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.
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.
“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.