VII
A first glance, at such close quarters, would have told the leastinstructed stranger that he was in the presence of two clashingcivilizations, both tenacious, one powerful.
In front, all along the shore, towered with confident effrontery amassive line of buildings many stories high, great cubes of brick andstone, having elaborate balconies that shadowed swarming offices withdark, gaping vaults below. Along the broad, stone-paved street clangedelectric tramcars. There was a constant coming and going of men. Cloakedand hooded white forms, or half-clad apparitions wrapped in what lookedlike dirty bagging, mingled with commonplace figures in Western dress.But huddled in elbow-high with this busy town of modern France (whichmight have been Marseilles or Bordeaux) was something alien, somethingremote in spirit; a ghostly band of white buildings, silent and pale inthe midst of colour and noise. Low houses with flat roofs or miniaturedomes, small, secret doorways, tiny windows like eyes narrowed forspying, and overhanging upper stories supported on close-set, projectingsticks of mellow brown which meant great age. Minarets sprang up in muteprotest against the infidel, appealing to the sky. All that was left ofold Algiers tried to boast, in forced dumbness, of past glories, ofevery charm the beautiful, fierce city of pirates must have possessedbefore the French came to push it slowly but with deadly sureness backfrom the sea. Now, silent and proud in the tragedy of failure, it stoodmasked behind pretentious French houses, blocklike in ugliness, orflauntingly ornate as many buildings in the Rue de Rivoli or BoulevardHaussmann.
In those low-browed dwellings which thickly enamelled the hill with amosaic of pink and pearly whiteness, all the way up to the old fortresscastle, the Kasbah, the true life of African Algiers hid and whispered.The modern French front along the fine street was but a gay veneerconcealing realities, an incrusted civilization imposed upon oneincredibly ancient, unspeakably different and ever unchanging.
Stephen remembered now that he had heard people decry Algiers,pronouncing it spoiled and "completely Frenchified." But it occurred tohim that in this very process of spoiling, an impression of tragicromance had been created which less "spoiled" towns might lack. Herewere clashing contrasts which, even at a glance, made the strangestpicture he had ever seen; and already he began to feel more and morekeenly, though not yet to understand, something of the magic of theEast. For this place, though not the East according to geographers, heldall the spirit of the East--was in essence truly the East.
Before the ship lay fairly in harbour, brown men had climbed on boardfrom little boats, demanding to be given charge of the passengers' smallluggage, which the stewards had brought on deck, and while one of thesewas arguing in bad French with Stephen, a tall, dark youth beautifullydressed in crimson and white, wearing a fez jauntily on one side,stepped up with a smile. "_Pardon, monsieur_," he ventured. "_Je suis ledomestique de Monsieur Caird._" And then, in richly guttural accents, heoffered the information that he was charged to look after monsieur'sbaggage; that it was best to avoid _tous ces Arabes la_, and thatMonsieur Caird impatiently awaited his friend on the wharf.
"But you--aren't you Arab?" asked Stephen, who knew no subtledifferences between those who wore the turban or fez. He saw that thegood-looking, merry-faced boy was no browner than many a Frenchman ofthe south, and that his eyes were hazel; still, he did not know what hemight be, if not Arab.
"_Je suis Kabyle, monsieur; Kabyle des hauts plateaux_," replied theyouth with pride, and a look of contempt at the shouting porters, whichwas returned with interest. They darted glances of scorn at hisgold-braided vest and jacket of crimson cloth, his light blue sash, andhis enormously full white trousers, beneath which showed a strip of palegolden leg above the short white stockings, spurning the immaculatesmartness of his livery, preferring, or pretending to prefer, their ownsoiled shabbiness and freedom. The Kabyle saw these glances, but,completely satisfied with himself, evidently attributed them to envy.
Stephen turned towards Victoria, of whom he had lost sight for a moment.He wished to offer the Kabyle boy's services, but already she hadaccepted those of a very old Arab who looked thin and ostentatiouslypathetic. It was too late now. He saw by her face that she would refusehelp, rather than hurt the man's feelings. But she had told him the nameof the hotel where she had telegraphed to engage a room, and Stephenmeant at the instant of greeting his host, to ask if it were suitablefor a young girl travelling alone.
He caught sight of Caird, looking up and waiting for him, before he wasable to land. It was the face he remembered; boyish, with beautifulbright eyes, a wide forehead, and curly light hair. The expression wasmore mature, but the same quaintly angelic look was there, which hadearned for Nevill the nickname of "Choir Boy" and "Wings."
"Hullo, Legs!" called out Caird, waving his Panama.
"Hullo, Wings!" shouted Stephen, and was suddenly tremendously glad tosee the friend he had thought of seldom during the last eight or nineyears. In another moment he was introducing Nevill to Miss Ray andhastily asking questions concerning her hotel, while a fantastic crowdsurged round all three. Brown, skurrying men in torn bagging, themuscles of whose bare, hairless legs seemed carved in dark oak; shiningblack men whose faces were ebony under the ivory white of their turbans;pale, patient Kabyles of the plains bent under great sacks of flourwhich drained through ill-sewn seams and floated on the air in whitesmoke, making every one sneeze as the crowd swarmed past. Large greymules roared, miniature donkeys brayed, and half-naked children laughedor howled, and darted under the heads of the horses, or fell against thebright bonnets of waiting motor cars. There were smart victorias, shabbycabs, hotel omnibuses, and huge carts; and, mingling with the floatingdust of the spilt flour was a heavy perfume of spices, of incenseperhaps blown from some far-off mosque, and ambergris mixed with grainsof musk in amulets which the Arabs wore round their necks, heated bytheir sweating flesh as they worked or stalked about shouting gutturalorders. There was a salt tang of seaweed, too, like an undertone, afoundation for all the other smells; and the air was warm with a hint ofsummer, a softness that was not enervating.
As soon as the first greeting and the introduction to Miss Ray wereconfusedly over, Caird cleverly extricated the newcomers from the thickof the throng, sheltering them between his large yellow motor car and ahotel omnibus waiting for passengers and luggage.
"Now you're safe," he said, in the young-sounding voice which pleasantlymatched his whole personality. He was several years older than Stephen,but looked younger, for Stephen was nearly if not quite six feet inheight, and Nevill Caird was less in stature by at least four inches. Hewas very slightly built, too, and his hair was as yellow as a child's.His face was clean-shaven, like Stephen's, and though Stephen, livingmostly in London, was brown as if tanned by the sun, Nevill, out ofdoors constantly and exposed to hot southern sunshine, had thecomplexion of a girl. Nevertheless, thought Victoria--sensitive andquick in forming impressions--he somehow contrived to look a thoroughman, passionate and ready to be violently in earnest, like one who wouldlove or hate in a fiery way. "He would make a splendid martyr," the girlsaid to herself, giving him straight look for straight look, as he beganadvising her against her chosen hotel. "But I think he would want hisbest friends to come and look on while he burned. Mr. Knight would chaseeverybody away."
"Don't go to any hotel," Nevill said. "Be my aunt's guest. It's a greatdeal more her house than mine. There's lots of room in it--ever so muchmore than we want. Just now there's no one staying with us, but often wehave a dozen or so. Sometimes my aunt invites people. Sometimes I do:sometimes both together. Now I invite you, in her name. She's quite anice old lady. You'll like her. And we've got all kinds ofanimals--everything, nearly, that will live in this climate, fromtortoises of Carthage, to white mice from Japan, and a baby panther fromGrand Kabylia. But they keep themselves to themselves. I promise you thepanther won't try to sit on your lap. And you'll be just in time tochristen him. We've been looking for a name."
"I should love to christen the panther, and you are more than
kind tosay your aunt would like me to visit her; but I can't possibly, thankyou very much," answered Victoria in the old-fashioned, quaintlyprovincial way which somehow intensified the effect of her brilliantprettiness. "I have come to Algiers on--on business that's veryimportant to me. Mr. Knight will tell you all about it. I've asked himto tell, and he's promised to beg for your help. When you know, you'llsee that it will be better for me not to be visiting anybody. I--I wouldrather be in a hotel, in spite of your great kindness."
That settled the matter. Nevill Caird had too much tact to insist,though he was far from being convinced. He said that his aunt, LadyMacGregor, would write Miss Ray a note asking her to lunch next day, andthen they would have the panther-christening. Also by that time hewould know, from his friend, how his help might best be given. But inany case he hoped that Miss Ray would allow his car to drop her at theHotel de la Kasbah, which had no omnibus and therefore did not send tomeet the boat. Her luggage might go up with the rest, and be left at thehotel.
These offers Victoria accepted gratefully; and as Caird put her into thefine yellow car, the handsome Arab who had been on the boat looked ather with chastened curiosity as he passed. He must have seen that shewas with the Englishman who had talked to her on board the _CharlesQuex_, and that now there was another man, who seemed to be the owner ofthe large automobile. The Arab had a servant with him, who had travelledsecond class on the boat, a man much darker than himself, plainlydressed, with a smaller turban bound by cheaper cord; but he was veryclean, and as dignified as his master. Stephen scarcely noticed the twofigures. The fine-looking Arab had ceased to be of importance since hehad left the ship, and would see no more of Victoria Ray.
The chauffeur who drove Nevill's car was an Algerian who looked as if hemight have a dash of dark blood in his veins. Beside him sat the Kabyleservant, who, in his picturesque embroidered clothes, with his jauntyfez, appeared amusingly out of place in the smart automobile, whichstruck the last note of modernity. The chauffeur had a reckless, daringface, with the smile of a mischievous boy; but he steered with cautionand skill through the crowded streets where open trams rushed by, filledto overflowing with white-veiled Arab women of the lower classes, andFrench girls in large hats, who sat crushed together on the same seats.Arabs walked in the middle of the street, and disdained to quicken theirsteps for motor cars and carriages. Tiny children with charming brownfaces and eyes like wells of light, darted out from the pavement, almostin front of the motor, smiling and begging, absolutely, fearless andengagingly impudent. It was all intensely interesting to Stephen, whowas, however, conscious enough of his past to be glad that he was ableto take so keen an interest. He had the sensation of a man who has beenpartially paralyzed, and is delighted to find that he can feel a pinch.
The Hotel de la Kasbah, which Victoria frankly admitted she had chosenbecause of its low prices, was, as its name indicated, close to themounting of the town, near the corner of a tortuous Arab street, narrowand shadowy despite its thick coat of whitewash. The house was kept byan extremely fat Algerian, married to a woman who called herselfSpanish, but was more than half Moorish; and the proprietor himselfbeing of mixed blood, all the servants except an Algerian maid or two,were Kabyles or Arabs. They were cheap and easy to manage, since masterand mistress had no prejudices. Stephen did not like the look of theplace, which might suit commercial travellers or parties of economicaltourists who liked to rub shoulders with native life; but for a prettyyoung girl travelling alone, it seemed to him that, though it was cleanenough, nothing could be less appropriate. Victoria had made up her mindand engaged her room, however; and so as no definite objection could beurged, he followed Caird's example, and held his tongue. As they badethe girl good-bye in the tiled hall (a fearful combination of all thatwas worst in Arab and European taste) Nevill begged her to let them knowif she were not comfortable. "You're coming to lunch to-morrow athalf-past one," he went on, "but if there's anything meanwhile, call usup on the telephone. We can easily find you another hotel, or a pension,if you're determined not to visit my aunt."
"If I need you, I promise that I will call," Victoria said. And thoughshe answered Caird, she looked at Stephen Knight.
Then they left her; and Stephen became rather thoughtful. But he triednot to let Nevill see his preoccupation.