Most of the pilgrims strive to squeeze themselves between two closely wedded columns standing near by, because, so the old Sheikh said, “those who can pass through this narrow portal will also be able to enter Paradise.” Besides this appeal to the future, there is the less romantic inducement that the passage of the pillars is a certain cure for rheumatism. Whichever reason prevails, no one minds taking off cloaks and burnouses and then trying hard to wriggle through. It is a less difficult feat to accomplish than the trial of truth between two similar pillars in the mosque of ’Amr at Cairo.
A few years ago, strangers of an alien faith had to content themselves with a bare glance at the outside of this famous mosque as they rode past. Now a solitary Christian, having duly deposited a pair of European shoes amongst the Oriental slippers at the door, may enter boldly, rest and dream the day away, tranquil and alone, without let or hindrance. No rude word will be spoken, nor will angry looks trouble or annoy. Nothing will disturb the quiet, for the pilgrims wander softly to and fro, making no sound on the matted floor with their slipperless feet. Now and again the voice of a reader echoes through the silence of this house of prayer, and occasionally a man, bent on asking questions and trying to pick up a few words of useful French, will take his place on the matting beside the stranger, or, if sketching is going on, a small boy will come and kneel for hours absorbed in wonder, watching each movement of the brush, his eager face almost resting on the paper. Yet perhaps this boy’s own father was one of those who indulged in throwing stones at the Roumis less than twenty years ago.
These peaceful ways are the direct result of war. The Sacred City alone resented the coming of the French sufficiently to resist in arms, and therefore alone pays the penalty of its daring in being forced to throw open the mosques and holy places to the tread of the Infidel.
The upper gallery of the minaret commands a wide view over a scene curious enough to attract those already accustomed to Eastern cities. The houses are more like cubes than ever, and lie so close together that their flat roofs seem to form one continuous terrace, broken only by domes and minarets. Every house is square, with a central court. The court and the house-tops are the women’s domain; etiquette does not permit a man to enjoy the air on his own roof, but if business calls him there, he must send warnings to his neighbours, so that their womenfolk may withdraw from courts and terraces and seek refuge indoors.
Quaint and characteristic as the outlook from the minaret undeniably is, yet there is no doubt that its own picturesque outline adds much to the charm of the view from other housetops. The sturdy tower with its warm tones has a look of strength that matches the equally massive walls of the city, and suggests a watch-tower crowned by the white galleries of a minaret.
All round the city walls, towers and battlements dating from the fifteenth century draw a strong dividing line between the white houses and the sandy waste, still dreary, desolate, and treeless as in the time of Okba.
The breach made by the French in 1881 is still left, partly as a warning, and partly because it is now used instead of the old Tunis gate on account of its greater width, and also to avoid an awkward turn; for, like many Moorish gateways, there is a double turn in the thickness of the wall, to assist in keeping out the foe. With this exception, the walls and gates are perfect as in the days of old: perfect not only in preservation but in form. But of all the gates none is so fine as this same Porte de Tunis with its double arch. Both façades are remarkable for the skill shown in the use of black and white marble as decoration. Deep shadow throws a mysterious gloom over the interior of the gate, now a picturesque Souk with an arched roof, beneath which many merchants spread out their wares.
MOORISH GATEWAY, KAIROUAN
Outside the gate, more stalls and booths nestle against the walls, and the large open space beyond is crowded with all the bustle and confusion of a market. Men come and go, or gather in wide circles round the snake charmers and story-tellers. Horses and donkeys furtively steal a meal from the piles of grain and fodder. Camels snarl and growl whilst men pack burdens on their unwilling backs, as the caravans prepare to start on their journey. Other camels hop about on three legs, the fourth being doubled back and bound up in what looks a cruel fashion, but which the Arabs declare to be quite comfortable, and the only effective way to prevent their straying.