In the outer wall of the Djamäa-el-Kebir, or principal mosque, dedicated to Sidna Aissa (our Lord Jesus), is a remarkably interesting inscription, which was first noticed by M. Guérin, proving that this had originally been a Christian basilica, and that it had been restored and embellished during the reign of the Emperors Valentinianus and Valens, A.D. 364 to 368. M. Guérin makes a slight mistake in the first line, which obscures the meaning. Instead of
. . . . . NN VALENT. ET. GA . . . . .
the penultimate letter should be V; the line would thus read
[Dominorum] Nostrorum Valent[iniani] et Va[lentis].
Dyeing is carried on to some extent at El-Badja, but the only distinctive manufactures of the place are wooden sandals used by the women, very tastefully carved out of light wood, generally with an old razor.
In the vicinity of the town is a ruined palace and neglected garden belonging to the Bey, which, like that at Tunis, is called the Bardo. This existed as far back as 1724, when Peyssonnel visited the place.
El-Badja can boast of an excellent bath, which we found most refreshing after our long journey. It has also a telegraphic station. The gentleman in charge of it, M. Ferdinand Gandolphe, is Vice-Consul of France, and the only European resident in the place. He has been stationed here for a year, and he assured us that sometimes he almost forgot how to speak his own language.
The telegraphs throughout Tunis belong to the French Government, which defrays the entire cost, except that the Bey provides station-houses, and what transport may be necessary for the carriage of telegraphic materials. For this he and his superior officers have the privilege of sending telegrams free throughout the Regency and to La Calle, but nowhere else.
The Arabic language does not lend itself very easily to telegraphy; every message must therefore be transmitted in French or some other European tongue. It may easily be imagined what an engine of political power this might become in case of need.
We had occasion to send a few telegrams to our friends at Algiers and Tunis. This is generally a very commonplace operation; we were hardly prepared to see the official rush out of his den, shake us warmly by the hand, as if we had been life-long friends, and volunteer to conduct us all over the place. His existence is a dreary one, and the presence of European travellers an opportunity for a little conversation in his own language too precious to be lost. He was exceedingly civil and attentive to us, and we enjoyed his society quite as much as he did ours.