In honour of the occasion, or of the Bey, the Souks are decked with carpets and wonderful embroideries; every space on the walls is covered till the whole is aglow with colour. The way to the mosque is packed with the Faithful in gala dress—men and boys alike in exquisite tints; for the Tunisians have an innate sense of colour, and blend and combine hues that would be unthinkable elsewhere, although the result in their hands is charming. The Arabs say that it is the sunshine that makes the harmony, and that that is the reason why imitations of Moorish decoration look so garish under our cold grey skies. On such a day the flowers behind the ear add a touch of perfection to the radiance on every face. Each shop in the street of the tailors looks like a collector’s cabinet of idols, for the master sits cross-legged in the centre, motionless as an image of Buddha, with his men round him. When the Bey has passed, the shops are closed and the festivities commence. As night falls the illuminations begin. All the minarets are outlined in light, and the square in front of the Palace is a fairyland of cherry-coloured Chinese lanterns. It is almost impossible to move, and the gendarmes are already closing the entrances to the Souks, but way is promptly made for such important people as ourselves, and we walk down the familiar street with our proud guide and find it all new and strange.
The details are extraordinary, a true picture of the East, where horrors in the shape of European novelties are set side by side with treasures of Oriental art. Here no sort of contrivance for giving light has been despised. Queer old lanterns and sconces alternate with common lamps, flambeaux, old lustres, and glittering glass chandeliers. It is all incongruous—absolutely wrong from a properly artistic point of view, but that does not matter in the least. Light and an air of festivity are what is wanted, and, let purists say what they will, the effect, though amusing, is as delightful as it is unusual, making the colour of the gay crowd if possible more entrancing than in the morning. From the dignified shelter of one of the biggest shops we sit and watch the moving throng, and prepare to receive the Bey. Presently the procession appears, and adds a last touch of incongruity by its want of order. Soldiers and guards in a travesty of European uniforms lead the way. Some look like old watchmen, as they stoop and carry lanterns dating from the days of Dogberry. The Bey is also in uniform, with stars and orders, and jewels in his fez, and is followed by his chief officers. Even for this occasion they abjure native dress, and so the very least of all his subjects appears with more dignity than himself. The great man approaches smiling, salutes the owner of our shop, condescends to enter, drink a cup of coffee, and talk a little, then passes through the rooms, and every one rises and bows, whilst he with many salutes goes his way to the mosque. He never fails to pay a yearly visit of ceremony to this old dealer, or to traverse all the main bazaars, and he sometimes calls on one or two other merchants. After the service is over, fireworks wind up the proceedings. Thus do the Tunisians celebrate the birthday of Mohammed, whom they believe to have been so unlike and so superior to other men; because, as the legend says, all children are born with a black spot in their hearts, and when God chose His prophet, an angel opened his heart and took the natural stain out of it, so that he alone of all mankind had no taint of original sin.
TUNIS FROM THE BELVEDERE
CHAPTER X
LIFE IN TUNIS
Even in the quiet and silent streets of Tunis, where every footstep echoes between the high white walls, the hum of the distant hive can still be heard. The streets even of the rich quarter are never straight, but meander in and out, and are withal so narrow as to fit to a nicety the lumbering old carriages that convey their stately owners about the city. No two vehicles can ever attempt to pass each other, but have to manœuvre down side alleys. Now and then the red blinds are tightly closed, which means that the ladies of some harem are taking an airing. But this is rare, for the poor things have a very monotonous life in Tunis, are never allowed to walk, do not seem, as at Algiers, to picnic in the cemeteries, and seldom even drive.
Poor women are little seen in the streets, and those of their rich sisters who have no pretensions to rank are only permitted to walk about occasionally, and then do so under the surveillance of servants, and with such heavy silk veils that they must be almost smothered. These so-called veils are of black silk, with decorative borders and fringed ends of many colours. The width is considerable, and the length sufficient to cover the head and fall nearly to the ground on either side. Exactly in the centre a small square of thinner material is let in, but the wearer, in order to breathe and see the ground at her feet, lifts the lower border a few inches with both hands, and then toddles along in her high-heeled slippers. Over the black veil comes the white haïck completely covering the whole figure.
A STREET OF ARCHES, TUNIS
These veiled women, the closed carriages, the elaborate wooden or wrought-iron screens that mask the windows, and the air of reserve about the houses, all hint at a strange life within. The very doors open in such a way as to reveal nothing of the inner court, and the gay flowers in the windows alone show visible signs of a woman’s care. The closed doors are the symbol of secrecy as impenetrable as the women’s veils. When, as occasionally happens, some story of the life of the harem is allowed to leak out, the tale is always of terror, cruelty, and persecution. Not that a visit to a harem is at all tragic—quite the reverse; for though it is no new thing to be amused, it is rather unusual to find oneself so amusing, to see that no detail escapes criticism, to hear endless comments, and understand nothing but the smiles, the gestures, and the stroking of soft fingers. It is all guesswork from the moment that the beautiful being, who acts as Cavass to the Consulate, hands over his charges to a smiling woman, with a great horn on her head, covered by a haïck, the dress of a Jewess, who is to act as escort. With becks and nods and many smiles, for she knew only two words of French, she dived down street after street and along narrow passages, which we could never find again, till at last she stood at a door and knocked. Almost noiselessly it opened, and we found ourselves exchanging solemn greetings with our host, who sat on a divan in the entrance. Having welcomed us, he allowed our guide to lead us into the covered court filled with a gay throng. Such a hubbub! Music and singing and long drawn-out trilling cries of joy, for this was a party after a wedding. A group of women with musical instruments sat on a mattress in one corner, and sang and played at intervals, while the rest of the company formed a circle on chairs and divans. As soon as we entered every one crowded round us, and we were stroked and patted, given coffee and chairs, before the serious business of examining all our possessions began. Our first breach of etiquette was that we forgot to unveil. Our hostesses frowned and pointed till the objectionable bit of net was removed. Hats were of no consequence, as head-dresses were worn, handsome kerchiefs of all colours with fringes, and many jewels on the forehead. The dress consisted of sleeveless embroidered coats over lace jackets or ordinary low bodices, full trousers of rich brocades and satins, or, in the case of visitors, of white cotton with stripes of insertion and ribbon down the front, white stockings and smart shoes. Beneath all this finery their necks and arms were covered by ugly striped vests, so, decidedly, the inherent good taste of their lords is not shared by the ladies of the harem. They were all short and generally stout, handsome in a rather heavy way, with thick, painted eyebrows, darkened eyelashes, and henna-stained hands. They peered into our faces to try and discover paint and powder, took off our gloves to see our hands, admired some real old lace, and, having got over their first fear, fell absolutely in love with a fur stole with little tails and claws. Our simple gold chains and watches and our lack of other ornaments evidently surprised them, as they were adorned with golden cables and plaques of gold and brilliant blue enamel. It was most embarrassing to talk by signs, and our few words of Arabic were soon exhausted. All their treasures were displayed: the mother-of-pearl coffers, the great divans, the French bedsteads hidden in alcoves. On one divan, two pretty imps of children were lying with their faces buried in the cushions. The women explained that they were in terror at our great height; they had never seen such monsters. By force of contrast our slender, dark figures may have appeared gigantic, but what would they have thought of some of our six-foot friends? Before we left we had the pleasure of watching some of them dress to go away. Some changed their socks into commoner ones for the street, then the black veils went on, and after that, with deft grace and subtle twist, the haïcks were arranged. Then they were ready to face anyone, even their host in exile at his own front door.