kairwán: to the south, the hills over which the columns must now pass on their expedition towards Gabes and Gafsa. Descending from the tower, I observed two Roman inscriptions at the side of the entrance. One was reversed, but apparently read thus:—

HIC MAXIME IMPERA

TORIS CAESARIS N,S,

DIVI TRAJANIA.

DHEP : CAE : AEDEM.

FECERUNT.

A second was more easily decipherable:—

ANTONINI FILI

AURELLIA ANTONINI

DIVI NERVAE AD

NEPOTIS

TET DEDICAVERUNT.

A few months ago, in executing some repairs outside the Mosque, a tablet was discovered and sent to Tunis. It is now in the possession of Mr. Reade, Her Britannic Majesty’s Agent and Consul-General, and bears the following inscription:—

DEO PLUTONI SACR : PRO SALU

TE DDDD. NNNN. DEOCLETIA

NI ET MAXIMIANI ET COSTANTI ET

MAXIMIANI NOB·LISIMI CAESSSS CO

TEMPULUM PLUT·NIS LABSUM ET

DEDICATUM PER INSTANTIA FELICI

CAELI FORTUNATI ET . . . ONI . . . ARSVN

. . . IS . . . FD· JUB·L. ET FORTVNATVS ALIQU . . .

TIS A·CARIUS· ET . . . IN·PO ET MAIEST CURA.

During the days I spent at Kairwán, I visited nearly every public building in the place, as well as those _extra muros_; but only about six of these edifices merit particular description. Many of the lesser tombs and _zaouias_ are absolutely in ruins. There are sixty-three mosques and over 100 sanctuaries in and around the city, including the three _zaouias_ or college-monasteries of the Kádria, Tijánia, and Aïssaouia sects. Close to the Great Mosque is the headquarters of the brotherhood of Sidi Abd el Kádir el Ghiláni. It consists of a lofty cupola, and the usual entrance-hall and cloister of marble columns and arches leading to a number of conventual cells. The great door is covered with copper. The principal apartment is lighted by stained-glass windows. The chief inhabitants of Kairwán all belong to this association, which, having its headquarters at Baghdad, exercises considerable influence throughout Islam. The Kádria have always opposed French aggression; the Emir Abd el Kádir himself was one of their most zealous sectaries; and it was in this _zaouia_ that, after long and serious discussions, the hopelessness of a defence was fully realised, and the chiefs of the warlike tribes of the south, still true to the traditions of their faith, were entreated to depart to save the sacred monuments of Kairwán from inevitable destruction.

Leaving the Zaouia Kádria, a short walk brought us to a remarkable building in the centre of the town—the Djáma Bou Thetha Bou Bibán (the Mosque of the Three Doors). The exterior of this edifice is thus accurately described by Mr. Rae:—

It has a plain façade, with a triple gateway, the arches of which are supported by marble columns. . . . Its chief feature is the rare old carved stonework, which gives it the air of the front of a fine old Crusaders’ church. It runs above and about the arches, extending across the front in broad bands of successive text and ornament, in solid, deep, beautiful chiselling: first a line of running foliage two feet in depth; then a band of Kufic or early Arabic characters free and bold; then a row of alternate panels of carvings, each containing a single rose or a leaf pattern; then text and carvings alternately; and finally, the mouldings and corbels of the cornice.

The interior consists of one poor room, some thirty feet broad by twenty deep. Its roof is supported by sixteen columns, most of them having richly sculptured Corinthian capitals. The Creed of Islam, in raised bricks, runs around the stunted Minár; and this feature is very general in nearly all the mosques of Kairwán. Almost opposite the Djáma Bou Thetha Bou Bibán is a college hardly less important than that of the Kádria—the _zaouia_ of Sidi Hussein el Aláni, the headquarters at Kairwán of the followers of Sidi Ahmíd el Tidjáni. The principal seat of this powerful confraternity is at Temássin, in the Sahara of Constantine; the Bey of Tunis is one of its affiliated members; and its teachings seem calculated, according to M. Duveyrier, to allow of an understanding, or at least a _modus vivendi_, between Christian rulers and Moslem subjects. At the gate we were received by the guardian of the _zaouia_—Sy Amor el Aláni—who explained that he had studied in the college of Tidjáni in Temássin, and had subsequently become the representative of the association at Kairwán. He said that he considered, on this account, his college entitled to very especial protection on the part of the French. The tomb of Sidi Hussein is approached through a cloister: the apartment containing the catafalque which covers his remains is surmounted by a lofty melon-shaped cupola. In the four walls there are twelve stained-glass windows, and there are sixteen others in a circular band of arabesque fretwork, from which the dome springs. The floor is paved with marble. Just beyond this building is the college of Sidi Abdullah Ben Khút Hami. In the court, shaded by a wide-spreading fig-tree, are three fine Byzantine columns. The cupola over Sidi Abdullah’s tomb and that of one of his relatives, has an inner lining of perforated carving in cement, which is singularly effective. Leaving this building, we regained the main thoroughfare just opposite the Tanners’ Gate and Tunisian governor’s house.

In a lane to the right is the finest specimen of Moorish architecture within the walls of the city—the sanctuary of the Almoravides, and the burying-place of the Mourabet family from the time of Sidi Abíd el Ghryáni in A.H. 805. The entrance-door is very striking. A broad horse- shoe arch, nearly forty feet high, rests on two marble pillars, each bearing a Kufic inscription; the interior of the arch is filled up by a doorway of pure white marble, and a window with a bronze grating. Between the two runs a broad band of different-coloured marbles; and the whole is framed, as it were, in a tasteful arrangement of black and white marble slabs. A vestibule leads to a finely proportioned court having two arcades one above the other; the centre is paved with black and white marble in geometrical patterns. A white marble basin in the centre catches the rain-water, and attracts the birds. The columns are of marble, the arches above of stone. At either angle is a chamber: three of these contain tombs; that of Sidi el Abíd is enclosed by bronze grating, and the catafalque above it is covered by a pall of embroidered silk and velvet. Opposite the entrance is a small mosque (the family chapel of the Mourabets) having a door on either side of a niche, lined with arabesque tracery, flanked by porphyry pillars, and surmounted by the Moslem Confession of Faith boldly carved in relief in Kufic characters on a slab of the purest white marble. The interior of the mosque presents the usual features—a flat roof supported by sixteen Roman columns and arches, and a _mihráb_ adorned with carving in hard stucco. A passage to the left of the doorway leads to a second arched cloister surrounded by conventual cells: many of its columns are fine specimens of Byzantine art. Beyond this is a small open burying-ground. The upper storey of the principal court also contains thirteen small rooms. On the day of my arrival this beautiful building was occupied by Colonel Moulin and his staff. About thirty of the smaller _zaouias_ and mosques are now tenanted by French soldiers composing the garrison, as well as all the houses belonging to the Zlass chieftains, who have gone to harass the French march towards the desert in the far south.

Returning to the Dar el Wazir, we passed along the great street. Nearly in the centre of the town is a covered grain-market, the roof of which rests on massive columns with large capitals. A little farther on there is a cluster of three mosques, built over shops and the bazaar. The Djáma el Melik, on the left, has a lofty minaret, with the usual band of Kufic inscription in brickwork on its exterior. The Mosque of the Bey, on the opposite side of the road, has a similar tower, and in its interior are galleries, after the manner of English churches at the commencement of this century. The Djáma el Barôta, almost adjoining it, has a spacious dome of green tiles. When we at last succeeded in obtaining an entrance to it, we found it had been converted into a mill, and a camel was turning the stones by making frequent circuits round the centre of the cupola. A relay of camels was comfortably stabled in another apartment. On either side of the street is a row of small shops. The makers of yellow-leather shoes work below the Mosque of the Bey; the coppersmiths ply a busy and noisy trade between the Djáma el Melik and the Bab-el-Tunis; but the carpet-makers are never seen. They are the ladies of the old and historical families of the “intact Moslem city.” Passing the _zaouia_ of Sidi Abd el Selam, we soon reached the Bab-el- Tunis, opposite which is another small mosque, possessing no feature of interest.

The five gates of Kairwán are called respectively the Bab-el-Tunis (Tunis Gate), the Bab-el-Khaukh (Gate of Peaches,—not Greengages, as Mr. Rae imagines), the Bab-el-Djelladín (Tanners’ Gate), the Bab-el-Kisla (Citadel Gate), and the Bab Jedíd (New Gate). The first three of these gates are almost precisely similar in form, possessing an outer and an inner doorway, with an intervening court. The Bab-el-Tunis is the most remarkable. The outer gate consists of two horse-shoe arches, resting on Roman columns. Within them is a doorway of white marble, the jambs consisting of slabs covered with exquisite inscriptions in relief, belonging either to the seventh or eighth century of the Hegira, and a tablet above recording the repair of the gate A.H. 1181. The Bab-el- Djelladín was rebuilt in the same year, and the Gate of Peaches in A.H. 1180. The most modern building in Kairwán is the Kisla, or Kasbah, only completed in A.H. 1283. It is on the same level as the rest of the town, and is nothing more than a large square enclosure, having crenellated walls somewhat higher than the ramparts, and a series of vaulted rooms on each side to serve as barracks. Since the 26th October, the French flag has floated alone from its roof.

Emerging from the New Gate (either built or repaired in A.H. 1280), we entered the suburb of the Jebliyeh. Opposite the Bab Jedíd is a small mosque—the Djáma Zeitoun, evidently so called from a venerable olive- tree growing in its courtyard. This building is very ancient, and a band of ornamentation surrounding the Minár has been correctly copied by Mr. Rae. The question as to the nature of this decoration has yet to be solved. The columns in the interior evidently belong to the earliest period of Roman buildings in Africa. A narrow lane leads through the _faubourg_ Jebliyeh to the conspicuous mosque of Sidi Amír Abádah, quite a modern, and certainly the most eccentric, building in Kairwán. Its founder, a celebrated dervish named Amír Bed Sád Ben Muftea, was at the zenith of his power at the time of the Russian war in 1854, and he possessed a complete ascendency over the mind of the reigning Bey of Tunis, Sidi Ahmed. The Bey had already defrayed the cost of the erection of six lofty, melon-shaped, fluted cupolas, opening one into the other, when the construction of a seventh was absolutely stopped by the death of the saint and his patron. The dwelling-house of Amír Abádah, adjoining the mosque, was built just twenty-nine years ago. Beyond this, in a ford, lie four enormous anchors, measuring some sixteen feet by nine. Whether they originally belonged to a European ship-of-war or a galley of Malta, nobody knows. The people of Kairwán believe, on the word of Sheikh Amír Abádah, that they once attached the ark of Noah to Mount Ararat. Amír heard these anchors were at Porto Farina, near Tunis, and he ordered Ahmed Bey to send them to him forthwith. His request was complied with, and their transport across the sandy plain between Susa and Kairwán occupied some 500 Arabs during five months. During the siege of Sebastopol, Amír Abádah constructed two cannons with his own hands. He wrote to the Bey that the Prophet had appeared to him and announced that on their arrival before the beleaguered town the latter would at once surrender. They were expeditiously forwarded to Tunis, and, at the Bey’s pressing request, the Sultan sent a ship to convey them to Constantinople, and thence to the Turkish camp before Sebastopol. By an extraordinary coincidence, within a few hours of their being landed the town capitulated. The fame of the last of the saints of Kairwán spread far and wide, and the building of the seven cupolas went on for a time rapidly enough. The Amír even asserted that his mosque was so holy that the faithful could only enter certain portions of it. Most of the domes have one or more broad bands of Arabic inscription, in raised brick, running round the interior. In the entrance-hall are several tables of wood, likewise covered with interminable Arabic inscriptions. The guardian of the sanctuary, Haj Mabruk Ben Saleh Kírwani (who is the husband of the great Sheikh’s only daughter), said they contained prophecies of the French occupation of the city. On inspection, however, they turned out to be an enumeration of French measures. The tomb of Amír Abádah is barely a yard long. At his head are three Russian cannon- balls, at his feet three large iron shells. Above the grave is a great carved and painted wooden case, supporting one of the famous inscribed tablets, at least twelve feet high, and a pipe of enormous dimensions, covered with writing, and having a bowl capable of containing many pounds of tobacco. Several stools around the tomb are curiously carved, and on racks against the walls are sixty enormous iron swords (weighing seventy or eighty pounds each), covered with mystical inscriptions. All these weapons were manufactured by order of Ahmed Bey at Sheikh Amír Abádah’s request; and he assured that prince (the prophecy now discovered by his son-in-law notwithstanding), that as long as these swords remained in holy Kairwán, no Christian enemy could invade the Mecca of Tunis and Africa. From the Amír Abádah mosque a walk of half a mile brought us to the grandest and most important building in Kairwán—the tomb, _zaouia_, and mosque of Abdullah Ben Wádib el Belawi, _Saheb Ennabi_,—“the shrine of my Lord, the Companion of the Prophet.” The entrance to the interior of the sanctuary is through a doorway in the base of a _minár_, which is built in the angle of a spacious court. The exterior of the _minár_ is almost entirely coated with blue and green tiles, and on either side of its upper portion there is a double round-headed window divided by a marble pilaster in the centre. Its roof is formed of bright green tiles terminating in a gilded crescent. The lower storey of the tower forms the lobby or vestibule of the main building. Its interior is lined with the brilliant Tunisian _faïence_ of the seventeenth century, surmounted by panels of arabesque fretwork. A second door opens from this apartment into an oblong cloister. The arcade running round it rests on white marble pillars and arches, and it covers a low marble seat on either side. The walls are decorated in the same fashion as the lobby. At the upper end are two windows and a door of pure white marble, highly decorated, and of Italian origin. This leads into a second vestibule crowned with a fluted cupola, each division of which is adorned with lace-like fretwork. The sides are covered with _faïence_ and panels of finely chiselled carving in cement. A door at one side communicates with a mosque and two other cloisters surrounded by conventual cells. In each of the four walls of the apartment is a small window filled with old stained glass; and the circular band of arabesque design from which the melon-shaped dome springs, is pierced with eight other apertures filled with coloured glass, which is nearly concealed by delicate tracery, throwing a thousand variegated reflections on the marble pavement beneath. Beyond this beautiful room is a broad court surrounded by an arcade of white marble pillars, and arches supporting a wooden roof beautifully painted in squares. In a corner of the court is a cell containing a tomb. Here lies Abdullah Ben Sharíf el Hindowi, an Indian pilgrim, who sought an asylum and found a grave in Kairwán a century ago. At the farther end of the cloister is a doorway and two windows from Rome or Florence. Their cornices are profusely adorned with fruit and flowers, and the jambs of the door are picked out in red porphyry. A massive grating of bronze fills each window. The door itself is of carved dark wood. It led to the tomb of “my Lord the Companion,” a more sacred spot, if possible, even than the _mihráb_ of Okhbah himself; for here for nearly twelve hundred years has slumbered a personal friend of the founder of the faith of Islam, who lived, died, and was buried, wearing always as a symbol of devotion a portion of the Prophet’s beard on his breast. I was the first European who ever entered this Moslem _sanctum sanctorum_. The chamber is about twenty-one feet square, and lofty. Its walls are covered with a geometrical pattern worked out in black and white marble. Four lengthy inscriptions are embedded in them, and the room is dimly lighted by four small windows of rose-coloured and blue glass. From the cupola of fretwork hangs a grand old chandelier of twisted Venetian glass. Below this is the tomb itself, surrounded by a high grating of bronze, shut in by four marble columns about seven feet high. From a rod, on a line with the grating, hung festoons of ostrich-eggs and golden balls. The catafalque above the grave is covered by two elaborately embroidered palls: the first of black and white velvet, adorned with Arabic inscriptions in silver, was the gift of the late Ahmed Bey; the second, of pink and blue brocade, was a votive offering from Muhammed es Sadek. Over these hung thirteen banners, rich in gold, silver, and needlework—the tribute of the successors of Heussein Ben Ali to the sanctuary of the Sidi Bou Awíb. Our visit was certainly unexpected, for at least a dozen fine Arabic MSS. rested on as many lecterns of mother- of-pearl and tortoise-shell in front of the screen. The guardian of the _zaouia_ could hardly realise the fact of Christians desecrating by their presence such holy ground. Running his amber chaplet through his hands with feverish haste, he suddenly threw himself upon his face, and probably prayed to be forgiven. Some Algerian soldiers who had followed us, prostrated themselves before the tomb, and eagerly kissed the edge of the palls through the metal lattice-work. Looking at the bright white marble pillars of the cloister, my eye fell on one remarkable capital: at either corner a bird supported a Greek cross in the centre. The spoils of some fair Byzantine church had evidently been brought to honour the resting-place of the “Friend of the Prophet.”

Leaving this beautiful building with regret, a short walk brought us to the necropolis of the Holy City—two square miles of countless graves. Scattered about in all directions were memorials of every shape and form: pillars of marble covered with elaborate tracery, and crowned with a wide-spreading turban; white and grey slabs bearing long and ornate inscriptions in Kufic; and monuments of every century since Kairwán was founded,—lay piled one upon another in the confusion of decay. From these unequalled memorials of the past the history of Arab dominion in North Africa will probably be re-written.

Skirting the city walls and traversing the suburb of the Kubliyeh, passing _en route_ a mosque with a _minár_ almost as much out of the perpendicular as the Tower of Pisa, we come to a great _zaouia_ near the Bab-el-Djelladín. Almost one-half of the inhabitants of Kairwán are members of the Confraternity of the Aïssaouia. The Zaouia Sidi Bou Aïssa is their sanctuary, and scene of their mystic rites. Passing into a courtyard, we were welcomed by the local chief of the sect, Sy Hamuda Ben Aïssa, who led the way to the main building. The college of Sidi Bou Aïssa consists of a cupola some thirty feet high, flanked by two aisles containing six arches each, all of which rest on an irregular arrangement of fine old Roman shafts and capitals: both the dome and the arcade on either side of it were festooned with ostrich-eggs, gilt balls, and small lamps; and on the walls were suspended the tambourines, earthenware drums, swords, metal prongs, and banners, which constitute the stock-in-trade of the establishment. Nobody acquainted with the rites and practices of the Aïssaouia could ever believe that the slender, olive-complexioned, gentle-mannered, and courteous Sy Hamuda was the head and moving spirit of such a brotherhood as this. The Aïssaouia form one of those semi-religious orders which, as I have stated before, render modern Islamism, as far as the North African littoral is concerned, a sort of freemasonry. The followers of other associations are to be found in all parts of the Moslem world; but the Aïssaouia belong exclusively to the countries bordering on the Mediterranean. Their founder was Muhammed Bou Aïssa of Mequinez, in Morocco. Next to their headquarters at Mequinez itself, Kairwán is the most important seat of their power. As far as can be ascertained, the Aïssaouia have no decided political sympathies. Visitors in Algeria are often admitted to their rites, and they have in some places become almost as much a matter of show as dancing-girls and Arab concerts. Not so at Kairwán. Here till the 7th November no Christian foot had ever passed the threshold of the Zaouia Sidi Bou Aïssa. Here its ceremonies and observances are carried out on a very imposing scale, and from Kairwán the minor congregations of Southern and Northern Tunis receive their instructions and commands. The guiding principle of the Aïssaouia seems to be the greatest possible measure of self-inflicted bodily torture, coupled with the greatest conceivable amount of religious frenzy. Practical Aïssaouia only exist in North Africa; theoretical Aïssaouia are to be found in all countries. During my visit I asked Sy Hamuda if he had any objection to Europeans witnessing one of his meetings. He replied that he would welcome them with pleasure, and even organise a special assembly for their reception. In accordance with his invitation, we repaired on the following evening once more to the sanctuary of Sidi Bou Aïssa. The hall had been evidently decked and garnished; the lamps burned brightly in the cupola amidst the golden balls and ostrich-eggs; the sheikh was clothed in a rich silk robe of office and an awe-inspiring green turban; and a row of rush-seated cane- chairs was waiting to receive the expected visitors. In ten minutes six or seven hundred Arabs filled every inch of available space. The Sheikh Hamuda took his seat in the centre surrounded by the musicians, and an old blind Aïssaouí, guided by a little girl, came in gently from a side door and sat down beside him. The Aïssaouia themselves occupied the whole space covered by the cupola. The aisles contained the Moslem spectators of the first religious rite ever witnessed by Christian eyes in the holy city of Kairwán. Amongst the Aïssaouia I noticed grey- bearded and decrepit old men, many sedate-looking shopkeepers I had previously seen in the bazaars, half a score of the Bey’s soldiers, and a dozen children under twelve years of age. The sheikh struck a note on a drum; the musicians began to play a peculiar and monotonous tone, gradually increasing in intensity. After a pause several of the Aïssaouia rose, and swaying backwards and forwards shoulder to shoulder, shrieked a chorus to the sound of the drums. The music quickened, and so did the chorus. Then one of the most wild-looking of the singers began to throw off his clothes, and passed down the line to urge the others to shout with renewed energy. Then one of the Tunisian soldiers (he wore the Bey’s brass badge on his red cap) seized a sword and began to lacerate his stomach. The blood flowed freely, and he imitated all the time the cries and movements of the camel. We soon had a wolf, a bear, a hyena, a jackal, a leopard, and a lion. One man knelt down before the sheikh, and holding two long prongs to his sides, insisted on their being driven into his flesh with blows of a mallet: this was done. A mere lad did the same thing. A burly Arab passed an iron skewer through the upper part of his nose and transfixed the skin of his face below the eyes. He rushed apparently towards us. Two or three powerful men knocked him down, and held him till the sheikh laid his hands on him and whispered some mysterious formula in his ear. Another man in quick succession swallowed more than twenty large iron nails, there being no mistake whatever as to his really doing so. A large bottle was broken up and eagerly devoured. The frenzy then became general. While one Aïssaouí plunged a knife through his cheek, another transfixed his shoulder- blades with a prong, and a third pierced his hand. A brazier of cinders was speedily emptied. Twenty different tortures were now going on in twenty different parts of the hall. Three large bushes of the thorny Indian fig or prickly-pear were eaten up in almost as many minutes; and at last, before we had time to prevent it, a living sheep was thrown into the midst of the maddened Aïssaouia: it was in a trice torn into shreds by eager hands, and still more eager mouths, and its still quivering and bleeding flesh gnawed to the bones with apparent relish. We left the college of Sidi Aïssa as quickly as we could, and the orgies waxed more furious and more horrible in our absence. I believe that the disciples of Sidi Aïssa at Kairwán number nearly one thousand, but only about fifty are fully initiated into the performance of the rites; and these all assume the distinctive cries and habits of some animal. The rest are merely honorary members, but are bound to support the common brotherhood.

The Zaouia Sidi Bou Aïssa is the last of the public buildings of Kairwán which needs description. The institution it represents is certainly not one of the least curious features of the conquered city. The inhabitants themselves seem almost stupefied by the fate which has overtaken them. Many of them asked me what England said of their misfortunes. “Tell us,” they said, “what your Queen will say to our brothers in India when they know that the sanctity of our mosques and our holy places has been violated.” It was useless to explain that our Ministers had been deceived. The Moslems of Kairwán, even in their hour of agony, still trust to God, the Sultan, _and_ England. There is one word in every one’s mouth—Tripoli. One of the chief men of the place spoke thus: “Between our Bey and the French we have little to choose. Muhammed es Sadek’s recent conduct has rendered him an unbeliever, and one unbeliever is as bad as another; but we never forget our allegiance to the Sultan and Caliph: if he does his duty by us, we shall be faithful to him.” The action of the Sultan is watched with far more anxiety in North Africa than people in Constantinople either know or suspect. The Arabs feel that their very existence is now in peril. If the Sultan declines to protect that faith of which he is the head, the Moslems will find a chief and Caliph who will.

The Arabs who a month ago surrounded Kairwán are now on the very frontiers of Tripoli. Into that country they will ultimately retreat. Will the Sultan’s troops force back at the point of the bayonet from the Regency of Tripoli their co-religionists, whose only crime has been to defend from invasion the Regency of Tunis? Will the French follow their swiftfooted foes across the boundary-line? Will Mr. Gladstone ask England to believe in sober seriousness that the Tripolitans have afforded good ground for French aggression, after the manner of his assurances about the Khamírs six months ago? Will the so-called European concert allow the absorption of Tripoli as well as Tunis into the colony of Algeria? These important questions will soon have to be answered. The Moslems of Africa await with impatience the verdict of Europe. The fall and occupation of Kairwán have raised a momentous issue. The interest excited by this old world city in the minds of the annalist and the archæologist is undoubtedly great, for within its walls a mine of unexplored wealth awaits them both; but, for the moment, this interest is completely eclipsed by that centred in the very grave political questions which must naturally arise from the presence of a hostile Christian force in what was once “the camp and ramparts of Islam.”