The ignorance of the French concerning the language is remarkable, considering the large Berber population they have to govern. I believe there are some half-dozen Europeans at Fort National with some smattering, but the only Europeans who thoroughly understand it are the Fathers.
The colonists, forced into contact with the natives, get into the habit of speaking a debased pidgin language, a mixture of bad Arabic, French, and Spanish, but sometimes they do not even attain this. For instance, Mme. Pierre at Fort National has kept an hotel there for twenty-five years, and has dealings with the natives at all hours; she does not know a single word of Kabyle, nor can she put together a single sentence in Arabic. When ‘colons’ cannot make the natives understand, the ‘cochons d’indigènes’ are in fault for not learning French. Our man Dominique was a spirit of this nature; he had roughed it for years amongst an Arab population in the province of Oran; to the best of my belief, his stock of Arabic consists in the magic words ‘Goul’ and ‘Jib hadda,’ by which he means to express ‘take’ and ‘bring that.’ On arrival among the mountains, he remarked, ‘Ici on parle arabe avec un dialecte très différent de celui d’Alger.’ I doubt whether, on leaving the country, he was aware that they spoke a language altogether distinct from Arabic. As an instance of his incapacity for picking it up: he took in fresh milk for our breakfast daily during two months and a half; the last morning he was with me, after removing to another tribe, when in bed, I was amused to overhear him vainly striving to express his desire for milk, but unable to make the puzzled native understand.
The weather gradually cleared; we sallied out in good spirits, and planted our easels at the foot of the cemetery of Thililit. We were quickly surrounded by a little crowd, who sat down to watch our proceedings, and remained the whole afternoon chatting good-humouredly. Having discovered their mistake in believing us to be agents of Government come to trouble them in some way, they now seemed to be very pleased, and kept repeating ‘Inglese buono,’ ‘Français,’ then they shook their heads, and spoke earnestly. We in our turn took to shaking our heads, and the Kabyles seemed disappointed that we could not understand them. In civilised countries, if curiosity should bring a spectator to a painter’s side, he would probably say to himself after a while, ‘Now I must not waste time, I must be off and do something.’ In the more easy-going south, a Kabyle so placed would more probably say to himself, ‘Ah! here’s an opportunity for a new occupation, to watch this man.’
Tuesday, April 13, 1880.—It blew mightily during the night, the wind roaring in the gulf beneath, and rushing over the crest on which our tent was pitched, canvas shook and pole trembled; and the possibility of tent-pegs being drawn, or cords snapping, caused us unpleasant reflections. On waking in the morning, we found a group of Kabyles waiting outside. They brought four handsome women’s garments, and bargaining began, which ended in our buying these dresses cheaply, considering the labour bestowed upon them. ‘It is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer; but when he is gone his way, then he boasteth.’
Besides satisfaction in possessing these cloths as costumes, we found them serviceable as warm coverlets, and were able to return the wraps we had borrowed; of this we were glad, thinking that the Fathers had none too many for themselves.
The Amine or village chief of Taourirt, next made his appearance with some friends to offer hospitality, saying that, if agreeable, he would send us a kouskous that evening. We thanked him, and said we should be very pleased; he had hardly departed when the Amine of Ouarzin, approaching, offered us the hospitality of his village, another kouskous for mid-day. We got one of the schoolboys to explain, if it were agreeable to him, we should like it deferred, thinking it impossible to eat two mountains of kouskous. The Ouarzinites were not going to be cut out in that fashion, so we had to accept; before mid-day the dishes appeared. The company consisted of the Amine and some of the village counsellors, and three marabouts; there was a large bowl containing the kouskous well piled up, a boiled fowl, with a jug of sauce, another full of sour milk, a dish of boiled eggs, delicious honey, and dried figs. Kouskous is wheat ground roughly; two women grind it, sitting on the ground facing each other. The appropriateness of the Biblical saying is then apparent (‘two women shall be grinding at the mill, the one shall be taken and the other left’). Water-mills are also constructed on some of the streams. The flour is slightly moistened, passed through a sieve, and rolled out with the hand till it takes the form of little balls about the size of fine shot; this is boiled, moistened with gravy, and seasoned with pepper. Like macaroni, it is a wholesome satisfying dish. Placed in the midst of the company, each guest is served with a round wooden spoon, with which he attacks the heap, gravy is constantly poured on; in eating the chicken, he has to make use of his fingers.
The Pères joined in the meal; with their help we were able to follow the conversation. A discussion arose between the two principal marabouts, as to whether photography and the painting of portraits is ‘hareem,’ ‘a thing prohibited;’ the elder, the more liberal-minded, contended that there was no harm in the matter, the other declared that there was; the elder, being a Hadj, was voted to have most authority. The third marabout, a man with light-coloured hair and dull expression, had nothing to say. I think kouskous must have got into his head. One of the Amine’s friends started the opinion that if a man possessed the portrait of another he also possessed a power to work him mischief; though he could not say he believed it himself, others did; might there not be some truth at the bottom of the notion? Was it proved certainly false that if one man bearing malice were to bury another’s portrait, the original of the likeness would sicken and die? This belief was much ridiculed, though they had all heard it before. We expressed regret at not having our cartes-de-visite to offer, that he might plant them in his garden.
When we had finished, the dishes were handed to Dominique, who served himself, while muttering his disgust at native cookery. The rest then made a circle, and the remaining provisions were quickly disposed of.
After the feast, we took a walk to Iril Boghni, the last village on the backbone of the mountain. On the way we had to pass the house where lived the beautiful girl; we hoped to catch sight of her, but the door was shut, and she would not come out. A Kabyle was sitting at the corner carving wooden spoons with an adze; we took the greatest interest in his occupation, and stood a long time watching; it was no good, the rude envious door was determined not to change the direction of its face, and hid the beauty from us. On our way back I made a great effort to converse in Kabyle with a man who addressed us. He seemed amused—I dare say with good reason—but politely invited us to step into his house. I thought he was making straight for the home of the beautiful girl—how attentive of him!—no, unluckily it was the next house that he entered.