maroc and mazagan :5

Beyond the house, in a faint glow that was already paling the stars, the
African city, well-nigh a thousand years old, assumed its most mysterious
aspect. The high walls on either side of the roads, innocent of casements
as of glass, seemed, in the uncertain light, to be tinted with violet amid
their dull grey. The silence was complete and weird. Never a cry from
man or beast removed the first impression that this was a city of the
dead. The entrances of the bazaars in the Kaisariyah, to which we turned,
were barred and bolted, their guardians sat motionless, covered in white
djellabas, that looked like shrouds. The city's seven gates were fast
closed, though doubtless there were long files of camels and market men
waiting patiently without. The great mansions of the wazeers and the
green-tiled palace of Mulai Abd-el-Aziz--Our Victorious Master the
Sultan--seemed unsubstantial as one of those cities that the mirage had
set before us in the heart of the R'hamna plains. Salam, the untutored man
from the far Riff country, felt the spell of the silent morning hour. It
was a primitive appeal, to which he responded instantly, moving quietly by
my side without a word.

"O my masters, give charity; Allah helps helpers!" A blind beggar, sitting
by the gate, like Bartimaeus of old, thrust his withered hand before me.
Lightly though we had walked, his keen ear had known the difference in
sound between the native slipper and the European boot. It had roused him
from his slumbers, and he had calculated the distance so nicely that the
hand, suddenly shot out, was well within reach of mine. Salam, my almoner,
gave him a handful of the copper money, called _floos_, of which a score
may be worth a penny, and he sank back in his uneasy seat with voluble
thanks, not to us, but to Allah the One, who had been pleased to move us
to work his will. To me no thanks were due. I was no more than Allah's
unworthy medium, condemned to burn in fires seven times heated, for
unbelief.

From their home on the flat house-tops two storks rose suddenly, as though
to herald the dawn; the sun became visible above the city's time-worn
walls, and turned their colouring from violet to gold. We heard the guards
drawing the bars of the gate that is called Bab al Khamees, and knew that
the daily life of Marrakesh had begun. The great birds might have given
the signal that woke the town to activity.

Straightway men and beasts made their way through the narrow cobbled
lanes. Sneering camels, so bulked out by their burdens that a
foot-passenger must shrink against the wall to avoid a bad bruising;
well-fed horses, carrying some early-rising Moor of rank on the top of
seven saddle-cloths; half-starved donkeys, all sores and bruises; one
encountered every variety of Moorish traffic here, and the thoroughfare,
that had been deserted a moment before, was soon thronged. In addition to
the Moors and Susi traders, there were many slaves, black as coal, brought
in times past from the Soudan. From garden and orchard beyond the city the
fruit and flowers and vegetables were being carried into their respective
markets, and as they passed the air grew suddenly fragrant with a scent
that was almost intoxicating. The garbage that lay strewn over the cobbles
had no more power to offend, and the fresh scents added in some queer
fashion of their own to the unreality of the whole scene.

To avoid the crush we turned to another quarter of the city, noting that
the gates of the bazaars were opened, and that only the chains were left
across the entrance. But the tiny shops, mere overgrown packing-cases,
were still locked up; the merchants, who are of higher rank than the
dealers in food-stuffs, seldom appear before the day is aired, and their
busiest hours are in the afternoon, when the auction is held. "Custom is
from Allah," they say, and, strong in this belief, they hold that time is
only valuable as leisure. And, God wot, they may well be wiser herein than
we are.

A demented countryman, respected as a saint by reason of his madness, a
thing of rags and tatters and woefully unkempt hair, a quite wild
creature, more than six feet high, and gaunt as a lightning-smitten pine,
came down the deserted bazaar of the brass-workers. He carried a long
staff in one hand, a bright tin bowl in the other. The sight of a European
heightened his usual frenzy--

        Across his sea of mind
    A thought came streaming like a blazing ship
        Upon a mighty wind.

I saw the sinews stand out on the bare arm that gripped the staff, and his
bright eyes were soon fixed upon me. "You do not say words to him, sir,"
whispered Salam; "he do'n know what he do--he very holy man."

The madman spat on my shadow, and cursed profoundly, while his passion was
mastering him. I noted with interest in that uncomfortable moment the
clear signs of his epileptic tendencies, the twitching of the thumb that
grasped the stick, the rigidity of the body, the curious working of
certain facial muscles. I stood perfectly still, though my right hand
involuntarily sought the pocket of my coat where my revolver lay, the use
of which save in direst necessity had been a mad and wicked act; and then
two peace-loving Moors, whose blue selhams of fine Manchester cloth
proclaimed their wealth and station, came forward and drew the frenzied
creature away, very gently and persuasively. He, poor wretch, did not know
what was taking place, but moved helplessly to the door of the bazaar and
then fell, his fit upon him. I hurried on. Moors are kindly, as well as
respectful, to those afflicted of Allah.

We passed on our way to the Bab Dukala, the gate that opens out upon
Elhara, the leper quarter. There we caught our morning view of the forest
of date-palm that girdles the town. Moors say that in centuries long past
Marrakesh was besieged by the men of Tafilalt, who brought dates for food,
and cast the stones on the ground. The rain buried them, the Tensift
nourished them, and to-day they crowd round Ibn Tachfin's ruinous city,
'their feet in water and their heads in fire.' 'Tis an agreeable legend.

[Illustration: A WANDERING MINSTREL]

Market men, half naked and very lean, were coming in from Tamsloht and
Amsmiz, guiding their heavy-laden donkeys past the crumbling walls and the
steep valley that separates Elhara from the town. Some scores of lepers
had left their quarters, a few hiding terrible disfigurement under
great straw hats, others quite careless of their deplorable disease.
Beggars all, they were going on their daily journey to the shrine of Sidi
bel Abbas, patron of the destitute, to sit there beneath the zowia's ample
walls, hide their heads in their rags, and cry upon the passers to
remember them for the sake of the saint who had their welfare so much at
heart. And with the closing of the day they would be driven out of the
city, and back into walled Elhara, to such of the mud huts as they called
home. Long acquaintance with misery had made them careless of it. They
shuffled along as though they were going to work, but from my shaded
corner, where I could see without being seen, I noted no sign of converse
between them, and every face that could be studied was stamped with the
impress of unending misery.

The scene around us was exquisite. Far away one saw the snow-capped peaks
of the Atlas; hawks and swallows sailed to and from Elhara's walls; doves
were cooing in the orchards, bee-eaters flitted lightly amid the palms. I
found myself wondering if the lepers ever thought to contrast their lives
with their surroundings, and I trusted they did not. Some few, probably,
had not been lepers, but criminals, who preferred the horrid liberty of
Elhara to the chance of detection and the living death of the Hib Misbah.
Other beggars were not really lepers, but suffered from one or other of
the kindred diseases that waste Morocco. In Marrakesh the native doctors
are not on any terms with skilled diagnosis, and once a man ventures into
Elhara, he acquires a reputation for leprosy that serves his purpose. I
remember inquiring of a Moorish doctor the treatment of a certain native's
case. "Who shall arrest Allah's decree?" he began modestly. And he went on
to say that the best way to treat an open wound was to put powdered
sulphur upon it, and apply a light.[22] Horrible as this remedy seems, the
worthy doctor believed in it, and had sent many a True Believer
to--Paradise, I hope--by treating him on these lines. Meanwhile his
profound confidence in himself, together with his knowledge and free use
of the Koran, kept hostile criticism at bay.[23]

We turned back into the city, to see it in another aspect. The rapid rise
of the sun had called the poorer workers to their daily tasks; buyers were
congregating round the market stalls of the dealers in meat, bread,
vegetables, and fruit. With perpetual grace to Allah for his gift of
custom, the stall-keepers were parting with their wares at prices far
below anything that rules even in the coast towns of the Sultan's country.
The absence of my Lord Abd-el-Aziz and his court had tended to lower rates
considerably. It was hard to realise that, while food cost so little,
there were hundreds of men, women, and children within the city to whom
one good meal a day was something almost unknown. Yet this was certainly
the case.

Towering above the other buyers were the trusted slaves of the wazeers in
residence--tall negroes from the far South for the most part--hideous men,
whose black faces were made the more black by contrast with their white
robes. They moved with a certain sense of dignity and pride through the
ranks of the hungry freemen round them; clearly they were well contented
with their lot--a curious commentary upon the European notions of
slavery--based, to be sure, upon European methods in regard to it. The
whole formed a marvellous picture, and how the pink roses, the fresh,
green mint and thyme, the orange flowers and other blossoms, sweetened the
narrow ways, garbage-strewn under foot and roofed overhead with dried
leaves of the palm!

FOOTNOTES:

[17] "Moghreb-al-Acksa."

[18] Street cleaners are paid out of the proceeds of a tax derived from
the slaughter of cattle, and the tax is known to Moorish butchers by a
term signifying "_floos_ of the throat."

[19] _I.e._ The Tin House.

[20] Declaration of Faith.

[21] The false dawn.

[22] The Sultan Mulaz-Abd-el-Aziz was once treated for persistent headache
by a Moorish practitioner. The wise man's medicine exploded suddenly, and
His Majesty had a narrow escape. I do not know whether the practitioner
was equally fortunate.

[23] The doctors and magicians of Morocco have always been famous
throughout the East. Nearly all the medicine men of the _Thousand Nights
and a Night_ including the uncle of Aladdin, are from the Moghreb.




ROUND ABOUT MARRAKESH




[Illustration: THE ROOFS OF MARRAKESH]




CHAPTER VI

ROUND ABOUT MARRAKESH

    "Speaking of thee comforts me, and thinking of thee makes me glad."

    --_Raod el Kartas._


The charm of Marrakesh comes slowly to the traveller, but it stays with
him always, and colours his impressions of such other cities as may
attract his wandering footsteps. So soon as he has left the plains behind
on his way to the coast, the town's defects are relegated to the
background of the picture his memory paints. He forgets the dirty lanes
that serve for roads, the heaps of refuse at every corner, the pariah curs
that howled or snapped at his horse's heels when he rode abroad, the
roughness and discomfort of the accommodation, the poverty and disease
that everywhere went hand in hand around him.

But he remembers and always will remember the city in its picturesque
aspects. How can he forget Moorish hospitality, so lavishly exercised in
patios where the hands of architect and gardener meet--those delightful
gatherings of friends whose surroundings are recalled when he sees, even
in the world of the West--

    Groups under the dreaming garden trees,
    And the full moon, and the white evening star.

He will never forget the Kutubia tower flanking the mosque of the Library,
with its three glittering balls that are solid gold, if you care to
believe the Moors (and who should know better!), though the European
authorities declare they are but gilded copper. He will hear, across all
intervening sea and lands, the sonorous voices of the three blind mueddins
who call True Believers to prayer from the adjacent minarets. By the side
of the tower, that is a landmark almost from R'hamna's far corner to the
Atlas Mountains, Yusuf ibn Tachfin, who built Marrakesh, enjoys his long,
last sleep in a grave unnoticed and unhonoured by the crowds of men from
strange, far-off lands, who pass it every day. Yet, if the conqueror of
Fez and troubler of Spain could rise from nine centuries of rest, he would
find but little change in the city he set on the red plain in the shadow
of the mountains. The walls of his creation remain: even the broken bridge
over the river dates, men say, from his time, and certainly the faith and
works of the people have not altered greatly. Caravans still fetch and
carry from Fez in the north to Timbuctoo and the banks of the Niger, or
reach the Bab-er-rubb with gold and ivory and slaves from the eastern
oases, that France has almost sealed up. The saints' houses are there
still, though the old have yielded to the new. Storks are privileged, as
from earliest times, to build on the flat roofs of the city houses, and,
therefore, are still besought by amorous natives to carry love's greeting
to the women who take their airing on the house-tops in the afternoon.
Berber from the highlands; black man from the Draa; wiry, lean, enduring
trader from Tarudant and other cities of the Sus; patient frugal Saharowi
from the sea of sand,--no one of them has altered greatly since the days
of the renowned Yusuf. And who but he among the men who built great cities
in days before Saxon and Norman had met at Senlac, could look to find his
work so little scarred by time, or disguised by change? Twelve miles of
rampart surround the city still, if we include the walls that guard the
Sultan's maze garden, and seven of the many gates Ibn Tachfin knew are
swung open to the dawn of each day now.

After the Library mosque, with its commanding tower and modest yet
memorable tomb, the traveller remembers the Sultan's palace, white-walled,
green-tiled, vast, imposing; and the lesser mosque of Sidi bel Abbas, to
whom the beggars pray, for it is said of him that he knew God. The city's
hospital stands beside this good man's grave. And here one pays tribute
also to great Mulai Abd el Kader Ijjilalli, yet

another saint whose name
is very piously invoked among the poor. The mosque by the Dukala gate is
worthy of note, and earns the salutation of all who come by way of R'hamna
to Marrakesh. The Kaisariyah lingers in the memory, and on hot days in the
plains, when shade is far to seek, one recalls a fine fountain with the
legend "drink and admire," where the water-carriers fill their goat-skins
and all beggars congregate during the hours of fire.

The Mellah, in which the town Jews live, is reached by way of the Olive
Garden. It is the dirtiest part of Marrakesh, and, all things considered,
the least interesting. The lanes that run between its high walls are full
of indescribable filth; comparison with them makes the streets of Madinah
and Kasbah almost clean. One result of the dirt is seen in the prevalence
of a very virulent ophthalmia, from which three out of four of the
Mellah's inhabitants seem to suffer, slightly or seriously. Few adults
appear to take exercise, unless they are called abroad to trade, and when
business is in a bad way the misery is very real indeed. A skilled workman
is pleased to earn the native equivalent of fourteenpence for a day's
labour, beginning at sunrise, and on this miserable pittance he can
support a wife and family. Low wages and poor living, added to centuries
of oppression, have made the Morocco Jew of the towns a pitiable creature;
but on the hills, particularly among the Atlas villages, the People of the
Book are healthy, athletic, and resourceful, able to use hands as well as
head, and the trusted intermediary between Berber hillman and town Moor.

[Illustration: A GATEWAY, MARRAKESH]

Being of the ancient race myself, I was received in several of the
show-houses of the Mellah--places whose splendid interiors were not at all
suggested by the squalid surroundings in which they were set. This is
typical to some extent of all houses in Morocco, even in the coast towns,
and greatly misleads the globe-trotter. There was a fine carving and
colouring in many rooms, but the European furniture was, for the most
part, wrongly used, and at best grotesquely out of place. Hygiene has
not passed within the Mellah's walls, but a certain amount of Western
tawdriness has. Patriarchal Jews of good stature and commanding presence
had their dignity hopelessly spoilt by the big blue spotted handkerchief
worn over the head and tied under the chin; Jewesses in rich apparel
seemed quite content with the fineness within their houses, and
indifferent to the mire of the streets.

I visited three synagogues, one in a private house. The approaches were in
every case disgusting, but the synagogues themselves were well kept, very
old, and decorated with rare and curious memorial lamps, kept alight for
the dead through the year of mourning. The benches were of wood, with
straw mats for cover; there was no place for women, and the seats
themselves seemed to be set down without attempt at arrangement. The
brasswork was old and fine, the scrolls of the Law were very ancient, but
there was no sign of wealth, and little decoration. In the courtyard of
the chief synagogue I found school-work in progress. Half a hundred
intelligent youngsters were repeating the master's words, just as
Mohammedan boys were doing in the Madinah, but even among these little
ones ophthalmia was playing havoc, and doubtless the disease would pass
from the unsound to the sound. Cleanliness would stamp out this trouble in
a very little time, and preserve healthy children from infection.
Unfortunately, the administration of this Mellah is exceedingly bad, and
there is no reason to believe that it will improve.

When the Elevated Court is at Marrakesh the demand for work helps the
Jewish quarter to thrive, but since the Sultan went to Fez the heads of
the Mellah seem to be reluctant to lay out even a few shillings daily to
have the place kept clean. There are no statistics to tell the price that
is paid in human life for this shocking neglect of the elementary
decencies, but it must be a heavy one.

Business premises seem clean enough, though the approach to them could
hardly be less inviting. You enter a big courtyard, and, if wise, remain
on your horse until well clear of the street. The courtyard is wide and
cared for, an enlarged edition of a patio, with big store-rooms on either
side and stabling or a granary. Here also is a bureau, in which the master
sits in receipt of custom, and deals in green tea that has come from India
via England, and white sugar in big loaves, and coffee and other
merchandise. He is buyer and seller at once, now dealing with a native who
wants tea, and now with an Atlas Jew who has an ouadad skin or a rug to
sell; now talking Shilha, the language of the Berbers, now the Moghrebbin
Arabic of the Moors, and again debased Spanish or Hebrew with his own
brethren. He has a watchful eye for all the developments that the day may
bring, and while attending to buyer or seller can take note of all his
servants are doing at the stores, and what is going out or coming in. Your
merchant of the better class has commercial relations with Manchester or
Liverpool; he has visited England and France; perhaps some olive-skinned,
black-eyed boy of his has been sent to an English school to get the wider
views of life and faith, and return to the Mellah to shock his father with
both, and to be shocked in turn by much in the home life that passed
uncriticised before. These things lead to domestic tragedies at times, and
yet neither son nor father is quite to blame.

The best class of Jew in the Mellah has ideas and ideals, but outside the
conduct of his business he lacks initiative. He believes most firmly in
the future of the Jewish race, the ultimate return to Palestine, the
advent of the Messiah. Immersed in these beliefs, he does not see dirt
collecting in the streets and killing little children with the diseases it
engenders. Gradually the grime settles on his faith too, and he loses
sight of everything save commercial ends and the observances that
orthodoxy demands. His, one fears, is a quite hopeless case. The attention
of philanthropy might well turn to the little ones, however. For their
sake some of the material benefits of modern knowledge should be brought
to Jewry in Marrakesh. Schools are excellent, but children cannot live by
school learning alone.

Going from the Mellah one morning I saw a strange sight. By the entrance
to the salted place there is a piece of bare ground stretching to the
wall. Here sundry young Jews in black djellabas sat at their ease, their
long hair curled over their ears, and black caps on their heads in place
of the handkerchiefs favoured by the elders of the community. One or two
women were coming from the Jewish market, their bright dresses and
uncovered faces a pleasing contrast to the white robes and featureless
aspect of the Moorish women. A little Moorish boy, seeing me regard them
with interest, remarked solemnly, "There go those who will never look upon
the face of God's prophet," and then a shareef, whose portion in Paradise
was of course reserved to him by reason of his high descent, rode into the
open ground from the Madinah. I regret to record the fact that the holy
man was drunk, whether upon haschisch or the strong waters of the infidel,
I know not, and to all outward seeming his holiness alone sufficed to keep
him on the back of the spirited horse he bestrode. He went very near to
upsetting a store of fresh vegetables belonging to a True Believer, and
then nearly crushed an old man against the wall. He raised his voice, but
not to pray, and the people round him were in sore perplexity. He was too
holy to remove by force and too drunk to persuade, so the crowd, realising
that he was divinely directed, raised a sudden shout. This served. The
hot-blooded Barb made a rush for the arcade leading to the Madinah and
carried the drunken saint with him, cursing at the top of his voice, but
sticking to his unwieldy saddle in manner that was admirable and truly
Moorish. If he had not been holy he would have been torn from his horse,
and, in native speech, would have "eaten the stick," for drunkenness is a
grave offence in orthodox Morocco.

[Illustration: A COURTYARD, MARRAKESH]

They have a short way with offenders in Moorish cities. I remember
seeing a man brought to the Kasbah of a northern town on a charge of using
false measures. The case was held proven by the khalifa; the culprit was
stripped to the waist, mounted on a lame donkey, and driven through the
streets, while two stalwart soldiers, armed with sticks, beat him until he
dropped to the ground. He was picked up more dead than alive, and thrown
into prison.

There are two sorts of market in Marrakesh--the open market outside the
walls, and the auction market in the Kaisariyah. The latter opens in the
afternoon, by which time every little boxlike shop is tenanted by its
proprietor. How he climbs into his place without upsetting his stores, and
how, arrived there, he can sit for hours without cramp, are questions I
have never been able to answer, though I have watched him scores of times.
He comes late in the day to his shop, lets down one of the covering flaps,
and takes his seat by the step inside it. The other flap has been raised
and is kept up by a stick. Seated comfortably, he looks with dispassionate
eye upon the gathering stream of life before him, and waits contentedly
until it shall please Allah the One to send custom. Sometimes he occupies
his time by reading in the Perspicuous Book; on rare occasions he will
leave his little nest and make dignified way to the shop of an adool or
scribe, who reads pious writings to a select company of devotees. In this
way the morning passes, and in the afternoon the mart becomes crowded,
country Moors riding right up to the entrance chains, and leaving their
mules in the charge of slaves who have accompanied them on foot. Town
buyers and country buyers, with a miscellaneous gathering of tribesmen
from far-off districts, fill the bazaar, and then the merchants hand
certain goods to dilals, as the auctioneers are called. The crowd divides
on either side of the bazaar, leaving a narrow lane down the centre, and
the dilals rush up and down with their wares,--linen, cotton and silk
goods, carpets, skins or brassware, native daggers and pistols, saddles
and saddle-cloths. The goods vary in every bazaar. The dilal announces the
last price offered; a man who wishes to buy must raise it, and, if none
will go better, he secures the bargain. A commission on all goods sold is
taken at the door of the market by the municipal authorities. I notice on
these afternoons the different aspects of the three classes represented in
the bazaar. Shopkeepers and the officials by the gate display no interest
at all in the proceedings: they might be miles from the scene, so far as
their attitude is a clue. The dilals, on the other hand, are in furious
earnest. They run up and down the narrow gangway proclaiming the last
price at the top of their voices, thrusting the goods eagerly into the
hands of possible purchasers, and always remembering the face and position
of the man who made the last bid. They have a small commission on the
price of everything sold, and assuredly they earn their wage. In contrast
with the attitudes of both shopkeepers and auctioneers, the general public
is inclined to regard the bazaar as a place of entertainment. Beggar lads,
whose scanty rags constitute their sole possession, chaff the excited
dilals, keeping carefully out of harm's way the while. Three-fourths of
the people present are there to idle the afternoon hours, with no
intention of making a purchase unless some unexpected bargain crosses
their path. I notice that the dilals secure several of these doubtful
purchasers by dint of fluent and eloquent appeals. When the last article
has been sold and the crowd is dispersing, merchants arise, praise Allah,
who in his wisdom sends good days and bad, step out of their shop, let
down one flap and raise the other, lock the two with a huge key and retire
to their homes.

I remember asking a Moor to explain why the Jews were so ill-treated and
despised all over Morocco. The worthy man explained that the Koran
declares that no True Believer might take Jew or Christian to be his
friend, that the Veracious Book also assures the Faithful that Jews will
be turned to pigs or monkeys for their unbelief, and that the
metamorphosis will be painful. "Moreover," said the True Believer, who did
not know that I was of the despised race, "do you not know that one of
these cursed people tried to seize the throne in the time of the great
Tafilatta?"

I pleaded ignorance.

"Do you not know the Feast of Scribes, that is held in Marrakesh and Fez?"
he asked.

Again I had to make confession that, though I had heard about the Feast, I
had never witnessed it.

"Only Allah is omniscient," he said by way of consolation. "Doubtless
there are some small matters known to Nazarenes and withheld from
us--strange though that may seem to the thoughtful.

"In the name of the Most Merciful--know that there was a ruler in Taza
before Mulai Ismail--Prince of the Faithful, he who overcame in the name
of God--reigned in the land. Now this ruler[24] had a Jew for wazeer. When
it pleased Allah to take the Sultan and set him in the pavilion of Mother
of Pearl appointed for him in Paradise, in the shadow of the Tuba tree,
this Jew hid his death from the people until he could seize the throne of
Taza for himself and ride out under the M'dhal.[25] Then Mulai Ismail
protested to the people, and the Tolba (scribes) arranged to remove the
reproach from the land. So they collected forty of their bravest men and
packed them in boxes--one man in a box. They put two boxes on a mule and
drove the twenty mules to the courtyard of the palace that the Jew had
taken for himself. The man in charge of the mules declared he had a
present for the Sultan, and the Unbeliever, whose grave was to be the
meeting-place of all the dogs of Taza, gave orders that the boxes should
be brought in and set before him. This was done, and the cursed Jew
prepared to gloat over rich treasure. But as each box was opened a talib
rose suddenly, a naked sword in his hand, and falling bravely upon the
unbelieving one, cut his body to pieces, while Shaitan hurried his soul to
the furnace that is seven times heated and shall never cool.

[Illustration: WELL IN MARRAKESH]

"Then the Father of the Faithful, the Ever Victorious," continued the True
Believer, "decreed that the tolba should have a festival. And every year
they meet in Marrakesh and Fez, and choose a talib who is to rule over
them. The post is put up to auction; he who bids highest is Sultan for a
week. He rides abroad on a fine horse or mule, under a M'dhal, as though
he were indeed My Lord Abd-el-Aziz himself. Black slaves on either side
brush away the flies with their white clothes, soldiers await to do his
bidding, he is permitted to make a request to the true Sultan, and our
Master has open ear and full hand for the tolba, who kept the Moghreb from
the Unbelievers, the inheritors of the Fire, against whom Sidna Mohammed
has turned his face."

I arrived in Marrakesh just too late to witness the reign of the talib,
but I heard that the successful candidate had paid thirty-two dollars for
the post--a trifle less than five pounds in our money, at the rate of
exchange then current. This money had been divided among the tolba. The
governor of Marrakesh had given the lucky king one hundred dollars in
cash, thirty sheep, twenty-five cones of sugar, forty jars of butter, and
several sacks of flour. This procedure is peculiar to the Southern
capital. In Fez the tolba kings collect taxes in person from every
householder.

The talib's petition to the Sultan had been framed on a very liberal
scale. He asked for a home in Saffi, exemption from taxes, and a place in
the custom-house. The Sultan had not responded to the petition when I left
the city; he was closely beleaguered in Fez, and Bu Hamara was occupying
Taza, the ancient city where the deed of the tolba had first instituted
the quaint custom. My informant said there was little doubt but that his
Shareefian majesty would grant all the requests, so the talib's investment
of thirty-two dollars must be deemed highly profitable. At the same time I
cannot find the story I was told confirmed by Moorish historians. No
record to which I have had access tells of a Jewish king of Taza, though
there was a Hebrew in high favour there in the time of Rasheed II. The
details of the story told me are, as the American scribe said, probably
attributable to Mr. Benjamin Trovato.

When the attractions of Kaisariyah palled, the markets beyond the walls
never failed to revive interest in the city's life. The Thursday market
outside the Bab al Khamees brought together a very wonderful crowd of men
and goods. All the city's trade in horses, camels, and cattle was done
here. The caravan traders bought or hired their camels, and there were
fine animals for sale with one fore and one hind leg hobbled, to keep them
from straying. The camels were always the most interesting beasts on view.
For the most part their attendants were Saharowi, who could control them
seemingly by voice or movement of the hand; but a camel needs no little
care, particularly at feeding time, when he is apt to turn spiteful if
precedence be given to an animal he does not like. They are marvellously
touchy and fastidious creatures--quite childlike in many of their
peculiarities.

[Illustration: A BAZAAR, MARRAKESH]

The desert caravan trade is not what it was since the French occupied
Timbuctoo and closed the oases of Tuat; but I saw some caravans arrive
from the interior--one of them from the sandy region where Mons. Lebaudy
has set up his kingdom. How happy men and beasts seemed to be. I never saw
camels looking so contented: the customary sneer had passed from their
faces--or accumulated dust had blotted it out. On the day when the market
is held in the open place beyond the Bab al Khamees, there is another big
gathering within the city walls by the Jamaa Effina. Here acrobats and
snake-charmers and story-tellers ply their trade, and never fail to find
an audience. The acrobats come from Tarudant and another large city of the
Sus that is not marked in the British War Office Map of Morocco dated
1889! Occasionally one of these clever tumblers finds his way to London,
and is seen at the music halls there.

I remember calling on one Hadj Abdullah when I was in the North, and to my
surprise he told me he spoke English, French, German, Spanish, Turkish,
Moghrebbin Arabic, and Shilha. "I know London well," he said; "I have an
engagement to bring my troupe of acrobats to the _Canterbury_ and the
_Oxford_. I am a member of a Masonic Lodge in Camberwell." Commonplace
enough all this, but when you have ridden out of town to a little Moorish
house on the hillside overlooking the Mediterranean, and are drinking
green tea flavoured with mint, on a diwan that must be used with crossed
legs, you hardly expect the discussion to be turned to London music-halls.

Snake-charmers make a strong appeal to the untutored Moorish crowd. Black
cobras and spotted leffa snakes from the Sus are used for the performance.
When the charmer allows the snakes to dart at him or even to bite, the
onlookers put their hands to their foreheads and praise Sidi ben Aissa, a
saint who lived in Mequinez when Mulai Ismail ruled, a pious magician
whose power stands even to-day between snake-charmers and sudden death.
The musician who accompanies the chief performer, and collects the _floos_
offered by spectators, works his companion into a condition of frenzy
until he does not seem to feel the teeth of the snakes; but as people who
should be well informed declare that the poison bags are always removed
before the snakes are used for exhibition, it is hard for the mere
Unbeliever to render to Sidi ben Aissa the exact amount of credit that may
be due to him.

[Illustration: A BRICKFIELD, MARRAKESH]

The story-teller, whose legends are to be found in the "Thousand Nights
and a Night," is generally a merry rogue with ready wit. His tales are
told with a wealth of detail that would place them upon the index
expurgatorius of the Western world, but men, women, and children crowd
round to hear them, and if his tale lacks the ingredients most desired
they do not hesitate to tell him so, whereupon he will respond at once to
his critics, and add love or war in accordance with their instructions.
One has heard of something like this in the serial market at home. His
reward is scanty, like that of his fellow-workers, the acrobat and the
snake charmer, but he has quite a professional manner, and stops at the
most exciting points in his narrative for his companion to make a tour of
the circle to collect fees. The quality of the adventures he retails is
settled always by the price paid for them.

It is a strange sight, and unpleasant to the European, who believes that
his morality, like his faith, is the only genuine article, to see young
girls with antimony on their eyelids and henna on their nails, listening
to stories that only the late Sir Richard Burton dared to render literally
into the English tongue. While these children are young and impressionable
they are allowed to run wild, but from the day when they become
self-conscious they are strictly secluded.

Throughout Marrakesh one notes a spirit of industry. If a man has work, he
seems to be happy and well content. Most traders are very courteous and
gentle in their dealings, and many have a sense of humour that cannot fail
to please. While in the city I ordered one or two lamps from a workman who
had a little shop in the Madinah. He asked for three days, and on the
evening of the third day I went to fetch them, in company with Salam. The
workman, who had made them himself, drew the lamps one by one from a dark
corner, and Salam, who has a hawk's eye, noticed that the glass of one was
slightly cracked.

"Have a care, O Father of Lamps," he said; "the Englishman will not take a
cracked glass."

"What is this," cried the Lamps' Father in great anger, "who sells cracked
lamps? If there is a flaw in one of mine, ask me for two dollars."

Salam held the lamp with cracked glass up against the light. "Two
dollars," he said briefly. The tradesman's face fell. He put his tongue
out and smote it with his open hand.

"Ah," he said mournfully, when he had admonished the unruly member, "who
can set a curb upon the tongue?"[26]

FOOTNOTES:

[24] Mulai Rashed II.

[25] The royal umbrella.

[26] Cf. James iii. 8. But for a mere matter of dates, one would imagine
that Luther detected the taint of Islam in James when he rejected his
Epistle.




THE SLAVE MARKET AT MARRAKESH




[Illustration: A MOSQUE, MARRAKESH]




CHAPTER VII

THE SLAVE MARKET AT MARRAKESH

    As to your slaves, see that ye feed them with such food as ye eat
    yourselves, and clothe them with the stuff ye wear. And if they commit
    a fault which ye are not willing to forgive, then sell them, for they
    are the servants of Allah, and are not to be tormented.

    --_Mohammed's last Address._


In the bazaars of the brass-workers and dealers in cotton goods, in the
bazaars of the saddlers and of the leather-sellers,--in short, throughout
the Kaisariyah, where the most important trade of Marrakesh is carried
on,--the auctions of the afternoon are drawing to a close. The dilals have
carried goods to and fro in a narrow path between two lines of True
Believers, obtaining the best prices possible on behalf of the dignified
merchants, who sit gravely in their boxlike shops beyond the reach of
toil. No merchant seeks custom: he leaves the auctioneers to sell for him
on commission, while he sits at ease, a stranger to elation or
disappointment, in the knowledge that the success or failure of the day's
market is decreed. Many articles have changed hands, but there is now a
greater attraction for men with money outside the limited area of the
Kaisariyah, and I think the traffic here passes before its time.

The hour of the sunset prayer is approaching. The wealthier members of the
community leave many attractive bargains unpursued, and, heedless of the
dilals' frenzied cries, set out for the Sok el Abeed. Wool market in the
morning and afternoon, it becomes the slave market on three days of the
week, in the two hours that precede the setting of the sun and the closing
of the city gates; this is the rule that holds in Red Marrakesh.

I follow the business leaders through a very labyrinth of narrow, unpaved
streets, roofed here and there with frayed and tattered palmetto-leaves
that offer some protection, albeit a scanty one, against the blazing sun.
At one of the corners where the beggars congregate and call for alms in
the name of Mulai Abd el Kader Ijjilalli, I catch a glimpse of the great
Kutubia tower, with pigeons circling round its glittering dome, and then
the maze of streets, shutting out the view, claims me again. The path is
by way of shops containing every sort of merchandise known to Moors, and
of stalls of fruit and vegetables, grateful "as water-grass to herds in
the June days." Past a turning in the crowded thoroughfare, where many
Southern tribesmen are assembled, and heavily-laden camels compel
pedestrians to go warily, the gate of the slave market looms portentous.

A crowd of penniless idlers, to whom admittance is denied, clamours
outside the heavy door, while the city urchins fight for the privilege of
holding the mules of wealthy Moors, who are arriving in large numbers in
response to the report that the household of a great wazeer,