Beyond the market, again, are some curious reservoirs, called the Bassins des Aghlabites, which receive water from the Oued Merguelli in time of flood; they were probably constructed by Ziad el Allah, who restored the great Mosque.
Still further on, amongst hedges of prickly pears, or figues de Barbarie, rises the mosque of Sidi Sahab, the barber, the rival to the mosque of Sidi Okba, both as regards sanctity and beauty.
A square minaret slightly decorated with coloured tiles is surrounded by an apparently uninteresting pile of white buildings and a dome, but these walls conceal a series of halls and cloistered courts, full of exquisite Moorish work worthy of the Alhambra, though, alas! like the Alhambra they have suffered somewhat at the hands of the restorer, with his distressing want of taste in colour.
Roman columns support the arches in the quiet courts, the floors are paved with marble, tiles of rich design line the walls, the light filters through coloured glass, set jewel-like in tiny windows, and the stucco work adds to the whole effect a touch of light and grace.
The tomb-mosque itself is a domed building of no great size, where behind an open-work screen lies the sarcophagus in which reposes the body of Abou Zemaa el Beloui, the companion and, as some suppose, the barber of the Prophet. Carpets and embroideries cover this tomb, numbers of lamps and ostrich eggs are suspended before it, and all round are ranged quantities of flags, the standards and colours of Islam. Tradition says, that during his life this singular man carried three hairs from the Prophet’s beard—one under his tongue, another next his heart, and the third on his right arm. These three precious hairs are now united in a silken sachet placed on the dead man’s breast, and whether the reputation of the saint or these relics of the Prophet have the greater power in drawing pilgrims to the shrine, is a doubtful question.
Delicate finish, suited to its smallness of scale, makes a yet more perfect shrine of the tiny forecourt, and dome over the tomb of another Marabout, Sidi Abid el Ghariani. Of all the Moorish work in the city, this Zaouïa is perhaps the gem—at any rate the hand of time has touched it lightly, so that nothing has been done to spoil its charm of colour.
THE MOSQUE OF THE THREE DOORS, KAIROUAN
Quite other considerations make it worth while to go on pilgrimage to the Mosque of the Swords, though its only beauty lies in the distant effect of its seven fluted domes. It is dedicated to a comparatively modern saint, who had great influence in Kairouan. His name was Sidi Amer Abbada, and he began life as a blacksmith. To astonish his admirers he made, and they now say he used, gigantic swords, covered with inscriptions, one of which prophesies the coming of the French. His pipes are the pipes of a nightmare—too huge for mortal man to smoke. As for the colossal bronze anchors he is said to have carried on his shoulders from Porto Farina, quite unaided and alone, are they not now reposing in a courtyard close by? There the sceptical can go and see for themselves and come away abashed, saying, “Truly this was a great Marabout.”
The Djama Thelata Biban, or Mosque of the Three Doors, is noteworthy because of its great age (some six or seven hundred years old) and also for the decorative value of its façade. The plan is not in the least original, the outline is elementary—a square block with an equally square minaret beside it. But it is the treatment of the flat surface that is remarkable. The upper part of the front is shaded by a tiled roof supported by wooden brackets, old and mellow in tone. Underneath comes a broad space of golden stone, adorned by alternate bands of raised inscriptions in Cufic characters, and fragments of Roman carved work. Below this all is white, the surface broken by three archways with old capitals and columns, that cast fascinating shadows on the three brilliant green doors that give the mosque its name. Coloured tiles in the same way relieve the whiteness and add to the charm of the minaret. Unfortunately the building is badly placed across the end of a dull street, so that it cannot be seen at a picturesque angle.