W. G. Windham

Arrival in Algeria.––Murray’s Guide-books, and their Amenities.––Disembarkation in the Port of Algiers.––Our Fellow-travellers.––Algiers and its Inhabitants.––The Dey’s Palace.––Cause of the French Invasion.

Next morning, at eight o’clock, came the waiter with the intelligence––“Nous sommes dans la baie d’Alger, monsieur, À une heure de la ville.” My desire to see Algiers was vehement indeed; but scarcely less strong was the craving of the inner man for bread and coffee. With the nectar of Arabia, however, the inspiration of the Orient seemed to percolate my veins; but when a fragrant glass of cognac crowned the meal, the aroma of the East enveloped me, the delicious strains of Bulbul rang in my ears, the Calaisien and the Marseillais, sitting stolidly before me, became straightway transformed into camels, the stewardess into a houri, and the noses of the passengers were as masques in my enraptured sight.

But the book at my side was not the Koran, though it might have been, for the strange farrago it contained.

It was a celebrated traveller’s manual in the 14 English language, and in red binding. The king of the Cannibal Islands has not in his library a more absurd volume than this manual; for in its pages pathetic bagmen give vent to their ludicrous ebullitions concerning the Alhambra, or the Rhine, or any foreign lion you please to name; and young boys just escaped from school dish up their first impressions of the Continent in a style as savoury as the flavour of a Spanish olla podrida. And yet, ascend the Rhine, go to Venice or to St. Petersburg, and ten to one for the chance, that when you meet an Englishman he will have that eternal manual clutched in his British grasp.

Oh, my dear and well-beloved countrymen, what creatures of fashion and precedent we all are, from high to low! What one does, the rest must do; and in the self-same manner. I verily believe, if the late Albert Smith had left it on record that, in ascending Mont Blanc, he planted his foot in a certain hole in the snow, every one of his successors in that glorious undertaking would have paid their guides an extra dollar for indicating to them the identical cavity, that they might go and do likewise. Thank goodness, Algeria is as yet encumbered by no manual or “Hand-book,” as our modern Germanised phraseology elects to call the egregious productions; so shall we travellers be at liberty to follow our own noses, to go exactly where we like, and to do what we please, even to dressing like Arabs, should the whim seize us. Moreover, we 15 may do in Rome as Rome does, and enjoy a French breakfast washed down with good wine in lieu of bad tea, without having ourselves or our proceedings stigmatised as “shocking,” as would undoubtedly be our lot at Paris, or Brussels, or Berlin.

Behold us, then, in happy hour, ready to disembark in Algiers, with the children of the desert thronging on board to act as porters. Their appearance pleases me much, as they come forward, with their tall, striking figures, dark eyes, and distinguished mien. “Perfect gentlemen, these,” said I to myself; but beneath the outside crust little remains that can be called gratifying. These men are like the apple of Sodom; at least, so I thought on landing, after a long squabble with them respecting the passage money, carried on in bad Italian and French. A nearer acquaintance with them may, perhaps, modify my views on this subject.

“Well, it has been a pleasant time on board the packet,” is my parting reflection as I step ashore; nor shall I lightly forget the captain, so different in his politeness and urbanity from the sea-bear with whom I sailed in the North Sea; nor the honest Hamburgher, who appeared to have an equally beloved wife in every land and in every place we came to; nor the would-be dandy, who lit cigars innumerable, and invariably flung them overboard after the first puff; nor the priests, who seemed to possess the gift of invisibility, so rarely did they show themselves; nor 16 the hundred thousand events and personages that flash upon our path for a moment on our journey through life, and then linger in the memory only as the dim phantoms of a dream that has passed away.

Algiers, seen from the sea, presents the appearance of a vast triangular cone, situated on the slope of a mountain. Like all the inhabitants of Northern Africa, the Algerians were at an early period Christians, and it was only after several battles that the Mahometan religion was finally established all over the coast of Barbary. Before the French occupation, the Algerian ladies, like the females in all Mussulmen countries, were kept in the strictest seclusion. The wife of a rich Moor never left her home except to go to the baths, and even that expedition was undertaken only at night. When it became absolutely necessary that ladies should go abroad in daylight, their faces were covered, and the whole figure so concealed by a redundancy of wrappings, that a stranger would be puzzled to find out what the moving bundles were. The luxury of the bath is greatly used by them. There are public as well as private baths. They consist of three apartments. The first is a large hall, for dressing and undressing; in the second, the visitors perspire; and the third is for bathing proper, or otherwise, as tastes and opinions somewhat differ. After the bath, those of the male sex repair to the first room for lemonade or coffee, or for a pipe. The modern Mahometan ladies of Algiers have almost abandoned 17 this seclusion. They are seen gadding about everywhere, and are reported as being by no means particular or difficult in their conquests. French ideas and morals have percolated them considerably. Excessive obesity is regarded among Mahometans as the perfection of beauty; so that, instead of using powders and other nostrums to reduce themselves, like some of my friends at home, they devour seeds and couscous, the national dish, especially employed for fattening people. Some young ladies are crammed to such a degree that they die under the operation.

On a fine, hot day in February, 1860, I mounted the conical hill on which Algiers is built. The weather was magnificent. The sun of Africa already made his approach felt, and the mountains in the far horizon stood out like bas-reliefs against the azure sky. Here stood the palace of the Dey before the French occupation. The building is now called the casbah, and used as a large barrack; outside are the Moorish houses, and the chief part of the Moorish population.

The cause of quarrel between France and Algeria, which resulted in the conquest of the country by the Gallic legions was as follows:––The Dey, a pasha of the old Turkish school, was, it appears, a potentate of extravagant disposition, and owed the French Government a considerable sum of money. The creditors, being in a hurry for their cash, dunned the Dey incessantly, through the agency of their consul. Unaccustomed 18 to the eagerness of French importunity, the Dey, on one unlucky occasion, made a gesture of impatience with his fan, as a man might do with his riding-whip, if his tailor became too pressing for the settlement of his account. It proved an expensive gesture, however; for within a few weeks it brought 10,000 French soldiers to the shores of the Dey, and cost him his entire realm. The bulk of the Mauresque and Turkish population quitted Algeria with their families on the arrival of the French. Those who remain are the poorer classes, and now live, if report speaks true, in an immoral state. These events took place in the reign of that peaceful monarch, Louis Philippe.