“You’ll be in dry clothes soon, kadi,” I exclaimed.
“I shall take great care never to leave my home again, Inch Allah,” he groaned.
At the moment Marhoun started singing one of those strange, melodious songs of the great South with the deep, long note drawn out at the end. Aïssa picked it up and sent back the verse, trembling, high and melancholy. Marhoun returned with the refrain, so soft, so gentle, that I approached the bash agha and asked him the meaning of the words.
He smiled and said, “I can not give it exactly translated because it is too beautiful in Arabic, but it runs thus: ‘My love is as great as the fire, and it consumes my heart.’”
And I repeated it to myself, wondering on the strange nature of the Arabs, as the sun, all orange and gold, dipped behind the hills, wrapping the land in golden radiance.
5. The Turkish Bath in Algeria
We have heard a great deal in this book about religion; let us turn our attention for a brief moment to its great adjunct, especially in the Moslem faith— cleanliness.
To the average Englishman the words “Turkish bath” suggest tiled chambers, whiteness, great heat, much water and complete exhaustion. This is what he has seen in Jermyn Street. In his imagination he may have conjured up a vision of the hammam of the East with its marble halls and multi-colored tiles, its splashing fountains and exhilarating hashish, while ebony-bodied negroes flit noiselessly about. Now, though this average Englishman will never be bathed in this Arabian Nights atmosphere in Algeria, let it be known that his imagination has not altogether run into the realms of fable.
In certain private houses of great chiefs this atmosphere, to a lesser degree, exists, and the owner of the bath insists on all the most luxurious rites being carried out. However, as this remains private property it can not be entered into, and it will suffice to describe the common Turkish bath known in Algeria as le bain maure, which resident or tourist, pedler or caïd, respectable maiden or femme du Quartier, must use if cleanliness is to be observed.
In this haunt of steam and strange odors there will be found neither the tiled chambers of Jermyn Street nor the splashing fountains of Haroun al-Raschid. The entrance to the bath is usually imposing; this is presumably to attract the passer-by. The entrance-hall is also roomy, and with a purpose, as it is here that many of the Faithful come to say their prayers after their ablutions. After this there is a series of primary disillusions. I purposely use the word “primary.”