W. G. Windham

Algerian Society.––A SoirÉe at General Martinprez’s.––The Sirocco.––My Maltese Companion.––The Theatre.––General Youssouf and Career.

I have described Algiers as being built on the side of a mountain. The city possesses a commodious and safe harbour, where flutter the colours of every nation, from the red flag of the Swede to the Spaniard’s yellow ensign. Economy of space being a primary consideration in the laying out of the city, the houses have been built very high, and the streets made very narrow, so that there is no room for carriages. The Consul has a very fine Mauresque house in the old Turkish quarter, where he invited me to dinner and a soirÉe the day after my arrival; and the next day I was invited to the reception of the Governor, General Martinprez.

The General received me and my companions most graciously, and, after keeping me in conversation for about five minutes, introduced me to his lady, a very pleasing person. My friend A––– and I were then introduced to two or three other fashionable ladies of Algiers; and, engrossed in conversation with 20 these; we strangers were unconscious of a general movement of the gentlemen towards the farther end of the room, as a preliminary to the amateur concert. I was quite ignorant of this Algerian regulation, by which the gentlemen and ladies are separated as effectually as in a Lutheran church (a fashion, by-the-bye, we appear to be adopting). Accordingly, on looking up, I observed, to my infinite chagrin, that I was the “observed of all observers,” and probably was set down as a bÊte Anglais, who knew no better. The extensive crinoline of the ladies effectually prevented a retreat in any direction, and I was unpleasantly conscious of the suppressed titter the fair ones tried to conceal behind their fans. I endeavoured to summon up all the resources of my London phlegm, to support me in this ridiculous position; but, unfortunately, I possess very little of that desirable quality. The fair one with whom I was conversing evidently felt for the unpleasantness of my situation, and very good-naturedly kept me talking till the end of the first piece, when I succeeded in making my escape.

How I inwardly abused the opera they were performing! It was called “Le Diable;” and to me it appeared as though the fiend in question had no tail––or rather, no end––to that appendage, so long did the time seem. Far be it from me to despise the arts; I admire them in every shape, except in the compound form of speech: exempli gratiÂ, art-union, art-school, 21 &c. Why, in the name of common sense, can we not talk English instead of German, and say school of arts, union of arts, &c.? I suppose we shall soon go a step farther in imitation of our Germanic neighbours, and call poetry by the appellation of poet-art. In the last century, it seemed likely, as Johnson said, that we should babble a dialect of France; in this, there is more danger of our talking a Teutonic jargon. Let us stick to the middle course––for our language is essentially half way between the German and the French, the Teutonic and Romance tongues, and any attempt to approximate too much to either extreme is simply preposterous.

The next day we had the sirocco; and, to quote the expression with which I once heard a popular preacher commence a sermon, it was “d–––d hot.” Start not, ladies of Belgravia, for the preacher in question belonged not to the Anglican communion; he held forth to mere vulgar audiences, at least, in a remote locality. Thrice he repeated the expression (which I will not), and then improved the occasion by describing a place hotter than the crowded chapel in which he was officiating, in the month of July. He was evidently in his element. He was especially hot against those modern spirits, who are not such faithful believers in the burning flames of the lower regions, and even begin to imagine they may have cooled down, if they have not been quite extinguished. “And if”––he cried, in his ardour––“if they were 22 on the point of being extinguished, I would with my own breath rekindle the expiring flame!” And his voice, which sounded like a gale of wind, and his face, red as a furnace, and his enormous fists fiercely clenched, made it appear to the congregation, for the moment, that this terrifying assertion was no exaggeration. But to return to the sirocco.

In spite, or rather by reason of the heat, I went for a stroll on the sea-shore with Nero, that we might cool our wearied limbs in the azure wave of the Mediterranean. We had been walking along the shore for about a mile, when about twenty Arab dogs rushed out most ferociously at Nero, and would, I believe, have torn him to pieces, but for the large hunting-whip with which I managed to keep them at bay. There was with me a young Maltese boy, of Irish parentage––a most amusing character this urchin was. He wanted me to take him into the interior as my interpreter. “Take me wid you, sir,” was his eloquent appeal; “give me pound a month, sir; tell Arabs you brother of Queen Victoria, sir; Arabs great fools, sir; know no better, sir;” but I was proof against the voice of the charmer.

In returning, I met General Martinprez on horseback, and saluted; of course, he returned my greeting most graciously. But I was not a little amused, and could hardly help laughing, when the young Hiberno-Maltese tatterdemalion took off his dirty cap with a flourish to the General, simultaneously with my salute, 23 as if he had been my confidential friend, taking a promenade with me.

That evening I went to the theatre. The piece performed was “Les Femmes Terribles”––and a terribly Gallic flavour there was diffused over the whole performance––a kind of haut goÛt, for which we stolid islanders have, happily, no relish.

General Youssouf was at the theatre this evening. He is rather a fine-looking man, and not too stout. His is a curious history. Originally a Christian slave at Tunis, supposed to be the son of Italian parents, he received the name of Youssouf (Joseph) from his Mussulman masters at Tunis, where he was employed in the Bey’s palace. Of fine stature and handsome appearance, the Christian slave soon attracted the notice of the Bey’s daughter, an honour to which he was not insensible. The Bey was soon informed of what was going on, and Joseph would have been caged, if not racked, had not some kind friend apprised him of the discovery, and of his own consequent danger. A French man-of-war happened to be in the harbour at La Goeletta, off Tunis, and young Youssouf, then about twenty years of age, managed to effect his escape on board. The Franks, of course, gladly received him as an escaped Christian slave. The Bey sent to demand him back; but the French commander gave him politely to understand that he would see the Bey experiencing the reverse of the joys of Paradise before he would comply with such a request. The vessel set 24 sail next day for Algiers, where the Gallic occupation had just commenced. Young Youssouf––who, in addition to his knowledge of French and Italian, could, of course, speak Arabic perfectly––was here landed, and became interpreter to a foot regiment. Quick and clever, he was soon promoted, till he attained an officer’s rank. He is now a general in the service. Entertaining––perhaps naturally––a mortal hatred of the Arabs, he has generally been selected to enforce those stern acts of reprisal against the native population, which, though perhaps justified by necessity, still bear the impress of great severity, and are unpalatable to officers of French birth and education. These measures he has always carried out with strict fidelity and unrelenting harshness. He was the centre of attraction this evening––every battery of eyes was turned upon him. He had fought a duel with the editor of a newspaper, only that morning, for abusing him or his wife, and had succeeded in running the journalist through the shoulder.

The next few days I was engaged in making purchases, chiefly of shot and necessary travelling articles, for the interior. I was swimming my dog in the water of the port, according to my daily custom, when I stumbled on my servant, Angelo, whom I determined to take with me into the interior. Besides English, which he spoke very well, he could talk Arabic quite fluently, and I found him very useful.