Read Ebook: Algeria from within by Bodley R V C Ronald Victor Courtenay Sampson Julian Photographer

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The first portion of the town to be visited is the Christian quarter. Begun in the third century it rapidly grew in importance and was undoubtedly the see of a bishop. The great basilica of Cresconius was built by this Christian bishop as a mausoleum for his predecessors. There are two other churches excavated near this cathedral, and there are no doubt other important buildings still under the earth.

The most interesting edifice, perhaps the most interesting in all the Roman remains on account of its state of preservation, is the baptistery. To the reader used to well-preserved churches and art museums in Europe it is difficult to convey the real impression created on the mind on entering the low doorway of this first evidence of Christianity in this part of the world: outside, the desolation of the barren hills and the sadness of the gray ruins; inside, the fresh color of mosaics, stuccoed niches, graceful pillars. A gallery runs round the actual place of immersion, lined with hollowed-out seats, reminding one of the stalls in some university chapel in England. Rich gold mosaics stud the walls; on the floor all kinds of intricate designs in rich colors, which make one realize the trouble taken by that dead race to beautify all that was their work.

At each end of the baptistery, two doors lead into the center portion where the converts were christened. The floor is carpeted with delicately colored pictures of fishes and seashells; above, a canopy carved out of one block of solid stone rests on four pillars; on the floor of the primitive font a mosaic inscription in Latin reads:

"A day will come when all people will have been baptized."

It is with a feeling of reverence that one quits this jewel in the midst of the ruins.

It seems useless to describe the other edifices in detail; they are like all Roman ruins, and require the atmosphere of loneliness to produce their effect. A few words will suffice:

Leaving the theater it is advised to take the path leading to the northwestern extremity of the ruins, passing the baths of the capitol and various private houses. Turning to the left, one enters the capitol which formed the northern extremity of the old forum. The temple of Jupiter, with its six columns forty-two feet high, rose majestically above the other buildings; a colossal statue was in the center. Now only two bases of columns can be seen in place, the remains of others lie about the steps and before the altar of sacrifice.

The ruts of the chariot wheels are less distinct in the Cardo Maximus here than at Timgad. The drain down the center is clearly visible.

The new forum is very impressive. On the right a triumphal arch seems to leap from the earth almost intact in the middle of the ruins. An inscription dated 216 tells that it was raised in honor of Caracalla, conqueror of many nations. On the other side of the open space stands a great temple. Broad steps lead up to the lofty pillars supporting the remains of a roof; the walls, though shorn of their marble facings, are almost intact. Another inscription states that the temple is in honor of the family of the Emperor Septimus Severus and was erected in the year 229 by the Republic of Cuicul. From the entrance a fine view can be had of the original city.

The visit has been rapidly accomplished, and only the great baths remain to be seen on our way to the hotel. As usual they are magnificent in all their luxury; nothing seems to have been omitted by these Romans in their far-away exile to make their homes as like as possible what they had left in the northern country.

It rather reminds one of the Briton who, in all his arrogance, carries his clubs, and his drinks, and his games into whatever distant corner of the Empire he settles himself. To the Roman nothing was good which was not from Rome. It is rather the same with us, and I suppose it will always be so. Machinery makes life more complicated, but it does not change the mentality of mankind.

There is a good museum near the hotel where the excavators have collected the best things found in the ruins. Apart from the usual implements of daily life, seen in greater profusion at Timgad, there are some very fine mosaics. It would take too long to describe them, but to those interested the museum is well worth a visit, and when one looks upon those lovely designs, so intricate, so artistic, one wonders why the Arab and the Algerian of to-day does not copy his floors from these pictures in stone instead of plastering everything with hideous modern flags of impossible colors. And yet even the beauties of those Roman cities of the past do not bear comparison with the monuments of the mother country.

There is something coarse, unoriginal in them, which at first leaves one wondering, until one suddenly realizes that one is in the presence of the Roman colonists, the expatriated wanderer who set out to seek his fortune overseas, the retired soldier or the rich grain merchant. He tried to copy what he had at home; he did better than would a present-day colonist from England or France, but it was not the real thing.

Still, the dead cities of that great empire are of vast interest and, to those who like to live in the past, it is a joy to wander through the silent streets and realize how great and civilized this colony once was, and how still greater the desolation and misery caused by the advent of the Arab.

From Djemila the traveler can either return to Algiers direct or continue the voyage through Constantine, or, if time presses, he can leave out Constantine and make direct for Djidjelli.

For the moment we must turn our attention to the third city of Algeria, the first city of Christianity under the Emperor Constantine.

CONSTANTINE TO THE COAST

The scenery along the road to Constantine by either route differs little from that just passed. It is a land of cereals, once upon a time properly irrigated by the people of a great empire, now sadly dependent on the rainfall.

The approach to the city is impressive. It seems to stand out on a rocky pinnacle, and as one crosses the bridge and looks down into the depths of the Gorges of the Rhummel, one suddenly wonders if it is not all a stage setting: chasms, perpendicular cliffs, natural rock bridges and tunnels, the houses clinging dizzily to the rock wall, and, far beneath, the silver streak of the river. Constantine was originally the capital of the Numidian kings, and was known as Cirta. Syphax, Massinissa, and Micipsa ruled here, but it was not until the fourth century and after it had been destroyed during one of the many conflicts which raged round its walls, that it was rebuilt by the Emperor Constantine.

Its history during the rest of time is a series of revolts and conspiracies, and, though a few of the beys during the Turkish rule built some lovely houses, its record is not elevating. There are only three interesting things to visit, and they can all be done in the day. First is the Gorges of the Rhummel, a most amazing spectacle of natural arches and passages hundreds of feet below the level of the town. When finally the river bursts out of this chasm into the open plain at the foot of a perpendicular rock towering up to dizzy heights it is like the entrance of a giant church. To the top of this rock, which watches over the whole plain of historic interest, tiresome or unfaithful wives of the bey were taken, placed in a sack with a cat, and hurled to their doom below. No one has yet been able to explain the cat, but I suppose it added to the fun of the thing.

Standing once on the summit of this pinnacle with a Scotch friend who was traveling without his better half, I recounted this story. He was a man of few words, and for a moment he made no reply; then, peering cautiously over the precipitous edge, he exclaimed, "Oh, for the good old days!"

The next place to visit is the palace of the bey of Constantine. It is now used as the divisional headquarters, and, though it is not properly kept up, one can get an impression of something very lovely: a series of courts open to the sky with marble floors and delicate pillars, enclosing miniature gardens, in the middle of which fountains splash gaily. The walls are covered with multi-colored tiles, while the ceilings and doors of rare wood are adorned with intricate carvings. On a sunny day it is a vision of blue and white and green and orange, and, though the drab clothes of the modern inmates and the click of the typewriting machine jar on the senses, one can imagine the enchanting atmosphere of these quiet courts when men in splendid robes passed in and out, followed by their dark-skinned slaves.

Communicating with the palace is the present-day cathedral, in the old time the mosque of the bey, who could pass unseen from his residence to his devotions. The French have enlarged it, but it is quite easy to see what was the original building. Here again there are some very lovely blue tiles.

There are other mosques, also Jewish and Arab quarters, which are worth a visit if the traveler has not been anywhere else, but after the long journey with all its scenes of Arab life, it will suffice to visit the above-mentioned places and return to rest, prior to the journey to the coast.

Mila, at the fifty-fourth kilometer, was once a Roman city of importance; it is the last village of any size we shall pass. Thence onward the country is very wild. At Zera?a we traverse forbidding gorges, after which the road runs for a few kilometers across a small plain of olive-yards, crosses a river, and then starts the long climb to the Col de Fdoules.

The road is a masterpiece of engineering as it climbs dizzily along the steep cliff of the mountain. At the hundred and fourth kilometer the Col, three thousand feet above the sea, is reached; from the watershed there is one of the finest mountain views in North Africa. To the north and to the south the hills rise up sheer and the valleys are lost in deep shade. The road then runs down into the Gorges of Taberkroutz and for the first time after the long travel, trees appear quite close. The road climbs up again and the woods approach, until soon we are in a thick forest. At the Col de Texenna a splendid panorama of forests and mountains is spread out before one. It is a wonderful sensation to return to luxuriant vegetation after the perpetual desert, and the sound of water with the smell of the damp earth revives the mind, weary with staring over limitless expanses. Another sensation of delight seizes one as the sea comes in view and, rapidly approaching the shore, the road follows it to Djidjelli.

One can either lunch at the hotel or picnic in pleasant surroundings, but whatever plan is adopted the new atmosphere and the fresh air will give one the appetite of the proverbial hunter. Djidjelli was originally a Phoenician settlement, and later, under the Romans, was an important harbor. It is most famous as being the first capital of Barbarossa the elder, who came here after his first failure to dislodge the Spaniards from Algiers, and when his original Tunisian lair at the island of Djerba had become too inhospitable for him to return. His greatness began with his election as Sultan of this little seaside city. His conquests and raids are world famous, and though it was his younger brother who eventually ruled Algiers and became the scourge of the Mediterranean, it was the temporary Sultan of Djidjelli who in reality was responsible for the pirate fleet which was to terrorize the sea from its headquarters in Algiers for three hundred years.

At the present day Djidjelli is the center of the cork trade. The forests cover an area of one hundred and fifty thousand acres, and cork is exported from the harbor to ports all over the world.

The road along the seacoast from Djidjelli to Bougie is one of the loveliest in North Africa. Deep red cliffs look down on to the sapphire blue of the Mediterranean, while the green of the forests above contrasts again with the azure of the sky. Natural tunnels are traversed, and here and there the road clings dizzily to the perpendicular rocks. This road, like many others in North Africa, is a wonderful piece of engineering.

At the thirty-sixth kilometer stone there are some marvelous caves well worth a visit. An Arab looks after them, who will illuminate the multitude of stalactites and stalagmites which adorn its fairylike halls, creating a vision of enchantment.

Pretty little villages succeed pretty little villages, where one would like to spend the day lazily watching the tranquil sea. In the hills there are masses of game and wild boar abounds; occasionally one sees monkeys--the famous Barbary ape.

Bougie has a Spanish aspect, but is in itself not particularly interesting. In Roman times it was a colony for veteran soldiers, and later it became like most Algerian ports, a harbor for pirates. Charles Quint spent a few days here after his disastrous attempt to capture Algiers. If time permits there are some delightful excursions round about, but the traveler by this time is probably so weary of motoring and contemplating scenery that he will want to return to his trunks and his comforts in Algiers.

As stated in the plan of the journey there are now four alternatives before us--the direct run to Algiers via Bouira and Palestro, or via Azazga and Tizi Ouzou--or else, if time permits it, by Michelet and the Massif Kabyle or by Tigzirt, the coast, and Dellys.

If Algiers is the goal it is straight ahead.

Tizi Ouzou, apart from its name, has nothing curious; silversmiths make massive jewelry here, but there is no need to stop. The road runs through orchards and tobacco plantations rather monotonously after all the gorgeous scenery of the rest of the journey, and the arrival in Algiers will be welcomed.

If the road via Tigzirt has been selected one must turn off to the right some six kilometers after Azazga. The road continues bearing to the right and climbs steeply up to a Col whence one gets a magnificent view to the south of the Djujura range, deep in snow in winter. The road now runs down to the coast and then follows it for twenty-six kilometers to the little seaside resort of Tigzirt.

Here, if time does not press, and if one does not mind primitive, though clean, comforts, one can pass the night in the hotel and thus have an opportunity of visiting the delightful ruins of an old Phoenician settlement, later Romanized.

Thence the run to Algiers is via the seacoast to Dellys, and after that the dull Tizi Ouzou road--one hundred and fifty kilometers in all.

It is, however, hoped that the season of the year will have permitted the traveler to visit the Great Kabyle country, and in the next chapter I will endeavor to describe the scenery and the people of this district, which is almost as unique as the Mzab.

KABYLIE

The Kabyle country lies to the northeastern extremity of the department of Algiers, with a small portion lapping over into the department of Constantine as far as Bougie. It begins at Palestro, runs down to the sea, and is bounded on the south by the road from El Kseur to Bouira. It seems curious to speak of a country in the middle of a French department, and yet its physical boundaries are as defined as its people. Like the wild men of the Aur?s, the Kabyles are hardy mountaineers of the same race--the Berbers. Perhaps a little purer than the people of the Aur?s, who undoubtedly intermarried with Roman soldiers when the Empire fell, whereas their cousins of the north have remained intact since the days when the foreigner had not set foot in Africa.

The actual area of the country is about thirty-eight hundred square miles, and is composed of great mountains running up at some points to an altitude of six thousand feet, and deep in snow from December to March.

They are all naturally industrious farmers, and though the difficulty of cultivating this steep land, combined with the density of the population, makes farming no easy matter, the results are amazing. The growing of cereals holds a minor place in their agriculture, and their attention is chiefly directed to trees, especially the fig and the olive, of which the fruits are regularly exported. Owing to the overcrowded population, however, one finds few large landed proprietors, and the ownership of property is carried to the most ludicrous extremes. For instance, a whole family may own a fig-tree without owning the land on which it grows, and cases have been known of a man who owned an olive-tree hiring out the branches to the olive exporters.

The family ideals are the same as among all Berber groups: absolute respect for the head of the family, precedence for the males, but unlike the modern Arab family, no position at all for the women. It is true that polygamy is much rarer here than in the rest of North Africa, but this is largely due to economy rather than to anything else. Otherwise the wife is an absolute slave, and one is at once struck on the roads by the sight of Monsieur riding his mule while Madame trudges behind. As soon as a girl is of marriageable age, and often before, she is bought, and from that moment she must do all her husband's work, bear and bring up his children and, if he wishes, be divorced. Even if he dies she is not allowed to keep her children, who are taken over by the man's family as soon as weaned. Moreover, no woman can inherit from a man. When she has passed the period of bearing children she is relegated to the status of a beast of burden. Against this she has much more liberty to go about unattended, and she is not veiled. Small compensation!

It is hard to instil different principles into these wild people, as they are very hostile to all forms of European interference, and it is with the utmost difficulty that the children are made to go to the French school.

What is still more extraordinary to note is the fact that men who have been educated and who have actually been to Europe will return to their villages and, without the smallest hesitation, rebegin their old life, sleeping on the floor near their donkeys or their horses, while the women chop wood and do the rough work. Neither are these isolated cases as, since the war, many an old soldier, realizing the unequal struggle in his own country, has gone to France as a workman in a factory, and during that period has made money which has been regularly sent back to the family in the mountains, but once weary of Europe he has returned to his people to lead the same life as before. Berbers they were two thousand years ago, Berbers they are still, and, like the men of the Mzab and of the Hoggar, of the Aur?s and of the Riff, they remain unaltered, and there seems little prospect of anything changing them.

As in the Mzab, the villages differ considerably from those of the Arabs of the plain. Here again we find the town built on a pinnacle. Practically every peak in the Kabyle Mountains is dominated by a group of houses which cling dizzily above steep precipices. The houses themselves are small, low and squalid; the better ones consist of three rooms very slightly separated from one another. One room for the men, one for the women and children, and one for the animals, but there are many cases where men and beasts all dwell together.

The men are poorly dressed, and one never sees the prosperous white robes of the Mzabite nor the costly burnous of the Arab chief, but in spite of their rags they stalk along the road, stick in hand, the head high, and a look of defiance in their clear eyes. The women, on the other hand, wear brilliant colors--red and yellow and green; their heads are wrapped in high turban-like head-dresses consisting of many scarfs wound one above the other. Their faces, unveiled, are handsome and, contradictorily to their status, have usually an expression of great gaiety. Like most people who have never known anything better, their lot seems to them normal, and they have no other ambition.

They are all very superstitious--childishly so, and they carry countless antidotes against spells and the Evil Eye. Their courage is proverbial, and they callously bear pain. A man who had been stabbed in the abdomen was seen to push back his intestines into the gaping wound, mount his mule and ride off to the nearest French authorities to make his complaint. A doctor once said that if he saw a Kabyle cut in half he would not give a death certificate until he was sure that the heart had stopped beating!

Unfortunately space forbids my recounting countless anecdotes and stories about them. Like the Mzab, this is a country where one can linger quietly for some weeks and never have a dull day.

The road from Bougie to Michelet runs first of all along the foot of the Kabyle Mountains, giving one an excellent idea of the isolation of this district from the rest of Algeria. Great barren peaks rise up and the red earth of the slopes contrasts brilliantly with the olive-yards and fig plantations.

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