The Arabs declare that under the old régime business in the Souks was better regulated, and every trade had its own Sheikh, who ruled it with a rod of iron. He fixed the prices, and woe to the man who charged less or more, for when convicted the rod descended, and he was beaten then and there. The value of fruit, meat, and vegetables, etc., was announced by a crier at night, and next day each shop was bound to obey the order. This sounds somewhat tyrannical, but they liked it.
SOUK EL ATTARIN, TUNIS
The Souk el Attarin, or scent bazaar, is the aristocratic quarter, and the owners of these square cupboards, with huge painted shutters, are, it is said, nobles, the descendants of the Corsair chiefs, and often very rich; but, as good Moslems, they do not care to meet in each other’s houses, for that would upset their harems. Clubs do not exist, but in the bazaars all the news is to be heard and social life is to be found. So they spend their days sitting calm and imperturbable each in his niche, to which they mount with the assistance of a cord suspended from the ceiling. Enormous candles, gilded and fantastically coloured, hang like a curtain round them. In the mysterious recesses are jars and bottles, containing the priceless attar of roses, essence of jasmine, geranium, or amber, and countless other sweet scents. The whole bazaar is full of perfume, making it a pleasant place to tarry in. On the ground are baskets and sacks filled with dried leaves, or piled with green powder, both preparations of henna. Outside each shop stands a chair or two, on which grave elders rest and talk. Younger men stroll about, true types of Moors, their handsome, smooth faces equally calm. They are great dandies, and wear robes of soft cloth and silk of most delicate tints. On festivals they place a flower coquettishly between their turbans and their ears, which gives a curious touch of the feminine to their appearance. Some also carry a rose or carnation in their hands “to live up to” in true æsthetic style.
No one bothers about business: they are too dignified for that. Only once did anyone ask us to buy, and when we said “another day,” we were adopted as friends, to be greeted placidly and talked to occasionally, and we found ourselves remembered and on the same footing another year.
The Souk el Blagdia, or the shoe bazaar, is quite different. The street is narrow, there are no gay pillars, the roof is of wood, the shops are a trifle larger, and hold one or two men who are ceaselessly at work. They make the soft yellow and red slippers which the Arabs wear, and keep on so easily, though they are such a failure when Europeans try them. Here life is earnest enough, and so it is in the bazaar of the tailors, where the shops are larger, and divided one from another by the usual green and red columns. In each shop eight or ten men and boys, many of them Jews, in the distinctive dark blue turban, squat on the floor, sewing busily. They stitch, embroider, and decorate most elaborate outfits, cloaks of every colour in and out of the rainbow, and of the most perfect shades. You can see them at work upon gandourahs of deep red silk, embroidered in green, and tiny jackets for boys, of pale yellow, orange, and red, whilst the finished garments hang as draperies behind their heads, and the sun peeps through the rough splintered boards of the roof and sends shafts of light that flicker and change as they touch the moving crowds. The jewellers dwell in a narrow passage, and hardly display their goods at all; some silver jewels, mostly hands of Fathma, and a pair of scales, being perhaps all that is shown, but a big safe gives promise of hidden treasures. Near by is the old slave-market, a picturesque hall, dark and lonely, with the usual gay pillars and but few quiet shops.
The Souk des Femmes, like many others, is a white tunnel lined with shops. It is very crowded in the early morning, and is almost the only place where many women are seen together. Some sit on the ground and sell their own handiwork, others are busy bargaining for veils and embroideries. All are of the poorer class and heavily veiled, if two strips of black crépon covering the face like a mould, with half an inch gap between them for the eyes, can be called a veil. It is quite hideous, and, as the rest of the dress is white, makes them look like negresses.
SOUK EL TROUK, TUNIS
One bazaar is full of terrible compounds of dates and figs, dried fruit and grain. Another small street is given up to the sieve-makers, who weave their webs at looms which look like strange musical instruments. In many places baskets and mats are made. Silk weaving and the making of belts and scarves are other flourishing industries, and to stand and watch the long, slim fingers moving quickly at the old-world looms is a sight that one never tires of watching. Hands and feet come into play together at the turners and the cabinet-makers in a long street of many arches. Deft fingers and delicate handling are seen also at the copper-workers. In fact, at every turn there is something strange or beautiful, and at the least entirely different to anything we do, or see at home. The harness-makers rival the tailors in the brilliance of their goods. Gorgeous saddles there are, with red and gold and silver decorations, marvellous saddle-bags also, gay with stripes and tassels. They sell huge hats, at least a yard in diameter, with narrow crowns a foot high, ornamented with quaintly-cut leather and bright balls of wool. They make cushions and odd-shaped pouches and money-bags, and leather amulets to carry the charms without which no one can live, and round mirrors for the women. Their bazaar is also noted for the tomb of a Marabout, a gaudily painted sarcophagus which almost blocks up the narrow gangway.