Morning journal and courier. [volume] (New Haven [Conn.]) 1848-1894, 1890-04-05

not half dozen of these old Arab streets
can one catch a glimpse of more than tiny
blue thread of sky above. The widest streets
are not upwards of twelve feet in width; the
average one does not exceed eight and in
very many one can touch the opposite walls
with outstretched hands. The habitations
of rich and poor are joined. None are de-
tached. A corner may impede progress here;
a lumpy angle may obtrude there; ponder
ous facade may cut into the street beyond;
but an endless, irregular wall, broken only
by depth in lowly, or height in more ponder
ous structure, by massive protruaing door.
huge stone meuldings and basins of fodG@>
tains, confronts You in every intricacy of
shadoWy thoroughfare. In nearly every
street and passage the second, third and
sometimes fourth story of the structures
each extend beyond the lower one, giving ef-
fects like those in the Dutch city lanes in
Amsterdam. The street side of each sue
by huge timbers at acute angles; and In
these dove and swallow cotes are hung. The
streets are stone, the walls are stone; the
props and all exposed timbers are whits-
washed to resemble stone; and the effect ia
something like wandering in tunnel of daz-
zling white, whose ya1lted sides are orna-
nented by strange and uncouth architectural
uoElture, auu tuIouSu tuo trNnCaseo poluteu
arch of which twilight way there is seen but
the slenderest line OF sky.
A few dainty balconies, flung like drift Of
spume against these walls of white, are seen.
The decoration OF these is light and grace
full, and one can readily trace the origin of
the suggestive and enchanting Spanish and
italian balcony. But they were never for
else than ornament. No woman's form ever
added complete gracs to their beauty. But
these balconies are rare. No windows are
chosen for ornamentation. They are invari.
ably high, little, barred, prison-like. All
other architectural beauty is found in carved
doorways, among which are many magnih.
cent specimens; in bases and capitals of spi-
raj stone pillars supporting arches vaulting
the streets, over which superstructures often
shut out the sky, and are in the pure Arab
style of one thousand years ago; about the
facades and fonts of numberless fountains
set in cool alcoves, projecting unexpectedly
from blank walls, or built upright from the
center of tiny squares, the only places in all
this old quarter where sunlight ever reaches
the earth; and, behind the massive walls, in
interiors, whose structural grace and exqui-
site ornamentation are an endless feast of ar
tistic delight. Again one finds in these in
teriors the origin of that loveliest of all in-
ner forms of household architecture, the
Spanish patio, or court, which American
people of wealth might go happily copy at
least with the modification of glass cover
inss; thus preserving all the enchanting fea-
lures of wide, lofty, lightful open spaces; the
desirable opportunity for promenades, fetes
and festivities within court and galleriek;
and, above all, perfect ventilation and faoili->
ty for the noblest and most classic use of
pillars, arcaes. balustrades, draperies, chan
deliers or candelabra and songful fountains,
possible for the beautifying of the home.
And believe there is yet to come to the
common and artistic sense of American
home-builders form of palatial, and yet
delightfully."- comfortable, habitation exceed
ing in beauty and availability any yet adopt
ed style. This will comprise reasonably
modified Elizabethian castle, or manse-house
exterior; the Moresque Spanish interior,
with free use of gallery supporting column
and arch with domed central roof; and that
sweetest Of all provision for comfort and
home blessedness, the most liberal possible
use Of the ample, glorious fire places OF
England old and new.
One will see stranger things within these
streets than their quaint architecture. The
shops are all merely tiny inches in the walls.
The Moorish merchant enters his black little
den through a trap door; lowers the shutter
which falls, often in steps, TO the street, and
sits in the center of his possessions, which
are all within reach, voiceless and grave the
day long, like forsaken Punct in panto-
mime. Every manner of a shop ia just like
his. In some workmen are embroidering the
white burnous, utilizing their great toss for
| holding tight the disengaged thread. In
others greasy frittsrs are fried in solemn
| and stately manner while one waits. Some
display ostrich eggs and native ornaments.
Here and there is seller of herbs aud vege-
| tables. Again white robed and bearded men
| are surrounded by crates of charcoal and
| tiny bundles of fagots. In others almoat
priceless oriental draperiss are packed and
punched around merchant who smokes and
dreams as If no thought of traffic ever en-
tered his head. The ancient and venerable
letter and scroll writer has his niche or chair
at archway side, and waits with that stoio
patience only an Indian or a Moslem can
| command, to indite epistle or trace sacred
passage from the Koran upon egg shell or on
ribbon for some devout ones amulet. Shoe
makers squat cross legged, sewing and ham
mering upon sandals and slippers only.
Bread sellers crouch against walls and door
ways. Groups of swarthy Kabyles with
their copper ewers are ever before the gar-
Cling old fountains. Yelled women wriggle
| and mince to and from market or khouba.
| Stately Arabs appear and disappear, their
flowing robes shutting out the vistas of the
narrow streets. Cloth venders higgle baggle
at the cracks of massive doors barely ajar.
Funeral corteges pass on the run-for the
dead Moslem arrives in paradise that much
| more speedily. Girls with dough covered
boards ready for the bakeries are as fleet as
the funerals. Tiny donkeys loaded with
street garbage force you against the walls.
| Other donkeys with pauniers packed with
fruits, orange blossoms and roses fill the
shadowy ways with the affairs of sunny AL
gerian valleys. The same weird, wild scenes
of semi-barbaric life that were here thou
sand years ago are here to-day, every day,
all day, and will remain. And If you wan
der these ghostly ways at night, all is still,
shadowful, silent. You see the white, al.
lent walls about you. You know that
white, silent forms whisk past you. And
away up there through infinite space you
see the white, silent stats looking down.
It holds, fascinates, enthralls. One ii
bound with almost inseparable fetters oi
interest to it; but when you have put the
"white dove upon the hillside" behind yot
something like breath of relief comes, as i
did to me yesterday, when stepped foot OF
Sicilian shores, even if above the white wall
and domes of thrice razed Catania loom tn,
dark and forbidding outlines of hideous, fear
full and ever-destroying Etna.
| EDGAR L. WAKEMAN.