fj., MONTBARD 
 
 UC-NRLF 
 
 B M 513 En 
 
 T^ I- 1 
 
 ; MOORS 
 
 vetches 
 of : 
 
 O r i e n t a 1 Life 
 
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 -\ *'.-r 
 
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 :^>i-i--c-* 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
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AMONG THE MOORS 
 
GKUKi.l ,- M...\ 1 I^AKli 
 
 From a Drawing by Uotlefroy IHirand.l 
 
G. MONTBARD 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS 
 
 SKETCHES 
 
 OF 
 
 Oriental Life 
 
 LONDON 
 SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON AND COMPANY 
 
 LIMITED 
 
 St. ^uustan'0 ^0«0c 
 
 Fetter Lane, Fleet Stre"et, E.G. 
 
 1894 
 
 '^^M 
 
LONDON: 
 PRINTKD BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, Limitkd, 
 
 STAMrOUD STIIEET AND CHARtXd <^;IJSS. 
 
 : ). i y^ / 1 ^(Vi 
 

 PREFACE. 
 
 A CRUMBLING EMPIRE. 
 
 When you cross the immense wastes of the Moghreb, its 
 gloomy plains, its denuded table-lands ; when you pass through 
 its dead cities where glide noiselessly these spectres clad in 
 white, whose forefathers conquered Spain ; when your eyes 
 rest on these shattered monuments, marvels of architecture, 
 that slowly crumble away under their shrouds of moss and 
 lichen ; when you tread the accursed soil of this Empire which 
 its inhabitants, full of morl)id indifference for the present, 
 devoid of any regret for the past or hope in the future, allow 
 to fall into ruins without making an effort to retard its decay ; 
 in presence of this absolute depression, this complete collapse, 
 you cannot help being painfully impressed as at the sight of a 
 moribund. 
 
 You feel moved at the disappearance of the powerful and 
 singular originality of this eternal failure among civilised 
 nations, the world of Islam, that is becoming slowly dis- 
 aggregated, returning instinctively to the nomad life, to the 
 primitive manners of its fathers, and you are filled with pity in 
 
 ivi312015 
 
vi PEEFACE. 
 
 presence of the inconscieiit agony of this people of phantoms, 
 the remains of a race of " reiters," so powerful in bygone times 
 and to-day annihilated, that is dying quietly, with the pro- 
 found resignation, tinged with so gentle a melancholy, of those 
 who are doomed, and whose days are numbered. 
 
 The last refuge of expiring Islam, the Moghreb, hemmed in 
 on all sides, is now sinking fast under the eyes of expectant 
 Europe, watching jealously for its last gasp, and already fore- 
 stalling its succession. 
 
 It is the crucible in which have been cast the bestiality of 
 the negro, the ferocity of the Arab, the cunning of the Moor, 
 the violence of the Berber, the knavery of the Jew, and the 
 baseness of a handful of renegades, the scum of Europe, giving 
 as a resultant the Moroccan, a compound of all these vices, a 
 useless and pernicious kind that is fast disappearing, like the 
 dodo, under the onset of the Occidentals, in the same manner 
 that the negro and the yellow skin will disappear to make room 
 for the brutal and conquering whites race. 
 
 An irresponsible and greedy barbarian, the unsuccessful and 
 barren product of the learned schools of Greece, refractory to a 
 civilisation that never had but an incomplete and momentary 
 hold on his narrow undisciplined mind, rebellious to any 
 culture, stricken with the nostalgia for his desert, the fatalist 
 Arab is swept away, under tlie rude push of the Aryan, by the 
 eddies of the feverish activity of the Occident, and returns to 
 the place of his origin. 
 
 There, as formerly his ancestors, as to-day his fellows, he 
 will resume, after thousands of centuries, his adventurous and 
 wandering life. He will recommence his sanguinary quarrels, 
 his stubborn and incessant struggles for the possession of a 
 spring, of a well, of some piece of pasture land, lost in the 
 
PEEFACE. vii 
 
 midst of tlie burning sands, and lie will lay in wait for the 
 caravans in order to rob them. 
 
 •In the fine starlit night, when the flocks are again herded 
 within the dark circle of the goat-hair tents, and warm and 
 acrid effluvia from their reeking bodies fill the air ; when the 
 thin wreath of bluish smoke from a scanty fire of camel-dung 
 shoots straight up to the calm sky ; when the young tribesmen, 
 after a daring raid, have galloped back to the douar spurring 
 on their maddened steeds white with foam, keeping a rough 
 hold of terrified women flung across the saddles, the wives or 
 daughters of the men of a neighbouring tribe, whom they have 
 surprised and massacred in the darkness, violating the dead, 
 mutilating the corpse ; when they have safely stored away 
 their booty of human flesh, secured the captived women, bound 
 the slaves, and collected the stolen flocks ; when they have 
 stowed in some daubed blue, red, and yellow cofi'ers the neck- 
 laces torn from the necks of dead women, the ear-rings with 
 shreds of flesh still adhering to them, the rings wrenched off", 
 in their hasty retreat, with the fingers that they adorned ; 
 when in the twilight, after this ferocious hecatomb, they have 
 prostrated themselves on the prayer-carpets, still reeking with 
 the blood of their late owners, and they have, for the fifth time 
 during the day, proclaimed the glory of Allah and lauded 
 Mahomet ; then .... an ancestor, a ferocious old male with 
 biblical bearing, with cold and sober gestures, with haughty 
 demeanour, full of savage pride and supreme presumption, will, 
 in his weak shrill voice, his harsh guttural and poor tongue, 
 make the enumeration of his forefathers, recite the list 
 of his interminable genealogies. He will, in a wordy, ex- 
 aggerated and flowery rhetoric, go into the sanglant detail of 
 his hatred against rival clans, his quarrels with other tribes. 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 He will wake the recollection of loiio-standino; rancours, of 
 secular vendettas. In his inflated, pompous, and lascivious 
 poetry, he will tell his highway robberies, celebrate his abduc- 
 tions and rapes, recall the insults made to the dead, and reckon 
 the heads that have been cut off. He will make a show of his 
 disdainful hospitality, extol the prowesses of his own arm, the 
 excellence of his weapons, and sing the praises of his swift 
 steeds : the camel his faithful companion, the horse, his insepar- 
 able friend. His nervous and sickly nature, bent on marvellous 
 and supernatural things, will prompt him to relate strange 
 childish stories of malevolent djinns, who are charmed away 
 by the power of amulets, and in absurd tales, he will bring 
 in at every turn, Allah, the Prophet, or the Angel Gabriel, 
 always with the sole object of making them point out the 
 place of hidden treasure. Of a sad and melancholy disposi- 
 tion, he wdll describe the terrors of the deserts and its terrible 
 hardships. 
 
 And the fierce tiger-hearted young men, handsome and 
 elegant, his sons, will listen respectfully to his words, and the 
 aged and venerable bandit, wrapped in the folds of his white 
 woollen ha'ik, majestic and superb, will then rise, and, sup- 
 porting himself on the robust shoulders of his grandchildren, 
 will return to his couch, casting a sidelong glance of impotent 
 covetousness on the tent of the captive women. 
 
 And to-morrow will be a renewal of yesterday. The old 
 Sheik will repeat the same over and over again, his offspring 
 will be careering in the desert, and will continue also the 
 monotonous deeds of blood, the daily robberies, the life of 
 everlasting brigandage. 
 
 An unconscious monotheist, a fetichist reconciled to fatality, 
 a fanatic hypnotised by the visions of a voluptuous and 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 sensual hereafter, he will daily recite mechanically the obliga- 
 tory prayers of Islam with his face turned towards Mecca ; at 
 once a besotted bigot, as he is a hardened criminal, an 
 inveterate thief. 
 
 The Semite has never been anything but an abominable 
 rascal, an insatiable, turbulent and licentious plunderer. 
 Incapable of any self-consciousness, of rising to the level of 
 a nation, he always remained the mere tribesman, the irre- 
 ducible barbarian, the man of prey, the Semite . , . ! a self- 
 loving egotist with an incomplete cerebral system, devoid of 
 any notions of justice or morals, unable to distinguish between 
 mine and thine, an Oriental lansquenet, pillaging and sacking- 
 friends and enemies alike, indifterently, without the least 
 scruple. 
 
 At a remote period, impelled by his nature and love of 
 rapine, coveting the luxury of his industrious neighbours, he 
 had already left his deserts, taken up his quarters on the coasts 
 of Asia Minor, at Sidon and at Tyr, and covered the blue 
 waves of the Mediterranean with his pirate barks, scouring the 
 seas as he was laying waste the plains. 
 
 Bartering, thieving, plundering, slaking his thirst for gold 
 and sensuous indulgence, he carried off the fair-haired 
 daughters of Greece to fill his " gynecsei ; " he treacherously 
 captured along the coasts, red-haired Celts, moody Iberians, 
 Libyans from the Atlas, and sold them in the slave-markets. 
 
 Reduced to slavery by the Assyrians, he extemporised the 
 banking system, gave himself up to usury and became pos- 
 sessed of his captors' riches. Acting as a shameless go- 
 between, he cleverly conducted their debauches, graduated 
 their excesses, and, while basely playing the spy upon them, 
 was enabled to measure the degree of their weakness, and on 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 several occasions liis undisciplined hordes captured and ran- 
 sacked their capitals — Babylon and Nineveh. 
 
 Creeping humbly into the Delta, followed by their 
 dangerous " harem," at first by a succession of pacific partial 
 and stealthy invasions, they came and disturbed the happy 
 homes of the honest Pharaons and of the great folks of their 
 court, provided for their senses that were satiated with the 
 unvarying attractions of their homely better halves, the spicy 
 and high-flavoured relish full of intended and studied surprises 
 of the charms of their well-trained spouses. Then, when their 
 gay partners, these experienced shrewd women, these incom- 
 parable virtuoses in the art of stimulating the senses, over- 
 whelmed with refined caresses their pitiful victims, hypnotised 
 by this excess of feminine attentions, the husbands, these easy- 
 going Benedicts, thrust their hands into the money-bags, broke 
 the safes open and rifled the contents of the drawers. Once 
 masters of the place, in possession of the hearts and purses of 
 their over-confiding hosts, they called in the Hyksos, their 
 rapacious brethren of the Euphrates, to take their share of the 
 spoil, sent their miserable dupes about their business, placed 
 on their own heads the " pschent " of the Pharaons, toadied 
 the ox Apis, assumed the power and incurred the deadly 
 hatred of the Egyptians, who ultimately drove them ignomini- 
 ously away. 
 
 While the fathers were looting, the daughters corrupted. 
 Constantly tormented by the imperious exigences of an inexor- 
 able eretheism, solicited by the furious appeals of wild desire, 
 unable to overcome the frenzy of indomitable appetences, they 
 feasted their exasperated sensuality, and, gorged with pleasure, 
 bruised by violent embraces, they sunk prostrate in their 
 shame and in the painful exaltation of their whole being. 
 
PREFACE. XI 
 
 Tliey were stretching in the sun their supple loins encircled 
 with golden belts. Their entrails panting, their nostrils 
 dilated, fiat on the marble of their terraces they dragged their 
 powerful hips over the scorching slabs, lifted up their meagre 
 bosoms and with smiling crimson lips apart, displaying the 
 humid whiteness of their beautiful teeth, splendidly set in rosy 
 gums, they inhaled the breeze of the sea and scented in the air 
 the effluvia of man. 
 
 When, over the blue waves, glided the dark craft of the 
 pirates, with a horse's head carved at the prow and manned by 
 robust Libyans, elegant lonians, handsome Gauls, proud Latins, 
 the slaves of their fathers, gleams of light blazed in their 
 sombre pupils, their sharp look searched over the hard relief of 
 the muscles, slid along the harmonious forms and remained 
 laden with harsh desire, in face of the superb poses, the 
 haughty demeanour, the disdainful indifference of the men 
 of the North, and prolonged tremors twisted their slender 
 limbs. 
 
 Hysterical mercenaries, they bathed by turn, in bull's blood 
 to strengthen, or in cow's milk to soften their bronze-like brown 
 bodies ; perfumed their moist flesh ; shook, like mares, their 
 heavy mass of gold and silver ornaments, and bending their 
 croup, rigid in a supreme spasm, listened breathless to their 
 vibrating senses and to the sound of the gold that paid them. 
 
 Perverse creatures with blackened eyelashes, dyed eyes, 
 cheeks painted in vermilion, clad in purple, bespangled with 
 gold and glittering gems spoiled from rifled nations, they 
 insinuated themselves among the nations of the Occident, 
 bringing their complicated amours, their clever depravity, their 
 precocious impudicity ; opposing to the chaste virtue of the 
 Aryan women the resources of their artful wiles. 
 
xii PREFACE. 
 
 By softening the redoubtable muscles of tlie Aryan, they 
 paralysed his nerves, instilling into his pure and ruby blood 
 the corroding virus of their disconcerting caresses, of their 
 degrading lecherousness ; ruined its virile qualities, sapping his 
 energy, his self-respect, and his respect for others, destroyed 
 the family. 
 
 Carthage afterwards kept up the traditions of Tyr and 
 Sidon. The Semite, encamped at the foot of the Atlas, turned 
 the Mediterranean into an Arab lake, subjected under its yoke 
 the borderers, and enacted a tribute from them. Enslaving 
 the nations of Africa under his iron rule, he broke the bones of 
 the vanquished kings, drawing and quartering its slaves, and 
 crucified his own unsuccessful generals. Engulfed in the mire 
 of his voluptuous bestiality, he entrusted the defence of 
 Carthage and its treasures to paid mercenaries, Greeks, 
 Iberians, Gauls, Libyans, and made w^orld-known the Punic 
 good faith. 
 
 One day Rome crushed the nest of brigands, levelled their 
 infamous den, and drove them back into their deserts. 
 
 Later on, at the bidding of a visionary, they once more 
 sallied from their solitudes, their armed mobs rushed on to 
 the conquest of the world, and the men of Europe had a 
 narrow escape of being all circumcised. 
 
 Sceptical and mocking Greece provided these upstarts of 
 victory with architects, mathematicians, thinkers, savants. 
 She tried to smoothe a little the asperities of this crew of 
 highwaymen, and to educate to a certain extent these primitive 
 and dull understandings, roughly outlining for them a 
 semblance of civilisation, a rather curious syncretism made up 
 of all sorts of elements which, ])eing skin-deep, flickered for a 
 moment and then died out. 
 
PKEFACE. Xlll 
 
 These arrant cut-throats, incapable of carrying on this 
 borrowed civilisation, incompatible with the aspirations of the 
 race, with its instincts of depredation and savage independence, 
 set to quarrelling among themselves, infested the seas and 
 laid waste the coasts, giving free scope to their ungovernable 
 passions, viewing with perfect indifference the decay of their 
 cities, their monuments, their dwellings, filled with irresistible 
 antipathy for a civilisation that was beyond their com- 
 prehension, pining for their tents, their roving life and their 
 deserts. 
 
•CONTENTS. 
 
 TANGIEli 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 GEBELEH ...... 
 
 
 
 
 
 30 
 
 IN THE GHAEBIAH . . . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 39 
 
 AEZILAH .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 53 
 
 DJELIFAH ...... 
 
 
 
 
 
 62 
 
 SAHAL-EL-KHEMIS . . . . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 71 
 
 EL-AEAISH . . . .- . 
 
 
 
 
 
 82 
 
 AIN-BOUILEH-SIDI MOUKTAE . 
 
 
 
 
 
 93 
 
 SIDI-AISSA-BENI-HASSAN 
 
 
 
 
 
 109 
 
 IN THE PLAIN OF THE SEBOU . 
 
 
 
 
 
 115 
 
 SIDI CASSIM . . . . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 122 
 
 MEQUINEZ ..... 
 
 
 
 
 
 134 
 
 DJEDIDA . . . . ■ . • 
 
 
 
 
 
 162 
 
 THE MEHDIOUNA .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 167 
 
 THE POOLS NEAE FEZ . 
 
 
 
 
 
 175 
 
 FEZ . 
 
 
 
 
 
 182 
 
 IN VIEW OF FEZ . 
 
 
 
 
 
 215 
 
 MEKIS ..... 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 218 
 
 ALONG THE ZAHEOUN MOUNTAINS . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 223 
 
 AIN-ALI BENI HASSAN . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 227 
 
 VILLAGE OF SIDI-MOHAMMED-SHEEIF 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 230 
 
 OUEZZAN ..... 
 
 
 , 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 . 236 
 
xvi CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 246 
 
 NEAR OUEZZAN ....•••■ 
 ON THE AVAY TO AL-CAZAI! ....•• 
 AL-CAZAR ,....•••■• 25o 
 
 n'sala borian 200 
 
 ain-daileh .....-•• 
 
 TANGIER ......*•• 
 
 249 
 
 266 
 269 
 
 A MONTH AFTER ......... 273 
 
 V 
 
 EPiLonuE .......... 274 
 
 INDEX . . . . . . • . . . . 277 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 GEORGES MONTBAED ..... 
 
 THE GEEAT MOSQUE OF TANGIEES 
 
 THE PALACE OF THE SULTAN .... 
 
 THE ENTEANCE GATE OF AEZILAH 
 
 THE MAEKET-PLACE OF EL-AEAISH 
 
 GATEWAY OPENING ON THE MARKET-PLACE OF EL-ARAISH 
 
 THE LAW COUETS OF EL-AEAISH 
 
 STREET IN MEQUINEZ ..... 
 
 INTERIOR OF A FONDAK IN MEQUINEZ 
 DOOR OF THE KASBAH IN MEQUINEZ . 
 
 DOOR OF THE KASBAH OF MEQUINEZ FROM THE INTERIOR 
 OF THE KASBAH ..... 
 
 OLD CLOTH BAZAAR AT MEQUINEZ 
 
 SECOND NORTH ENTRANCE GATE TO MEQUINEZ 
 
 THE MEHDIOUNA ...... 
 
 STREET IN FEZ ...... 
 
 DOOR OF A FONDAK IN FEZ .... 
 
 INTERIOR OF A FONDAK IN FEZ 
 
 A PRISON IN FEZ ...... 
 
 A MADMAN IN A PRISON IN FEZ 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 To face 
 
 2^. 4 
 
 J) 
 
 U 
 
 )) 
 
 58 
 
 )> 
 
 86 
 
 « 
 
 88 
 
 ,, 
 
 90 
 
 >> 
 
 142 
 
 „ 
 
 144 
 
 jj 
 
 150 
 
 >> 
 
 152 
 
 )> 
 
 156 
 
 • » 
 
 158 
 
 >> 
 
 168 
 
 >> 
 
 184 
 
 >> 
 
 186 
 
 )> 
 
 194 
 
 j> 
 
 200 
 
 • >j 
 
 202 
 
XVlll 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 STEEET IN OUKZZAX 
 
 MOSQUE OF OUEZZAN 
 
 INTEKIOR OF A MOSQUE IX OUEZZAN 
 
 THE BAZAAR AT AL-CAZAE 
 
 A STEEET OF AL-CAZAR . 
 
 To face p. 238 
 240 
 242 
 254 
 256 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS IN" TEXT. 
 
 TANGIER 
 
 MARINE STEEET, TANGIEE 
 
 A NIGGEE FROM TIMBUCTOO 
 
 A NEGRESS BREAD-SELLER 
 
 A WATER-SELLER . 
 
 A GATEWAY OF TANGIER 
 
 AN ARAB IN PRAYER 
 
 STREET IN TANGIER 
 
 LAW-COURTS AND TREASURY IN THE KASBAH 
 
 VISITING PRISONERS 
 
 INTERIOR OF THE PRISON 
 
 A PRISONER 
 
 A SNAKE CHARMER 
 
 A NEGRO DANCING 
 
 CAPE SPARTEL 
 
 A SHEPHERD 
 
 OUR CAMP . 
 
 ALONG THE ATLANTIC SHORE 
 
 ENTRANCE TO THE CAVES OF HERCULES 
 
 THE CAVES OF HERCULES 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 4 
 6 
 7 
 10 
 11 
 12 
 13 
 16 
 17 
 19 
 21 
 23 
 28 
 30 
 34 
 36 
 39 
 40 
 41 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 XIX 
 
 ESTUARY OF THE TSAHA-DARTZ 
 
 THE LAKES .... 
 
 ARZILAH .... 
 
 ARZILAH .... 
 
 A ZHOUBA .... 
 
 OUR CAMP IN VIEW OF ARZILAH 
 
 DJELIFAH .... 
 
 A "n'sALa" 
 
 ARZILAH FROM INLAND . 
 
 OUR OLD KAID 
 
 PEOPLE FROM THE VILLAGE . 
 
 THE DJEBEL-SARSAR 
 
 COUNTRY WOMEN . 
 
 A CORNER OF SAHAL-EL-KHE]\IIS 
 
 EL-ARAISH .... 
 
 SOUTH GATE OF EL-ARAISH . 
 
 A SOLDIER . ■ . 
 
 ON THE WAY TO AIN-BOUILEH-SIDI MOUKTAR 
 
 ON THE ROAD TO AiN-BOUILEH-SIDI MOUKTAR 
 
 WOMAN CARRYING FAGGOTS . 
 
 VILLAGE OF AIN-BOUILEH-SIDI MOUKTAR 
 
 WOMAN CARRYING WATER 
 
 NASTY WEATHER . 
 
 OUR CAMP .... 
 
 YOUNG COUNTRY GIRL . 
 
 OLD WOMAN CARRYING WATER 
 
 SIDI-AISSA-BENI-HASSAN 
 
 CROSSING A RIVER 
 
 ARABS IN PRAYER 
 
 DOUAR IN THE PLAIN OF THE SEBOU 
 
 HARBASSIZ ..... 
 
 PAGE 
 
 45 
 
 47 
 
 53 
 
 55 
 
 58 
 
 60 
 
 62 
 
 63 
 
 65 
 
 67 
 
 69 
 
 71 
 
 75 
 
 77 
 
 82 
 
 87 
 
 90 
 
 93 
 
 94 
 
 96 
 
 98 
 
 100 
 
 104 
 
 105 
 
 106 
 
 107 
 
 109 
 
 111 
 
 113 
 
 115 
 
 116 
 
XX 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTKATIONS. 
 
 THE SEBOU .... 
 
 A sultan's SOLDIEK . 
 
 WOMAN TRAVELLING ON A MULE 
 
 PILLAGING TRIBES 
 
 THE MOUNTAINS OF MEQUINEZ 
 
 SIDI CASSIM 
 
 OLD BEGGAR WOMAN AND CHILD 
 
 THE ROAD THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 THE TOP OF THE FIRST SPURS 
 
 TENTS OF BEDOUINS 
 
 THE OUED-FARAOUN 
 
 MEQUINEZ .... 
 
 RUINS OF VOLUBILIS 
 
 ENTRANCE GATE TO MEQUINEZ 
 
 THE DOOR OF OUR HOUSE 
 
 ZEMOURS MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 STREET IN MEQUINEZ 
 
 WOMAN OF FEZ PROMENADING 
 
 WOMAN OF MEQUINEZ AT HOME 
 
 SQUARE FACING THE KASBAH . 
 
 BRINGING HEADS OF REBELS . 
 
 VAULTS IN THE KASBAH 
 
 RUINS NEAR FEZ . 
 
 TOMB AND KHOUBA OF SIDI-ALI-BEN-HA]\IDOUCH 
 
 THE ZAHROUN MOUNTAINS 
 
 VIEW OF MEQUINEZ 
 
 OLD BRIDGE 
 
 ON THE WAY TO FEZ . 
 
 BRIDGE ON THE MEHDIOUNA . 
 
 GROUP OF MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 THE FALL .... 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 XXI 
 
 A BERBER VILLAGE 
 
 VILLAGE NEAR FEZ 
 
 BRIDGE NEAR FEZ 
 
 THE POOLS NEAR FEZ 
 
 STREET IN FEZ 
 
 STREET IN FEZ 
 
 STREET IN FEZ 
 
 STREET IN FEZ 
 
 STREET IN FEZ 
 
 THE ARMS BAZAAR IN FEZ 
 
 A LADY OF FEZ AT THE PROMENADE 
 
 A PRISONER 
 
 AT HOME ON THE TERRACE 
 
 THE TERRACES OF THE HOUSES IN FEZ 
 
 A MARRIED WOMAN WITH THE " HANTOUZE 
 
 AN INCIDENT OF THE HAREM . 
 
 A M^OMAN OF FEZ 
 
 STREET OF THE BAGSHEESH IN FEZ . 
 
 STREET IN FEZ .... 
 
 ENTRANCE DOOR TO A HOUSE IN FEZ 
 
 INTERIOR OF APARTMENTS IN FEZ . 
 
 THE PLAIN OF FEZ 
 
 VILLAGERS . 
 
 ON THE WAY TO MEKIS 
 
 THE OUED-MEKIS . 
 
 A DOUAR OF BEDOUINS . 
 
 THE ZAHROUN MOUNTAINS 
 
 UNSUBDUED MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 THE SEBOU . 
 
 THE HAYA-AL-OUERKAF ROCKS 
 
 THE OUED WARGHLA 
 
 PAGE 
 
 173 
 175 
 178 
 182 
 184 
 188 
 189 
 191 
 192 
 198 
 200 
 201 
 203 
 204 
 205 
 206 
 207 
 208 
 209 
 210 
 211 
 215 
 216 
 218 
 221 
 223 
 224 
 225 
 227 
 228 
 230 
 
 \ 
 
 ') 
 
XXll 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 THE OUED WARGHLA . • • 
 
 MAN OF THE BENI m'SARA TRIBES 
 
 THE RIVER .... 
 
 OUEZZAN .... 
 
 STREET IN OUEZZAN 
 
 BAZAAR OF OUEZZAN 
 
 NEAR OUEZZAN 
 
 A CEMETERY 
 
 ON THE WAY TO AL-CAZAR 
 
 AL-CAZAR .... 
 
 THE. KOUS .... 
 
 AL-CAZAR .... 
 
 A NEGRO MUSICIAN 
 
 THE SOUK AT AL-CAZAR 
 
 THE FANTASIA 
 
 THE OUED-WARROUR 
 
 MARSHY PLAINS . 
 
 THE HAMLET . 
 
 THE ATLANTIC 
 
 A REKKA .... 
 
 ON THE WAY TO AIN-DAILEH . 
 
 THE MOUNTAINS OF HABIB AND OF 
 
 OUR CAMP AT AIN-DAILEH 
 
 TANGIER FROM INLAND . 
 
 TETOUAN 
 
 PAGE 
 
 231 
 232 
 233 
 236 
 240 
 241 
 24G 
 247 
 249 
 253 
 254 
 255 
 256 
 257 
 258 
 260 
 261 
 262 
 263 
 264 
 266 
 267 
 267 
 269 
 
 \ 
 

 ftp 
 
 Tangier, 2nd January. 
 We are in the roadstead off Tangier. Three hours ago we were dining 
 at Gibraltar. The night is dark, the air sultry : there is a slight breeze 
 from the west, warm and damp, driving slowly above us heavy clouds 
 laden with rain. In the gloom in front of us, blending almost witli the 
 sky, lies a sombre, opaque mass with specks of light — Tangier. 
 
 The Djcbel-Tarik, " Gibraltar," our little steamer that runs between 
 Gibraltar and Tangier when the weather permits, has just hove to, and 
 signals its arrival by sharp and piercing steam-whistles, which follow 
 one another in rapid succession. It almost seems as if there were a 
 strain of anger and impatience in this shrill, incessant repetition. 
 
 Then in the obscurity that shrouds us, a dull, measured rumbling, 
 a confused echo of voices, is faintly heard in the distance. The 
 sound comes nearer, grows louder, clearer, more definite. You hear 
 distinctly the quick, sudden plash of oars ; the voices swell into a 
 hoarse clamour, and all at once, in the rays of light thrown by the 
 lanterns of the steamer, you catch sight of boats filled with wildly 
 
2 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 vociferating Arabs. In a trice they clamber up the side and rush upon 
 deck. In the deafening racket of frightful yells and fierce wrangles, 
 they take possession of us, seize our luggage, pack us off into their boats 
 pell-mell, with our trunks, dogs, and baggage. They quarrel for the 
 last time, and row us away towards Tangier. 
 
 Forestier, carried off by a couple of sturdy fellows, has been gently 
 lowered into a boat, crammed with dirty Jewesses and convicts let out 
 from Spanish gaols, whom the Djebel-Tarik is bringing home to their 
 native country. 
 
 Int^ram is in another boat with me, as well as his valet, the 
 phlegmatic Brooks, who, stiff, cold, encased in his impassive respect- 
 ability, is holding the dogs in leash, and looking after the luggage, 
 absolutely indifferent to everything else around him. Marshall has 
 been deposited on shore, in some spot or other, we don't know where. 
 
 The night is as black as pitch. Our boat, deeply laden, is in danger 
 of being swamped at the least false move. After about twenty minutes 
 the men ship their oars and leap into the water, which reaches above 
 their knees. Each of them takes one of us astride his shoulders, throws 
 his load on the sand, and leaves him there to go and fetch other poor 
 wretches, who are abandoned in the same way, one here, another there, 
 haphazard along the beach. 
 
 I hail Ingram, who cannot be far off. He replies, and we grope our 
 way to one another over the rocks and pools of water, for we cannot see 
 an inch before us. We are trying to find out our bearings, when a 
 lantern gleams, Some one calls our names ; we howl ours in reply. It 
 is Harris, who has crossed to Tangier a week before, to make prepara- 
 tions for our expedition into the interior. He has come to meet us 
 with his servant Selim. He takes us to the Custom-house, where we 
 find Forestier, Marshall, Brooks, the dogs Don and Eover, who are 
 completely dazed, our boatman and our luggage. 
 
 Harris, speaking a jargon of Arabic, which nobody, not even himself, 
 understands, explains a host of things to the Custom-house officers, 
 muffled in their burnooses. They respond with great volubility and 
 wild gesticulating, and everything is arranged. 
 
 We make our way to "La Villa de France," followed by the 
 
TANGIER. 3 
 
 men carrying our luggage, liglited by the lanterns of the hotel 
 porters. We climb a steep street, which seems as though it would 
 never end, splashing in muddy pools, floundering in ruts, slipping on 
 soft refuse that emits unnameable odours, stumbling against shapeless 
 masses lying on the ground, — Arabs fast asleep under the open sky. 
 Massive gates provided with enormous bolts are opened before us, 
 creaking on their rusty hinges, and hastily shut again as soon as we 
 have passed through. Then, still ascending, we cross a big square, 
 where, wrapped in burnooses, their heads resting on their knees, 
 crouching figures with harsh features are guarding herds of oxen. 
 Through these we have some difficulty in clearing a passage. A fine 
 rain is falling, a Scotch mist, which makes us wet to tlie skin. 
 
 At last we reach the hotel, and eat as hearty a supper as if we 
 had never dined. We dry our clothes before a nice fire, smoke a few 
 cigarettes, and then we retire to our rooms. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ■3|f ^(t ^ 
 
 With the first streak of dawn I jump out of bed. A sunbeam that 
 comes through an opening in the shutters dispels the semi-darkness of 
 my room, and falling on the wall gleams like a bit of melted gold. 
 I open my window, and the room is resplendent, flooded with light, 
 perfumed with a fragrance of trees and dewy flowers, with that keen 
 and delicious scent which rises from the earth after a storm of rain. 
 
 Before me lay a broad expanse of sky of intense blue ; on the far 
 distant horizon, the coasts of Spain, a long, grey streak tinged with red ; 
 while Tangier stretches away to the sea in an endless number of snow- 
 white terraces, forming a vivid contrast to the deep blue waters. 
 
 Walls of mosques, covered with brown and green tiles, sparkle in 
 some places like diamonds. A network of dark lines intersecting this 
 stream of light indicates the streets and crossways. Here and there 
 clusters of green trees appear dark amid these walls, reflecting a dazzling 
 brightness. Then on the topmost summit, dominating the town, rises, 
 in spectral whiteness, the citadel, whose ramparts stand in vigorous 
 outline against the sky. 
 
 In the foreground are tlie embattled walls of the town, its gates with 
 horseshoe arches, and the square, the immense square that we crossed 
 
 B 2 
 
AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 last night. The drovers are still there with their cattle, but other herds 
 
 and flocks have come : oxen, 
 sheep, goats. Loaded camels 
 are squatting on the ground ; 
 donkeys trudging in every direc- 
 tion ; mules tethered to posts, 
 munching their oats and dealing 
 sly kicks whenever they find a 
 chance. A huge white-robed 
 crowd with pointed hoods moves 
 slowly beneath me. A vague 
 murmur mounts upward, 
 mingled with an acrid, special 
 characteristic odour, that unde- 
 finable odour to be found only 
 in the East. 
 
 A faint bluish, transparent 
 vapour floats round the liotel, 
 veiling big clumps of trees. In 
 this soft mist Arab waiters and 
 porters move slowly, silently, 
 like shadows. 
 
 Suddenly on the air, a shrill, 
 long-drawn cry soars over the 
 town, dominating all other 
 sounds. The mucdden has come 
 forth on the balcony of the 
 minaret of the great mosque; 
 has turned towards the Kchla, 
 hoisting a white flag, and pro- 
 claiming, with the morning 
 prayer, the declaration of the 
 faith of Islam, which at the 
 same moment in the septentrion 
 and in the south, in the orient and in the Occident, all true believers 
 
 ■^ 
 
 MARINE STUEET, TANGIER. 
 
THE GREAT MOSQUE OF TANGIERS. 
 
 [ToJ'acL p. 4. 
 
TANGIEK. 5 
 
 are beginning to utter : "There is no other god but God, and Mahomet 
 is his prophet." Instantly other flags are floating on tlie minarets 
 of other mosques, the muedden appears, the same words fly away. > 
 
 A deep silence has fallen on all. The kneeling crowd, facing 
 the East, has reverently repeated the creed of the tholba, and the last- 
 accents are borne away in a supreme vibration, a final slow, plaintive- 
 note, profoundly sad, " Allah-Kebar " — God is very great. 
 
 I am in a hurry to see the town, Ingram, in his shirt-sleeves, 
 scours about, deeply engrossed in examining his guns, trying the 
 triggers, oiling the cocks, cleaning the barrels, threatening his dogs, who 
 jump about his legs, to send them back to England ; at the same time 
 storming against Brooks, who has lost his head in the first disorder of 
 our arrival. 
 
 Marshall, as lazy as a dormouse, is still in bed, idling away the best 
 part of the morning, and humming, in his tiny falsetto voice, " Has 
 anybody seen my Mary Ann ? " his matutinal song. 
 
 Eorestier, bitten with the craze of the East, has already got his 
 sketch-book and his pencils ready, and is as eager as I to see. We set 
 out, leaving Ingram to his guns, Marshall to his ditty, and Brooks, poor 
 Brooks ! to extricate himself as best he can from a chaos of trunks, 
 portmanteaus, cases, which litter our rooms, invade the corridors, and 
 block up the entrance-hall of the hotel. 
 
 We are on the great market-place on the SouL The sun has 
 already dried up the mud in which we were floundering so horribly last 
 night. It is an immense stretch of uneven ground, with ridges and 
 deep ruts, a regular marsh when it rains, a Sahara when the sun parches 
 this clayey soil, which cracks and splits in every direction. It extends 
 in a steep slope right to the walls of Tangier. A road paved with flags 
 runs across it from the top down to one of the town gates. On each 
 side of the gate are narrow shops, about four feet wide, looking as if they 
 were hung on the walls. In some of these, weapons are gleaming, 
 bright coloured stuffs glittering in the sun. In others are a sort of 
 stove, made of a few stones and a handful of clay on which tiny pieces 
 of meat are roasting on spits. Close by are butchers, grocers, bakers, 
 confectioners, serving their poor customers. 
 
AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 Half-way up the hill there is a saint's tomb, four whitewashed 
 walls. At the top stands a cemetery, strewn with stones, graves, and 
 clusters of cactuses and aloes of a dusty grey-green colour. 
 
 It is market-day ; a numerous crowd in an incessant bustle fills the 
 square. Files of camels, roaring fearfully, stride along, their heads 
 towering above ours, and their long, bare necks undulating with snake- 
 like movements. Little black 
 donkeys kick with their front feet 
 all the dogs that come within 
 their reach. Tliere are herds of 
 small, thickset oxen, with short 
 horns and tawny hair ; flocks of 
 black goats, with red spots and 
 sharply curved noses ; stubborn 
 mules, bent on bitinf^ one another ; 
 and a dense throng of Arabs, in 
 white burnooses, among whom 
 some Jews, in blue robes and black 
 skull-caps, roam stealthily, with 
 furtive looks. 
 
 Now and then, a European on 
 horseback, a Spaniard riding a 
 mule carrying sacks, a red-faced 
 and white-helmeted Englishman 
 turning over his guide-book, in- 
 troduce an incongruous element 
 into this tranquil harmony of 
 white, of grey, of brown-reds, that mingle and blend into a general 
 neutral tint of an exquisite softness, on this great background of the 
 blue sky. 
 
 In this crowd there are natives of Sousse in dark-blue garments and 
 black djellaUclis, peasants from the Cliarb, wrapped like llomans in the 
 folds of their rough woollen haiks. Here an old negro in rags from 
 Timbuctoo, with hair plaited with fine leather thongs adorned with 
 shells, is beating cymbals, making hideous grimaces, twisting his body 
 
 M:>ul;u i'i;i.)M iiMlJL.c 'iui_ 
 
TANGIER. 
 
 into every shape and form. There, a magnificent negress, tall, supple, 
 
 erect, is carrying on her liead small, round, flat loaves, on a wooden 
 
 tray, covered with a woollen cloth. On her long slim feet there is a 
 
 slight coat of dust, which gives 
 
 them a very faint grey-bluish gloss, 
 
 while her raised-up naked arm 
 
 gleams with bronze reflects. With 
 
 her head thrown far back, she walks 
 
 on straight, with a superb carriage, 
 
 chewing between her teeth a corner 
 
 of her 7iai7i'. 
 
 Farther on we pass a row of 
 countrywomen sitting by the road- 
 side. They are almost completely 
 shrouded under the thick folds of 
 their woollen dress and the gigantic 
 brims of their straw hats, decked 
 v.'ith gay ribbons. All of them keep 
 the lower part of their faces con- 
 cealed with the borders of their 
 hatks, leaving nothing visible ex- 
 cept their dark eyes stained with 
 hoheul, wonderfully brilliant under 
 their thick eyebrows, almost re- 
 joining on their foreheads, often 
 tattooed with a blue cross. Baskets 
 in front of them contain rhihich for 
 the camels, thistles for the asses 
 and mules, fowls' eggs, and butter. 
 
 Near the tomb of the saint a 
 group of children, in blue, red- rose 
 mauve dresses, is collected round a 
 
 white-haired negro with cheeks covered with scars. He sings in a sad 
 broken voice, which can scarcely be heard, accompanying the song on a 
 sort of square guitar, a gimbry. Strange and weird is the effect of 
 
 A NK(;i{E!S!S liUKAD-SKI.I.KK. 
 
8 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 this primitive melody, rhythmed under the burning sun, in the great 
 plains of mysterious Africa, where no European has ever penetrated. 
 
 Absorbed in his own thoughts, the old child of the Dark Continent 
 will croon for hours together his plaintive melody, muttering this same 
 sad note, this unvarying strain, escaping like a sigh from his thick, pale, 
 colourless lips. 
 
 Close by the wall of a brazier's shop sits a story-teller, a Moor, 
 a young thalcb from Fez, fresh from the University of Karaouin, 
 exquisitely neat and clean, his nails white and rose, carefully 
 trimmed, dyed with henna. Enveloped in a hundred folds of white 
 muslin, he recites in a rather affected manner some pretty little trifles, 
 which a select audience applaud judiciously. He must have made some 
 pointed remark at our expense, for his hearers turn round laughing to 
 look at us, and whisper a great deal among themselves. 
 
 At the bottom of the Souk, on the left of the town, a crowd is 
 gathered in front of a shop. Amid brown and white burnooses, soft 
 tinted sulhams, scarlet kaftans, ferragieh, fez, pouches of red and 
 citron coloured morocco, gleam khangiars, yataghans, copper-lined 
 powder-flasks shaped like a negress's breasts, sabres with hafts of 
 rhinoceros horn, on whose finely tempered blades the grandiose mottoes 
 of famous Spanish grandees are engraved in gold. 
 
 In this group two men stand strongly out, distinct in face and 
 character. They are mountaineers, natives of the Eiff — Eiffeans, as 
 they are called at Tangier — Amazirghs, as they term themselves ; a 
 branch of the great Berber family, the brothers of the Kabyles in 
 Algeria. Indifferent Moslems, as they were formerly lukewarm 
 Christians, they are desperately attached to their independence, and 
 believe in scarcely anything except their guns. Aryans separated for 
 so many centuries from their European kinsmen, they have forgotten 
 them, these mongrel Semitic Aryans, these inveterate rebels, always in 
 revolt against the Sultan, incessantly waging wars among themselves. 
 Tall, sturdy, well-shaped, built like athletes, they combine elegance 
 with strength. They speak in a loud, guttural, sharp tone, and their 
 imperious bearing, their fierce looks, and abrupt gestures produce an 
 imposing and commanding effect. One of them has a dark complexion 
 
TANGIER. 9 
 
 with a Eoman contour ; the other, with his reddish hair and his deep, 
 steel-blue eyes, represents the Gallic type. They glance boldly ; have 
 small, white well-set teeth, high cheek-bones, prominent chins. Their 
 features have a firm and resolute expression, and their whole demeanour 
 is tinged with an air of ferocity. 
 
 Around their heads is entwined a band of red cloth, bespangled 
 with silver — their gun-case. Their sinewy arms, left uncovered by 
 their chesnut-coloured burnooses of coarse wool, are striped with narrow 
 bands of embroidered silk, spotted with coloured tufts ; and their broad 
 hoods, falling far down from their shoulders, reveal powerful necks 
 burnt by the sun. 
 
 Under the burnoose, a wide belt of scarlet silk confines a white linen 
 gandourah at the waist. Their legs are bare, vigorous, the attachments 
 of the muscles are delicate, the ankles salient. On their feet they wear 
 sandals of goatskin, with the hair outside, laced with cords of plaited 
 alfa. A tchehara, a double-pouched wallet for bullets, of red and 
 yellow leather, with interlaced ornaments, set off by fine silk tufts, is 
 slung across their shoulders. At their sides hang the guern, powder- 
 flasks, in guilloched copper; and from cords of blue silk, slung like- 
 wise, hhangiars are suspended. The broken handle of one of these 
 poniards — that of the red-haired fellow — has been rudely but solidly 
 bound with thongs of untanned hide. Their sinewy hands, the veins of 
 which stand out in strong relief, constantly fidget about the expanding 
 ivory butt of their muskets, their trusty friends, m'ksala, with 
 their long barrels encircled with silver, ribbon-like streaks. The 
 people around approach them with respect, and even with some degree 
 of fear. 
 
 Then there are water-carriers, bending under the weight of their 
 goatskin loads. The skin has been used in its natural sliape; the 
 belly of the animal being slit lengthwise, the carcase taken out, and 
 a long copper tap inserted in the neck. The skin swells out with the 
 liquid poured into it, the legs are stiff, and the inflated hide has so 
 striking an appearance of reality that you are impressed both with its 
 lugubriousness and its comicality. 
 
 The aguador, with the perspiration streaming down his face, 
 
10 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 trudges through the crowd, clanking liis copper goblets one against the 
 other, dispensing his water, made tepid by the heat, insipid by the 
 constant jolting, and emitting strong and repugnant effluvia of the he- 
 goat. His legs are slender, Ids arms sinewy. A piece of yellow stuff 
 encircling a greasy cap, stiffened by dirt and the accimiulated perspira- 
 tion, serves as a turban ; breeches of 
 soiled linen complete his costume. 
 
 Occasionally a rich Moor, on a mule 
 caparisoned in velvet embroidered with 
 gold and clad in a silk lia'ih, rides through 
 the crowd, which deferentially make way 
 for him. 
 
 My buckle, tall boots, and particularly 
 my ribbed velvet coat, seem to excite 
 the lively curiosity of the street boys, 
 who, from time to time, slyly put out 
 their monkey paws to feel the coat. Our 
 gloves are the subject of endless com- 
 ment, and provoke incessant bursts of 
 laughter, especially when we take them 
 off to sketch. 
 
 We pass the gate of the Souk, a worm- 
 eaten gate plated with copper sheets with 
 greenish streaks. The base is worn and 
 sliiny, in consequence of the constant 
 contact with the burnooses and men's 
 flesh. The upper part, quite grey, is en- 
 crusted with a thick layer of dust. The 
 grey-bearded gate-keeper lolls by the wall on a cage of palms, a A«/a, 
 smoking cigarettes, and mumbling his prayers as he turns the beads of 
 his rosary. 
 
 The street is very broad at this part. The high walls of the 
 ramparts, covered with lichens on their sides, and bushes and dry plants 
 on tlieir embattled summits, are flanked by a few sparse, tumble-down 
 shops. From their dislocated eaves hang fragments of tattered stuff". 
 
 5^ 
 
 A WATER-SELLKR. 
 
TANGIER. 
 
 11 
 
 Donkeys, mules, camels, wallow in the half-dried mire. Mendicants in 
 rags covered with vermin, exhibit fearful ulcers and present a loathsome 
 aspect. A blind man on his knees appeals, in the name of Allah, to the 
 pity of the passers-by. These vacant orbs, these bloodshot chasms, are 
 frightful to look upon. We throw him a trifle and pass quickly on. 
 
 A gatp:way of taxcier. 
 
 Soon we come into a small, narrow square — the little Souk — lined 
 with shops and full of life. A pretty but very dilapidated Moorish 
 fountain, of fine style, is built in an angle formed by the square and 
 the adjacent street. Here women, clad in haiks of white wool, l)ring 
 their pitchers, the water-carriers their skins, and Europeans their pails. 
 Women bread-sellers with veils on are ranged in a row by the side of 
 the walls. Fronting the fountain stands the English post-office, with 
 barred windows, and close by a cafe and a billiard-room. On the walls 
 
12 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 placards are posted. The square is full of people : Spaniards, lazy 
 ]\Ioors, artful Jews concluding bargains, busy negroes, porters waiting 
 for clients, guides, interpreters watching for newcomers and pestering 
 them with offers of service. A little Jew is bent on tacking himself to 
 us. He dogs our steps, and it is impossible to get rid of him. 
 
 Somewhat lower down, we stop before the finely-carved door of the 
 
 great mosque, with its very elegant 
 arch and its flange of arabesques. 
 An Arab is kneeling at the bottom 
 of the steps, praying in a loud 
 voice, and telling his beads. He 
 throws us an angry glance, and 
 favours us with an imprecation, 
 which our little rogue of a Jew 
 makes haste to interpret for our 
 benefit: "Dog of a Christian, son 
 of a dog ! May your father and 
 your grandfather be cursed, and 
 sw^elter in everlasting fire ! " This 
 kind compliment fails to produce 
 the least impression on us. 
 
 There are two expressions 
 which we are constantly hearing — 
 lalnih, which means "look out," 
 and la bass, which is equivalent to 
 " all right." 
 
 Two Moors meet, clasp each 
 other's right hand, and inquire how things are "at home" — they 
 carefully avoid mentioning their wives — la bass! Then, after some 
 further polite ceremonies, for they are exceedingly punctilious, they 
 again inquire if matters are really going on well — la bass ! and 
 always la bass ! the inevitable la bass ! punctuating all their 
 phrases. If there is a mule behind us — Balcuh ! When a porter 
 laden with a big box comes by — Baleuh ! Should a horseman come 
 dashing along — Balculc ! It matters not wdiether the mule has 
 
 AN ARAB IN PltAYKK. 
 
TANGIEK. 
 
 13 
 
 broken your ribs, whether the porter's box has dislocated your shoulder, 
 whether the rider's stirrup has torn away a piece of your coat, when 
 the warning cry Balcuh ! rings in 
 your ears. Fortunately there are 
 no carriages, drays, or vehicles of 
 any sort in Morocco. 
 
 All along the streets, nearly 
 down to the harbour, shops succeed 
 each other with a few interrup- 
 tions. There tourists are barrainino' 
 for pottery, Moorish slippers, and 
 " souvenirs of Morocco." Just 
 before reaching the harbour, we 
 take on our left a street leading to 
 the citadel. Our unceremonious 
 Israelite guides us through a 
 labyrinth of narrow streets, from 
 which, I ought to acknowledge it, 
 we could never have extricated 
 ourselves without his help. 
 
 And what streets ! Dark nar- 
 row passages between high walls, 
 with barred windows, parts of wall 
 crumbling away at the base, and 
 threatening every moment to 
 tumble down. Through half-open 
 doors, thick vapours of fetid odours 
 escape. The road, paved in some 
 places, cut up in others, is a 
 sink of liquid mud, in which float 
 loathsome carcases, dead cats, 
 putrid fowls. Sickly children, with 
 
 bleared eyes, dressed in rags, and a prey to vermin, are dabbling in 
 this filth, by which we are splashed at every moment. We quicken 
 our pace, to escape from this horrible stench ; and in another street, a. 
 
 STUEKT IX T.\NGIKR. 
 
14 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 little less dirty, we take refuge in a Moorish cafe, at the foot of a steep 
 ascent leading to the citadel. 
 
 The ceiling is constructed of wooden rafters resting on a thick girder, 
 propped by a single piece of wood, forming a column in the middle of 
 the room. The bare ground is covered with mats, set off by coloured 
 designs, in which violet predominates. A slight whitewashed elevation, 
 about two feet high by two feet wide, likewise covered with mats, serves 
 as a divan, and runs along the walls, laid out also with bright-coloured 
 mats, ornamented with arabesques representing the arches over the 
 door of a mosque. From the ceiling hang lamps made of tin-plate, and 
 embellished with coloured glass. In a corner, at a little counter, with 
 a moticharahy g&llevy above it, sits the kaouadji, in a blue vest with 
 red trousers, trimmed with white scalloped cord. A square hole in the 
 wall serves as a receptacle for his cups, glasses, sugar ; and before 
 the counter on a brick stove, a big copper coffee-pot is simmering. 
 
 At the entrance a negro, all in blue, pounds coffee in a marble 
 mortar, moaning like a baker wlien he is kneading his dough. Seven 
 or eight Moors, seated in the middle of the apartment, take their 
 coffee, talking of their affairs, or playing on instruments of various 
 kinds. 
 
 They give us a very civil welcome. The coffee is excellent, and we 
 fall to sketching the place. We have scarcely begun when all the 
 customers rise, and enter into a lively discussion with the proprietor, 
 now and then casting angry glances at us. Our Israelite explains what 
 we had half suspected. The customers are furious at their portraits 
 being taken, and give it as their ultimatum that they won't put their 
 foot inside the cafe again if the roumis are not turned out at once. 
 We go on sketching and drinking our coffee without paying the least 
 heed to the proprietor's sellish rebukes. As soon as we have finished 
 we take our leave, and climb the rougli, bare scorching slope which leads 
 to the citadel, at the " Whip Gate," Bab-d-asa. 
 
 There is a great charm in this old gate, whose pointed, dei)ressed 
 arch, which, with a slight break at the top and narrow at the base, has 
 that delicious outline so characteristic of Moorish architecture. Un- 
 fortunately it is falling into ruins, sapped at its base — like all tlie other 
 
TANGIER. 15 
 
 buQdings of Morocco and the rest of tlie East, tliroii«,di the constant 
 battering of the loads of beasts of burden. The wood of the massive 
 door is rotten, the copper sheets that overlay it are falling off, the locks 
 are rust-eaten, and nothing is ever repaired. The superposed layers of 
 whitewash are accumulating, obliterating the fine angles of the lines ; 
 the delicate reliefs of the arch, formed by a triple series of little curves, 
 adjoining the large ogive on the outside. All that is passing away, 
 crumbling bit by bit, through the general indifference, the unspeakable 
 carelessness of this race of visionaries, pursuing for centuries its reli- 
 gious chimera, in which all its vigour, its energies, its aspirations 
 are merged ; this slow suicide of Islam. 
 
 As we stand, with the Souk at our feet, stretching from the other 
 side of the town, our cicerone tell us, without the least scruple, a 
 legend current among the Arabs and scarcely flattering to his race. In 
 times of drought, so they say, the Jews are let loose in the Soul; and 
 commanded to pray for rain. It seems, according to Moorish ideas, 
 that the sight of this foul rabble is so offensive to the Almighty that 
 He hastens to send down rain in torrents in order to get rid of their 
 presence. 
 
 In the Kasbah are located the official buildings of Tangier, the 
 law-courts, the prisons, the Pasha's palace, and the houses of some 
 functionaries. 
 
 After a ramble through winding streets, irregular cross-ways, and 
 polluted alleys, we find ourselves in a wide courtyard. The rugged 
 ground is covered with deep ruts. The part next to the buildings is 
 irregularly paved with blocks of unhewn stone. In the centre heaps of 
 refuse merge, like islands, from the midst of a pool of black mud, which 
 emit the most noxious smells. A few saddled horses are tethered, 
 goats are frolicking, driA'ing back from time to time mangy dogs, 
 ravenous after the carcase of a camel, from which they gnaw with their 
 fangs the blood-stained flesh. Black vultures are screeching aloft, 
 describing concentric circles, waiting for an opportunity to obtain a 
 share of the hideous quarry. 
 
 We enter an old forsaken building, the ancient Treasury. At the 
 top of some steps is a portico, a double colonnade, with horseshoe arches 
 
16 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 y, 
 
 of remarkable purity. The mosaic paviug, of charming design, is 
 broken and torn up. The disjointed doors, exquisitely panelled, are 
 rotting on their hinges. Beggars who have taken up their abode there, 
 are dressing their repulsive sores. The whole aspect of the place is one 
 of heartrending desolation. 
 
 At the side are the prisons. You enter by a large ogived folding 
 door into the high-ceiled courtyard, paved with glittering pebl.)les. 
 
 LAW-COURTS AND TREASURY IN THE KASBAH. 
 
 A massive clay bank, about three feet wide, of irregular level, white- 
 washed like the walls, runs round the yard on two sides — on the right 
 at the entrance, and at the farther end. In the wall on the right a 
 large arched opening is closed by a thick door with formidable bolts. 
 In the front of it, vertical and horizontal pieces of wood, in the form 
 of a cross, firmly nailed together, impart a most sinister aspect to 
 the place. 
 
 In the middle of this door an aperture about the size of a man's 
 head has been cut, in the shape of a heart, with the point downwards. 
 
TANGIER. 
 
 17 
 
 It is through this hole that the prisoners are allowed to see their 
 relatives and friends, and receive from them the food that the Sultan, 
 absorbed in the duties of the harem, is always forgetting to dole out 
 to them. 
 
 It is by this one door that the prisoners enter and their dead bodies 
 are brought out. 
 
 The farthest wall is hung with the guns, powder-flasks, and pouches 
 of the guard. On the other 
 
 walls there are cotes 
 pigeons, some of which 
 
 for 
 
 are 
 fluttering under the vaults. 
 Mattresses and quilts are 
 piled up indiscriminately on 
 the benches, and the floor is 
 littered with empty boxes,' 
 pots, copper vessels, and 
 kitchen utensils. 
 
 Near the barred door, the 
 warder, a toothless, sour- 
 looking, white-bearded old 
 soldier, pent up in his hood 
 and the folds of his multi- 
 farious burnooses, keeps his 
 watchful eye on the prisoners 
 and their visitors as he 
 smokes his pipe. 
 
 A womon has just entered 
 with a bundle of clothes and 
 
 some provisions. The gaoler with a shaky voice shouts out a name ; 
 one of the prisoners, gaunt, with hollow eyes, his livid face pressed 
 against the rim of the hole, stretches out an emaciated hand, and 
 eagerly clutches the food brought by his wife, down whose cheeks big 
 tears are flowing. She holds up her child ; he kisses it with a smothered 
 howl, and the poor little thing, trembling under this wild caress, timidly 
 strokes its father's wan cheeks with its tiny plump hands. For the 
 
 c 
 
 "'■'^SSSP" 
 
 VIsrriN'G PIUSOXERS. 
 
18 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 wretched man, this is a gleam of light in the darkness of that hell. 
 Poor people ! 
 
 Tlie unhappy woman has left ; she walked out rigid, with dazed eyes, 
 her child rolled up in the corner of her haik. 
 
 I take my turn in looking through the execrable hole. In the 
 semi-obscurity I gradually make out an arcade, with a double row 
 of square pillars, opening on an uncovered courtyard. It has at 
 one time been paved with tiles, some of which still remain, 
 disappearing beneath the rot of refuse. At the farther end of the 
 court there is a fountain, where these miserables get water and wash 
 themselves. They rush round the aperture, begging in most lamentable 
 accents, but move off at a growl from the warder. I throw them a few 
 piastres, over which they fiercely wrangle, with horrible cursing and a 
 sinister rattling of chains. 
 
 Oil, the awful clanking of those chains, this dire struggle in the 
 gloom, these gaunt figures tearing and howling like wild beasts, this 
 stench of corpses ! I shall never forget it, never ! 
 
 Iron rings riveted round the ankles, and connected by a link a 
 foot long, force the criminal to take very short steps, and the friction of 
 the fetters has worn away the flesh and laid bare the bones. 
 
 In the semi-darkness I catch a glimpse of motionless bodies lying 
 on the ground between the pillars of the arcade, with nothing but rags 
 to cover them. They are prisoners asleep, perhaps in the throes of 
 death. From the nails iu the walls hang jagged hoiifas and strips 
 of dirty linen. In a corner, between two stones, flickers the faint 
 bluish flame of a lire, where they cook scraps of food. A warm, reeking, 
 nauseous smell pervades this Gehenna. 
 
 How fresh the air seems when we get out ! How delightful it is to 
 see the blue sky once more ! 
 
 Before the Court of Justice we find the Pasha engaged in trying an 
 intricate affair. The plaintiff and defendant are on their knees, making 
 out their cases at the same time, with a great deal of vociferation and 
 gesticulation ; while tlie I'asha, exasperated, shouts above the din, and 
 threatens to send them both to prison if they won't give each other time 
 to speak. 
 
TANGIER. 
 
 19 
 
 Soldiers in tall corneal fez, dressed in blue and white burnooses, arc 
 posted at the side, ready at the first sign to carry out the peremptory order. 
 Others are enjoying their cigarettes under the colonnade at tlie entrance. 
 
 We leave His Excellency the Pasha— with one or several tails— to his 
 duties, in order to walk on the terrace, where three or four heavy guns 
 are lying idly on their carriages. A stalwart varlet of an artillery- 
 man, wdio looks very much like a 
 pirate, jabbers a few words in French, 
 descanting on the qualities of his 
 gun, vaunting the accuracy of its 
 practice, and manifesting in the 
 most barefaced fashion his desire 
 for hacl'shcesh, which we bestow 
 upon him all the more readily as 
 tlie scamp does not in the least 
 deserve it. It is the regular thing 
 here; they ask for hacl'shcesh quite 
 as naturally as they cry haleulc ! 
 as they say let bass ! at every 
 moment, without thinking, natur- 
 ally, and we, as a matter of course, 
 give it at every moment, without 
 thinking, naturally. 
 
 J^rom this place we pass through 
 the upper gate, opening at the top of a deep slope, and descend 
 to the Sijiih, by a road lined with cactuses, aloes, and tall reeds. 
 We then make our way to the hotel, flanked by our persistent son of 
 Israel, and we see the obstinate little rascal take his station by the 
 entry, to watch our exit, and pilot us again, whether we like it or 
 not, in spite of two or three thumps administered to him by Selim, 
 who had a crow to pluck with him. 
 
 We are in the bustle of preparations for our departure. 
 In one of the big rooms of the hotel, Harris has stored tlie para- 
 phernalia for our camp. The place is crammed, and the liall nearly 
 
 c 2 
 
2() AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 blocked up. Everytliing is heaped up pell-mell on the floor : Loxes 
 on top of one another, piles of trunks ready to topple over, pyramids 
 of portmanteaus, camp-beds, bales of canvas, picket ropes and poles, 
 the gear and furniture for our tents. Besides these, waterproof bags 
 stuffed with clothes, linen, and blankets, cartridge boxes, guns, saddles, 
 bridles, a petroleum stove, a violin, a table, lanterns, and a quantity 
 of other things, are strewn on the ground. 
 
 Harris, like most of his countrymen, is fond of comfort ; and since 
 he holds that the stomach has a right to serious consideration, he has 
 made due arrangements to provide for its requirements. Ingram points 
 to four strong boxes with screwed lids, sent from London. They are 
 filled with comestibles, and he obligingly enumerates the contents : tea, 
 coffee, preserves, biscuits, pickles of all sorts, bouillon Liebig's, 
 ox-tail soups, smoked tongues, York hams, and those horrible highly- 
 spiced sauces "\\diich set the throats of us Frenchmen all on fire, 
 though they only tickle the palate of the sons of Albion. The 
 drinkables include champagne, chartreuse, and whisky. Of course the 
 pepper, mustard, and salt have not been forgotten, nor the candles for 
 the evenings in camp. The miniature medicine chest remains under 
 the charge of Forestier, who is to act as apothecary. 
 
 Ingram shows himself quite in his element in the midst of the 
 confusion, roaming about everywhere, handling everything, adding to 
 the disorder under pretence of setting things to rights, teasing his dogs, 
 and keeping an eye on unfortunate Brooks, who, with a woe-begone air, 
 wanders among the multifarious piles, making superhuman efforts to 
 convert the huge jumble into something like order. Hypnotised by his 
 guns, his ammunition, his dogs, Ingram burnishes with his own hand 
 the gleaming barrels, spreads his cartridges out on the ground, counting 
 them, examining them, classifying them, and then putting them back 
 carefully one by one in the gorgeous cases of yellow leather plated with 
 copper corners, and fastened by safety locks of marvellous complexity. 
 His restless dogs poke their noses everywhere, get entangled in the 
 ropes, bring down the unevenly piled boxes with a crash, and trample 
 on everything, leaving on our tent canvas ineradicable traces of their 
 complete want of education. They are always between somebody's legs, 
 
TANGIER. 
 
 21 
 
 particularly Forestier's. Don especially shows a marked tendency to 
 go and take refuge there when his irate master threatens to skin him 
 alive. Forestier, whose equilibrium is menaced by this unlucky pre- 
 dilection, has constantly to keep on the qui vive in order to repel 
 the unfortunate brute, who nevertheless persists in his endeavours. 
 Forestier gets wild at last, 
 and takes a violent dislike 
 to his tormentor. 
 
 From time to time, 
 amidst the din of packing, 
 the clatter of falling boxes, 
 you hear a sound like the 
 breaking of a guitar string. 
 It is Marshall's shrill, falsetto 
 voice, who, in the interval 
 between two yawns, treats 
 us to one of those horrible 
 puns with which his head 
 is crammed. This weakly, 
 flute-like voice of his makes 
 the Arabs smile. They 
 crowd round him as he lies 
 in the canvas, idly stretch- 
 ing out his long, lank legs, 
 and seem anxious to ascer- 
 tain whether anything is 
 wanting with him. 
 
 Harris, in all the ardour of the preparations for the journey, has his 
 eye on everything, and bustles about as if it were a matter of life 
 and death. He introduces to us a tall young fellow with a tanned 
 skin, square shoulders, and sinewy limbs — Sefior Antonio, a Spaniard, 
 our guide. Besides his own language he speaks Arabic fluently, and 
 can even manage to murder a few sentences in French. It seems that 
 he is an excellent shot, which augurs well for keeping our larder w^ell 
 stocked with fresh meat. 
 
 A PBISONER. 
 
22 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 His bitch Mitza, a pretty little animal witli a red coat, extremely 
 coquettish, is already setting her cap at Don and Eover. These, like 
 well-bred dogs, mindful of their respectability, think it improi)er of her 
 to take such liberties, and receive her advances coldly. 
 
 Four Arabs pack up the tents, cord the trunks, prop up the boxes, 
 and put the things in order. They shout a great deal, and gesticulate 
 still more. They have been engaged, together with five others whose 
 arrival we are expecting, to act as muleteers and servants for the 
 journey. 
 
 Selim, like a spoilt valet who has a pretty conceit of himself, goes 
 fussing about, making plenty of noise, but doing very little work. 
 
 A grey-haired soldier, with a parchment-like face like that of an old 
 woman, arrives from the British Embassy. It is under his guidance 
 that we are going to make the journey. His name is Kaid Hadj 
 Mohammed, a dear old scamp, as Harris calls him, in a good-humoured, 
 condescending fashion. We exchange civilities with the representative 
 of the Sultan ; and as our presence is quite useless, Forestier and I 
 decamp briskly and return to the town. 
 
 In the Souk, near the tomb of the saint, a dense crowd is gathered 
 round a group of Arabs. They are serpent charmers ; we join the 
 throng to see. Two men are squatting on the ground. One of them, 
 aged, bearded, with a hang-dog face, is beating a big drum with his 
 hand in a desultory fashion, and chanting in a drawling voice. The 
 other, young, beardless, with a cunning look, is playing on a bamboo 
 flute, with a slow melancholy rhythm. A third, the charmer, a tall, 
 slim, bony figure, is leaping round a reed basket covered with goatskin, 
 singing in a hollow plaintive tone, broken occasionally by a sharp 
 piercing note like a whistle. 
 
 His strange aspect makes a deep impression on you. His face is of 
 an ascetic leanness ; his high, bare forehead is strongly bulged ; his 
 temples deeply furrowed. His sunken eyes flash with extraordinary 
 brilliancy, and his small, sharp teeth, exceedingly white, gleam between 
 thin, half-opened lips. The chin is roughly defined, and the projecting 
 cheekbones seem bent on Inirsting tlie skin, which scarcely seems able 
 to cover them. His dense black hair, reaching down to liis heels, 
 
TANGIER. 
 
 23 
 
 completes his striking and fantastic appearance, A long blue shirt, 
 clinging to his bones, sets off his spectral figure with hard, sliroud- 
 like folds. 
 
 All at once he kneels down, utters one last invocation, and 
 brusquely lifting the goat- 
 skin, he plunges his hand 
 into the basket and takes 
 out a cobra, which he waves 
 in the air. He walks round 
 the crowd, which recoils be- 
 fore the uplifted arm round 
 which the reptile is writhing. 
 Then, returning to the centre 
 of the circle, he allows it to 
 crawl upon his breast, draws 
 it back, twines it round his 
 wrists, his neck, his legs, 
 puts it under his feet, excites 
 it with his wand, seizes its 
 tail Avith his teeth, and when 
 the infuriated creature Avith 
 glittering eyes twists and 
 writhes in a terrible manner, 
 he grasps it by the middle, 
 and puts his arms, his fore- 
 head, his tongue to its jaws. 
 His blood streams from the 
 repeated bites of the cobra, 
 and the crowd, charmed and 
 fascinated, throws at the feet of the charmer a heap of coppers. 
 
 The spectacle has disgusted us. Forestier is very pale, and we make 
 off with all speed. Just as we are leaving the crowd, we find ourselves 
 face to face with our little scamp of a Jew ; he has watched our exit, 
 followed us, and does not look in the least as if he intended to leave us. 
 It is useless to dismiss him, he would follow us all the same. We let 
 
 A SXAKK CHARMEU. 
 
2.4 AMONG THE- -MOORS. 
 
 ]iira do as he likes, and so be is installed as our guide in spite of 
 ourselves. It was written, doubtless, like everytbing tbat bas hap- 
 pened, is happening, and will happen in Morocco. Allah, is great, 
 Mahomet is bis prophet, and Moses our cicerone. May the will of 
 Allah be done, may Mahomet be contented-, and Moses, satisfied ! 
 
 We wend our way by chance into one of the narrow roads which 
 open on the "marine." Keeping a sharp look-out, his ears well open, 
 Moses divines at once our slightest wishes. Cunning as an ape, be 
 discovers in a trice the direction of our thoughts, gives them form and 
 substance, and, if need be, unravels our doubts with the perspicacity of a 
 Eed Indian. His weasel-like face, bis officiousness, and especially his 
 endless garrulity, prove somewhat of a bore, but with the particular 
 versatility of his race be quickly adapts himself to the situation, per- 
 ceives at once what it is we most wish to see, and, with an unerring eye 
 and infallible judgment, he takes us straight away to picturesque, 
 charming nooks, whose originality, wealth of colour, and boldness of 
 outline are simply marvellous. 
 
 Moses rises in our esteem. The artful rogue, feeling himself appre- 
 ciated, puts on airs, assumes a louder tone, lords it over the passers-by, 
 and goes beyond the bounds of discretion in bis desire to give us a 
 glimpse of the interior of Moorish dwellings. Pushing open a gate, 
 he leads us into a small courtyard. The ground is paved with 
 flagstones, gleaming with water. Against a wall, opposite the gate, a 
 charming fountain, ornamented with mosaics, pours its water into a 
 marble basin. On the right and left are horseshoe arches, with pillars 
 overlaid with tiles, in exquisite taste, opening into profound recesses, 
 shrouded in semi-darkness. In the middle of the yard a colossal negro, 
 with the muscles of a beast-tamer, legs and upper part of body barej 
 treads, with sharp, regular beat, a pile of linen covered with a layer of 
 lather. The sun shines straight upon his shaven skull, irradiating the 
 bust and the strip of cloth round his waist, leaving in the shade the 
 rest of the body ; and the light, caught by the asperities of the muscles, 
 throws them into still greater relief, by the strong opposition of the 
 shadows. A hoarse guttural cry accompanies each of his movements, 
 and glistening perspiration trickles down his limbs. A shapely 
 
TANGIER. 25 
 
 young Moor, with delicate features and superb eyes, goes from time to 
 time to the fountain, draws water, and pours it on the heap of linen 
 between the legs of the colossus. The liquid spurts up in a sheaf of 
 dazzling jets, falls in a shower on the flagstones, and flows away in 
 endless gleams of light. 
 
 The sun falls fully on the fountain. Under its ardent touch the 
 moist tiles glitter like a casket of jewels, the water in the basin sparkles 
 as though it were liquid gold. 
 
 The adolescent is resplendent in the glaring light ; his red vest, over 
 his dazzling white shirt, glitters under the caress of the sun, and from 
 his fine bronzed bare arms drops of water slip, like so many diamonds. 
 
 Our entrance has neither surprised nor disturbed them. The work 
 has not been interrupted for a single moment, the black washerman has 
 not made one beat the less, the cadence of his monotonous cry has not 
 been broken, his assistant has not ceased to pour out water at regular 
 intervals, our presence does not even seem to have been noticed. 
 
 But, just as we are leaving, the youth casts upon us an enigmatical 
 look, and then with a smile turns to the negro, who, without inter- 
 ruptiug his operations, eyes us for a moment, and gives a bestial laugh, 
 while his companion glances at Moses with withering contempt and 
 addresses him in Arabic. The latter, suddenly losing all his self- 
 possession, retires quickly, quite crestfallen, but as soon as he has 
 got into the street he recovers his former audacity, and retaliates with a 
 vile epithet in French, which he launches at his quondam hosts, and, 
 shutting the gate violently, prudently takes refuge behind us. We 
 reprimand him sharply, and give him strict injunctions to abstain, in 
 our presence at least, from such intemperate language, or else we 
 shall at once send him about his business. This alternative makes 
 him turn grave, and he lags behind us with a sheepish air. But soon 
 regaining his old effrontery, he takes the lead once more, protesting 
 that he is going to show us a very curious sight, so we perforce must 
 follow in his wake. 
 
 We reach ere long the bottom of a horrible blind alley. Dead 
 bodies of animals, half buried in rank slime, are slo.vly putrefying. 
 Dense vapours, too heavy to rise, hover over the ground, corroding the 
 
26 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 walls, the bases of wliicli, undermined by perpetual leaking, eaten by 
 acrid and violent ferment, rotten by penetrating moisture, disaggregates, 
 crumbling away bit by bit in viscous masses, leaving enormous gaps, 
 that harbour noisome creatures. 
 
 The two side walls tower sheer aloft. Without doors, without 
 windows, without a single opening of any kind, they rise, menacing, 
 austere, gloomy, and their straight unbroken ridges cut in the sky above 
 a dazzling square of blue. Not a sound, not a living being, nothing ! 
 Nothing but the slow, silent, eternal work of this putrefaction ! "SYe 
 hesitate a moment whether to go on. The cold of this dungeon strikes 
 us with a chill, we feel our hearts failing us in the midst of these 
 abominable exhalations. 
 
 A door opens — a door so faded, so old, so worn, that it could not 
 be distinguished from the wall. A white figure enveloped in a /^ail- 
 appears and steps out, skirting the walls, gliding noiselessly. Tlie 
 spectre passes close by us, its eyes fixed, as if absorbed in a dream. The 
 emaciated face has a livid complexion, the liands are as thin as a 
 skeleton's. It vanishes at the corner of the street. We shudder when 
 the walking corpse grazes us on its way. This phantom, wrapped in 
 its winding-sheet, must surely be the spook that haunts these spots. 
 
 It is one of the customers, a haschich-smoker, Moses tells us ; and 
 continuing on a few steps in front, he enters the place that the 
 mysterious figure has just left. He reappears almost immediately, and 
 beckons us to follow. 
 
 We have to stoop in order to get through the doorway. We find 
 ourselves in a narrow passage, damp and gloomy, then enter a low 
 vaulted room with ogival arches resting on square pillars. A grey, 
 diffused light from some source or other filters through a few apertures, 
 dimly illuminating the centre of the room, leaving the other parts in an 
 opaque shade. At the farther end a stove in a sort of alcove, cut in the 
 thickness of the wall, throws faint red gleams on tlie bony head of an 
 Arab. He is minding the fire, on which a copper coffee-pot simmers. 
 A mastdba runs along tlie walls, hung with coloured mats. Similar 
 covers are spread on the trodden earth-floor, and lanterns are suspended 
 from the vaulted roof. In one corner there is in the shadow a group of 
 
TANGIER. 27 
 
 musicians, and in the middle of the room, Arabs lying, sitting, 
 squatting, are smoking and drinking tea, coffee, and raid. Their 
 slippers are ranged in a circle round them. A bluish vapour with a 
 strong, pungent odour fills the room, and gathers up in a dense cloud 
 underneath the ceiling. 
 
 There is in this Arab music something sweet, primitive, and 
 savage, which deeply affects the mind. It is always that eternal 
 repeating the same motif, always this slow rhythm, this plaint 
 monotone, interrupted now and again by a sort of long, sharp, har- 
 rowing cry. It strangely grates upon you at first, as something 
 abnormal, monstrous, and incomprehensible. But the anxiety produced 
 by that unknown thing passes, your ear gets accustomed to the sounds, 
 to the low measured echo of the darahouks, to the wails of the viol, to 
 the rasping of the ginibrij, and you are plunged into a state of pro- 
 found peace, of intense repose, where the benumbed thought hovers 
 between dream and reality. It is the very same feeling of soothing and 
 rhythmic listlessness as is produced by the cadenced noise of the waves 
 splashing on the shore, by the stampede of a troop of wild horses, by 
 the incessant buzzing of myriads of insects on a warm summer's day. 
 It is like a faded vision of events dimly seen in bygone years, an 
 echo of far-off things once understood but now forgotten, of which 
 our minds through ages should have retained a vague idea, and of 
 which we should be vividly reminded by these artless, early, and 
 barbarous sounds, as they touch unknown chords, and produce that 
 unspeakable feeling so full of a strange savour, of such a sweet 
 melancholy — the appeal of the past to the present. 
 
 They serve us with coffee. We watch with curiosity the group of 
 smokers, waited on by a servant, who fills the pipes and lights them with 
 a brand. An old grizzled Arab is rolled up in wool and muslin ; he has 
 a face of a greenish, waxen tinge. His hollow eyes, his dull look, have 
 a fixed and icy expression ; the pupil is largely dilated. A slight foam 
 oozes from his half -parted lips, wliich move spasmodically. He strokes 
 with his hand an effeminate figure seated at his side. The eyes of this 
 delicate and pallid youth glare like carbuncles ; he swayG to and fro with 
 a nervous, rapid movement, as he nestles Avith feline undulations to the 
 
28. 
 
 AMONG THE MOOKS. 
 
 old man. Gradually a light flush appears on his livid cheeks, white foam 
 fringes his discoloured lips, his eyes roll in their sockets, and a spasm 
 shakes him from head to foot. With a piercing cry he suddenly throws 
 himself back, and his head strikes the floor with a thud. Two Arabs 
 
 lift him up. He. is as rigid as a corpse. 
 They lay him in a corner of the room, 
 wipe his lips, bathe his temples, and 
 throw a covering over his body. Two 
 others lie at full length near him. 
 His neighbour, a hideous negro with a 
 bloated face and bloodshot eyes, starts 
 up all at once as if impelled by a spring. 
 With his arms pressed to his sides, his 
 head bent forward, his mouth wide 
 open, he begins one of those lewd, rude, 
 savage dances peculiar to black people. 
 With his naked foot he beats the ground, 
 marking time violently with his heels. At 
 the sight of him the orchestra, getting 
 excited, emphasise the melody and play 
 on in quicker time. The gestures of 
 the Bacchanal become more rapid, his 
 breathing heavier, his voice hoarser; 
 and in the rumbling of the darahouks, 
 the harrowing sounds of the cjimhry, 
 the laments of the viols, amid this 
 acrid vapour which grows denser 
 and denser, among these motionless 
 smokers, these bodies stiff and stark stretched on the floor, the horrible 
 creature continues liis infernal dance. 
 
 Soon light froth gathers round his lips, his features shrivel up 
 frightfully, and he pauses a moment, one second, his limbs absolutely 
 rigid, without a tremor. Not a muscle moves, not a sigh escapes from 
 his closed lips, not a breath comes from his swollen chest. He looks as 
 if suddenly he had turned into a statue. By and by he returns to 
 
 A NEGRO DANCING. 
 
TANGIER. 
 
 29 
 
 life, moves once more, the music takes up a softer, calmer strain. His 
 legs are tightly pressed together, and the upper part of the body 
 remains still, only his hips sway with lascivious oscillations of a 
 voluptuous slowness. The music accelerates the time, the movement of 
 the hips is transformed into a strong trepidation of the lower limbs, 
 strained by fierce convulsions. Abundant foam issues from his 
 mouth, and liis chest, streaming with perspiration, quivers with a hoarse 
 rattle. All at once he rushes with a yell on an Arab, and the two roll 
 on the ground in a horrible embrace, uttering wild imprecations, and 
 panting furiously. We then hastily retreat, having no desire to witness 
 the end of the performance. 
 
5^ 
 
 CAPE SPAKTEL. 
 
 Geheleh, Itli January. 
 
 We are going to set out to-day. Ever since the morning there has been 
 a deafening hurry-scurry in conveying our luggage from the hotel to 
 a narrow lane hard by, where it is piled up in huge loads on the backs 
 of a dozen stubborn mules, which kick, bite, whinny, treading the while 
 on the bare toes of the porters hard at work, and on our traps lying on 
 the ground. 
 
 Now and again, when a savage blow takes the skin off their bones, 
 or re-opens a half-healed wound, a painful shudder runs through their 
 wretched frames, wrinkling their hardened and callous skin ; and when a 
 last bale, added to an incalculable number of other things, makes their 
 lean backs crack and bends tlieir sinewy legs under them, there comes 
 from beneath these heavy unbalanced burdens, under which they almost 
 disappear, a faint mournful moan, like a human wail of anguish. 
 
GEBELEH. 31 
 
 The muleteers shout and jostle one another like lunatics. They 
 dart in and out between the beasts and the strange medley of packages, 
 receiving a kick from a bewildered horse, from a vicious mule a bite 
 which tears off a bit of flesh along with a portion of the garment. 
 Their bare feet are bruised by the hoofs of the animals and the falling of 
 the imperfectly strapped boxes. Their liands are torn by the rough iron 
 fastenings ; the projecting nails graze off the skin of their bronzed arms 
 streaked with long red gashes. 
 
 It is a deafening din, a fierce liullalialoo, with appeals of distress, 
 piercing yells mingled with sliouts of laughter. Sticks are brandished 
 and come down with a sharp thud, bare black shining arras are despair- 
 ingly tossed to and fro. Some of the boxes slip as they are hoisted up, 
 only to fall again, are caught in their descent, and finally are corded on 
 the packs in rough-and-ready fashion, by means of a marvellous pro- 
 fusion of old worn-out ropes and rotten leather thongs. 
 
 A ring of beggars encircles us, brushing us with their loathsome 
 rags and importuning us with their piteous wails. Among these are 
 blind men of fearful aspect, with bloodshot empty sockets ; imbeciles 
 eaten up with gangrene, with livid face and dull eyes; madmen with 
 glaring orbs full of despair, muttering incessantly the name of Allah ; 
 crippled and maimed wretches, who display frightful ulcers and thrust 
 liideous stumps from beneath the folds of their filthy burnooses. 
 
 This motley crowd of mendicants emits a nauseous, sickening odour. 
 A handful of small coins, a few cuffs from ' Selim, and some forcible 
 objurgations from Antonio at last widen the circle, and the arrival of 
 the Kaid, who tickles the shoulders of the refractory ones with a knotted 
 thong, finally compels the unlucky wights to take to flight. 
 
 Gradually — it is impossible to say how — all this hubbub is hushed. 
 From time to time, one of the beasts of burden, followed by its driver, 
 emerges with difficulty from the confused mass. Another follows, tlien 
 comes the last, closing our marching column; and all our camping stock, 
 trunks, boxes and so forth, slowly disappear and wind out of the town. 
 
 It is our turn now. Selim is at hand witli our mounts. Forestier 
 seizes upon a big, stiff, sullen white mule. I get astride my own, a 
 plucky little grey one of medium size, with a good-natured look about 
 
32 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 her. Llarsliall's is grey also, but somewhat advanced in years and with 
 sly eyes. To Brooks's share — the ineffable Brooks — falls a small black 
 mule with mangy patches all over his coat. Antonio has got hold of a 
 neat, spruce, coquettish little creature with a glossy coat, and perches 
 himself briskly on the top of some rugs and two or three bags crammed 
 full. In spite of this additional burden the sturdy little beast does not 
 appear the least disconcerted. Ingram and Harris rejoice in horses. 
 Carlton, a friend of Harris's, who was born in the country and speaks 
 x\rabic fluently, and who is to act as our interpreter, is absent from roll- 
 call. He is to join us at our first camping-place. 
 
 A few of the guests at the hotel have been watching all the prepara- 
 tions for our departure. Some of them, who have just returned from the 
 place where we are going, proffer their advice ; . others who are about to 
 take the same route listen with ears wide open. AVe shake hands, bid 
 each other good-bye, and away we start. 
 
 The cavalcade moves on : the Kaid, muffled up in a blue hooded 
 burnoose, leading the way with gun across his saddle-bows ; Forestier, 
 Marshall, and I in the centre; Ingram and Harris on the flanks. 
 Antonio and Brooks bring up the rear. Don, since he no longer has 
 Forestier's legs to take refuge under, plays pranks among the mules ; 
 while Eover, with a great calm and much dignity, trots behind his 
 master's horse with his nose in the air. ]\Iitza barks merrily as she 
 frisks here and there. 
 
 We cross the Souh, following a sandy track lined by a double row 
 of aloes, cactuses, palm-trees, skirted by villas, at the windows of which 
 the heads of some inquisitive ones appear. 
 
 Ere long we pass the last villa. The bushy hedge is replaced by a 
 few sparse shrubs with ever-widening spaces between them. The track 
 is lost in the fields, the sand is changed into ploughed land, and our 
 mules sink knee-deep in a yellow glutinous soil. 
 
 We cross streams deeply embedded between steep slippery banks ; 
 our mules stumble at every step, and with difficulty extricate themselves 
 from this soft tenacious clay. You must keep a sharp look-out if you 
 don't want to be pitched off and take a header into a layer of mud a 
 couple of feet deep. 
 
GEBELEH. 33 
 
 After great trouble in forcing on onr un\villing mules, we cross the 
 first and last bridge on the road to Mequinez over the Oued-al-Ihoudi 
 with its bare steep banks, and we begin to climb the ascent of Cape 
 Spartel, the Ampelusium of old. 
 
 There are no highways, no roads, only faint outlines of beaten tracks, 
 where the ground seems a little more trodden than in other places, and 
 which intersect one another in every way. We follow them for a short 
 distance, then they disappear, reappear all at once, and when we strike 
 into them again a little further on, they cross and recross, diverge, are 
 lost, are found again in the most fantastic manner. The slope is stiff, 
 the ground furrowed by brooks which softly ripple in every direction, 
 and meander along between banks of myosotis, water-cress, anemones. 
 
 We follow the beds of these tiny streams with their endless zigzags. 
 Sometimes our heads are on a level with the top of the banks, and we 
 make our way along a deep and narrow gully formed by the encroach- 
 ment of the water into the crumbling soil. Now the silvery streak 
 runs almost on the surface of the ground, winding round a boulder and 
 clearing a passage through a network of roots ; now it hollows out its 
 bed, bubbles over big white pebbles, widens into flower-decked little 
 pools, and vanishes suddenly, no one knows where ; then a few paces 
 further it breaks into sight again, joined to another brook, from which it 
 diverges ere long and rushes madly on, imparting a delicious freshness 
 to the verdure on its banks. 
 
 The whole of the promontory from the base to the summit is nothing 
 but one immense patch of green, broken with grey spots of bare rocks 
 with dark and jagged peaks. Their sides, worn and polished by the 
 wind and rain, are speckled with scabs of lichen, of faint yellow ochre, 
 or of pale dull green. These neutral tints harmonise deliciously with 
 the warm green, the soft violet colours, the hazy outlines of this dwarf 
 vegetation looming in the distance, this vast fragrant carpet over 
 which the rocks raise their massive forms. 
 
 Then there are cork-trees, dwarf palms, cherry-laurels, and here and 
 there broad light violet belts of heather, extending as far as one can see 
 across the hills. 
 
 The rose bay-trees lash our faces with their flexible boughs. The 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 
 soil under our feet is white with daisies ; everywhere are gentians, 
 periwinkles, wild marigolds, and on all sides violets fill the atmo- 
 sphere with perfume, mingling their delicate odour with the keen 
 breeze that blows from the sea. 
 
 With what an inward pleasure, what a robust feeling of satisfaction, 
 
 we inhale deep breaths of this pure and 
 
 vivifying air ! 
 
 :? - ' You yield to the subtle charm of this 
 
 ^ solitude, of these desert tracts. You feel, as 
 
 ^^ it were, intoxicated by this wind, passing 
 
 // "^"i' . :- laden with wild scents of flowers, of plants, 
 
 ,k, ^'-i-'-^"^^ < of moist earth. You complacently quaff 
 
 these salubrious odours, these invigorating 
 
 breaths that caress your cheeks, soothing your 
 
 thoughts, bracing your nerves, imparting new 
 
 elasticity to your muscles. 
 
 Downwards on my left, in a dip in the 
 ground covered with heather, and commanded 
 by a rocky mass, there is a flock of goats. 
 They are small, with coats spotted white and 
 black. Some are browsing, others are leaping 
 on the sharp points with vertiginous agility, 
 while two more are buttin^ each other furi- 
 ously. On the loftiest peak, the goatherd, a 
 young Arab, half naked, leaning on a long 
 crook, gazes, standing in clear outline in the 
 dark background. 
 
 Near us passes an Arab with a huge 
 bundle of wood on his shoulders. You cannot 
 perceive his body, half hidden by the bushes, you only see the burden 
 which sways to and fro, rising and falling with the unevenness of the 
 road. An old woman follows him, carrying a large jar on her head 
 and some bits of wood in a corner of her skirt. Her features are hard, 
 her face is wrinkled, and her forehead tattooed with a blue cross. iSlie 
 pauses for a moment to watch us pass. 
 
 A SHEPHERD. 
 
GEBELEH. 35 
 
 We now reach the crest of the phiteau. From tliore the view is 
 imposing. The innnense Atlantic, of roseate blue, striated with broad 
 bands of a glaucous green, stretches away unbounded. Not a sail, not a 
 bird, not a living creature, nothing . . . the infinite, and to the horizon 
 the blending of sky and w\ater, emphasising still more the redoubtaljle 
 impression of unlimited space. In the azure of a soft blue sky, with 
 warm palish hues, the sun's red orb, like an enormous ruby, radiates in 
 the splendour of its eternal majesty, kindling the ether with its endless 
 rays of light. Euddy gleams glide o'er the waters, sparkle on the rocks, 
 flash in sheets of gold and purple on the gigantic cliff which seems 
 as though carved in a colossal and resplendent block of bronze. From 
 the depths below a hoarse unceasing roar resembling a Titan's com- 
 plaining, rises like a dire menace, a challenge thrown to man's audacity 
 to advance farther. 
 
 Behind us is unfolded the panorama of Tangier, shelving down to the 
 sea, with its white houses, quite rosy now under the last gleams of the 
 setting sun, and down below, far away, are the vapoury blue summits of 
 the Djebel-Habib and of the mountains of Tetouan. On our left lie the 
 straits studded with vessels, and the coast of Spain, of a soft violet tint, 
 so pale, so light, so diaphanous, that it almost confounds with the skies. 
 
 The sea breaks on the rocks, six hundred feet below us. On the left, 
 behind a clump of trees, the lighthouse comes in sight. 
 
 Half-way up the hill we find a path cut in the precipitous cliff. It 
 winds in a slight declivity, broken, furrowed, and cut by streamlets, 
 pools, and miry marshes. In some places a wide open gap leaves 
 scarcely a foot of passage for our mules ; it is a part of the road which, 
 undermined by waters, gave way, and has slipped into the sea. From 
 time to time you hear a. dull rumble followed by prolonged echoes ; it 
 is the rolling of a loose rock, a landslip, the falling of an uprooted tree 
 And all these are crumbling in the deep, engulfed in the voracious abyss 
 that absorbs everything. 
 
 There is a great charm in this narrow track swept by the sea-breezes 
 this tiny bridle-path Imed with flowers, ferns, cork-trees, rose bay-trees 
 cactuses, gum-trees, with its ever recurring glimpses of the Atlantic. 
 
 On arriving on the esplanade of the lighthouse, we overtake our 
 
 D 2 
 
86 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 men, who have halted here for a short spell. They start again with 
 Antonio and the Kaid, while we enter the Moorish courtyard of the 
 lighthouse, where we take coffee in the keeper's lodge. There we find 
 the hotel guide, who is piloting some tourists. We shake hands, 
 swallow our coffee, light our cigarettes, and mount our mules agam. 
 The wind has freshened ; at the foot of the lighthouse the waves are 
 dashing loudly against the shore. 
 
 The path has now disappeared. In descending the cliff, to go on the 
 beach, we have to make our way over rocks, steep slopes, loose stones, 
 muddy soil. The incline is so abrupt that my head almost touches the 
 
 OUR CAMP. 
 
 back of my mule. The slips are frequent ; the beasts hesitate a long 
 time before putting their feet on the ground, and stumble at every step. 
 After running the risk of breaking our necks a hundred times, after 
 prodigious feats in maintaining our equilibrium, and thanks to endless 
 precautions, we ultimately reach the beach with all our limbs intact. 
 
 The evening draws on, the sky gets overcast, a storm is brewing, so, 
 pressing on our beasts, we cross two or three fords, then turning sharply 
 to the left we again climb the cliff along a gentle rise. A few drops of 
 rain begin to fall, the clouds burst, the rain lashes our faces for a few 
 minutes and then passes off. All at once from the top of a mo\ind we 
 see, less than fifty yards from us, in a hollow, our men preparing to 
 pitch the tents. The mules, tethered, are munching their provender, while 
 
GEBELEH. 37 
 
 the old Kaid, Hadj Mohammed, is giving orders from his horse and 
 rating his men. We are at the end of the first stage, at Gebeleh. 
 
 Two tents are already in position. A pole to which canvas is fastened 
 rises, erected and kept in position by vigorous hands. The wind swells 
 the canvas, which flaps against the mast with heavy thuds like a sail 
 being set ; the men draw the cords, bend the stuff, they fasten the 
 halyards to the pegs driven into the soil, and here is one more tent 
 pitched. 
 
 In a trice our little canvas town, quite white on the carpet of green 
 grass, raises its pointed roofs, displaying like slender gossamer its net- 
 work of cords which fasten it to the ground and protect it against the 
 frolics of the wind. 
 
 Here is the tent occupied by Brooks and Antonio, the store-rooms, 
 where the provisions and the kitchen utensils are already deposited. 
 In front of it, in a hole in the earth about a foot square, a kettle 
 simmers over a charcoal fire : that's our cooking range. Near there 
 is the tent shared by Harris and Carlton, a tent of miniature size, with 
 a double roof, a card folded in two. Everything is most scrupulously 
 arranged inside. The floor is covered with a thick Smyrna carpet, on 
 the bed is displayed a large cloak of black bear-skin. 
 
 A little farther off, alongside the row of mules, is the tent of irregular 
 shape, occupied by our Arabs. The brown camel-hair rugs with black 
 stripes which are thrown over the mules, to protect their loads from the 
 rain, are used as mattresses by the men, while the pack-saddles serve 
 them for pillows. 
 
 A pretty round tent of green waterproof material shelters Forestier, 
 Ingram, Marshall, and myself. On the hooks round the centre pole 
 hang our guns, our cartridge-bags, our hats, in fact everything that can be 
 disposed of in that way. Near the pole stands a deal table, and on the 
 table a lantern. On mats thrown on the ground, our beds are arranged 
 in a circle, round the tent. They consist of stout canvas stretched 
 on a wooden frame that can be taken to pieces. Ingram and Forestier 
 are installed in the back of the tent, while Marshall and I are located on 
 each side of the entrance. 
 
 Our trunks, portmanteaus, boxes, gun and cartridge cases, in short 
 
38 AMONG THE J^IOORS. 
 
 all our traps, are collected there. They serve us in turns as seats, as 
 tables, as a bulwark against the wind, and, when necessary, as wedges 
 and props for our bedsteads. By the side of our couches there is a 
 litter of bags, boots, shoes, slippers, sun-shades, easels, sketch-books, 
 colour-boxes .... 
 
 The night is fine, the air balmy, almost sultry. In the distance the 
 sea is lit by the moon. The Arabs are in their tent ; you can hear 
 their shouts, their laughter, their songs, and the shrill notes of the 
 gimhry. There's a gleam of light shining from Antonio's tent. My 
 companions slowly drop off to sleep one after the other. Before follow- 
 ing their example, I leave the tent for a moment, to enjoy the view of 
 the slumbering camp, under the starlit sky, lulled to rest by the far- 
 off sounds from the sea. 
 
 All the noises have ceased, all the lights have been put out ; a deep 
 silence reigns everywhere. Across the opening of our tent the Kaid is 
 lying, his gun by his side, and his sabre within reach of his hand. 
 
 At last I slip into bed. A white woollen rug ornamented with red 
 tufts serves me as a blanket ; over that a folded carpet of Eabat coarse 
 wool, with orange, lemon-coloured, and crude green stripes, protects me 
 from the cool air. A waterproof bag containing clothes and linen does 
 duty for a pillow. Eover is lying at my feet, his head resting on my 
 couch. From the ground covered with flowers comes the sweet scent of 
 thyme and of ferns, and I fall asleep with a feeling of unalloyed com- 
 placence, amid this tranquillity of the night, this pure air, these refresh- 
 ing, untainted odours. 
 
1-©«V {f,.. - - 
 
 fVs. 
 
 I 
 
 ALONG THE ATLANTIC SllOlii:. 
 
 In the Gharhiah, 8ih January. 
 At seven o'clock we are awakened by the Kaiil. We quickly leap 
 out of bed and dress in all haste. Before we have time to stretch 
 our limbs, put on our boots, and strap our belts round our waists, 
 our quarters are invaded with a tremendous din, pulled down, corded, 
 borne off, and there we are left, in the midst of our beds and our 
 baggage, to finish, under the open sky, the toilet we had begun under 
 the tent. 
 
 A film of frost covers the stiS' blades ot grass. Ingram, buried 
 under a heap of blankets, and closely encased in a voluminous fur cloak, 
 ■first pokes his nose out, then his head, opens one eye, then the other, 
 and scenting in the air some moist vapours, he suddenly divests himself 
 of his hairy sheath, and rushes out stark naked, to the bewilderment of 
 everybody. He had got wind of a spring close by, and guided by his 
 infallible amphibious instinct, he darted a hundred yards away to a pool, 
 about four feet square, plunged into it with glee, and, after dabbling 
 about a moment, with grunts of intense satisfaction, he was coming 
 
40 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 running back besmeared with mud from head to foot, but charmed with 
 the unhoped-for luxury of a clean bath ! 
 
 Ingram must certainly have had seals or wild ducks among his 
 forefathers, and has doubtless succumbed to some irresistible suggestion, 
 yielded to some imperious law of atavism. 
 
 Brooks brings the tea, which is served on a box. We have scarcely 
 drained our last cup and crunched our last biscuit ere our makeshift 
 table and portmanteau seats are whisked away. 
 
 '"ffllkT, } 
 
 ii- Y 
 
 ■'^'-/f^-m^^i 
 
 ENTRAKCE TO THE CAVES OF HERCULES. 
 
 Everything has been folded, rolled up, and packed with straps, cords, 
 and ropes, amid recriminations and disputing, and away the baggage 
 goes on the backs of the mules down towards the beach, while we set 
 out to visit the Caves of Hercules a few yards off. 
 
 Following a pretty sandy path winding amid groves of cork-trees, 
 beds of thyme and asphodels, we arrive in about twenty minutes at the 
 solid ground in front of the grottoes. The entrance is narrow and low. 
 You are obliged to stoop to get in, and you proceed along a roughly 
 inclining x:)assage cut in the rock, which leads into the interior. 
 
IN THE GHARBIAH. 
 
 41 
 
 A few wretched-looking Arabs in rags are moving silently about 
 like spectres. They earn their living by cutting millstones. The effect 
 produced by the innumerable round holes formed by the extraction of 
 the stones is very odd, and gives the cavern a somewhat fantastic 
 appearance. 
 
 From the wide gap opening on the Atlantic, like a formidable 
 framework of stone, you perceive 
 the dazzling mass of waters ; and 
 in the gulf beneath monstrous 
 billows surge, raised M'ith a 
 terrific force, rushing on the 
 rock, on which they break with 
 a sinister crash, recoiling in 
 sprays of foam. And each time 
 the cliff trembles, sliaken to its 
 very foundations. 
 
 And it will be ever thus ; 
 always in the black shadows of 
 night, the white mists of dawn, 
 in the fierce brightness of noon- 
 tide, the faint haze of twilight ; 
 amid the raging storms and pro- 
 found calm ; at every moment, 
 at every hour, incessantly, for 
 ever! the restless sea, with its 
 tenacious rancours, will wage 
 its inexorable war, uttering its 
 fearful wail, giving vent to its 
 mad fury, ceaselessly vmdermining the rock, until the day when, sapped 
 at its base, the gigantic stones must fall vanquished into the abyss ! 
 
 We reach the beach down the cliff. The descent is dangerous, along 
 the almost perpendicular slope, through sharp ridges, cactuses, inex- 
 tricable network of bushes and roots, over soil giving way under the 
 feet of the mules. 
 
 At length we are down below oa the sands. The shore seems to 
 
 THE CAVES OP HERCULES. 
 
42 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 stretch away to an endless distance, and we look like very pigmies. 
 The sea, so powerfully majestic from the top of the cliff, loses suddenly 
 its commanding amplitude, and seems surprisingly dwindled, when seen 
 from this spot. Besides, the aspect of the landscape has completely 
 changed. On our right are low-lying downs, covered with dwarf palms. 
 At their foot, in downward lands, a series of pools lie in a long string 
 parallel with the sea. In trying to cross these stagnant waters to get 
 on the sand-hills I nearly disappeared in the quicksand, togetlier witli 
 my mule, wlio already had sunk in aljove the knees, and it was with 
 great difficulty tliat I succeeded in extricating myself from those 
 treacherous waters. 
 
 Far in front of us the caravan proceeds slowly, led by the Kaid. 
 On the yellow sands, glittering in the sun, it looks like a huge saurian 
 laboriously moving under its carapace. We stop a moment at the 
 foot of the sand-hills, dismount and partake of a light lunch, hard- 
 boiled eggs, sandwiches, and potted 'meat, washed down with a glass of 
 whisky. Ingram and Marshall leave their beasts to Selim, who is in 
 attendance. He remains with Forestier and I, careering about on 
 Ingram's horse, and they set off to shoot across the hills, but keeping in 
 sight of the caravan. Djebel-Tarik, one of the muleteers, goes with 
 them, beating the bushes and showing them the way. 
 
 Carlton, who joined us last evening, engages in mad races with 
 Harris, and when, swift as the wind, they rush headlong past us, 
 our sleepy mules awake with a start, and, seized with fright, dash 
 right and left, galloping furiously after the two centaurs, only alas! 
 to come to a dead halt, at the end of a few minutes, and then to 
 indemnify themselves, for this unwonted speed, by an exasperatingly 
 slow pace. 
 
 Towards two o'clock we rejoin the caravan which has halted on the 
 banks of the Tsalia Dartz. The two Nimrods are already there. 
 Ingram, rather crestfallen, has returned with an empty bag ; Marsliall 
 lias shot a plover. That's not much for a beginning. 
 
 Tlie sky has become overcast ; tlie sea has assumed a leaden hue. 
 The yellow waters of tlie river ripple under the lash of the wind which 
 is blowing right against the current. To cross the stream there are two 
 
IN THE GHAEBIAH. 43 
 
 old shaky boats ; it is in these that we are going to convey to the 
 opposite bank men, beasts, and baggage. 
 
 The mules are unloaded. The men pile in the skiffs all that can get 
 into them, and even more. Ingram, Harris, and I leap into one. We 
 wedge ourselves where we can, between the boxes, the trunks, the 
 bags, the tent canvas, all of which have been heaped up pell-mell. The 
 tottering mass threatens every moment to topple over, and to give us a 
 ducking in the muddy water. Two Arabs, the ferrymen, row vigorously, 
 but still keeping up on water a squabble they Iiad begun on terra firma. 
 They will continue it when they recross the stream, and won't leave off 
 until their parched throats prevent them from uttering one word more. 
 
 We have to contend with a surge, with eddies, and a strong current 
 towards the open sea. The water flows every moment over the gun- 
 whales, which are on a level with the stream. Don and liover swim after 
 the boats. A brusque movement on our part, an attempt of the dogs to 
 get on board, a clumsy stroke of the rowers, would have capsized us at 
 once. A few yards from the shore the boat strikes, bumping the ground 
 heavily, which prevents our foundering, and we land, up to our knees in 
 water. The other old tub, with Forestier, Marshall, and Brooks, comes 
 safe to land likewise, not without difficulty. Two good hours are spent 
 in getting the rest of the baggage and the men over the stream, the 
 mules swimming across fastened to the stern of the boats. This trans- 
 port is made in the midst of incessant bawling, scuffling, and wrangling 
 between the ferrymen and the passengers. In order to escape this 
 uproar, Forestier and I take our guns, and we bend our steps, on the 
 look-out for game, towards our next camp. A fine thick rain is falling. 
 
 From the top of a hill whicli we have just climbed, after vainly 
 beating for game, we catch sight of our tents, pitched lialf-way down. 
 
 The sky clears a little. We make our way across the plateau. 
 At the top of the highest hillock is a little lone house ; Arabs are 
 crouching against the walls. They rise at our approach, and our guns, 
 wdiich they examine attentively, seem to interest them far more than 
 we do. Through the open door we glance into the interior. It is the 
 school of the village, wdiose houses and tents are studded on the other 
 side of the hill on which our camp is pitched. In the semi-darkness we 
 
44 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 descry about a dozen lads between six and ten years of age, sitting with 
 their legs crossed, and their tablets on their knees. Some are placed 
 back to back ; others are facing the wall, which they almost touch with 
 their foreheads ; the rest are squatting at random on the floor. They 
 wobble like little bears, and recite in a nasal tone some verses from the 
 Koran. In one of the corners of the room you infer rather than see 
 that the schoolmaster is ensconced, an old man with a white beard. 
 Armed with a long rod, he deals out summary justice to those who, 
 lulled by their pendulous movements, have fallen asleep over their 
 tablets, or to the irrepressible pupils who are interrupting the lesson by 
 their chatter. 
 
 Since our indiscreet curiosity seems to embarrass the venerable 
 teacher, we betake ourselves off, followed by our bronzed bodyguard, who 
 keep close up with us, and never take their eyes off our guns. I 
 explain the mechanism to them, and their surprise becomes sheer 
 stupefaction, A vulture is whirling within shot. I bring it down, and 
 while I am picking it up, they seize upon the copper socket which has 
 fallen on the ground. They are now less inclined than ever to leave us, 
 anxiously waiting with boyish anxiety for other shots to be fired, so 
 that they may snatch up more spent cartridges. 
 
 Not far off, on a block of masonry, an uncovered square enclosure, 
 about three or four feet high, strips of white stuff are floating from sticks 
 fixed in the centre of the square. It is the tomb of a worthy saint, and 
 the pious Mussulmans deposit their offerings there as they pass. 
 
 A little farther away are cottages and huts with grey thatched roofs, 
 and lower down on the slope, towards the sea, the sombre-looking tents 
 of the nomads, with yellow and black stripes. Stunted trees, scorched 
 by the sun and shrivelled by the dry winds, break here and there the 
 monotonous undulations of the hills. 
 
 The view from where we stand extends to a great distance. Big 
 grey clouds crawl on amid the neutral tints of a violet-hued sky laden 
 with rain. In the foreground at our feet, on the flank of the hill, our 
 camp is nearly completed. A light bluish spiral smoke twisted by the 
 wind rises from the camp-fire, very transparent against the heavy sky. 
 Mules with their harness on are rolling about, braying with all their 
 
IN THE GHARBIAH. 45 
 
 might ; others are taking to flight, flinging, and getting rid of their 
 troublesome pack-saddles. And there are cries, shouts, yells, mingled 
 with the snorting of frightened horses. Muleteers are kicking, to force 
 them to get up, mules wallowing on the grass ; some are pursuing the 
 fugitives ; burnooses float in the air ; bronzed arms and legs struggle 
 about in the midst of a collection of white stuffs, lighted here and there 
 by the scarlet spot of a fez, a patch of mauve, or a strip of an amaranth- 
 coloured vest. Then calm is once again restored ; the last boxes are 
 stored, and the installation of the camp is completed. The Arabs 
 creep under their gourli ; everything is under shelter except Brooks. 
 
 -H£»i%i^_ 
 
 ESTUAKY OF THE TSAHA-DARTZ. 
 
 With his dull, thin silhouette, as melancholy as a drenched bird, he 
 weaves in and out like a shuttle, between our tent and the kitchen, 
 dressing the table, serving the tea, stumbling over the dwarf palms, 
 getting entangled in the tent-ropes. On your ears fall Ingram's 
 wrathful tones. Bent on reducing his valet's ideas to something like 
 order, he but only succeeds in making him lose his head entirely, while 
 Marshall's squeaky voice, like that of a talking doll, vainly implores the 
 echoes for news of his Mary Ann. 
 
 At the base of the hill, a large plain stretches in a gentle incline 
 down to the shore, covered with brushwoods of palms, cork-trees, and 
 ferns of crude green, where gleam with a metallic sheen, narrow plashes, 
 tortuous ridges of water, and numerous streams flowing to the sea, and 
 fertilising all this vegetation. Eusset cows stud with tawny tints this 
 
46 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 green expanse. On the right, a lake, the estuary of the Tsaha-Dartz, is 
 ensconced far in the land, reflecting the leaden hues of the sky. The 
 margin is cut up into a multitude of capes, points, headlands, pro- 
 montories. 
 
 Flat narrow tongues of land seem like so many gigantic sword-blades 
 stretched out on the water, and thousands of aquatic birds disport 
 themselves on the lustreless waters, conceal themselves in the reeds of 
 the shore, or soar away in great flights with loud rustles of wings. 
 On the left, in rough contrast to this carpet of emerald green, the white 
 wastes of the beach extend far in the distance, and at the very end of it 
 is Cape Spartel, with the bright column of its lighthouse and farther on 
 the sea, a sea of molten lead. 
 
 The rain bedns again to fall. We go in our tent and sit down to 
 tea. The water jDours down in torrents, the wind also comes heavily 
 into play, and in the night increases to a regular hurricane. 
 
 The villagers who have been called upon by the Kaid to watch over 
 us during the night, face without flinching the downpour in which they 
 will have to mount guard until to-morrow morning. Poor jDCople ! you 
 hear them shouting to one another in order to keej? themselves awake. 
 The rain and the hail rattle on the outstretched canvas. The water 
 invades our dwelling, runs in countless rills over the bare ground 
 in the tent, and drops trickling down through the stuff full on our 
 heads. A permeating moisture emanates from every quarter; the wind 
 comes wdiistling through every cranny, the place becomes bitterly cold, 
 we take refuge under our blankets. 
 
 Our shaking tent oscillates under the repeated blasts. I hear the 
 Kaid hailing our men, their heavy tramp, the din of confused voices, and 
 the thuds of hammers driving in the loosened tent-pegs. Then these 
 noises die away ; the drenched ropes grow tense, the canvas becomes 
 stiff, the tiny streams that flow under our beds and among our luggage 
 dry up, and I fall to sleep, lulled to rest by the roar of the raging storm. 
 
 To-day we take it easy, and sleep through the best part of tlie 
 morning. The weather has cleared up ; white clouds are scudding 
 along like thin muslins o'er a moisty blue sky. From time to time the 
 
IN THE GHARBIAH. 47 
 
 sun pierces through a cloud, and under the pale golden gleam of its 
 rays the green glistens, vapours rise from the heated soil, the tiny drops 
 suspended from the edges of the leaves like so many diamonds slowly 
 evaporate, absorbed by the sun, dried by the wind. The bushes' over- 
 taxed boughs resume their elasticity and airy shapes, and their leaves 
 flutter in the breeze with a soft and prolonged rustle. The refreshed 
 flowers give forth stronger odours, the bees ensconced in the calyxes get 
 intoxicated with the nectar of the sweet petals, and in the cool fragrant 
 air myriads of little winged creatures, mad with life, and eager for the 
 sun, swarm, whirling with endless buzzings. 
 
 ^jgw a wwT'-yrK^'r't^^'li l lWIiriWI fes- 
 
 THE LAKES. 
 
 Ingram, Carlton, and Harris are gone shooting. Forestier is sketch- 
 ing ; Marshall and I, with our guns slung across our shoulders, wend our 
 way towards the lake. We trudge knee-deep in the marshy soil that 
 lines the banks. We can scarcely get within a couple of gunshots 
 of the creeks, where vast numbers of water-hens, snipe, ducks are 
 noisily playing. In the distance a few eyots are literally covered 
 with flamingoes, looking like long rose and white veils spread on 
 the lake. 
 
 We tear ourselves away from this Tantalus feast,' and as a last shift 
 we climb the hill again in the direction of the village, bringinij down a 
 few larks as they rise on our way. 
 
 A dry sandy road winds on between fields of clover and barley. 
 A peasant with a hoe on his shoulder crosses our path ; a woman comes 
 
48 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 ^vith a basket of eggs, and a coop of fowls; then a bigwig of the 
 neighbourhood, with his son astride before him on his mule, a fine 
 mule, all decked with mauve velvet embroidered with gold ; two female 
 slaves, bent almost double beneath their loads, follow behind the mule. 
 This little road is lively enough, and appears well-frequented. 
 
 These people glance at us with a smile, but with very little surprise. 
 It is impossible, in these big, unfathomable eyes, uniformly dark, in the 
 calmly polite or coldly indifferent expression of these bronze features, 
 to get any clue to the nature of any sentiments whatsoever. Have they 
 any fellow-feeling for us ? do they hate us ? or do they regard us simply 
 as mere passers-by? You cannot detect the least sign beneath the 
 impassible mask on these sombre faces, on these impenetrable features, 
 which baffle us like undefinable enigmas. 
 
 Here is the village, some thirty square huts with thatched roofs. 
 They branch off at a venture in every direction, built at haphazard 
 here and there, according to the caprices of the land or the whim of 
 the owner. They are nearly all of the same pattern — stone or earth 
 walls, with mud instead of mortar, and a thatched roof, consolidated by 
 trellis work, fixed on its exterior surface. A low door gives access to the 
 interior, and a hole fashioned in the wall serves as a window. A thorn 
 or cactus hedge surrounds the house and protects it more effectively 
 than a stone wall. A pretty deep ditch, which serves as an outlet for 
 the rain water — and as a sewer — is dug all along the hedge outside. 
 
 Near the houses are tumble-down conical ricks of straw, that dry 
 in the sun, rot in the rain. Primitive ploughs, that look as if they 
 dated from the Creation, are on the ground amid heaps of refuse, 
 Near some putrefied carcases, exhaling horrible odours, packs of surly 
 dogs, with rough coats and blood-red sores, are disputing this prey, 
 the while barking hoarsely, with a host of hawks and vultures. 
 
 Close by, a mangy, worn-out ass, with scarcely a breath left in him, 
 is lying on a heap of refuse, and the winged pirates and carrion crew 
 are already whirling above him in narrower and narrower circles, as if 
 they were bent on devouring him alive. 
 
 There are fowls picking up grains of corn, pigeons swooping noisily, 
 flights of shrieking birds, and on the gables of the grey roofs, completely 
 
IN THE GHARBIAH. 49 
 
 covered with moss and liclien, silent storks with one leg bent, their 
 beaks buried under the down of their wings, assist motionless and 
 disdainful at these disgusting feasts, these ujn-oarious contests. 
 
 Here are the tents now, the tents of camel-hair, low, black, looking 
 like mountain peaks seen in the distance. The thick, rough stuff, sup- 
 ported inside by stakes of unequal length driven into tlie ground, bends 
 with an irregularly undulating appearance, and the tops of the stakes 
 make the heavy covering bulge strongly, threatening to slit it at every 
 moment. Coarse pieces of cloth, strips of old mats, are over the parts 
 worn through by the rain, wind, inclemency of weather. The whole 
 structure has been rent by last night's squall, and reeks with thick 
 damp fumes. 
 
 On the thorn bushes, which guard the approach, tattered pieces of 
 stujff and patched burnooses are laid out to dry, while ugly black 
 creatures clad in filthy grey rags are busy in the enclosure, amid the 
 broken remains of pots, of pitchers, with which the soil is strewn. 
 Tiny, spindle-legged, knock-kneed children, full of vermin, with pot- 
 bellies, bleared eyes, roll in the mud and dirt, of which they rise 
 horribly besmeared. With precocious perversity, in order to amuse, they 
 exert themselves unto belabouring with bundles of thorny twigs the nose 
 and eyes of a wretched, rawboned goat tethered to a stake, and the poor 
 beast tugging at the rope is almost strangled in its desperate efforts to 
 escape its tormentors. 
 
 Ingram, Carlton, and Harris, more fortunate than we were, have shot 
 a dozen partridges ; and as the village people have l)rought us the 
 mouna, milk, butter, flat loaves, fowls, and a huge dish of kousJcoussou, 
 we shan't die of hunger to-day. 
 
 It rained so hard last night that the rivers have overflowed their 
 banks. We shall stay here until to-morrow, so that the waters may 
 subside and the fords be passable. 
 
 An Arab has just offered us a sheep. Accompanied by his wife and 
 his child, he approached Ingram in a suppliant manner, and with tears 
 in their eyes they all three kissed his hands, placing them afterwards on 
 their breasts and foreheads, imploring liim to use his influence with the 
 Sheik of Arzilah to obtain the pardon of his eldest son. 
 
50 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 It aj)pears that the latter had chased a camel that had made its way 
 into his garden. The animal in its flight had knocked down and injured 
 a woman, and the owner of the garden had been held responsible for the 
 accident and sent to prison. 
 
 Ingram promises the wretched parents to do what he can to get 
 their son set free, and they withdraw, kissing his hands, overwhelming 
 him with thanks, assuring him of their eternal gratitude. 
 
 During this scene the Kaid had made all speed to slaughter and 
 cut up the propitiatory victim, and naturally, to appropriate the skin, 
 which he stretched on the ground to dry, fastening it with pegs round 
 the edges. 
 
 Tlie afternoon is magnificent, and we all resisrn ourselves to sweet 
 indolence. Our Arabs have flocked together under their tent, and 
 spend the time singing, smoking Icif, playing the gimbry, and quaffing 
 innumerable cups of tea and coffee. Hadj Mohammed, sitting on a 
 box before the crackling fire, is drying his multivarious burnooses. From 
 time to time he enters the tent, ferrets about, smelling the tins of 
 preserves, and as soon as Brooks has turned his back he prigs a biscuit, 
 slips a lump of sugar — of which he is very fond — into his pocket, and 
 laps, " ruliis sur I'ongle," the drops of chartreuse and whisky left in 
 the glasses. 
 
 Brooks, who cannot bear the old soldier, and distrusts him, throws 
 irate glances at him and lavishes upon him, in English, choice epithets, 
 anything but flattering. To these ungracious reflections, the representa- 
 tive of the Sultan replies, in Arabic, with the utmost artless innocence, 
 accompanying his emphatic protestations with the most suave and 
 courteous gestures, which fail, however, to dupe our " chef," and only 
 serve to augment his distrust of the too obsequious son of the Prophet. 
 We get a full view of this little comedy, and we are highly amused by 
 it. Antonio is helping Brooks in smoking cigarettes. 
 
 Harris, in order to kill time, spends hours in combing his horse's 
 tan, plaiting its mane, while Selim almost wears the beast's coat out by 
 dint of grooming it. 
 
 Ingram, stretched full length on his couch, wrapped up in his 
 bearskin, is indulging in prolonged siestas. His bath yesterday 
 
IN THE GHARBIAH. 51 
 
 has procured him a nice attack of bronchitis, and he is coughing 
 incessantly. 
 
 Forestier is making studies of mules, on which I gaze admiringly as 
 I smoke my pipe. Carlton is playing tricks on the Kaid, who is a very 
 goodnatured fellow at ]jottoni, \yrestles with him, floors him, and once 
 he is down, rolls him like a bale of linen, amidst the laughter of the 
 bystanders, in which his victim is first to join. 
 
 A few starving dogs prowl round the camp, impudently snatching 
 bones under the very nose of Don and Ifover, who view their presence 
 with deep dissatisfaction, and growl with bristling coats when they 
 come too near. A number of vultures keep circling aloft, with eyes 
 intently fixed on the fragments from the table. One of them, 
 alighting all of a sudden, was daring enough to pick up from 
 between the paws of Don a scrap of meat that he was on the point 
 of devouring. 
 
 Ever since the morning groups of Arabs, sitting at the top of 
 the hill, smoke cigarettes, and keep a diligent watch on all our 
 movements. 
 
 We take a stroll on the beach, which we find quite deserted. 
 On our return to the camp a supply of oats is just brought in for 
 the beasts, who give loud neighs of delight at the smell of it. After 
 pouring it in a large koufa, the Kaid proceeds to apportion it : five 
 double handfuls for each mule. The men receive the rations in a 
 bag, in a piece of matting, or simply in a corner of their burnooses. 
 They manage again to find some occasion for quarrelling about the 
 division of the fodder. 
 
 After tea, Forestier, who is quite as clever a musician as he is an 
 artist, took up his violin and played a great part of the evening. 
 The Arabs kept listening to him, and we were rather curious to know 
 what was the impression that European music had made upon them. 
 Selim on being questioned replies that with time and application 
 Forestier will certainly be able to play the gimbry as weU as an Arab, 
 Our friend expresses the very great pleasure he feels on hearing that 
 perchance, one day, he will succeed in playing this melodious instrument 
 with a fair amount of skill, and Selim complacently adds that the 
 
 E 2 
 
52 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 consummate virtuoso, who fills their leisure hours with delight, will be 
 surely pleased to give him a few lessons and to unveil the mysteries of 
 Arabic music, for which Forestier assures him that he is profoundly 
 srateful. 
 
S_--.>'^ * 
 
 Arzilah, iOth January. 
 At eleven o'clock this inoniiug, under a radiant sky, we struck our 
 tents. We follow the beach for a few minutes, then, betaking ourselves 
 to terra firma again, we attain the summit of a promontory where we 
 halt near some Eoman ruins. At the base of the hill the river Ghreefa 
 flows into the sea. We have to wait until the tide ebbs still further, in 
 order to get across. On the opposite bank, a number of people are 
 waiting with the same object. 
 
 Carlton and Harris set out to reconnoitre and have a look at the 
 strangers. An Arab first advances, feeling his way with a pole ; they 
 then follow and wade across, with the waters reaching to the saddles. 
 
 From here we get a full view of the surrounding landscape. 
 Straight away in front of us Arzilah in the far off lies glistening in the 
 sun, and at our feet the river ripples with gleams, and its metallic tones 
 come out in strong contrast to the glowing yellow of the sand across 
 which the river, after a sharp turn, pours its waters into the sea. On 
 the left, edged by high perpendicular cliffs crowned with houses here 
 and there, stretches a succession of marshes and lagoons, tlirough which 
 the Ghreefa winds with endless turns and twists. 
 
 Carlton returns, leaving Harris behind with the people of the other 
 
54 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 caravan, with whom he happens to be acquainted, and also Ingram, 
 who accompanied him. An Arab brings back their horses, which we 
 mount, and we ford the stream in turns. The mules and the baggage 
 will be brought over when the sea has ebbed enough. We greet the 
 strangers, to whom Harris introduces us : a burly Englishman with a 
 red face and yellow hair, a type of his race ; his wife, a charming young 
 blonde ; and his companion, a Spaniard with an olive complexion. We 
 partake of a light lunch while waiting for the rest of the caravan. 
 Harris chats with the friends whom chance has sent across his path, 
 and plays the cavalier to the young wife. 
 
 When the last mule has passed over, we take leave of the travellers 
 and continue our journey. Harris and Carlton begin again on the 
 beach their scratch races. Ingram follows their example. The sumpter 
 mules fly off in every direction, the muleteers set up a clamour, and 
 there is a regular stampede. The mules on which we are riding, 
 infected by the general example, prick their ears, lower their heads, and 
 indulge in all sorts of fancy tricks, which are a sad menace to our 
 equilibrium. Forestier keeps his eyes well open, and firmly grips the 
 saddle with his knees. This morning the girth of his mule broke 
 during a gallop, and he was deposited on the sand, liappily unhurt, 
 while his lightened steed scampered off at the top of his speed and 
 was caught with some difficulty by Harris and Carlton, who had set 
 off in pursuit. 
 
 We are getting near Arzilah : you can now distinguish its crenelated 
 walls. Making our way in front of the main body of the caravan, 
 we gallop after the horsemen, who had started before us, at full speed, 
 and arrive after half-an-hour's mad race at the foot of the town 
 ramparts. 
 
 While the tents are being put up, Ingram and Marshall run out in 
 quest of game. Harris, Forestier, and I pay a visit to Arzilah, the Zelia 
 of the Carthaginians, who were the first to establish factories there ; 
 then the Constantia Zelis of the Komans, captured by the Goths, 
 destroyed by the English, rebuilt by Abd-er-Rhaman, Calipli of Cordova, 
 afterwards taken and fortified by the Portuguese, and finally fallen 
 under the power of the Moors. 
 
ARZILAH. 
 
 55 
 
 Surrounded by the still imposing zone of its old, ruinous grey 
 ramparts, covered with lichen that preys upon them, the ancient town, 
 so often captured and recaptured, is quietly dying away in the proud 
 sepulchre of its lofty decaying walls, corroded at the base, its embattled 
 summits crowned with plants and bushes, perforated with wide gaps, 
 split with deep fissures, the haunt of vipers and the abode of beasts of 
 prey. About fifteen hundred 
 Moors and Jews give a semblance '':-^^^k.y-:;^^^,^W"'. 
 of animation to the place, and 
 carry on some slight traffic, which 
 decreases every day. The time is 
 not very far distant when the 
 vultures will hover about the 
 crumbled towers, when the yelp- 
 ing of the jackals will fill the 
 silence of its ruins, when the 
 dwarf palms will strike root 
 where its white terraces were 
 standing, and the herdsman will 
 drive his goats to browse where 
 the high walls raised their menac- 
 ing fronts. And he will crush 
 beneath his bare feet the stalks 
 of wild flowers, unconscious of 
 the fact that a dead town is 
 
 lying there, under the soil which , , 
 
 he is treading, that his ancestors 
 
 lived there, and Nature, in her slow and ceaseless toil, will have 
 retaken from man what man has wrested from her. 
 
 We take coffee with the English consul, a cunning son of Israel, 
 most affable and polite to excess, one of Harris's numerous acquaint- 
 ances ; then we stroll about the town. 
 
 What pestilent streets ! a black sewer full of foul things emitting 
 abominable smells, running along dilapidated walls, hideous shops, Mith 
 pendant, dislocated weather-boards. We tack along the walls, clinging 
 
56 AMOKG THE MOOES. 
 
 to the fastenings of the shops, to every projection and cavity, wherevei 
 we can get any support, in order to avoid coming into contact with 
 this horrible filth. As we thus proceed, in single file, along the goats' 
 track, we have now and then to make some trying dead halts, when 
 coming face to face with a pedestrian from the opposite direction. We 
 glare at him and he at us, with suppressed rage, and obstinately cling to 
 the wall, anxiously waiting till the one who is in the greatest hurry, 
 shall take the outer side, and, with the utmost precaution, skirt round 
 the other, running the risk of being stretched his full length in this 
 putrefaction. It generally happened that 7ve were the most eager to get 
 on, and we thought ourselves very lucky if at such critical junctures a 
 passing mule or a prancing horse didn't splash us from head to foot 
 with this black and fetid mud. 
 
 It is incredible what things there are in this street, in this canal 
 rather, this " cloaca maxima !".... and all the streets in Arzilah 
 are like this, and all the streets in the towns in Morocco are like those 
 of Arzilah, and all the toAvns in the East are like the towns in Morocco. 
 What don't you find there ! carcases, vegetable refuse, animal ordure, 
 old rags, loathsome pallets swarming with vermin, broken furniture, 
 disjointed cages, blocks of stone. It is, in fact, the " tout a I'egout " in 
 the strictest sense of the word. 
 
 And these things will remain there for days, months, years, until 
 the wood rots, the vegetables putrefy and return to the soil, until the 
 shreds torn from the carcases shall disappear in the maws of the 
 vultures. And when the broiling sun will have dried up these marshes, 
 calcinated these bones, what remains will turn to dust under the hoofs 
 of mules and the tramp of human feet. 
 
 Then other carrion will fill the road, other stinking lakes with 
 reeks and refuse will be formed in the rainy seasons, and the sun and 
 the birds of prey will again begin their work, will clean these Augean 
 stables. And it will be ever thus as long as the East will be in the 
 hands of the Orientals. 
 
 We turn into lateral lanes, which lead, after endless windings, to the 
 ramparts. The view of the sea is resting to our eyes after these loath- 
 some sights, and the fresh breeze soothes our fainting hearts. 
 
ARZILAH. 57 
 
 Women, coming out of kennel-like hovels, draw back at once, 
 terrified at the sight of us, and disappear indoors, shouting and shaking 
 their fists at us. 
 
 Through the crevices of the worm-eaten doors we see on bastions, 
 invaded by brambles, old rusty cannon lying buried in the grass, 
 others lopsided on broken-down carriages, cast-iron balls coated with 
 tar scattered over the ground. The Sultan's artillery makes a good 
 show, indeed, and is kept in a nice condition ! 
 
 A crowd of funny little bronzed urchins follow us at a distance with 
 malicious curiosity. As good little Mussulmans, they treat us like 
 dogs of Christians, and some throw stones at us, which fall short of 
 theix mark. 
 
 Some lean cats with bristling russet coats jump into the plashes, 
 pursued by half-naked lads, and disappear into some wide-mouthed 
 holes. 
 
 Dirty Jews with smooth, glossy hair, black skull-caps fastened on 
 by a check handkerchief, brush by us with squinting eyes, clad in their 
 ragged, patched robes of faded blue, and a musty smell escapes from 
 under those sordid tatters. 
 
 A donkey bars our way. It is all skin and bone, and is gazing 
 sadly into space, his head resting on the parapet of the wall with an 
 expression of suffering and indelible melancholy. At every spot where 
 the bones bulge the skin is cut, and swarms of flies settle on the naked 
 flesh. Long wheals, destitute of hair, mark the place of old closed sores, 
 and the body is furrowed with them. 
 
 Poor creature ! That is the reward you get for your long and hard 
 services — blows, that only cease to rain on your miserable back when 
 your master's hand is so fatigued that it falls inert at his side ; your 
 skin hardened, tanned, and chapped by the wind, tlie sun, and the rains; 
 your body littered with scars. And when your old, worn-out spine 
 cracks under the burden, when your withered legs will bend in two, 
 when your breath fails you, and you will fall bruised, exhausted, 
 dying, still toiling, then, to help you to rise, the Arab, ruthless and 
 pitiless, will cudgel you with might and main, and your distended belly 
 will resound from the blows like a drum, and the stick will break on 
 
58 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 your hardened bones ; and when lie will see tliat the end has come, that 
 you have fallen for the last time, that your lustreless eye is already 
 gazing into the beyond, then with a curse he will leave you to your 
 fate, and the birds of the air will finish what he has begun, and you will 
 return to non-existence from which wayward destiny drew you. And not 
 one caress will have soothed the bitterness of your dolorous martyrdom ; 
 never your limbs, tired out by hard toil, will have found rest on a fresh 
 
 litter; never, after a long day's 
 journey, your empty stomach will 
 
 have enjoyed the luxury of a little nourishment ; and instead of 
 a quiet corner to die in peace, your master, the hard-hearted, the 
 implacable Semite, will leave you to expire on the stony road, and 
 while the death-rattle is in your throat, the falcons will pluck your eyes 
 from their orbits, the jackals will tear your quivering flesh, the noisome 
 vermin will crawl into your body before it has grown cold ! 
 
 Before leaving the town I sketch the gate by which we entered. 
 Tt now forms a mere aperture, for the stonework has been attacked 
 and destroyed on all sides. Not a single angle is left, the fine 
 ogive in the form of a horseshoe is now nothing but a shapeless 
 
CMONTBARP. 
 
 IToface p. 6B. 
 
 THE ENTllANCE GATE OF AUZlLAll. 
 
ARZILAH. 59 
 
 curve notched all over ; the two enormous leaves of the oaken folding 
 door covered with grey dust and dried mud, are all jagged and indented 
 at the bottom. 
 
 Above the gateway, the higher portion of the wall, in which two 
 loopholes are cut, projects in corbelling. A stream of clear water, that 
 comes from a spring near me, flows in fresh sheets, in numerous rills 
 over the pavement, passes under the arch, and on the other side is lost 
 to sight in the sand. 
 
 A host of urchins at once form a circle round us, then a ring of men 
 and a few curious women, wlio have joined the group to see what the 
 Eoumi is doing. Now and again I drive off the nearest, who cramp my 
 movements, and they draw back, smiling. Those who are standing next 
 to me point to my sketch, and then to the gate with explanations, 
 comments and gesticulations that never come to an end. 
 
 The crowd increases, the new-comers gradually push the others 
 forward, until they come close upon me. I feel their breath pass over 
 my neck, and a sultry glow, an odour " sui generis," is emitted by all 
 these bodies pressed one against the other. Before me there is a surge 
 of pointed hoods and tiny tanned skulls, with frisky tufts of hair, 
 stirring about with the twitching movements like those of monkeys. I 
 feel a creeping sensation all over my body. Some black tiling has just 
 alighted, with a click, on the vellum of my sketch-book. Oh horror ! it 
 is a flea, a Mussulman flea, a circumcised flea, fat, plump, shining, 
 accustomed to good cheer, a flea of the period before the Rhamadan, 
 who, curious to get a near view of a Nazarene, has leaped down from a 
 tuft of hair close by. With the point of my pencil I am making all 
 haste to delicately transfer this well-meaning visitor to its owner, when 
 a second appears on the scene, then a third, then others, then hundreds, 
 whole squadrons, who come pattering on the paper like hail. My sketch 
 has disappeared under the black battalions. Eendering to Ca}sar the 
 things that are Ctesar's, I hastily give my album a good shake, scattering 
 at haphazard the unwelcome guests on the tufty skulls, on the white 
 hoods, it doesn't matter where, and making our way through the crowd 
 we reach the camp with alacrity, leaving these over-invi[uisitive parasites 
 to the task of returning to their respective abodes. 
 
60 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 Our camp is pitched near the Lhouha of a venerable marabout, 
 between the ramparts of the town and the sea, whose billows break 
 on the shore, two hundred yards from our tents. I have never 
 met with anything so fresh and so gracefully picturesque as this 
 khouha. 
 
 The sun was then very low on the horizon and slowly sinking in 
 the sea. Its last gleams lined with a thin purple thread the summits 
 of the lofty towers of Arzilah, whose sombre masses of greyish blue, 
 shaded with mauve, stood out in strong outline, against an opal sky, 
 over which were floating light clouds of a soft rosy hue, bordered 
 with silver. 
 
 ^- 
 
 ^'' # ^ 
 
 
 OUK CAMP IN VIEW OF ARZILAH. 
 
 In contrast to this soft harmonious background rose the elegantly 
 shaped cupola surmounting the mausoleum, with its lurid reflections 
 and clumps of foliage. 
 
 And among the tamarisks with their dusty leaves, the slender palm- 
 trees, the long supple reeds, you had a glimpse of a corner of a roof 
 covered with green tiles, an end of a decayed wall with charming carved 
 interlaced ornaments. Through networks of plants, tangled masses of 
 shrubs, you saw in a white wall, clothed all over with moss, wreathed 
 with bindweed, roses, jessamine, an ogival door exquisitely curved 
 and ornamented with marvellous arabesques. Erom the door a flight 
 of steps was lost below in clusters of tall red gladioles, rows of violet 
 iris, periwinkles. On the top step a sanfon, dra]")od in his burnoose. 
 
ARZILAH. 
 
 61 
 
 upright, motionless, austere, was turning the beads of his rosary. 
 Between this oasis and the beach, limpid streams were flomng in their 
 sandy beds, through fiekls of ruslies and alfa which were washed by the 
 waves at high tide. 
 
 The sportsmen returned jaded when twilight began to set in. The 
 day has not been propitious. They have bagged only eight partridges. 
 The dogs can hardly drag themselves along. 
 
 The night is fine, the moon sheds its soft light from the clear starlit 
 sky. We fall asleep lulled by the dash of the waves which break on 
 the shore within two gunshots from our tents. 
 
DJELIFAH. 
 
 Djelifah, 11th January. 
 
 Theke is a light mist this morning, of a transparent blue, gilded, as it 
 were, by the sun, which tries to pierce through it. Arzilah assumes the 
 look of an old fortified town of the Middle Ages. 
 
 About a hundred yards from our tent, between the camp and the 
 khoulja, there is a venerated spot, a nsala, near another saint's tomb, 
 but a saint of far less renown, one of the third class. It forms a sort of 
 square terrace, whose flat roof is flanked at the corners by battlements 
 built in tiers. A pulpit, with a straight, short flight of steps leading uj) 
 to it, sculptured with a certain amount of artistic delicacy, has been 
 scooped out in the outer wall ; near by is a stone niche where the 
 faithful can kneel in prayer, and which has also been formed in the 
 wall. A narrow arched door leads into the interior. On the terrace, 
 through the mist, white forms are moving with uplifted arms, kneeling, 
 prostrating themselves. Down below in the cemetery, among the 
 tombs, stones scattered on the earth, veiled women crouching in a 
 
DJELIFAH. 63 
 
 dejected attitude, suddenly rise with great lithe movements, stretch out 
 their arms, depart, gliding rather than walking, disappear, and are lost 
 in the grey haze that hovers over the ground. 
 
 iSTow the sun shines brilliantly in a splendid blue sky without a 
 single cloud. On the beach, in front of the big, wretched gate, there is 
 a bustling throng of people, either going to or returning from the town, 
 and of bleating flocks driven by shepherds. 
 
 A magnificent soldier comes riding along on a horse, richly capa- 
 risoned in velvet and silk end^roidered with gold. The wide sleeves of 
 his fine cambric shirt and of his cherry-red caftan float and mix with 
 
 A "NSALA. 
 
 the heavy folds of his two burnooses, one of white wool and the other of 
 blue stuff, draped one over the other. He passes proudly by, at a 
 walking pace, his gun across his high red saddle. 
 
 A poor mule drags himself painfully along, laden with heavy sacks of 
 corn, on which two Arabs are perched armed with sticks, which are 
 wielded %vith might and main to quicken liis march. 
 
 Then follows a whole train of troops of donkeys, herds of oxen, cows, 
 calves, and goats. And on the smooth beach, of a fine saffron colour, 
 multitudinous rills wend their way capriciously in their narrow furrows 
 over the fine-grained sand. The whole scene is charming in its diversity, 
 and gaily picturesque. 
 
 Forestier is already in the saddle, and shouting to me as I am 
 preparing to mount. I leap on my mule, and we soon come up with 
 the caravan, which has gone on some distance. Ingram and Harris, the 
 Nimrods of the party, have set off shooting ever since the morning. 
 
G4 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 Carlton, who has been ailing since yesterday, takes Antonio's mule in 
 exchange for his own horse. 
 
 Here is a road ! It has been formed by the tramp of mules, of 
 horses, of camels, of goats, and of men, beating down the sand. It is 
 almost level, very wide, too wide to continue a long way, and after 
 a quarter of an hour's marching, it ends brusquely in an infinite 
 number of narrow paths, deviating through the dwarf palms in every 
 direction. 
 
 We are on a hill that overlooks Arzilah. What enchantment 
 distance lends to a view ! How the light transfigures it ! And what 
 a skilful scenic artist is this African sun, which transforms and idealises 
 everything that it plays upon with its ardent luminous touch! Arzilah, 
 the city of mud, with its dim walls, its cut- open towers, assumes all at 
 once from this spot a fairy aspect, and looks as though it were one of 
 the towns of the " Arabian Nights." Its white, aerial form, ensconced in 
 its gardens, its masses of sombre green foliage, contrast with the intense 
 blue of the sea; and the minarets of its mosques, swerving from the 
 severe line of its ramparts, stand out in relief, gleaming with light, 
 against the blue extent. In the foreground, blocking the high road lined 
 with dwarf palms, is a flock of goats and a herdsman with a long stick, 
 an impressive figure clad in a yellow djellahieh. 
 
 For a full hour we have been riding along, over an interminable 
 plain of dwarf palms. Always at about a hundred yards ahead of us, 
 our old Kaid's tall silhouette profiles itself on the sky, stands on the 
 background of valleys, perched, with his gun across his saddle, on his 
 great devil of a horse, with his coat glistening with reddish brown 
 reflections, jogging along with short, uniform, scanned steps, alarming 
 from their very mathematical precision. 
 
 How many times have we tried, Forestier and I, to render in water- 
 colours the amazing tints, the changing shades, and the iridescent 
 reflections of that undefinable coat! What desperate efibrts we have 
 made to reproduce on the purest " Whatman," the tones, copper-coloured 
 or faint blue, yellow or grey, gay or melancholic, of this moving croup, 
 this stump of a bald tail, whose inimitable shades, as variable as those 
 of a chameleon, changed every moment, according to the time of 
 
DJELIFAH. G5 
 
 the day, the direction of the wind, the inclemency of the weather. 
 How many times we have verified to our bewilderment the inexorable 
 regularity of this automatic pace, so improbably unchanging in its 
 pendulum movement, that it served us as a chronometer for months, 
 and we were able to count the time by the number of steps taken by 
 this incomparable steed, this four-footed clepsydra ! 
 
 And the rider ! Have we not made sufficient attempt to fix on the 
 pages of our sketch-book the undulating lines of this droll figure; to 
 delineate on spotless pages the gaunt and fleeting vision of this old 
 mummy, crouching in a monkey posture on the top of his high saddle, 
 
 
 ARZILAH FROM IXLAND. 
 
 'wrapped in bundles of wool, disappearing entirely, as though covered 
 with a bell, under his pointed hood, beneath the stiff folds of a blue 
 burnoose, faded, discoloured by the rain, embrowned by tlie sun, 
 maculated by the mud, so shiny where it bulges, so dimmed inside 
 the folds, so yellow on its flowing margins, that all these hues were 
 united in one unique neutral tint of dubious green and violet, with a 
 metallic lustre at the protuberances, and could be scarcely distinguished 
 from the worn and faded coat of the poor old screw. When, in the 
 midst of a cluster of dwerf palms or asphodels, horse and rider halt for 
 a moment in the distance, you might have easily taken them for an old 
 equestrian group in bronze left lying in a park. 
 
 He had the face of an old crone, so malicious, so amusing in its 
 characteristic ugliness, our dear old scamp of a Kaid, with his two thin, 
 
 F 
 
66 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 grey, curly locks escaping coquettishly from under his turban, and wrig- 
 gling on his hollow temples, shading his little, narrow, bulging forehead 
 furrowed with wrinkles. The vomer of his long busked nose was so 
 protuberant that it threatened to burst through the mtegument, and his 
 tanned skin, of a red brown, shining and oily, was drawn tense over his 
 prominent cheekbones. His small, piercing green eyes, deeply sinking 
 under projecting brows in gimlet holes as it were, gleamed with a strange 
 expression; and when between his thin, straggling grey beard his 
 wide mouth opened, revealing a dark gulf lined with a few fragments 
 of yellow teeth, and silent laughter shook his old carcase, the whole 
 aspect of the man seemed to be nothing less than diabolical, full 
 of irony, cunning, and cold cruelty, which made you feel uneasy for 
 the moment. 
 
 Oh, the old pelican, the crafty rascal, the canting hypocrite — whose 
 parchment-like face had become, by force of habit, indispensable 
 to us ! How droll he used to look when, squatting on the ground, his 
 chimpanzee head leaning on his chest, he was grilling his emaciated legs 
 before a glowing fire, and drying on his knees a check handkerchief full 
 of holes and stained with snuff, whose services were often discarded in 
 favour of a corner of his burnoose. What a look of devout satisfaction 
 he had, when shaking on the back of his hand, from his long knotty 
 fingers, a pinch of snuff that had fallen from his small, elegant, cocoa- 
 nut box, oblong in shape, he put it to his beaked snout, and inhaled the 
 powder so gratifying to his olfactory organ, with a loud deep sniff and 
 indescribable twinkles of the eyes. 
 
 Very obliging and mindful, always attending to our little wants, and 
 exquisitely polite, he pilfered right and left with the utmost freedom 
 and a complete absence of scruples, just as he would have cut our throat 
 and hacked us to pieces if circumstances had only permitted. 
 
 We leave the plateau, and descend into a valley. We cross some 
 streams of small width, but deeply embedded between very slippery 
 banks. The valley is deliciously fresh, and abounds with furze, heather, 
 and thyme mingled with dwarf palms. On every side of us are 
 numerous meandering streams, whose banks are dotted with flowers ; 
 tiny pools covered with water-lilies and cress, where, standing up to 
 
DJELIFAH. 
 
 G7 
 
 their flanks in water, small-sized oxen drink, stretching out their 
 dripping muzzles, and gazing at us quietly with their peaceful eyes. 
 Goats are scattered among the trees and shrubs. You might fancy 
 yourself on a Scotch moor. We climb the opposite slope, and halt 
 on a hillock covered with thyme and dwarf palms, and strewn with 
 blocks of grey stone. We have been on the march for only aljout 
 four hours. 
 
 The site is charmiuf;. On th( 
 
 '.'yyy'M'T^/yV'rf'I^/V'VTrirVw*^*"-*/'/ 
 
 crest of the opposite hill, which loolx - 
 down on us, a village stands in haul 
 outline against the sky. From the 
 village intersecting paths lead to a 
 spring, where young girls and old 
 women go to fill their pitchers. On 
 the right, far in the background, i< 
 the sea, contrasting with the green 
 tops of orange groves covered with 
 fruit, in front of which lines of fig- 
 trees form a sort of grey curtain, 
 broken by clusters of bamboos, 
 from four to five yards high, bent by 
 the wind, and entangled with one 
 another. On the left, the vast At- 
 lantic, with its livid tints, stretches 
 away to the horizon; and from our 
 
 plateau lies an immense green expanse of cork-trees, shrubs, and dwart 
 palms, among which you catch the gleam of lakes, the flash of winding 
 streams. The tints seem bluer and bluer as the land rolls on into the 
 dim distance, skirted by the long strip of the yellow sands of the 
 beach, stretching away to the pale grey headland of Cape Spartel. 
 
 Some lads skirt round us at a distance, and offer us oranges, which 
 they lay on the ground, not daring to come near. By degrees they grow 
 bolder, and wind up by becoming quite tame. These urchins are 
 very funny under the pointed hoods of their short-sleeved dJcllahicJis, 
 with a slit at the elbow, beyond which they don't thrust their arms ; and 
 
 F 2 
 
 OUR OLD KAU). 
 
(58 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 since they are kept in a rigid horizontal position, they look like pinions, 
 and at a distance make their owners appear as though they were penguins. 
 
 People from the village arrive. Their Kaid enters into a parley ^^'ith 
 ours. The inhabitants, men and women, have left their huts ; we see 
 them standing, sitting, lying on small heights, watching the pitching 
 of our camp. 
 
 The weather has grown cool, and we form a circle round a fire of 
 brushwood and dry branches which has just been lit. The flames 
 crackle and rise in a big red sheaf, and clouds of smoke cover the camp. 
 
 In th5 twilight, when the evening shiverings have begun to blow, 
 we see the Kaid appear, draped in his haik of white wool, followed by 
 people bearing provisions. His features are refined, his gait stately: 
 he advances slowly, holding his head up with great dignity. In one 
 hand he is carrying a pitcher of Kabyle shape, full of milk, and in 
 the other a wooden porringer, containing butter made of ewe's milk. 
 The men in burnooses walk silently behind him, bringing the movna, 
 some JvOusJcoussou, loaves of bread, eggs, fowls. In the deepening night 
 they look like a procession of phantoms. We receive the Kaid in our 
 tent, and invite him to take tea with us, which he accepts with a calm 
 inclination of the head. 
 
 And this man, who has perhaps never seen twenty Europeans in his 
 life, is ignorant of our customs, and has no point of contact with us, — this 
 savage, who probably is for the first time in presence of the products of 
 the West, doesn't feel the least embarrassment, is not at all disconcerted, 
 and a few minutes after tea, fearing he might importune us by his 
 
 presence, he shakes hands with us and sedately takes his leave. 
 
 ****** 
 
 It has poured all night, and is pouring still. We rise in dull and cold 
 weather, a permeating humidity pervading the tent. Outside, a fine, thick . 
 monotonous rain is falling, big dark clouds are trailing o'er a gloomy sky. 
 
 Each one of us keeps snug under the canvas shelter. The mules, 
 tethered in a line, are standing motionless under the rain, with bent 
 heads and eyes fixed on the ground ; the sliivering horses are impatiently 
 pawing the soil and giving vent to prolonged neighs. Brooks, witli a 
 Avoe-begone look and wet to the skin, is passing to and fro between the 
 
DJELIFAH. 
 
 (jl> 
 
 tent and the kitchen, drawing about his tall angular figure, rounding his 
 shoulders, gliding on the moist grass, while his mind is a prey to a 
 constant fume. 
 
 There is a frightful slush beneath our feet. The ground, a bed of 
 flowers only yesterday, has been so soaked by the downpour and 
 trampled by our going and coming, trodden upon by the dogs, tliat we 
 don't know where to instal ourselves. No more grass, no more flowers, 
 everything has been smashed down ; we might fancy ourselves in a 
 cowshed, and in a cowshed badly kept. Our trunks, our portmanteaus, 
 our bags, all our baggage in fact, is lying in the mud. Our beds seem 
 to float above a marsh, the water oozes 
 through the canvas of the tent, which is 
 filled with a thick haze, and every face 
 wears a surly look. Blows and curses 
 rain on unlucky Don, who, more than 
 ever, persists in establishing himself 
 between the legs of exasperated 
 Forestier, and in drying his dripping 
 coat on his victim's calves. And 
 when, in his own despite, he quits 
 his favourite quarters, it is only to 
 take refuge on our beds, where he 
 makes a frightful mess, assisted by his 
 mate Eover. 
 
 Harris is down in the mouth, and 
 his small angular face, with sharp drawn lines like a knife-blade, takes 
 a still keener edge, and contracts with nervous twitches. 
 
 Ingram, swathed in his furs, coughs more than ever, and between two 
 fits gives vent to his bile, with praiseworthy im])artiality, on Brooks and 
 the dogs. Marshall, whose leaden hue is slowly turning to green, is 
 lying inert on his couch, indifferent to everything ; and when his liqiiid 
 voice, crisper than ever, inquires ])laintively of the echoes, " Has anybody 
 seen my Mary Ann ? " the furious burst of our voices in touching deep 
 accord answers " No ! " to his mournful laments. 
 
 Forestier, with a courage that I envy, and with a disdain for 
 
 PEOPLE FROJI THE VILLAGE. 
 
70 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 comfortable quarters that I admire, sits down on a trunk, his feet in the 
 mud, in front of a rickety table with defective light. Though irritated 
 to the last degree by Don, who rushes every moment between his legs 
 and upsets his apparatus, he lays out his paper, his tubes of Chinese 
 white and neutral tints, seizes his brushes, and begins a sketch in body 
 colours. We are going to collaborate in some illustrations for a novel, 
 which is to be published in the next summer number of the " Illustrated 
 London News ; " and full of the noble zeal inspired by the state of the 
 w^eather. Eorestier bravely sits down to his task. As I turn a deaf ear 
 to his pressing solicitations to set to work likewise, he hurls his male- 
 dictions on me, and threatens me with the thunder of ]\Ir. Jackson's 
 wrath if the " number " is delayed by my fault. 
 
■Si- 1^1 
 
 THE DJEBEL-SARSAR. 
 
 Sahal-el-KJiemis, 15th January. 
 The rain has stopped ; we are going at last to break up the camp. 
 Carlton's condition has got worse. By imprudently exposing himself to 
 the rain, and not taking care to wrap himself sufficiently at night, his 
 cold has assumed alarming proportions. In spite of all our efforts to 
 keep him with us, he has saddled his horse and set off at full gallop in 
 the direction of Tangier. 
 
 It was only after our return that we learnt that he had made the 
 journey in thirteen hours, crossing the Ghreefa at high tide, at the risk 
 of being carried out to sea, as had happened to two Moors who were 
 drowned when attempting to get over the river at the same time as he 
 
^2 AlklONG THE MOOES. 
 
 did. On reaching the town, he fainted with exhaustion, and was forced 
 to stay six weeks in bed with congestion of the hmgs. 
 
 We set out in dull, wet weather, floundering in the tracks soaked 
 by the rain. The mules, sinking knee-deep in the soft clay, hesitate, 
 make long pauses before putting one foot before the other, and often 
 refuse to continue at all. The caravan moves on in a long straggling 
 line, and is severed by lamentable breaks, which make it very awkward 
 for those in the rear, Avho, without guides, grope their way, and while 
 trying to find safe roads, involve their mules up to the flanks in mud, 
 getting astray on false trails. The Kaid makes frequent halts for the 
 laggards to come up, shows them the way, and urges on the men, who 
 have the utmost difficulty in getting their beasts to make any headway 
 in this sea of mire. After a time we get clear of this and climb a hill, 
 only to descend again and plunge into another marsh, repeating these 
 trying exertions. 
 
 Gripping my mule hard, and urging her on by words and prods, I 
 advance laboriously, and the sight of Forestier at my side, making the 
 same struggle with his recalcitrant beast, soothes the bitterness of my 
 precarious position. !N'early bent double, he makes desperate efforts to 
 keep his balance on his mule, who several times has almost disappeared 
 with him in the depths of the accursed bogs. It is heartrending to see 
 him, with his bristling hair, like that of a Calabrese brigand who has 
 retired from business, indulging in stern monologues with his un- 
 gainly beast, wdiose irresistible tendency to take a hip-bath in every 
 stream of water, in each marsh we cross, he sturdily represses by be- 
 labouring her with the stick. Our hands are covered with swellings 
 through thrashing and tugging at the reins, and it is not without secret 
 envy that we see, in our distress, Antonio a hundred yards in front of us, 
 comfortably seated amid bags and rugs on his mule, rolling cigarettes, 
 and letting the reins loose on tlie neck of his intelligent mule, who, as a 
 brave and sagacious little creature, jogs briskly on, without stumbling, 
 over the swampy soil. This irony of destiny and the flagrant consta- 
 tation of our utter inability to do anything, contrary to the wishes of 
 our mules, finally succeed in crushing us, and we follow at a distance 
 in a pensive mood. 
 
SAHAL-EL-KHEMIS. 73 
 
 At last, after tiring alternatives, we enter upon a sort of sandy road 
 covered in some places with sweet herbs, and furrowed by streamlets of 
 limpid water. Huge cork-trees with gnarled trunks shoot up vigorously 
 through greyish rocks, among thorny cactuses ; and their twisted boughs, 
 touching the ground, are lost to siglit amid the tall ferns and the dwarf 
 palms that grow everywhere. 
 
 The weather has brightened, and in the now blue sky big silvery 
 clouds run, drifted by the breeze. We take our lunch, sitting on rocks, 
 in the shade of secular trees. On the other side of the road, on a rock, 
 two Arabs are standing, their burnooses floating in the wind ; their 
 figures look very white against the blue sky. A shepherd clad like an 
 ancient Eoman passes gravely on the road, driving his flock before 
 him, and disappears round a turn, behind a cluster of lentisks and 
 olive-trees. Ear in the distance, at the end of an immense undulating 
 plain, you see above a range of hills the blue summits of the Djebel- 
 Sarsar. 
 
 We quit with regret this lovely nook, and set out once more across 
 the watery tracks, resuming our late arduous toil. Then, suddenly, at 
 the top of an eminence the scene changes. A sandy road, with patches 
 of fine turf, runs in a straight line, between lucerns, fields of mallows, 
 intermingled with wild poppies, meadows of lavender that fills the air 
 with its perfume, across cultivated land, wooded valleys, orchards full of 
 trees laden with fruit. The road passes through a pretty wood of olive 
 and fig trees, where we halt, to wait for the rest of the caravan ; and 
 when we catch sight of the first mule on a ridge, we march on again. 
 Skirtinff a stream of water that flows from the heights, we continue our 
 journey, when we reach the upper part of the plateau, in the bed of the 
 stream, which serves us as a thoroughfare. 
 
 This brook is very picturesque : the clear waters ripple o'er the 
 pebbles, falling in cascades over the rocks that obstruct its course, 
 widening into little quiet ponds, filled with aquatic flowers. We clear a 
 passage through stunted evergreen oaks, terebinths, oleanders. In some 
 places the branches are entwined above our heads, forming an arcade. 
 Now and again there's a brisk rustling of branches, a strong waving 
 of foliage, a sudden halt of the dogs : it is a wild boar surprised in his 
 
74 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 lair, who has been put to flight by our presence, and has rushed ^vith a 
 bound into the thicket. Blackbirds rise on the wing at every moment, 
 with shrill cries ; big snakes, of greenish hue, glide over the mossy stones, 
 disappear underneath, and clouds of insects buzz noisily in the air. On 
 every side flowers are growing : blue daisies, red anemones, climbing 
 plants that entwine the shrubs. 
 
 The flowers crushed by the horses' hoofs, the broken ferns, the leaves 
 swept down as we pass, emit strong scents, like those of new-mown hay, 
 and the air, laden with these sweet and moist odours, passes over our 
 heads, bathing our brows with its pungent eftiuvia. 
 
 In the sky, white vapours glide like gauze veils, rend and disperse 
 in light flakes, under the lash of the wind. 
 
 Eagles are hovering high up in the dense blue, and numerous 
 vultures follow us, whirling above our heads. Erom time to time 
 one of them pounces straight down on a prey, a couple of yards 
 in front of us, and my mule, terrified by the tawny flash of its 
 sudden descent, trembles all over, pricks her ears, and makes a 
 dead halt. 
 
 A strong breeze twirls with a roar of billows this ocean of verdure, 
 rolling it in long oscillations with sharp turmoils, sudden and silent 
 pauses. 
 
 These wild steppes end on well- wooded terraces of fine sand, and we 
 gaily pursue our way, between rows of beeches, birches, holm oaks. 
 Through the glades on our right we get glimpses of the sea, of a soft 
 blue, almost grey in tint, with broad bands of milky white. On our left 
 the Djebel-Sarsar stands in clearer outlines on the horizon, with its 
 jagged summits of hard and cold blue, shaded with violet tinges. 
 
 On the border of the wood we come on rugged ground, traversed by 
 a deep ditch, on the other side of which the grove continues thicker and 
 denser, planted with fine evergreen oaks, odoriferous pines, cork-trees, 
 cedars, acacias. In this region, the soil of clay, quartz, and sand 
 mixed with feldspar, is so blended with red ochre that the ground 
 seems almost of this colour. We follow thi,3 ravine, which leads 
 by a gentle gradient to a plateau bespread with slender shrubs. We 
 pass near huts of charcoal-burners, whence the acrid smoke from the 
 
SAHAL-EL-KHEMIS. 
 
 75 
 
 green branches in the subthied fires, shrouds us in volumes of bluish 
 vapour, whirled away by the wind. 
 
 Prom there, we can see the houses of a large village where we are 
 going to camp. We are now at the extremity of the plateau, which 
 ends in a huge cliff, descending al^ruptly, with sharp projections, down to 
 
 COUNTRY WOMEN. 
 
 the sea, which unfolds itself in all its gi'andeur, lit by the golden gleams 
 of the setting sun. We skirt along the lofty cliff, refreshed by the 
 breeze from the sea. Our jaded mules take fresh courage, and in a 
 few minutes we are at tlie entrance to the village, a hollow road 
 barred by enormous blocks of stone, flanked on each side by steep 
 banks with cactuses and thorn hedges, behind which we perceive 
 
76 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 gables of grey thatch, stone or clay walls, and high stakes fixed in 
 the ground. 
 
 We have scarcely passed the first houses, when we are welcomed by 
 the deafening bay of a band of dogs, yellow, lean, surly, and terribly 
 aggressive. They dart upon us, snap at the houghs of our beasts, and 
 we have some difficulty in protecting our legs from their sharp fangs. 
 A few stones skilfully aimed by our muleteers quickly disperse them, 
 and they decamp, yelling with pain. To be hit by a stone is what an 
 Arab dog dreads most. Threaten him with a stick, and he will become 
 more rabid ; but if you only make a pretence of stooping to pick up a 
 pebble, he will pack off as fast as his legs can carry him, and will then 
 perhaps venture to bark at a distance. The village appears to be of a 
 pretty considerable size. A broad, irregular, broken, road, dotted with big 
 stones and muddy plashes, runs through it, from one end to the other. 
 At the farther extremity, other travellers are encamped near a little 
 pond, on the opposite side of which we pitch our tents facing theirs. 
 
 Our neighbours are Englishmen — Captain T. P., whom an attack of 
 gout confines to his bed, and his son. They welcome us to their tent, 
 and offer us refreshments ; and while Harris, Ingram, and Marshall talk 
 sport with their hosts and compare the merits of Irish and Scotch 
 whisky, Forestier and I discreetly efface ourselves, and set off to ramble 
 through the village. 
 
 The rectangular houses with thatched roofs are irregularly built on 
 each side of the broad road, all of them facing different points of the com- 
 pass. On every roof there are storks ; on every house are one or two nests 
 of these privileged birds, sacred in the eyes of the natives, who would 
 consider it a crime or a sacrilege to kill one of them. They regard them 
 with profound respect, under the ancient belief that in these birds exist 
 the souls of their ancestors, who lived long ago in great islands on the 
 other side of the ocean, and have returned in this guise to protect tliem. 
 They roam about with perfect freedom, clapping their beaks and beating 
 the air with their white wings rimmed with black, happy with the gift 
 of life, sure of not being molested or disturbed. 
 
 We return for tea. The site of our camp is admirable. It lies on 
 the margin of a broad esplanade overhanging a fertile valley reaching 
 
SAHAL-EL-KHEMIS. 77 
 
 down to the sea. Facing us towards the north there is a range o 
 wooded mountains, abounding, so they say, in game and wikl boars. 
 
 We spend the evening with our neighbours, and these "mighty 
 hunters before the Lord" detail in turn their cynegetical feats, their 
 hairbreadth escapes, in their travels ; and their narratives, diluted by 
 draughts of whisky, gradually assume the dimensions of epic poems. 
 Common incidents of sport, ride on a mule through Arab towns, turn all 
 at once into fabulous exploits — the discovery of new worlds. The death 
 of a wild cat, shot in the thicket, is transformed into a sanguinary tiger- 
 
 A CORNER OF SAHAL-EL-KHEMIS. 
 
 hunt, enough to make your hair stand on end. Tlie fact of finding 
 yourself one fine morning in a field, face to face with a bull of uneven 
 temper, furnishes material for a dramatic conflict with a rliinoceros, 
 which makes your flesh creep. The unexpected meeting with a 
 harmless snake, crossing a garden-path, gives rise to a terrible story of 
 an alligator-hunt, a fight with a rattlesnake and a host of other unclean 
 beasts, which sends a stream of cold perspiration down your backs. 
 And when one thinks of the awful risks incurred by these intrepid men, 
 these bold hunters, these daring explorers, one is surprised to see them 
 with their heads still on their shoulders, and you ask yourself in terror 
 if, after such woful sufferings, their brain isn't a little upset ; and in 
 
78 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 the presence of these heroes with muscles of steel, with nerves so finely 
 tempered, you preserve a discreet silence, partly from salutary fear and 
 partly from indulgent pity. 
 
 Ingram's description of hig feats had been prosaic, quite common- 
 place, utterly disastrous to the reputation of our guns — a few big game 
 such as everybody brings down, a fair number of partridges, hares, 
 pheasants, that was his sum total ; not the slightest incident that could 
 wring your nerves or harrow your feelings ; everything was as tame as it 
 well could be. Marshall didn't shine any better. Forestier had, once 
 in his life, winged a couple of larks, one of which recovered after he had 
 nursed it, while my tale of slaughter amounted to the murder of one 
 hare, long ago, quite by accident, — a love-lorn hare, who had com- 
 mitted suicide, the poor wretch, by running against the barrels of my 
 gun, and, without my knowing it, the trigger had done the business 
 on its own account. Bxit Harris was goincr to briohten our tarnished 
 fame, — he, the champion of England with the ambitious device, " Quo 
 non ascendam ? " 
 
 The captain's son, who for some time had been nervously handling 
 his revolver in a way that boded ill for the safety of his neighbours, had 
 just finished a complicated blood-curdling story of leopard, in which 
 his revolver, he declared, as he thrust it in our faces, had been his best 
 friend, when Harris, in a tone that indicated the most retiring modesty, 
 began to relate in faultless diction, with a thrill in his voice, a pathetic 
 roll of the eyes, and the sober gestures befitting its epic grandeur, " My 
 ride to Sheshouan." 
 
 He had often told it us before, each time with numerous and 
 pleasing variations, which increased its interest twofold, rejuvenating it, 
 giving it more striking aspects, quite " up to date," and covering him 
 with fresh glory. 
 
 This time he surpassed himself, rising in his narrative to sublime 
 heights of eloquence ; and it is deeply to be regretted that this latest 
 version, — the final one, we hope, — has not been stereotyped, that it-_may 
 remain for ever graven on the memory of his contemporaries, as a model 
 of incomparable style, as an ineffaceable record of the courage, the 
 presence of mind, the indomitable energy of an unassuming Fellow 
 
SAHAL-EL-KHEMIS. 79 
 
 of the Eoyal Geographical Society of the United Kingdom of Great 
 Britain and Ireland. 
 
 Like Napoleon the Great, whom moreover' he resembled in other 
 respects — in his short figure, for instance — he had made a name for 
 himself in fabled story, that pedestal of world-wide reputations. His 
 was not one of those vulgar, sonorous legends, smelling of gunpowder, 
 resounding with cannon-balls and howitzer-shells, but a smart legend, 
 with an air of distinction, elegantly dressed, in new gloves and the 
 finest linen, redolent of the sweet odours of iris and lavender, an honest 
 and respectable legend whose " home-made " manufacture you can 
 scent a mile off. It was a legend that would inevitably attract, as the 
 wire rod does the lightning, every honour and every dignity on its 
 happy hero ; and as you listen to him, you let yourself go, without 
 thinking, to softly whisper, Sir Walter Harris ! His Grace ! His High- 
 ness ! You were looking down, fancying you could see the insignia of 
 the Most Noble Order of the Garter, the reward of great deeds and 
 loyal services, clasped round his knee, and you were feeling inclined to 
 ejaculate with him, " Quo non ascendam ? " 
 
 He first appeared on the scene mounted on a mule, armed with his 
 revolver, followed by his servant — I was going to say his squire — • 
 wending his way o'er hills and dales, en route for Sheshouan, like a 
 gallant knight of the Middle Ages in quest of adventures. Then were 
 coming ferocious mountaineers ready to cut his throat, wliom he quelled 
 by a mere glance and the offer of a few cigarettes. With his eagle eye 
 he discovered, in the midst of mountains duly indicated and named on 
 the map, plateaus as big as your hand which the geographers, with 
 culpable negligence, had neglected to insert, and baptized them with his 
 own name — Cliristian-name, surname, and nicknames — in order to make 
 good this unpardonable deficiency. At Sheshouan he was smoking 
 cigarettes at his window, with the most unruffled composure, wliile the 
 furious inhabitants were ransacking the place, to discover and impale him. 
 Then he disappeared in a trice from the town, nobody knew how, at the 
 touch of a magician's wand as it were, met with brigands who saved his 
 life instead of taking it, and offered him their purses instead of stealing 
 his — and so on. 
 
;60 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 I won't relate in detail this sublime narrative, " My ride to 
 Sheshouan." I really couldn't ! Harris, siirnamed the serpent-charmer, 
 Al-Aissoui, as they call him throughout the East, in the West, the South, 
 and perhaps, too, in the North, in fact right throughout the whole 
 universe — Harris alone could, in a moment of inspiration, resuscitate 
 from the depths of his memory the choice expressions, and reproduce 
 the moving tones, the startling description of " My ride to Sheshouan ; " 
 that jewel, chased with consummate art, with such refined taste, full of 
 discreet reticence, of subtle allusions, of charming candour, that 
 .exquisite specimen of the work of the dilettante author, this flosver of 
 the " Upper Ten." Frenzied applause greeted " My ride to Sheshouan," 
 and Harris raised his hand to his brow under the impression that 
 Jaurels were already sprouting there. 
 
 The talk went on, for a long time yet, about hunting, travels, and 
 adventures. One of the Nimrods, I forget which, carried away by the 
 fumes of his over-excited imagination, and burning with the desire to 
 .eclipse his fellow-sportsman, began to unfold his tale of still mightier 
 .deeds. With a tragic air and a sweeping gesture, disastrous to the 
 •stability of the whisky bottles, which rolled from the table on to the 
 ;floor, he told us a story of an ever-memorable hunt, in which the 
 •species of animals and geological epochs were confounded with the same 
 facility as he mistook his neighbour's glass of Irish whisky for his own 
 .Scotch. The story bristled with antediluvian beasts, which he shot in 
 Proves, just as if they had been so many inoffensive rabbits. 
 
 By a series of imperceptible transitions, facilitated by a fertile 
 ■imagination, which readily adapted itself to the caprice of a boundless 
 fancy and made the orator the dupe of his own inventions, the tigers 
 ;after the second bottle had changed into megatheriums, the rhinoceroses 
 into mastodons, the alligators into megalosaurs, exactly in the same 
 way as, after the first bottle, the cat had been transformed into a tiger, 
 the bull into a rhinoceros, and the snake into an alligator. 
 
 Fortunately, a tliii'd bottle was not uncorked, else Heaven only 
 knows what serpents of the deep, what dragons, what unheard-of 
 jmonsters our heroes would not have given the finishing stroke to. 
 
 That was a sad blow to the glorious reputation of "IMy ride to 
 
SAHAL-EL-KIIEMIS. 
 
 81 
 
 Sheshoiian." The star of Harris was for the moment on the wane, but 
 only to burst forth again with renewed splendour shortly after by the 
 dazzling exploit of " A visit to Wazzan," where, after being loaded with 
 honours and rugs by the sherif, he was nearly being ingloriously 
 thrashed by the blackguard of a son, who was soundly reprimanded by 
 the irate father for being so grossly Avanting in respect for the author of 
 " My ride to Sheshouan " and " A visit to Wazzan." 
 
 And Daudet thought that Tartarin was dead ! Tartarin is im- 
 mortal, like Daudet, although he isn't a member of the Ereuch 
 Academy. 
 

 
 '/^ 
 
 ^v^ 
 
 EL-AKAISH. 
 
 El-Araish, l-^tli January. 
 This morning the sun is shining brightly, a fresh breeze is blowing, we 
 shall have magnificent weather for travelling. Groups of sightseers are 
 stationed before the camp. We are doubtless to them what an unknown 
 tribe from Central Africa on view at the Crystal Palace would be to 
 Londoners, and our presence seems to afford them much amusement. 
 
 A sort of idiot penetrates, partly at the instigation of the crowd, who 
 want to amuse themselves at our expense, within the precincts of the 
 camp, and tries to enter our tent. He utters inarticulate cries and 
 gesticulates like a madman. We bundle him out neck and crop, to 
 the great disappointment of the yokels, who were expecting a rather 
 lively scene. 
 
 We mount our mules. At the moment when I put my foot in the 
 stirrup the rotten cord breaks for the third time during our journey. 
 Djebel-Tarik cobbles it as best he can, and away we march with a bright 
 sun above and a cooling wind from the east. The Kaid takes the lead, 
 and the whole caravan follows at haphazard, just as the animals feel 
 inclined, those who have the best steeds in front and those who are 
 badly mounted following in the rear. We make our way pell-mell, 
 
EL-ARATSH. 83 
 
 gaily, in a noisy and picturesque disorder, through the laden mules and 
 the jovial muleteers, who urge on their beasts, get a fallen one on its legs, 
 incite another that refuses to leap a ditch by shouts and cudgellings, 
 run bawling after a fugitive playing truant in the fields, or re-fasten 
 a loose bundle. 
 
 Then as we proceed on our Avay the order of march is dislocated and 
 turns into Indian file. The distance between the riders increases ; the 
 restive mules refuse to advan-ce, or drag themselves along at a snail's 
 pace, while others, one doesn't know why, trip briskly on. Between 
 the head of our line and the tail there's sometimes a distance of a 
 couple of miles, if not more. Antonio generally goes on in front with 
 the baggage while the Kaid stays with us, leading the way on his bony 
 jade with its immutable pace, acting both as a guidon and an ensign. 
 Brooks, pallid and liaggard, brings up the rear, absorbed in himself, 
 trying to co-ordinate ideas, always feeling the effects of the jostlings he 
 has endured and thinking of the others to come. 
 
 A labyrinth of brooks with muddy beds and steep slippery banks 
 flow at the bottom of the valley. The mules, supported and excited by 
 the drivers, cross with difficulty, impeded at each step by the sticky 
 soil. One of them sinks on her hind quarters and wallows with her 
 baggage in the miry water. The men plunge in nearly up to their 
 waist to her assistance, raise the baggage on each side and hold it 
 aloft, while the relieved mule gets up as best she can and arrives safe 
 and sound at the other bank. We climb pretty briskly a large waste 
 tract. The soil is poor and sandy, the vegetation dry and scanty. 
 There is any number of thistles, and here and there a sickly cork- 
 tree and a cluster of slender shrubs. The top widens out into a 
 barren pebbly plateau swept by the wind, \^diile the sea stretches away 
 on our right. In the distance El-Araish lies, facing us, bathed in the 
 sun, standing out in a luminous mass against its green mountainous 
 background, jutting as a headland towards the sea, with its ramparts 
 washed by the Ijlue waters of tlie Kous. 
 
 The nature of the ground changes : the hard and dry sand gives 
 place to soft loam and yielding soil, dotted with pools, tliorn hedges, 
 heaps of stones, and we wander over cultivated fields soaked with water 
 
 G 2 
 
84 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 like sponges, where our mules flounder knee-deep in the earth. In front 
 the Kai'd with unerring eye feels his way, avoids the dangerous places, 
 skirts the slimy swamps, and retraces his steps when he has advanced 
 into uncertain latitudes. "We keep in his wake, our eyes riveted on his 
 blue burnoose, our mules treading in the track of his horse, and we 
 keep close at his heels. After a good three-quarters of an hour of this 
 fatiguing exercise we reach a less diluvial soil and begin to descend the 
 slope sprinkled with a few shrubs. We pass a saint's tomb and chapel 
 shaded by tamarisks and olive-trees. We have now got beyond the 
 tilled lands among the dwarf palms, the bay laurels, the terebinths ; 
 at our feet flowers of all sorts — mallows, daisies, marigolds — grow in 
 rich abundance on the slope which descends gently down to the river. 
 A semblance of a road brings us through a douar, where the dogs rush 
 after our mules, barking loudly, while their Arab masters, squatting 
 on the roadside, look on unconcerned, without making any attempt to 
 recall or silence them. 
 
 At the bottom of the hill we proceed along the water's edge on 
 banks of fine sand. The river fills the valley, forming a vast lake, an 
 admirably safe haven, but inaccessible to vessels of heavy tonnage on 
 account of the sands that block the inlet. 
 
 We halt on the bank facing the foam-covered bar, between the calm 
 sea on the right and the broad, unruffled Kous on the left, encircled by 
 wooded heights. 
 
 In front of us, on the other side of the river, El-Araish, glittering 
 in the sun, stands clear against the dark green hills, its tall white 
 Kasbah contrasting with the intensely blue sky ; its terraces, ablaze with 
 light, descending in tiers down to the sea, and the battlements of its 
 old limestone ramparts coloured with burnt ochre reflecting in the Kous. 
 
 The town, of Berber origin, at one time ceded to Spain and then 
 recaptured by Mouley Ismael, very flourishing in bygone days when its 
 corsairs infested the sea and ravaged the shores of the Mediterranean, 
 has to-day completely fallen into decay. Its population of three or four 
 thousand Jews and Moors eke out a wretched living by retail trade, in 
 the middle of its crumbling ramparts, its dilapidated houses, its horribly 
 filthy streets. 
 
EL-ARAISH. 85 
 
 The muleteers arrive with the Ijaggage, which is carried across to 
 the other side by the ferry-boat. The Kaid, who lias remained with us, is 
 sleeping at our side, stretched on the sand, with his arm passed through 
 his horse's bridle. We take to sketching while waiting for Ingram, Harris, 
 and Marshall, who with Antonio and Djebel-Tarik have set off at dawn 
 to shoot with the youngest of our neighbours at Sahal-el-Khemis, and 
 are going to join us by a different route from ours. 
 
 The place where we have halted is full of stir and bustle. The 
 ferry-boat, a heavy and clumsy barge, carries to and fro people, beasts, 
 and goods. All along the beach there is a ceaseless stream of people, 
 passing and repassing. 
 
 A Jewish family has just disembarked, and trots off' in lame-dog 
 style over the soft sand. The mother, with a sallow, shiny face and a 
 fat body, bestrides a mangy donkey, holding before her two dirty little 
 creatures with an olive skin — her progeny. The father, a tall, thin man 
 ^vith round shoulders, hollow eyes, squinting looks, follows panting 
 behind, clinging to the tail of a broken-winded and glandered mule, 
 laden with planks, sacks, and clothes, whom he belabours unmercifully 
 with a heavy matrack. His son, a queer sort of a little fellow with a 
 crafty face, jogs at his heels, carrying a heavy bundle on his head. 
 
 On a fine white mule in full gallop, a young Arab, with gleaming 
 eyes, bare head, half-clad in a burnoose full of holes, clasps on his 
 breast a bewitching and delicate creature, his sister most likely, 
 enveloped in a ragged hailc of white silk. Locked in each other's arms, 
 splendid in their artless grace, their gleaming tatters, the flying pair, 
 with their fine heads erect, their lithe brown busts shining with blue 
 reflections amid all these flowing garments, form an impressive picture, 
 full of charming originality, of savage poetry. 
 
 Some soldiers next arrive, handsome, grave-looking men, with 
 gloomy faces and calm demeanour. They alight from their horses, 
 which they hold by the bridle, take off their pointed spurs, thrust them 
 into the barrels of their muskets. Draped in their blue and wliite 
 burnooses, they come and greet our Kaid, and rest on the sand, reclining 
 in superb attitudes, waiting until the ferry-boat returns. 
 
 Our hunters have arrived. They bring back seventeen partridges. 
 
86 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 a pigeon, and a hare, as well as a haunch of venison of wild boar killed 
 the evening before, which has been given to them by their fellow- 
 sportsman. We leap into a boat, which lands us on the quay on the 
 other side, where we find our steeds, carried across by the ferry-boat. 
 Under an arcade Moorish custom-house officers are making entries, 
 jotting down figures, while Arabs are measuring out corn. Boys and 
 beggars in rags pester us for alms while we again mount our mules. 
 
 We are now in the town ; the ascent is rough, the street is narrow, 
 lined by stalls, shops, kept by gunsmiths, ironmongers, drapers, boot- 
 makers, grocers, all of them diminutive in size, exceedingly dark, above 
 all very dirty, and emitting unsavoury smells. Repulsive Jews plague 
 us with the offer of their services, swarthy little urchins follow us, 
 feeling our boots, fingering our clothes, grimacing like marmosets. 
 
 We reach the tSoick, a very large quadrangle lined on each side by 
 arcades with shops. Continuing the ascent, we cross a wide, well- 
 frequented street, and passing through a gate we are outside the town 
 on a vast esplanade, where broad pools formed by the rain glitter in 
 the sun. Not far off is a ruined I'Jwuha, shaded by tamarisks, near 
 which we are going to pitch our camp. Leaving our mules to the care 
 of the men who are busy unloading the baggage, Forestier and I return 
 to the town. 
 
 Near tlie gate is a small cafe — a strip of wall with a rush-covered 
 roof projecting from it, and supported by two wooden posts. Each side 
 is sheltered by reed lattice-work, where vines, clematis, and honeysuckle 
 climb. The floor, covered with mats, is raised a couple of feet above 
 the ground. In a corner the haouadji, an aged negro, is putting a 
 coffee-pot on the fire, and Arabs squatting on the mats smoke and 
 drink. On our entering they rise politely to make room for us. The 
 coffee is good, but we begin to feel an unpleasant itching in our 
 legs, and we make all haste to pay our score and decamp. 
 
 The gateway is lined with blocks of freestone, with embattled 
 summits, and above the arch are embrasures with loopholes. On each 
 side extend high grey walls, stained with yellow stains and broad 
 reddish-bi'own streaks. It has so sadly deteriorated through the neglect 
 of the Arabs, it has been so often whitewashed and plasteretl, that the 
 
EL-ARAISH. 
 
 87 
 
 angles of the arches are effaced, the delicate arabesques which once 
 adorned it have disappeared under the rough coatings of plaster and 
 lime-wash, and the masonry has been completely eaten away at the 
 base. Under the vault the rains have formed a marsh of brackish 
 water, and every time that a horse, a mule, or a donkey splashes 
 through this liquid mud, it bespatters the walls, the worm-eaten panels 
 of the rotten gate, as well as the passers-by, if there happen to be any. 
 
 .^JJHilllllipmiStap.— 
 
 SOUTH GATK OF EU-AUAISH. 
 
 We skirt along the wall ^vith the utmost precaution, and arrive in 
 the street at the other end without any hitch. Through a wide, curved 
 door on our right we catch a glimpse of a large square court with 
 arcades, filled with an animated and noisy crowd. Mules, horses, asses, 
 are standing near mountains of corn, inflated sacks, and bales. It's the 
 corn-market. 
 
 In the street facing this spot, crouching against the wall in the 
 glare of the sun, an old negress is selling bread. From a filthy, 
 woollen mass protrude, like reptiles underneath a blanket, emaciated 
 limbs, enormous spatulated feet, grey with dust, arms like a mummy's, 
 with long, bony, wrinkled hands, of a dark violet, with faint bluish- 
 red tints on the palms and the tips of the fingers, where the worn- 
 
88 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 out epidermis had almost disappeared. Her nose is nearly as flat as 
 her face, and her big, white, rolling eyes are injected with blood. This 
 unformed, age-worn wreck is a hideous sight. 
 
 A herd of harebrained, small calves, no bigger than dogs, dart 
 between our legs, and gaily romp and frisk in every direction under the 
 charge of a young lad. 
 
 Mules pass with a whole family on their backs, the father in the 
 middle, his wife behind clinging to him with her arms around his 
 waist, while he holds in front of his saddle, like a bunch of flowers, an 
 armful of papooses clad in all sorts of colours, and the mule, in spite of 
 the weight, trots along with a brisk, firm step. 
 
 In front, tall, untidy negroes drive little black donkeys with their 
 backs bent under heavy sacks. 
 
 We come up to the Souh, which we crossed a short time since ; the 
 huge market-place is flooded with light, the heat is intense. Under some 
 apologies for tents of worn-out canvas stretched on cross-beams some 
 Arabs are lying on the ground. You distinguish at the opening empty 
 boxes, planks, boards, and on heaps of rags tattered children rolling 
 with dogs. 
 
 Arabs in long burnooses and hoods turned down move slowly in 
 this furnace, with the gait of white friars. In the centre of the place 
 a dark, shrivelled carcase of a camel, amid sw^arms of flies, is being 
 devoured with repulsive avidity by dogs, and cloyed vultures, intoxi- 
 cated with carrion, fly away hea,vily in the blue sky. 
 
 We take refuge in the arcades. What a state of dilapidation ! 
 The pavement is broken up almost everywhere, leaving big gaps ; the 
 columns, with their foundations laid bare, are worn away, polished by 
 the incessant contact of perspiring bodies, of greasy garments, of the 
 mules rubbing themselves against their facings. Some of the shops are 
 open, and their blackened weather-boards, falling down almost to the 
 ground, are covered with a thick coat of mud and dust. In a hole in 
 the wall, about four feet square, goods are gathered. Here are fine 
 woollens from the mountains of Ourdighia, there are piled up the 
 coarser Icldia stuffs from the flocks that graze on the plains bor- 
 dering u]jon the sea. By the side are coarse wool carpets, big check 
 
V 
 
 GATEWAY OPENING ON THE MARKET-FLACE OF AL-ARAISU. 
 
EL-AEAISH. 89 
 
 cotton fabrics of red and blue, which are worn by negresses round their 
 waists, red silk sashes and scarves, stuffs of gold thread, silk ouJcaia, 
 with which Jewesses deck their heads, tapes for slinging yatcujhans. 
 
 Farther on is a grocer's shop ; the owner is sitting smoking his hif 
 amid packets of candles, cakes of soap, blocks of salt. Wooden trays 
 contain piles of sugar stained with fly-spots, covered with wasps and 
 gnats. Eings of dried figs hang in front, by the side of masses of 
 compressed dates, plastered with insects that have stuck fast to the 
 gluey surface. 
 
 A charcoal dealer's stall is kept by a negro as black as his own 
 charcoal, which he retails in tiny quantities after weighing it in a pair 
 of scales. 
 
 We emerge once more under the blazing sun at the other end of the 
 square, in front of a superb embattled ogee gateway. It is in a good 
 state of preservation, at least in the upper part, which, being out of the 
 reach of the w^hitewasher's brush, has escaped the disastrous coats of 
 lime that have clogged all the fine edges of the lower parts. The grey 
 colour of the stone, corroded by moss and lichen, its sombre battlements 
 worn and defaced by the rain and the briny atmosphere, make it look 
 as though it belonged to the INIiddle Ages, the gateway of a feudal 
 manor. The double row of arabesques, in the form of a horseshoe, that 
 line the arch, is extremely delicate, and the interlaced ornaments that 
 cover the fajade are of charming design, and carved with refined 
 taste. Joined to the gateway at right angles projects a portico with 
 four columns, of the same style as those of the Soul\ You ascend to it 
 by a flight of disjointed steps. On the ground Arabs clad in burnooses 
 are having their nap in the cool shade, or dreaming of Mahomet's 
 Paradise houris as they count the beads of their rosaries. 
 
 On the other side of the gate is a maze of narrow streets. One 
 of these, w^hich we select haphazard, brings us to a vast courtyard, 
 encumbered with manure, full of stagnant ponds, and surrounded by 
 high buildings. Horses ready saddled, luxuriously accoutred, are there 
 neighing and pawing the ground, under the care of a sturdy negro clad 
 in a lemon-coloured robe, a big scimitar swinging at his side. Through 
 the half-opened door we perceive vaguely in the dim background of a 
 
90 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 large room a group of soldiers, some stretched on the ground, others 
 standing, smoking, and chatting. Two or three, catching sight of us, 
 plant themselves on the door's sill, and, with a smile on their lips, they 
 
 jabber something or other in Arabic, the 
 reverse of complimentary, no doubt. One 
 of them has a remarkable appearance : tall, 
 slim, hard-featured, with an expressive 
 physiognomy, flashing eyes, and small even 
 teeth of dazzling white, which set off his 
 red lips, shaded by a black moustache 
 with reddish-brown tints. His muscles 
 are finely moulded, and his brown hands, 
 a trifle long, are of an extremely delicate 
 shape. He wears, like all the regulars 
 under the Sultan, a very tall fez with a 
 blue tuft of floss silk, and a burnoose of 
 blue cloth, partly covering another of 
 white wool. In his gesture, when he 
 points us out to his comrades, his ample 
 sleeves rise up, disclosing the edge of his 
 white silk shirt, contrasting with the sub- 
 dued deep blue of his sulham, which falls 
 below his knees. Well at ease in soft 
 boots of yellow morocco embroidered with 
 red silk, he holds himself smartly erect, 
 and his strongly arched feet keep their 
 firm curve when he stands on the giound. 
 We take the first street before us. It 
 is paved with round pebbles, flanked by 
 very high walls, and on their whole fapades 
 the sun cuts out dazzling squares of light, which are made still more 
 vivid by the strong shades projected from the opposite sides. 
 
 The end of the street is blocked, so to speak, by the front of a 
 building, through which opens a wide gate with arabesques. A roof sup- 
 ported by vermilion-painted beams, covered with green tiles, on which 
 
 A SOLDIER. 
 
THE LAW COUltTS OF AL-ARAISU. 
 
 [To face p. 90. 
 
EL-AEAISH. 91 
 
 grows a mass of lichen, moss, and diy plants, projects from a height of 
 ten feet above the summit of the gateway arch. A soldier armed with a 
 gun guards the entrance, and silent groups are waiting patiently for 
 tlieir turn to u'o in. 
 
 This place is the Law Court — the "Justice." It is here that the 
 Kadi decides every case that falls within his jurisdiction, and dispenses 
 summary justice, the punishment being inflicted at once without more 
 ado, as soon as the sentence is pronounced. 
 
 Passing through a small arched porch to the left of the court, we 
 leave the town by the eastern gate. When seen from outside, the 
 old Portuguese wall, with its battlements of freestone admirably joined, 
 has an imposing effect. AVe turn to the right, and in a few minutes we 
 are in the camp, 
 
 A butcher has installed himself at a Imndred yards from our tents. 
 On a cross-beam, supported by two forked poles planted in the ground, 
 sheep are suspended by their legs. An Arab with bare arms, his 
 sleeves tucked up, his burnoose thrown back, is slaughtering an animal, 
 skinning it with an old notched knife. In a twinkle the beast is carved 
 in joints, and the butcher, standing in a pool of blood and mud, with 
 his arms red with blood, his burnoose soiled with big purple patches, 
 dresses the meat, hangs it on nails driven in the cross-beam, suspending 
 the smaller pieces by cords, and serves his customers. The latter make 
 a horrible mess of the gory meat, wrangle over the price, lay the 
 morsels down, pick them up again, move away, then return and slip 
 them into their hood or a corner of their burnoose after grumblingly 
 paying the butcher. 
 
 One of them has bought half-a-dozen sheep's heads, which he has tied 
 together, put on his donkey, whom he afterwards calmly bestrides, and 
 sets off with his disgusting load all dripping with blood in front of him. 
 
 Mght has come, — a beautiful night, clear, cool, and starlit ! With 
 branches and dry wood our men have made a big fire, which sparkles 
 and flares, giving the camp a fantastic appearance. Waves of deadened 
 noises ascend from the town, and are borne to us, dominated by the 
 hollow roar of the sea. We hear the harsh tones of flutes and bagpipes, 
 the roll of tomtoms, the cracking of musket-shots fired in honour of a 
 
92 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 newly -married pair. Then, amid the cahn of all things, in the shades 
 of night, softly lighted l)y scintillating stars, under the sky of velvety 
 grey blue, the pale flickering gleam of a lantern appears at the top of a 
 minaret, slowly rises, wavers, stops as it is hoisted by the muedden, 
 whose dark silhouette stands out against the vapoury blue of the firma- 
 ment. And, while listening in the calm of the clear balmy nights to 
 these strange sounds, these primitive melodies, these thousand various 
 noises, so specially characteristic of towns in the East — while breathing 
 this Arab atmosphere, so voluptuously disquieting, in which the fra- 
 grant, penetrating scents of immense virgin spaces are mingled with 
 the acrid odours of aromatics, the stench of carcases rotting on the road, 
 the strong emanations from camels, goats, mules, horses — you feel a 
 sort of irresistible torpor, a great lassitude of mind stealing over you, in 
 which all thoughts are blended, effaced, extinguished, and you sink down 
 in an intense sensation of complete and absolute repose. 
 
 -^■h'„ 
 
 
■"Kvi^a^ .. 
 
 ■f-^ 
 
 ON THE WAY TO AIN-BOUILEII-SIDI 
 MOUKTAR. 
 
 Ain-Boulleh-Sidi Mouktar, 15th January, 
 The weather continues splendid. Just as we are starting Ingram 
 finds that the silver mounting of his walking-stick lias disappeared. 
 In making a search, it is discovered that Djebel-Tarik is the thief; and 
 it is decided that he shall be dismissed. Harris, who discharges the 
 combined functions of Kaid and Kadi, takes out his revolver, threatens to 
 blow the culprit's brains out, if he has not left the camp in five minutes. 
 He is not the man to trifle with discipline, not he ! This revolver, the 
 one he had at Sheshouan, is always ready to be taken out of its case, 
 but, it must be added, it is returned forthwith, guiltless of homicide. 
 He draws out this inoffensive weapon just as any other man would take 
 out his watch to look at it and show it. 
 
 As our pilferer has received in hard cash more than is due to him, 
 Harris lays an embargo on his djcllahieh, the only thing of value the 
 poor wretch possesses, puts it up for auction, and in default of bidders 
 bestows it on one of our men, whose wardrobe is in a rather jiitiable 
 
94 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 condition. The luckless Djebel-Tarik, who has sold to a negress the 
 article he purloined for the magnificent sum of threepence, departs 
 very much downcast, with scarcely a rag on his back, pursued by the 
 hootings of his " honest " comrades, who probably have not yet found 
 a propitious opportunity for abstracting any of our belongings. 
 
 His place is filled by a young Moor, Jubilee's friend, with a face of 
 Eoman contour, answering to the name of Abder-Ehaman, which is at 
 once changed into Caesar by Ingram ; for, in addition to his inany other 
 fads, Ingram has a perfect mania for sponsorship, for giving people names. 
 No sooner had we started on our travels than he unchristened every one 
 
 ON THE KOAD TO AIN-BOUILEH-SIUI MOUKTAR. 
 
 of our men, and bestowed on them the most fantastical nicknames. 
 The unlucky wight wlio has just been sent about his business had been 
 christened by him Djebel-Tarik ; he had twisted Djellali into Jubilee, 
 Selim had been changed into Fondak, Cassim into Gazelle, a one- 
 eyed man Cyclops, another was dubbed Sindbad, and so on in the 
 same strain. His immense delight was to be godfather, to give a new 
 name to somebody or something. It did no one any harm ; and as he 
 found a sweet joy in his labour of love, it woulJ have been a pity to 
 deprive him of it. 
 
 We make our way at a good pace over sandy, even ground. 
 
AIN-BOUi'LEH-SIDI MOUKTAR. 95 
 
 intersected by paths startintr in every direction. The fine sward is 
 diapered with flowers, shrul.)S grow on every side. We meet with 
 travellers ; they eye ns curiously, and interrogate our men who we are 
 and where we are going. 
 
 Tall negroes in red skullcaps and white gandourali are pushing 
 in front of them tiny donkeys with atrociously lieavy loads. Now a 
 waggon heaves in sight, the only one we have seen since we have 
 arrived in Morocco — an enormous waggon of olden times, like those 
 that must have accompanied", the fierce, invading hordes of Cimbri and 
 Teutons when they made inroads on Gaul. It is made of thick planks, 
 fastened to strong beams by rude oak l)olts. The wheels consist of two 
 blocks of wood, scarcely rough hewn, joined together by an axle. Six 
 oxen are yoked to this cumbersome vehicle, which is transporting a 
 crigantic beam. 
 
 When we come to a pond of fresh water, the mules make all speed 
 towards it, and we have all the difficulty in the world to prevent them 
 wallowing in it. 
 
 In the distance, the mountains of Sarsar raise their summits of deep 
 blue, shaded with violet, towards the unclouded sky, and still farther 
 off can be seen the peaks of mountains covered with snow. 
 
 The numerous paths end by uniting in a single road of fine sand — 
 a genuine road — a regular highroad, where you are almost tempted to 
 look for milestones. A broad curtain of trees stretches in front of us — 
 the skirt of a wood through which the road runs, a wood of cork-trees, 
 old olive-trees with gaunt knotty trunks, side l)y side with birches, 
 beeches, and trees of other species. Flowers are growing on the edge of 
 the forest, climbing plants entwine the trees, and ivy trails o'er the 
 ground through ferns, mosses, and tall grass. Orioles, finches, and 
 tomtits twitter and flutter in the branches that are interlaced above our 
 heads. We advance along the fine sand, under an arch of foliage, a 
 shady and breezy route. 
 
 Through the glades you can see bleating sheep tended by little 
 hooded shepherds, playing on reed flutes, herds of cows and flocks of 
 goats grazing in meadows, with an air of cliarniing pastoral simplicity 
 over it all. 
 
96 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 In the tliickets old wrinkled women pass by, with big faggots on 
 their backs, and in the denser parts of the forest we catch sight of men 
 hewing down oaks a hundred years old. 
 
 WOMA>r CARRYING FAGGOTS. 
 
 The sportsmen have alighted from their steeds, and are beating the 
 bushes, while we follow the road at the slow pace of our mules. Shots 
 are fired from time to time, and we hear the blast of Harris's horn. 
 
AiN BOUiLEH-SIDI MOUKTAR. 97 
 
 Now why does Harris sport a horn? We have never been al»le to 
 make out. To all our questions on this point he has always replied in 
 an evasive manner, which has only left us more puzzled and perplexed 
 than before. At one time we were inclined to think he wanted it to 
 rally the dogs ; but having often heard him give a terrific blast when the 
 poor beasts, with ear-drum cleft, were howling with despair at his feet, 
 we have been compelled to discard this hypothesis, which seemed so 
 plausible at first. Could it be to muster the laggards ? No ; a thousand 
 times no ! Forestier and I have l^een struggling for hours together in 
 the marshes, far away from the caravan, anxiously trying to rejoin it, 
 without hearing a single note of this fatal horn to guide our steps. 
 Was it perchance to summon help, like Eoland at Eonceval, when, 
 succumbing in an unequal conflict, he might feel his strength inferior to 
 his courage ? I don't think so, for in " My ride to Sheshouan " there 
 is no mention of a horn at all, and yet he was often in dire straits. 
 Selim, on being questioned, confessed that he was not a whit wiser 
 than we were. He had a dim suspicion that " Aissoui " used it to 
 charm serpents; but that was a merely gratuitous supposition on his 
 part, and would not hold water w^hen seriously investigated. From time 
 to time, on the slightest provocation, and far more frequently on no 
 provocation at all, you heard the sound of this horn, and never a hint, 
 never the least sign, the most trifling indication, the faintest shadow of 
 a suggestion could put us on the track, could help us to discover the 
 actual reason, the enigmatic and of course deep-lying cause of these 
 sudden and unexpected blasts, which make us start on our mules, 
 and prompt \^s to find out the wherefore, perhaps unknown to the 
 trumpeter himself, of this eccentric, boisterous extravagance. I leave to 
 a cleverer head than mine the solution of this mystery. 
 
 There it goes again, a blast from Harris's instrument, and we are on 
 the qui-vivc ! I jump down from my mule, Forestier follows suit, 
 and with beating hearts, gun in hand, we proceed in the direction of the 
 sound. It is, perhaps, the last despairing cry for help ! Harris, before 
 we entered the forest, warned us, and we still shudder at the thought 
 of it, that tfie place w^as infested with brigands, who plundered the 
 caravans, cut the travellers' throats without the least pity, and, a very 
 
 H 
 
98 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 serious matter, that a lion -was prowling in these parts. Are our friends 
 in their death-throes, under the lion's paws, under the brigands' 
 knife ? Is there still time to run to their aid ? It is a moment of 
 terrible anguish, but which changes into profound bewilderment, 
 mingled with some anxiety, when in a clearing we find Ingram, Harris, 
 and Marshall, with their fingers on the triggers of their guns, crouched 
 motionless, with bent backs, craned necks, and fixed eyes, round the 
 two dogs, who are pointing before a thick bush. We load our guns, and 
 with the utmost precaution join the perilous circle, ready to take our 
 share of the danger. 
 
 " The lion ! " murmurs Harris in a hollow voice, without taking his 
 
 VILLAGE OF AIN-BOUILEH-SIDI MOUKTAE. 
 
 eyes off the bush, — " the lion ! " The minutes glide on, nothing stirs, not 
 a roar, not a sound, absolutely nothing ! an awful silence weighing upon 
 us, pregnant with dire possibilities. We feel the blood curdling in our 
 veins. All at once bursts a roar, a long prolonged roar, re-echoing like 
 the sonorous resounding of a trumpet, and at the moment when the 
 three valiant heroes, with a stream of cold perspiration on their 
 foreheads, expect to see the lion rush upon them, and yet ready to send 
 their bullets through him, a . . . pretty little tortoise, disturbed in its siesta 
 by the incongruous " roar "... of one of our mules, comes out of the 
 bush, pokes its head out of its shell, puzzled by this unwonted din. 
 
 Rover, who was thought to be pointing, had simply fallen asleep on 
 liis legs in front of the bush, while* Don was only dazed. Had it not 
 
AiN-BOUILEH-SIDI MOUKTAR. 99 
 
 been for the timely bray of the mule, the daring sportsmen would still 
 be waiting for the spring of the . . . lion ! 
 
 This furnished for Harris another deed of daring, to add to the 
 already long list of his brilliant exploits of the same kind — a sort of 
 appendix to " My ride to Sheshouan." 
 
 We are at last at the other end of the forest. We are quite dazzled, 
 under the soft blue sky, of an indescribable transparency. The huge 
 plateau, covered with dwarf palms, stretches to the mountains of Sarsar, 
 whose intense deep blue summits bound the horizon. In the fore- 
 ground, a dollar, a few huts of wood and mud, and two or three tents 
 near a dusty tamarisk, stand in dark relief against the sky and the 
 mountains in the rear. A rick of straw at the side gleams with yellow, 
 golden tints. A Bedouin stands motionless near the tents, and his white 
 garb is glittering with light in the glare of the sun. A donkey is lying in 
 the shade of the solitary tamarisk. We hear the bleating of goats, the 
 barking of dogs, and the hoarse cry of vultures soaring in the space. 
 
 The road draws for some time yet its large clear ribbon through 
 that sea of verdure; then the narrow tracks show themselves again 
 with their endless circuits, and all along you cross with caravans, 
 travellers, cattle. 
 
 The plain descends in quiet slopes, on which oxen and sheep are 
 grazing. For two hours we ride through this wild expanse, and then 
 find ourselves in a large valley. Before us, on the side of a hill, 
 behind which the ocean lies, two douars are situated, so close together as 
 to touch one another. The circles of their dingy tents contrast with 
 the reddish brown tints of tbe tilled soil. They are surrounded by thick 
 cactus hedges of dull, almost bluish green. Women in a file are 
 wending their way to fetch water from a distant well. 
 
 The Kaid has just halted. He said a few words to a young girl 
 returning from the well, stooped towards her, and she, with a lithe 
 movement of the limbs, full of subtle grace, lifted with her bronzed arms 
 clasped with copper bracelets the dripping pitcher to the height of the 
 rider's lips. He took a long deep draught : tlien, drawing himself up on 
 his saddle, he gravely thanked with a nod the child, who smiled in reply, 
 and proceeded on liis way. 
 
 H 2 
 
100 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 The sun is slowly setting in the sea, kindling with its last fire a gold 
 and purple- sky. Great warm fawn-coloured gleams, ^dth brass hues, are 
 reflected on the sea, flare on the heated soil, and vague sounds are borne 
 aloft, with sultry breezes and briny odours. Ere long the fiery orb has 
 sunk below the horizon ; the gold and purple tints have faded in the 
 sky, the lustre of the sea changes into a dull blue, cold shadows chase 
 each other over the reddish furrows, and an unbroken 
 calm reigns over everything. 
 
 The women have returned home with their 
 pitchers, their cljourna. Men and children come out 
 from the douars and watch om^ coming. This great 
 tranquillity is disturbed by the barking of dogs on om' 
 approach. When we have passed, the pack ceases to 
 howl; once more the calm descends, and the great 
 peace of the evening falls slowly, with its first chills, 
 its deepening shadows. 
 
 The Sheik of the village arrives, a tall strapping 
 fellow, with strongly- marked featm-es, a grey beard, 
 eyes like burning coals, and a wrinkled face of the 
 colour of gingerbread. His son, a lad of ten, named 
 Arvari, accompanies him. We induce him to stay 
 and dine with us. Jugged hare, turnips, potatoes, 
 plum-pudding and biscuits — that's the bill of fare. 
 The drinkables consist of water, whisky, and char- 
 treuse. 
 
 Seated on one of our beds, with Forestier's chair 
 for a table, the Sheik — keeping his son, who feels 
 quite scared, between his knees — does ample justice 
 to Western fare. He devours with a remarkable 
 appetite everything that is served on his plate, making his fingers do 
 duty for a fork. He wipes his nose with a corner of his burnoose, and 
 was going to utilise it for rubbing his greasy hands, if Marshall had 
 not politely offered him small sheets of tissue paper. 
 
 Arvari is losing his shyness ; he munches a few biscuits with his fine 
 teeth, regales himself with plum-pudding, and puts a bit of it aside 
 
 -m^. 
 
 WOMAN CARRYING 
 
 WATER. 
 
AiN-BOUILEH-SIDI MOUKTAR. 101 
 
 carefully wrapped in paper, in order doubtlessly to give his brothers 
 and sisters at home a taste of the delicacies of the Roumis. 
 
 Just as the Sheik is taking his leave, enchanted with the evening, 
 two enormous dishes of kouslcoussou, fowls, and eggs are brought by his 
 order as a present to us. 
 
 Seven men have been sent to act as a guard during tlie night. 
 They chatter and shout to each other, and we hear the loud yelping of 
 the dogs from the two douars, between which our camp has b.een pitched. 
 
 We have now left behind us the hilly country, the thatched houses, 
 and are going to traverse the region of vast plains, dotted by the 
 dark circles of the ghima, scoured by the roving Arab, the Bedouin, 
 as he shifts his tents and cattle from place to place, doing exactly 
 to-day what his ancestors did six thousand years ago on the banks 
 of the Tigris and the Euphrates, proud, independent, ferocious, and — 
 
 dirty. 
 
 ****** 
 
 This morning the Sheik is before our tent, accompanied by his men. 
 He has come to pay us a formal visit, and to bid us good-bye. 
 
 After shaking hands with us, he raised his own to his heart, 
 then to his lips, and said, " Salamalek oum ! " — ]May safety be, upon 
 you ! Master Arvari kissed our fingers, and we started off in ugly, 
 dull weather. 
 
 We have two Sherifs among our muleteers, two descendants of 
 Mahomet. They are cleaner, and keep themselves neater than their 
 companions. They have more especially charge of the mules, shoe 
 them, mend then- harness, and their functions are far from being 
 a sinecure. 
 
 It is a very honourable occupation, for everything connected with 
 equine matters is held in high favour in the East, where the horse 
 serves as a patent of nobility to its rider, and horsedealer is a synonym 
 for a man of gentle birth, just as in the West wealth and nobility are 
 equivalent terms, and a big balance at one's banker's is quite as good as 
 old parchment deeds. The Sultans are so prolific, and the harems so 
 numerous, that the Sherifs of pure blood swarm in IMorocco, like rabbits 
 in Australia. 
 
102 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 This is a real pest, which costs no little money to maintain, for the title 
 of Sherif implies a sacred character, sanctity in the eyes of the Arabs 
 being a quality of blood, and therefore hereditary, rendering the person 
 enjoying this title holy and inviolable. It follows of course that these 
 exalted, venerable beings cannot condescend to toil like common 
 labourers, and that they have to be supported by the nation, which 
 exhausts its resources hj maintaining in vain-glorious ease these idlers 
 with green turbans. 
 
 As the Sultans, in spite of their goodwill and their remarkable 
 vigour, have not yet succeeded in j)eopling the whole of Morocco with 
 grand-nephews of Amina's son, those who are not Sherif s make all haste 
 to become so. 
 
 Every right-thinking native of Morocco is a Sherif, and descends in 
 a direct line from the Prophet, just as every Englishman who has any 
 respect for himself is a descendant of the Xormans, as every Frenchman, 
 who is anybody at all, has an ancestor among the Crusaders. As soon 
 as a Moor has got fairly on in the world, he experiences the liveliest 
 desire to trace his descent from Mahomet, though he hasn't a particle of 
 relationship to the father of the faithful. So much is it there, as every- 
 where else, necessary to descend from " someone," to be able to be " some- 
 body." Skilful genealogists undertake for a consideration to find liim 
 some forefathers with the pure blood of the Prophet in their veins ; and 
 the bigger the sum, the purer the blood. Eor a few piastres more they 
 will prove that he has inherited, in a direct line from the founder of 
 Islam, a wart on the tip of his nose, a less pretentious mark discreetly 
 located on some fleshy part of the body. 
 
 When he isn't a genuine Sherif, or when his means don't permit him 
 to claim a direct descent duly authenticated, he contents himself with a 
 modest collateral line, with or without warranties, which depends on the 
 price, and if, by some dire chance or other, he has neither Ijroad acres 
 nor hard cash, he can still attain the dignity of kadj ; that is, a pilgrim 
 to Mecca, like our old Ijonze of a Ivaid. 
 
 Of course it is necessary, in order to acquire this title, to have made 
 the journey to Mecca, and ..." non licet omnibus adire Corinthum." 
 So nowadays not every true believer can make the holy pilgrimage. 
 
AiN-BOUiLEH-SIDI MOUKTAR. 103 
 
 even though he wears out the skin of his feet to the bones. Neverthe- 
 less, since Mecca is very far away and Algeria is ^■ery near, off he starts 
 to Oran, or indeed to Algiers, begging his way, without hurrying him- 
 self ; and when he has got together a nice little sum, he returns gaily, 
 with a green turban round his head, covered with a halo of sanctity and . . . 
 vermin, which all comes to the same thing. From this time forth until 
 the day when the angel Gabriel shall come and seize him by the tuft left 
 for that purpose on the pate, in order to initiate him into the delights of 
 Paradise and introduce him to the celestial houris, the title hadj will 
 belong to him by the fullest legal sanction, and will be prefixed to his 
 string of names and qualities ; and the true believers, as he passes by, 
 will devoutly kiss the hem of his filthy burnoose. 
 
 The amusing part of it is that a civilised being in the West — some 
 Mr. Smith, devoted to brewing or some other equally useful occupation, 
 on whom Her Most Gracious ]\Iajesty, Queen of the United Kingdom 
 of Great Britain and Ireland, Empress of India, has condescended to 
 confer, for reasons best known to themselves, the title of knight; a 
 half-witted grocer, on whom the decoration of the Legion of Honour has 
 been bestowed by pure mischance ; a booby made " Sir," or a scamj) 
 tricked out with a stolen particle, a " de " before his name — won't be 
 able to find terms incisive enough to characterise the absurdity of the 
 sherifomania of the natives of Morocco, to scourge with their sarcasms 
 these sham pilgrims, who, however are liadji with as much right as 
 they are dubbed " Sir," or prefix the " de " to their names, who became 
 baronets or wearers of the red ribbon by methods similar to those that 
 they find fault with others for having employed in order to obtain the 
 title 61 Sherif. It's always the same old failing that makes a man 
 behold the mote in his brother's eye, and considers not the beam in 
 his own. 
 
 The sky has changed from grey to dark blue, with livid tints 
 foreboding rain. We have been marching, slowly hitherto, through 
 fields saturated with moisture, across stony tracts dotted with meagre 
 clusters of ferns, then up and down numerous hills and valleys inter- 
 sected by brooks and streams of water. We are now in a sandy region 
 full of ravines, and on all sides is gorse, covered with its yellow 
 
104 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 flowers, alternating with lieather and dwarf palms ; everywhere are 
 numerous herds of oxen. 
 
 Big drops of rain begin to fall; pallid streaks of light rend the 
 overcast sky. The baggage mules are far behind ; we halt for them 
 to come up. The Kaid has collected a few dry sprigs, set fire to them, 
 and enveloped in our waterproofs, down which the rain streams, we 
 warm ourselves by this transient blaze, Avhich, soaked by the rain, 
 soon dies out. 
 
 The caravan has overtaken us ; w^e set out under the pattering rain 
 across the huge, flat, gloomy plain, extending as far as we can see, with 
 faint depressions scarcely visible in the mist, to a chain of hills that 
 bound the horizon. The ground is bare, l)arren, rugged, with here and 
 there a hawthorn, a shrivelled tree in the midst of gorse and broom. 
 Everywhere water : it spreads, stretching in streams, widening in 
 lakes, scattered about in numberless pools that gleam with a dull, 
 cold lustre. 
 
 The sky has become as black as ink. Heavy clouds tinged with 
 violet move sluggishly on, burst over our heads, and pour down their 
 waters in cataracts. The rain, driven by the gale, lashes our faces, the 
 wind howls, beating down the gorse, which sways with murmurs of 
 waves, twisting the trees, which bend till they almost touch the ground, 
 penetrating into our garments, which flap against each other with a 
 crackling sound. Blinded l)y the rain, buffeted by the gale, drenched 
 
AIN-BOUiLEH-SIDl MOUKTAR. 
 
 105 
 
 from head to foot, we plunge along in a furious mood for two mortal 
 hours Ijctween the waters from the sky and those beneath. We arrive 
 at last, the rain still pouring down, at an inhabited spot. We follow a 
 road lined with tall cactuses, olive-trees, tamarisks, which brings us past 
 a saint's chapel with a square minaret. Our men, in passing in front of 
 it, kneel do\m and kiss the threshold. Our tents are pitched on the 
 flank of a liill, and we make all speed to seek shelter from the 
 thick-falling rain. 
 
 As we are taking tea the rain stops, the sun shines, drying our 
 tents. A bio- tire has been lit with fa<j!][ots and vine branches brought 
 by the village people. We w^arm our stiffened limlis by its friendly 
 blaze, while Ingram, Harris, and Marshall are scouring the neighbour- 
 hood in quest of game. At the top of the rising two or three thatched 
 huts stand in relief against the sky, and on some hillocks, Arabs lying, 
 sitting, standing, smoke cigarettes. Women are going to the spring, 
 carrying their heavy pitchers on their shoulders or their backs. They 
 pause for a moment to gaze at the Nazarenes, and then ]Dass on. 
 
 , '^^., 
 
 ^^ 
 
 OUK CAMP. 
 
 The douar, a hundred yards from us, half-way up the height, slopes 
 down behind a thicket of enormous cactuses, which entirely hides our 
 view of it. Tlie only entrance lies through an opening, about eight feet 
 high and six feet wide, cut in the thickness of the hedge. The rough- 
 hewn door is fastened, not by iron hinges, but by ties of osier to the 
 posts, which are joined at the top by a rude lintel. 
 
106 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 I advance near the gate, where a wliite-bearded patriarch and a 
 group of children are gatliered. Beautiful dark-featured girls pass by. 
 
 YOUNG COUNTRY GIRL. 
 
 with sunny eyes, supple gait, steady look, and each of their movements 
 is full of indefinable grace. They wear white veils, tied round the 
 
AIN-BOUILEH-SIDI MOUKTAR. 
 
 107 
 
 forehead by a coloured Ijtind ; a short tunic, fastened round the waist by a 
 scarlet sash, falls down to the knee, leaving their slender, sinewy legs, 
 of an admirable form, and their pretty, tiny, delicately arched feet, 
 exposed to view. On their breast, above the tunic, slit at the sides, 
 leaving the arms quite bare, silver clasps fasten the tucked-up sleeves 
 of their ganclourah ; a short pepluni descends just below the breasts, 
 which heave gently beneath. Over it strings of massive silver orna- 
 ments curiously chased, intermingled with 
 amulets to ward off" the evil djinns, give a 
 slight tinkle as they flit along with a voluptuous 
 undulating of their hips. 
 
 With an elegant gesture of their bare arms, 
 encircled with twisted bracelets of antique 
 design, they maintain on tlieir shoulders their 
 heavy djourna, and with the other they con- 
 ceal the lower part of the face by drawing over 
 their lips the fringe of their veils. And the 
 ardent flame of their dark eyes gleams ; and when 
 they pass, smiling and curious, their white tunics 
 gr&zing me, a sweet and penetrating odour of aloes 
 and viroin freshness rises from their flowing robes. 
 
 Wretched-looking old women pass by, too, 
 alas ! swarthy, wrinkled, broken, 
 with shrivelled feet and liands, 
 bending under the weight of an 
 enormous amphora, kept in posi- 
 tion on their withered, stiffened backs 
 by a cord passing over the forehead. 
 These have no smile on their lips, but 
 throw me a surly look and mutter something between their clenched teeth. 
 
 Bellowing oxen arrive, emitting mild vapours from their humid 
 nostrils. Bleating goats, followed by wild-looking young goatherds, 
 plunge in after them, jostling each other in the narrow passage. And 
 when all these animals have passed, they leave behind them warm soft 
 odours of stalls and litters. 
 
 OLD AVOMAN CARRYING WATER. 
 
108 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 In the twilight I make my way back to the camp. The fire burns 
 with a brighter Maze in the early evening shadows, and the smoke 
 ascends straight in the calm heaven. There is not a breath of air : you 
 hear the barking of dogs, the noise of mill-stones grinding the corn. 
 The fire goes out ; the watchers sent by the Sheik of the douar take up 
 their posts, rolled in their blankets, and all is silent. 
 
SIDI-A1SSA-BENI-1{ASSAN. 
 
 Sidi-Aissa-Beni-Hassan, 11th January. 
 " En route ! " Harris has sounded a blast on his horn ; the Kaid is on in 
 front. Brooks, whose black jacket, made glossy by the rain, begins to 
 rival our guide's famous burnoose, is musing in the rear, mowing down 
 the plants with his long lank legs. Forestier, A'eiy much on the alert 
 and looking less a Calabrian than ever, is performing feats of horse- 
 manship on his big white beast. Marshall is warbling in head-notes an 
 ode to Mary Ann. Ingram is revelling in the joy of mere existence, 
 well astride his fine black horse. Antonio is rolling a cigarette, and the 
 caravan moves forward with gay shouts. 
 
 Our route lies along the sunnnits of a chain of hills, marvellously 
 adorned with flowers. Our mules plunge up to the chest through 
 sheaves of gigantic red gladioles, tall violet irises, asphodels with white 
 tufts, and sharp pungent scents escape from these bruised stalks, these 
 trodden flowers, which rise again as soon as we have passed. And this 
 lasts for hours. . . . Then you come across rings of dingy tents, dogs 
 that bark madly as you pass. You make a detour to avoid a carcase 
 rotting in the sun, and you find yourself once more among the tall 
 
110 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 flowers, which you pluck from the top of the saddle without stooping, 
 among the strong and pure odours of which you take long deep breaths, 
 the good cool breeze that stirs up the blood. And in this joy of the 
 passing moment you jog on, bereft of thought, unmindful of the past, 
 careless of the future, intoxicated with air, with sun, with perfumes, 
 trotting along under the blue sky, treading on the flowery soil, 
 inhaling the penetrating fragrance. And you wish that it might last 
 for ever. 
 
 We are surrounded by a circle of rugged mountains, cut open 
 hillocks showing broad reddish cavities, abrupt declivities with big dark- 
 shadowed erosions, sombre valleys, barren peaks. On the outside, 
 around this wild circle a second line of blue mountains, with quiet 
 undulations, with ever-varying tints, rises in an imposing mass. The 
 sunbeams revel o'er this desolation, warming up the red ochre tints, 
 falling aslant on the sharp peaks, which glitter like bars of steel, shining 
 on the crests, accentuating the shadows of the huge fissures, illuminating 
 with a sudden flash of light some far-off bluish backgrounds, wMch 
 seem all at once as though they were carved in blocks of sapphire, then 
 tone down to a rosy tint, or melt into great faint mauve hues of 
 exquisite delicacy. 
 
 We move do^vll again into the furrowed plains, we stumble down 
 the pretty streams with clammy banks, and we find ourselves anew 
 on plateaus, pushing on through white and mauve rock-roses, crocuses, 
 marigolds, passing through numerous villages. In the valleys we 
 cross wide shallow rivers, bordered by rose-bays, and still the circle of 
 mountains lies round us, seeming to recede the nearer we get to them. 
 
 Camels ! Here is a file of camels, the first we have met as yet, 
 slouching along with that intolerable jerking of the body, that pitching, 
 insipid movement, so characteristic of them. Their large feet make 
 no sound when touching the ground ; they glide on with big strides, 
 stretching their long necks, with the undulating motion of reptiles ; their 
 hideous heads, with big flat lips, hover over yours before you begin 
 to suspect their presence, and they leave behind them strong, acrid, 
 persistent smells. 
 
 We cross a marshy plain, one shallow stream of no magnitude, 
 
SIDI-AISSA-BENI-HASSAN. HI 
 
 then follow for a full half-hour the flank of an eminence covered 
 Avith shrubs and dwarf palms, where cows, sheep, goats are grazing, 
 camels browsing ; and near a pretty white Icliouha, we turn to the right 
 and reach Sidi-Aissa-Beni -Hassan. 
 
 The mossy thatched roofs, the Ijrown tents, surrounded by thick 
 hedges and cactuses, are scattered along the sandy hillside, which 
 descends in a slightly inclined plane down to an immense plain — the 
 plain of the Sebou — covered with ponds, marshes, and streams, that 
 glitter in the sun. The well-beaten track that runs past the village is 
 
 J:'. .1 
 
 '? ;■ 
 
 
 
 ('ROSSI>'G A KIVER. 
 
 furrowed by the rains and some sinings, which scoop out channels in the 
 sand, and pour theii" waters down below into the marshes. 
 
 There's a lively stir in the village, which is a great halting-place. 
 Other caravans are there : camels bellow, horses whinny, mules and 
 donkeys bray ; then droves of. oxen, flocks of sheep and of goats arrive, 
 mingling with the camels, the mules, the horses ; lowing, bleating, 
 making worse the disorder. Shouts and roars burst frpm everywhere ; 
 the confusion is frightful. 
 
 The sun, very low on the horizon, sheds still its rays on the earth ; a 
 
112 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 great purple tint spreads on all sides, warming the green, gilding the 
 yellow sand, reddening the far-off blue hills, and ardent reflections glide 
 on the greenish waters of the lagoons. 
 
 On the roads, on the banks of flowers, on the hills, Arabs kneeling 
 on their carpets prostrate themselves towards the east and repeat the 
 article of their faith, the evening prayer. 
 
 From the village, slender columns of bluish smoke rise slowly 
 towards the sky. The thousand confused clamours made by the beasts 
 mount on high with a hollow, incessant murmur, like a long plaintive 
 moan, and the air is made heavy with the strong emanations of animals, 
 the ponderous exhalations from the marshes, the powerful odours of 
 flowers and heather. On the motionless waters, gleaming on the vast 
 plain, herons are flying, flights of plovers rise from the beds of reeds, 
 amid which snipe run about, moorhens hide themselves, and number- 
 less frogs croak on every side. 
 
 The sun has almost set ; the warm golden shades grow fainter and 
 fainter, and as the sun sinks, the shadows of the beasts lengthen in a most 
 fantastic way. Pale gleams play for a moment on the grass-tops, on the 
 petals of flowers, on the rims of stones, glide over the straw roofs, 
 the crest of cactus hedges, lighting the summits of the tents, and suddenly 
 fade away. A great blue and transparent tint falls from the sky, stumping 
 the outlines, toning down the harsh aspects, softening the contrasts, and 
 everything merges in a cold, serene tranquillity. And ever and anon 
 you hear, troubling this profound calm, the formidable chorus of the 
 frogs in the plain, and the deep swelling, monotonous murmur of the 
 cattle penned between the tents of the douars. 
 
 Our camp lies at the lower part of the rise, between the village 
 and the marsh, some yards from the caravan route. The pickets of 
 our tents are fixed almost on the edge of the road; and every time 
 we hear the tramp of feet near us, with shouts and bellowings, a file 
 of camels and their drivers, we become uneasy, fearing every moment 
 that one of the horrible creatures will get entangled in the ropes and 
 tumble down on our tents, working as much havoc as a bull in a 
 china-shop. Men and beasts, however, file past, and our anxiety is 
 relieved. 
 
SIDI-AiSSA-BENI-HASSAN. 
 
 113 
 
 An incident has occurred this evening which gave us an opportunity 
 of seeing in what a summary fashion disobedience to the orders of a 
 superior is punished. We had as usual made a requisition for seven 
 men to guard the camp at night, 
 and the Sheik of the village had 
 brought them. One of the men, 
 protesting that the night was too 
 cold, refused to undertake the 
 task, and when they insisted and 
 were about to force him, he drew 
 his dagger. He was iuimediately 
 seized, disarmed, thrown face 
 downwards on the ground, and 
 while his companions kept him 
 in that position, one kneeling on 
 his head, the others holding his 
 arms and his feet, the Sheik and 
 our Kai'd, unfastening knotted 
 thongs of leather which they 
 always keep round their necks, 
 lashed him with might and main. 
 His hands were then tied behind 
 his back, his feet and his knees 
 bound, and he was laid down in 
 this state of helplessness at his 
 post, where he passed the night, 
 preliminary to an imprisonment 
 of several months. 
 
 Night has fallen — an African 
 night, calm, limpid, luminous. 
 The moon shines with a soft 
 lustre, and the stars glitter with 
 imperceptible scintillations in the blue immensity ; silvery gleams 
 tremble on the waters, and far away the mountains stand out in 
 sharp, clear, precise outlines. Here awd there fires are burning, 
 
 I 
 
 ARABS IN PRAYEK. 
 
114 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 shadowy forms are moving, and in tlie great silence, when tlie least 
 sound re-echoes ^Yith a strange intensity, we hear the shiill tones of 
 the gimbry under the tents, the barking of dogs, the grunting of 
 camels in the village, and from the plain come the strident cries of 
 curlews, the croaking of multitudinous frogs, and now and again the 
 solitary yelp of a jackal mingles with all these noises, while a fresh 
 delicious odour fills and perfumes the air. 
 
DOUAR IN THK PLAIN OF THE SEBOU. 
 
 In the Plain of the Sebou, 18th January. 
 The night has been cold, the dew abundant, and the water oozes 
 through the sides of our tents. We set off under a glorious sun, a 
 lively sky, and here we are again resuming our route through fields of 
 asphodels, narcissi, daisies. 
 
 The ground is dry, the road attractive, and so Forestier, Marshall, 
 and I quit our saddles, and trudge on, side by side with the muleteers. 
 We proceed at a good pace, and our stiff legs get a trifle more supple. 
 
 We have remounted our mules. The plain stretches endlessly on 
 with light undulations. The lower parts are inundated, forming lakes, 
 covered with waterfowl, which take to their wings in great flights at 
 our approach. An eminence on our right rises, like an eyot, in the 
 middle of the plain ; houses built in terraces appear in white relief 
 against the green masses of a wooded hillock. It is Harbassiz. 
 
 Our Kaid returns with a horseman, whom the Governor of the town 
 
 I 2 
 
116 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 allowed him, on his request, to take with him. He is to act as our 
 guide to the Sebou, to the place where the ferry-boats cross. 
 
 HARBASSIZ. 
 
 The road begins to get drier, but now and again the miry marsh 
 compels us to take to side paths, which are almost as bad. This 
 part of the country is thickly inhabited ; the douars are numerous, and 
 small cone-shaped huts made of reeds, negroes' cabins, begin to appear, 
 intermingled with the thatched houses and the tents of the Bedouins. 
 The djcUahiehs have disappeared ; people wear the long woollen haik, 
 draped on the body. 
 
 A few yards from the road a negro, almost naked, his face 
 seamed with bluish scars, is drawing water from a well, a large 
 irregular hole, with its aperture level with the surface of the ground, 
 and filling small clay pitchers encased in wicker-work. Another one is 
 squatting on the ground with two big jars before him. On their legs 
 iron rings are riveted, to which a heavy chain is fastened, which trails 
 along with a sinister clank. They are prisoners, convicts. Farther on 
 we see others, chained in the same way, working in a trench, with water 
 up to their waist, under the watch of a guard armed with a long 
 cudgel. 
 
 We cross a marsh where canes and tall reeds grow, the haunt of 
 moorhens, ducks, snipes. Above our heads, flights of herons pass. 
 After one more tramp over a flat and hard piece of ground, we reach 
 the banks of the Sebou, the Sebur of the Phoenicians — the " Magnificent," 
 as Pliny calls it. 
 
 The broad river, with its muddy waters, its rapid current, flows 
 between high, steep banks. In the almost vertical cliff a slanting path 
 
IN THE PLAIN OF THE SEBOU. 117 
 
 has been cut, to smooth the difficulty of access to the two ferry-boats 
 which ply backwards and forwards from one bank to the other. 
 
 Four or five caravans are there waiting, of negroes, Moors, Arabs, 
 Bedouins. Bales, sacks, planks, pottery, coops full of fowls, are piled 
 up on the ground, among mules, donkeys, camels, horses, cattle, the 
 whole braying, bellowing, neighing, bleating, lowing. It is a tempest 
 of shouts, yells, and brawls, when the ferry-boat arrives and each 
 squad, eager to get before the other, tries to take the craft by assault. 
 Some of the men fall into the river, others drop flat in the liquid mud, 
 from which they come off horribly soiled ; others, up to their shoulders 
 in water, clutch the side of the boat, and refuse to let go their hold until 
 a severe bruise from the hoof of a mule or a boatman's oar compels 
 them, wdth many a muttered curse, to loosen their grasp. 
 
 Higher up on the bank soldiers in superb garments, mounted on 
 horses richly harnessed, are smoking cigarettes, waiting patiently for 
 their turn to come. 
 
 
 ■/vV 
 
 THE SEBOU. 
 
 For a whole hour we stand there cooling our heels, but ever and 
 anon the ferry-boat goes off without us, bearing its cargo of men, boxes, 
 beasts of all sorts. Other caravans arrive, and they too want to be 
 taken across. Harris, who has bespoken the boats, is exasperated ; he 
 draws out his famous revolver, brandishes his rifle, takes aim at the 
 men, swears that he will blow their brains out, and plays the very devil 
 among the tailors. The Arabs are not in the least affected, and, 
 thinking liim_mad, they withdraw respectfully from him, murmuring, 
 
Ui 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 in a low voice, mahoid ! madman. And the ferry-boats still plough 
 cumbrously through the muddy waters, carrying beasts, baggage, 
 and people — everybody, in fact, except us. The fine-looking soldiers 
 
 have got to the otlier side ; we see 
 them land, leap into their saddles, 
 and gallop off. 
 
 Our Kaid, assisted by the soldier 
 from Harbassiz, has managed at last, 
 by dint of shouts and threats, to 
 make the boatmen listen to reason, 
 and a few lashes with thongs, 
 seasonably applied to the shoulders 
 of some obstinate persons, who, too 
 bent on crossing, were trying to 
 instal themselves in the boats, have 
 produced greater effect than the 
 revolver, the rifle, and the furious fit 
 of Harris, and we are masters of 
 the situation. 
 
 The ferry-boat, an old shapeless 
 hulk, disjointed, patched, and leaky, 
 is kept near the bank by two men, 
 who take hold of it at each end, and 
 the transhipment begins. Between 
 the foot of the cliff and the river 
 there's a slough of slippery, liquid 
 clay, where you sink over your 
 knees ; our men take us astride on 
 their shoulders, and land us and our 
 dogs on board. Then comes the turn 
 of the horses and mules ; a rope is 
 tied round one of their legs, the men 
 tug in front, push ])elund, and the poor lialf- maddened beasts snort, 
 resist, kick, and wind up by falling with clattering hoofs into the 
 barque, M-here they remain in the centre huddled up, stupefied, and 
 
 A SUJ.TAK S SOLIHEH. 
 
IN THE PLAIN OF THE SEBOU. 
 
 119 
 
 quivering with fear, under tlie charge of the muleteers, sitting on the 
 side planks. Front and aft, tlie boatmen, negroes with athletic limbs, 
 streaming with perspiration, seize their heavy oars and intone their 
 song. Pushing our way as far forward as possible, we make ourselves 
 exceedingly small, in order not to impede their movements, and at last 
 we are launched on the yellow waters of the Sebou. 
 
 In a quarter of an hour we get to the other side ; this is dry, and 
 has only a slight slope, overgrown with thistles. We wait on the top 
 of the bank until the transport of our animals and baggage, which 
 necessitates two journeys, is com- 
 pleted. 
 
 We set out across the immense 
 plain, with its line of mountains 
 on the horizon. The sandy soil, the 
 asphodels, have given place to fertile 
 fields with rich, black mould, in 
 which grow thick clusters of mal- 
 lows, marigolds, colzas. We pass 
 through grassy marshes, broad belts 
 of camomiles, whose scent follows 
 us, continuing long after we have 
 passed, them. 
 
 All along the route we meet 
 with people, we pass peasants with 
 animals, on their way home from 
 the fields, veiled women on asses, 
 
 holding children before them, files of horses and camels, troops of 
 donkeys, droves of oxen, flocks of sheep. 
 
 The sun has set, a sharp breeze is blowing, and we are still very far 
 from the place where we intend to camj). We quicken our march, 
 trotting briskly, sometimes across ploughed fields, sometimes along the 
 narrow paths that line them. Here and there we come in sight of a group 
 of conical huts, a thatched roof, a clump of trees. Fields of wheat and 
 barley alternate with irregularly-shaped beds of maize and yellow clover. 
 
 The evening shadows deepen, the air grows still more cool, the 
 
 WOMAN TRAVELLIXG ON A MULE. 
 
120 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 blue mountains in the distance become almost black. In the sombre 
 vault of the sky, pale gleams of stars appear, and all the colours melt 
 into a great cold grey tint, which is spread over the whole of the vast 
 plain, unbroken, monotonous, infinite like the sea. 
 
 In the darkness we reach a hamlet, a few houses surrounded 
 
 PILLAGING TRIBES. 
 
 by straw ricks, near some tamarisks and olive-trees ; and by the 
 flickering gleam of lanterns, which scarcely ever give any light, 
 we pitch the tents in the vicinity of the dwellings. The site of 
 our camp is a barren waste, without a single flower or blade of grass. 
 The ground is strewn with old chopped straw, dusty flocks of wool, half 
 
IN THE PLAIN OF THE SEBOU. 
 
 121 
 
 gnawed bones, and dried thorn bouglis. A foul smell comes from 
 somewhere or other, doubtlessly from a carcase rotting not far off, a 
 dozen lean, stinking dogs prowl round our tents, and the whole night 
 long a frightful concert of hoarse, harsh, shrill voices is kept up, 
 mingled with brawls and lamentable howls. 
 
 Since we have crossed the Sebou, we are in the territory of the 
 "Beni-Hassan, — an ill-disposed race, so it seems, — unruly, plundering 
 tribes, given to assassination when they can get the chance. To-morrow 
 we shall be among the Cherabras, pillagers like their neighbours, but less 
 ferocious, and more amenable to the authority of the Sultan. 
 
THE MOUNTAINS OF MEQUINEZ. 
 
 Sidi Cassim, Wih January. 
 
 I HAVE found out to-day the cause of the nauseous breezes and all that 
 hullabaloo of last night. On putting my head out of the tent, I see, about 
 twenty paces off, all the dogs of the douar ravenously attacking the 
 carcase of a putrefied horse, which they are tearing piecemeal with 
 fangs hard at work. And to think that we have slept the whole night 
 with this carrion under our noses, while this loathsome banquet 
 was going on ! 
 
 The morning is fresh, the air keen, the sun, the beautiful friendly 
 sun, is shining brightly in the ethereal depths overhead. Again we 
 are in the plain, which unrolls before us with its monotonous and 
 fatiguing uniformity, its eternal curtain of blue mountains bounding 
 the horizon. 
 
 We flounder in soft ground, from which hosts of birds wing their 
 flight, we skirt miry pools, traverse drier regions, through mint, tall dry 
 
SIDI CASSIM. 123 
 
 hemlocks, which Lish our legs, thorny jujube-trees. The sun shines 
 fiercely on masses of reeking vapour, in which myriads of insects whirl, 
 clouds of mosquitoes hover near the ground, and in the thicket of leafless 
 trees and slender plants you see hive-shaped huts, goatskin tents with 
 pointed top, mouldy thatched roofs. 
 
 We are in a cultivated region, among clover, colzas, fields of barley 
 and maize. A village rises in the midst of tamarisks, evergreen oaks, 
 olive-trees. Some of the houses are two storeys high, and on the 
 walls of yellow clay arabesques are carved above the door, indicating 
 some sort of artistic tendency. Files of caravans continue to pass 
 by us, as well as little donkeys fearfully overburdened, handsome 
 horsemen with haughty bearing and splendid attire, and fine old men 
 on white mules richly caparisoned, followed by a numerous retinue of 
 servants. 
 
 The rear of our baggage is far behind, and we wait for it to come up 
 on the side of the road, close to a douar. We saunter up to the 
 entrance ; we hear loud words and suppressed laughter coming from 
 under the tents, then a nice brown girl advances with the timidity of 
 a scared antelope, and offers us eggs, which she holds in both hands. 
 She is young, very pretty, slim, and finely shaped ; on her forehead a 
 blue cross is tattooed, and when she smiles, her tiny nacred teeth gleam 
 between her moist lips as red as half-opened pomegranates. Her heavy 
 silver necklaces glitter on her breast, and her budding bosom rises and 
 falls beneath her white peplum. A tiger's claw and a piece of coral 
 are suspended as amulets to a strip of red cloth round her neck. Her 
 thick black hair, with blue shades, falls on her temples in two heavy plaits, 
 whose two ends are joined together on her back. She approaches us 
 slowly and hesitatingly, and with a lithe movement, full of peculiar grace, 
 she holds out her two hands witli the eggs. 
 
 Forestier, like a gallant knight, goes to meet her, his lips wreathed in 
 a smile, beneath his thick curly moustache, when, all at once, a toothless 
 old Arab appears on the scene, and with stick uplifted chases away the 
 girl into the tent, and plants himself before the intruder, growling and 
 rolling his eyes fearfully. Forestier, quite unperturbed, bows in courtly 
 style to the exasperated greybeard, and turning nimbly on liis heels 
 
]24 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 joins us at the opening of the douar. All this gives rise to a very 
 amusing mimic scene of desperate flirtation, played between us and the 
 pretty girl, of whom we catch a glimpse in the shade of the tent. 
 
 In the meantime, two old women, about to wash linen, have got into 
 a quarrel. They heap abuse on each other with ear-splitting voices, and 
 are just on the point of seizing one another by the hair, when the old 
 man, still armed with his cudgel, and happy at finding an opportunity 
 of venting his wrath on someone, comes and puts a stop to their brawl 
 by clutching them rudely by the neck and stationing them at opposite 
 
 SIDI CASSIM. 
 
 points of the douar, after stroking their ribs with one or two smart 
 applications of his matrack. 
 
 On the road some women pass by, carrying great bundles of sticks. 
 
 Our men arrive, and, after sending farewell kisses to the amiable 
 damsel in the douar, we set off and soon reach the Sebou again. We pro- 
 ceed for some time along its steep banks. Its turbid waters How at the 
 foot of a clay slope nearly fifty feet high. On the opposite side, which 
 rises with a gentle ascent, there are clusters of trees in bushy thickets, 
 and you perceive one or two huts, and sparse tents of camel's skin, 
 almost hidden by the vegetation. 
 
SIDI CASSIM. 
 
 125 
 
 We wind our way along a path on the extreme ridge of the river bank. 
 On our right, fields of barley, wheat, clover follow in succession, and 
 bands of plovers noisily fly out on all sides. A handsome old 
 man, clad in multitudinous muslin folds, advances from the opposite 
 direction, mounted on a tall grey 
 mule with a sleek coat and nice 
 small hoofs, caparisoned in sky- 
 blue velvet embroidered with yellow 
 silk. Soldiers accompany him, tlie 
 long barrels of their muskets chased 
 ■with silver glittering in the sun ; 
 their horses shake their thick manes, 
 and white flakes droop from their 
 mouths full of foam. When the 
 two columns halted and saluted 
 each other, his dark eyes flashed 
 for a moment. Our Kaid respect- 
 fully kissed his hand, which he 
 slowly put out from underneath 
 his burnoose — a delicate, finely 
 shaped hand that even a duchess 
 might envy. They conversed for 
 a moment, then slightly raising 
 himself in his saddle, he saluted 
 us with a scarcely perceptible nod, 
 and proceeded on his way with his 
 brilliant escort. 
 
 He is, so it seems, a governor 
 of some town or other, returninff 
 from Fez. He has really a most 
 distinguished appearance, this old 
 
 grandee, with a white beard, exquisitely neat, lost in the light confused 
 
 mass of his immaculate muslin garments, perfumed with benzoin and 
 
 aloes. His haughty, steady look, his grave, disdainful courtesy, tinged with 
 
 rony, almost with impertinence, have nothing that is common-place 
 
 OLD BEGGAR WOMAN AND CHILD. 
 
126 AMONG TUE MOORS. 
 
 about them, and convey a strong and peculiar " bou<|uet ' of high, 
 lordly breed. 
 
 Around us people are ploughing in the fields. Arabs manceuvre 
 wooden ploughs of the most primitive type. The teams that draw them 
 are of endless variety : here they are oxen, there horses or mules, 
 further on asses, or even a camel and an ass, and when there is a lack of 
 beasts, women supply their place. The soil is so light, the plough of so 
 little weight, and women are held in such low esteem — scarcely above 
 the level of a beast — that this monstrous custom appears quite natural 
 in these parts. 
 
 A lad perched on a little ass is returning from the fields, his day's 
 work done, with the two parts of his plough, taken to pieces, deposited 
 in the panniers on each side of his animal. 
 
 The mountains, as we get nearer, seem higher in the slcy, less blue, of 
 less uniform tint ; their summits are more distinct, their lines sharper. 
 You discern crevices, anfractuosities, and abrupt streaks of dark shade. 
 
 For an hour we ride over land with luxuriant vegetation, through 
 clover, colzas, and lavender, and again our mules trample daisies 
 and marigolds beneath their feet, and trot through lavender-fields. 
 Then we follow the high bank of a tributary of the Sebou, a pretty 
 large stream, with an abundance of fine trees on each side. "We pass 
 under the branches of huge fig-trees, old cork-trees, acacias, clearing a 
 passage through clusters of myrtles, bay -laurels, in the midst of flower- 
 bedecked gardens, through groves of orange-trees and pomegranates, 
 and, after advancing along rows of palm-trees, we come in sight of Sidi 
 Cassim, amid the green belt of its numerous orchards, tinged with rose- 
 colour by the last rays of the sun. Like a pigmy at the feet of a Titan, 
 it lies beneath the extreme spurs of the mountains of Mequinez, that 
 far-off range which every day was fleeing before us like a dream. 
 
 We have first of all to cross a lake of mud, which extends from one 
 side of the road to the other, and then we follow a dry and dusty street, 
 which brings us to a waste piece of ground, a barren, broken tract, 
 situated between the suburbs of the town and tiie river. 
 
 The ground is covered with chopped straw, wings of fowls, filth. 
 Dark rings of trodden soil indicate the places where previous caravans 
 
SIDI CASSIM. 
 
 127 
 
 liave encamped. Our men choose the cleanest spot they can find, clear 
 it as much as possible, and there we pitch our tents. 
 
 A young Kaid, the Deputy-Governor of the town, has come to 
 pay us a visit. He came wrapped in white silk muslin, and mounted 
 on a handsome grey horse, with a crimson saddle embroidered with 
 gold. He is accompanied by an old man, muffled up in a liglit blue 
 
 THE KOAD THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 burnoose and a haik white as snow, and followed by an escort of four 
 horsemen, guns in hand. 
 
 He stays to take tea with us, and seems glad to see Harris again, 
 who made his acquaintance a couple of years before. His delicate face, 
 modelled like that of an Egyptian sphinx, is full of expression, and 
 his features are extremely mobile. He is easily moved to laughter, 
 disclosing his fine neat teeth, handles everything, peers everywhere, 
 
128 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 and plies us with endless questions. A negro boy squats at his feet, and 
 an attendant carrying a lantern is waiting at the opening of the tent. 
 
 He takes Ingram's fur cloak for a wolf-skin ; and when he is told 
 that it is the skin of a bear, he is greatly puzzled, and seems to ask 
 liimself what such an animal can be really like. 
 
 Harris shows him his rifle, and explains its mechanism. The young 
 Ivaid takes the weapon, and asks for a cartridge to try it. They put 
 one in, and hand him the gun, with which he leaves the tent, brings it 
 to his shoulder, and fires right into the middle of a caravan about to 
 encamp near us, the ball missing its mark, but wounding the paw of 
 a dog that was barking at the new-comers. He then calmly gives back 
 the weapon to its owner, admitting with superb indifference that its 
 range is very accurate. 
 
 A short time before leaving, he shows us one of his teeth, which is 
 aching. Forestier gives him a lump of sugar moistened with a few 
 drops of chlorodyne, and also a little quinine, which he wants for one 
 of his friends who has a fever. 
 
 An hour after he left, he sends two of his servants to ask under 
 the seal of secrecy for a little brandy — for his hollow tooth, no doubt. 
 They have brought with them a magnificent sloughi, a hare-hound, 
 of which their master makes a present to Harris, and a copious 
 
 mouna for the caravan. 
 
 ****** 
 
 This morning Harris's sloughi has been brought to the camp. 
 During the night he had gnawed through the cord by which he was tied 
 to the bed of his new master, and had betaken himself to his former 
 owner. 
 
 We start from Sidi Cassim at an early hour. After skirting 
 orchards, crossing cultivated fields, and a few streams, we begin to 
 climb the foremost spurs of the mountain. A broad track of bare soil 
 stretches uway, looking like a wide strip of brown stuff, thrown over 
 the short greyish green grass, that covers a steep ascent straight in 
 front of us. This brings us to the top of a plateau, covered with 
 tumble-down rocks, where the road ceases. 
 
 "We proceed in a slanting course over enormous blocks of basalt 
 
SIDI CASSIM. 
 
 129 
 
 lying on deep dips, and rounded like tlie enormous back of some 
 antediluvian creature. These polished surfaces reflect dazzling gleams 
 of light and suffocating heat. A false step of the mule, and the rider 
 would be dashed to pieces at the foot of the precipice. We pick our 
 way into depressions, anfractuosities, hollows with muddy bottoms 
 covered with a thick network of dry grass, plants, and briars, from 
 which our entangled mules have some difficulty in extricating them- 
 selves. Halfway from the top we find a large road at one time com- 
 
 THE TOP OF THE FIRST SPUES. 
 
 pletely paved with rough flag-stones, but most of them having now been 
 carried off. The way is blocked by big boulders, fragments of rocks, 
 mounds of sand. It is cut in the cliff, and fenced by a low, half- 
 demolished wall forming a parapet. The mules can scarcely keep 
 their footing. 
 
 From the edge of this first gradient there is an admirable view. 
 At our feet lies Sidi Cassim in its nest of verdure, with its minarets 
 of triple gilded balls gleaming in tlie sun, its mosques with green 
 
130 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 tiles glistening witli bronze tints, its white houses rising on numerous 
 terraces, one above the other, while through its groves and orchards 
 the river winds its glittering stream. In the vast plain, the 
 meandering course of the Sebou looks like silver threads, and 
 farther off you can see Harbassiz, a faint white streak of mist. 
 Far in the background, on the horizon, a pale blue line of mountains 
 is lost in the sky. 
 
 We are now in the thick of the mass of the mountains. We climb 
 up 'slopes, descend through valleys, cross broad grey spaces completely 
 overgrown w^ith thistles. The caravans that have passed this way 
 have cleared a route through this vegetation, trampling down the 
 stalks, laying bare the soil, and from a distance this wide, beaten 
 track, contrasting with the light colours of . the hills, seems like a 
 large ribbon of dark velvet thrown over a carpet of grey silk. 
 
 At the base of the mountains, with tapering summits that extend 
 around us in a circle, the rich and dark soil rises and falls with soft 
 undulations, and big patches almost regular in form, long strips of 
 deep reddish brown, suggestive of cultivated fields, stand out on the 
 pale grey, the faint green ridges of the hills. Near some huts made of 
 branches, columns of curling smoke rise in the air from fires of 
 green grass and herbs, and peasants, hramines, are working in the 
 fields. Light vapours of very transparent blue float like gauze over 
 these valleys, filling all their recesses. 
 
 We have just emerged from a defile on to a sunny, open spot. 
 Under the shade of a rock an old Arab in rags is sittino; beside baskets 
 of oranges. We buy his whole stock for a trifling sum, and indulge 
 in a rare feast of fresh, sweet-smelling fruit. 
 
 The slouglii keeps well in tow. There's quite a scuffle among our 
 men for their turn to stroke him ; they think that his presence will 
 bring them good luck. 
 
 For hours together we continue through wild straits, over cultivated 
 plateaus, across flooded valleys ; then we reach the crest of the last 
 mountain spur overlooking a charming vale, where a tiny river 
 meanders capriciously, its banks lined with woods, studded with 
 plants, speckled with flowers. 
 
SIDI CASSIM. J 31 
 
 Between us and the river, almost close to it, comes out the dark 
 circle of the tents of a douar. From this point, looking straight 
 before us, we can distinctly see the crescent-shaped curve open towards 
 the river, formed by the grouping of the tents, surrounded by a thorn 
 fence. AVomen are at work, seated in a circle, others are on their way 
 to the river with pitchers ; old men are squatting near the tents, dogs 
 are roaming about, and we can hear their barks deadened by the 
 distance. 
 
 We make our way down. Near the douar we give a wide berth to 
 a dead ass, only to fall across the carcase of a dog, for which liis 
 infastidious tribe quarrel with ferocious growls. 
 
 TENTS OF BEDOUINS. 
 
 The river is on our right, and we get nearer to it or farther away 
 from it according to the winding of the road. Here and there we pass 
 an arch of an aqueduct near a marsh, a strip of an ancient ruined wall, 
 a hewn stone buried under some brambles. We proceed for a short 
 time along a goat-path, on the steep side of a hill, between masses of 
 crumbling rock, heaps of sand, and fording the river a few yards above 
 a line of mossy, granite blocks, over which the water gushes, we halt 
 on a patch of green turf covered with flowers, and separated from the 
 river by a curtain of shrubs. Here we are going to pitch our tents, 
 at a hundred yards from a village, perched on the slope of the hill. 
 
 The " guns " are scouring the uplands, Harris in front, blowing 
 
 K 2 
 
132 
 
 AMONG I'HE MOOES. 
 
 his horn with all his might. Its terrible fanfare has caused a frightful 
 uproar among the people of the village. Under the impression that 
 this strange noise, the like of which they have never heard before, is 
 the roar of some unknown fierce monster that has recently invaded 
 these regions, the men seize their weapons, the women take to flight, 
 the children scream, and the dogs with their tails between their legs 
 yelp in a most lugubrious fashion, and still from the thickets, from 
 
 
 ^ >k r •: 
 
 THE OUED-FARAOUN. 
 
 across the valleys, comes tlie vibrant, stentorian, indefatigable blast of 
 Harris's famous horn. Then the peal grows weaker, is lost in the 
 distance, ceases entirely ; the terrified natives are relieved, the dogs 
 stop their barking, and quiet is restored. 
 
 The peaceful valley sinks back into its delightful repose, its tranquil 
 murmurs, its winsome sadness. The pretty limpid stream flows gaily 
 o'er the white pebbles between its balmy banks of fine grass studded 
 with irises, hyacinths, daisies, buttercups, lined with rose-bays, willows. 
 
SIDI CASSIM. 
 
 133 
 
 pomegranates, sliding under the leafy domes, with emerald reflections, 
 with sweet and melodious ripples. 
 
 Immediately after sunset the sky is at once covered with a 
 dark blue, dull, leaden vapour, and on this dingy background the 
 mountains suddenly tinged with a crimson red, glitter with ardent tints 
 like molten metals, filling the valley with their scarlet gleams, as if 
 they were reflecting the flames of an immense conflagration. The effect 
 was singularly impressive, full of a wild and ominous splendour. 
 
 Tiie whole night long the men on guard have been singing and 
 shouting to one another. The place is haunted, so they say, and, what 
 is worse, the surrounding district is infested with brigands. 
 
MEQUtKEZ. 
 
 Mequinez, 2\st January. 
 
 We have been shooting all the morning on the banks of the charming 
 river the Oued-Faraonn, a tributary of the Oued-Rdoum. We made an 
 hecatomb of partridges. Antonio never misses his aim once, his 
 bitch Mitza has a remarkable scent and points wonderfully well; 
 Harris, thanks to his horn, or in spite of it, destroys a few young birds ; 
 Ingram and IMarshall do pretty fair work with Don and Eover ; 
 Forestier and I have wrought greater havoc with our pencils than with 
 our guns. 
 
 After a fearful carnage of fur and feather, who would fain have ended 
 their days in peace in their favourite haunts, we cross the graceful river 
 in turns on the back of Antonio's mule, which Sambo has just brought. 
 Ingram, however, following his amphibious instincts, plunges into the 
 stream with all his clothes on, and reaches the opposite bank as wet as 
 a drowned rat. From there we make our way to some Eoman ruins. 
 
MEQUINEZ. 
 
 135 
 
 rising on an elevation of the ground, the remains of Volubilis or Kasz- 
 Pharaoh, Pharaoh's Castle, as the Arabs call it, without knowing why. 
 
 The weather has cleared up, the wind has swept away the morning 
 mist, the sun has absorbed the copious dew, dried the wet copses, 
 hardened the slippery paths. 
 
 Of the antique Volul)ilis there remains only a triumphal arch of 
 disjointed stones finely laid, facing a wall pierced by a curved entrance, and 
 farther on the doors of a basilica. The ground, on which grow, among 
 the dwarf palms, stunted planks, thistles, brambles, is strewn with 
 hewn blocks and fragments of every kind. Bases of walls broken with 
 
 EUINS OF VOLUBILIS. 
 
 wide gaps extend in every direction, half buried under a wild vegeta- 
 tion. Numbers of pigeons rest on the summit of the ruined monument, 
 where vultures and falcons have made their nests, and eagles are soaring 
 away overhead. 
 
 And the lofty Eoman town is no more. The bulk of its layers of 
 stones has been carried off to build the ramparts of Mequinez, the 
 holy city of Islam, its columns have gone to adorn its imposing gate- 
 ways, its elegant porticoes ; its marbles have served to decorate its 
 palaces, as in Egypt the ancient walls of Memphis have served as 
 quarries to the builders of Fostat ; its columns have supported the 
 
136 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 arcades of its mosques; its slabs of porphyry embellished their 
 sanctuaries. 
 
 The ancient city, taken to pieces bit by bit, has been transported, 
 stone by stone, over mountains, across plains, through valleys, on the 
 backs of camels, in the Icovfas of mules, and parts of columns left on 
 the roadside still mark the route followed by these devastators of the 
 past, these rapacious sons of the desert demolishing the work of others 
 in order to appropriate the wreck, with the same stupid recklessness, the 
 same heedlessness with which they let their own work fall into decay. 
 
 At a mile and a half from this place, in a wild glen, whose rugged 
 heights stand sharply against the sky, the town of Mouley-Idriss rises 
 in terraces on the steep slope, and the yellow ochre tints of its walls 
 form a marked contrast to the deep green of its gardens of fig-trees and 
 olives echelonned on the mountain side. 
 
 This town of Mouley-Idriss is a venerated sj)ot. Its zaouia encloses 
 the tomb of the most holy Mouley-Idriss Ben-Abdallah, father of the 
 glorious founder of Fez. Admittance is strictly prohibited to Jews and 
 Christians, who would run the chance of being massacred if they tried 
 to enter it in spite of the risk. 
 
 Ingram and Harris, accompanied by the Kaid, have started on as 
 quartermasters to Mequinez, in order to secure our billets from the 
 governor, to whom we have a letter of introduction from Si-Torres ot 
 Tangier, the Foreign Secretary of Morocco. We have also a letter from 
 the Sultan, which gives a right to the mouna, and enjoins the Pashas, 
 Sheiks, Kaids, and other functionaries of the empire under dire penalties 
 to ensure the safety of our lives. None the less, we always prefer to 
 pay for the provisions that the country people bring us, and our Kaid 
 has been instructed to settle their claims. For some time, however, we 
 have had dim suspicions that he has not paid the unfortunate peasants a 
 farthing, but pocketed a nice little sum at our expense and theirs. We 
 discovered later on that what we suspected was only too true, and at 
 Fez the old scoundrel got such a dressing from the Kaid MacLean, at 
 whose house we had been most delightfully entertained, that the threat 
 of a sound cudgelling cured him of these little freaks, I fancy, during 
 the rest of the journey. 
 
MEQUINEZ. 137 
 
 We make headway aloug gently sloping hillsides, across sandy 
 tracts and hillocks, intersected by deep and narrow trenches scooped by 
 the rains. We are constantly meeting with men on foot, armed soldiers 
 on horseback, droves of camels, caravans of merchants. 
 
 Sometimes, in one of these tortuous galleries cut in the sand, where 
 you can't see live yards in advance, you come across a great monster of 
 a camel balancing big beams poised on each side, digging up the sand 
 with a catapult-like movement. As there isn't enough room to march 
 two abreast, especially when you have one of these unpleasant heavily- 
 laden beasts in front, one of you must give way to the other and go 
 back, and as the camel with his usual obstinacy does not see it in that 
 light, as the cataj)ults evolve in a redoubtable fashion, you deem it 
 prudent to wheel with all speed and turn into the first branch road you 
 can find, at the risk of encountering the same difficulties all over again. 
 It's amusing for the first time, but in the end it gets rather wearisome. 
 
 At the edge of a rocky jilateau we halt, struck by the magnificent 
 panorama unfolded before us. The steep, barren declivity, littered with 
 crumbling rocks, scattered fragments, cropping seams of limestone, de- 
 scends to a vast expanse dotted wdth mounds, bounded by a belt of moun- 
 tains : those in the south, straight before us, with their summits covered 
 with snow, while farther off, a little to the right, rise the snowy peaks of 
 the Atlas range, illuminated with the purple tints of the setting sun. 
 
 In the midst of this grandiose amphitheatre Mequinez the holy, the 
 white town, appears like a vision. It is so far, far away that you can 
 only distinguish a clear, vapoury mass of a pale fair golden tint ; you 
 catch a rosy reflection, a gleam of glittering metal, a green lustre from 
 the roof of a mosque, a yellow band with amber shades formed by the 
 line of ramparts ; but all that indistinct, toned down, subdued, full of 
 inexpressible harmony and infinite sweetness. 
 
 We descend the frightful incline, we climb the hillsides, disappear 
 in confined ravines, and we come to a wooded region with park-like 
 aspects. A large gathering of people, flocks, droves are pressing on to 
 the city. We cross a river, the Edoum, by a large,, old, dilapidated 
 bridge, quite grey, entirely eaten by lichen. 
 
 We are now in the midst of the crowd, a feverish hurrying throng 
 
138 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 eager to get on, and the incessant, tlie eternal cry of halcuh, 
 howled, groaned, in every variety of tone imaginable, ruthlessly rends 
 our ears. Antonio advises us to urge on our beasts like tlie rest, for the 
 gates are going to be closed, and away we are borne in this torrent of 
 men, women, oxen, sheep, goats, horses, camels, donkeys, mules, who shout, 
 roar, bleat, whine, bellow, bray. On they go, trotting, running, galloping, 
 rushing in a furious whirlwind up the broad road to the town. Pungent 
 
 odours, stifling smells are 
 r given off from that perspiring 
 
 flesh, from those bodies clash- 
 ing and squeezing, and a pro- 
 longed peal re-echoes like the 
 heavy roll of distant thunder. 
 
 Amid the surj^inq; mass the 
 beams on the backs of the 
 camels are driven right and 
 left against men and beasts 
 like battering-rams. Oxen 
 with wild eyes, and shreds of 
 burnooses sticking to their 
 horns, pant and puff; mules 
 bite each other, horses rear, 
 donkeys kick, and the roaring 
 torrent rolls towards the town, 
 is engulfed in the arch of a 
 gigantic gateway, and glides 
 away into the streets. This 
 frantic stampede looks wonder- 
 like a rout, a panic of defeated troops rushing madly into a 
 town with the enemy at their heels. 
 
 Our Kaid, accompanied by a horseman sent by the Pasha to meet us, 
 is standing outside the gate watching for our arrival. He has caught 
 sight of us, makes his way through the crowd, and takes us to the 
 house that we are to occupy. 
 
 We pass through broad, muddy, and gloomy streets, with scarcely a 
 
 ENTRAKCE GATE To MEQUINEZ. 
 
 fully 
 
MEQUINEZ. 
 
 139 
 
 m/k: 
 
 soul in them. The KuiJ seems in a <^reat huny, and leads us, at a round 
 pace, through a labyrinth of lanes. We pass under wretched arches, 
 dingy vaults, and we halt before a low, massive door studded with rows 
 of nails, the door of the house that the Pasha has put at our disposal 
 during the time we are going to stay at Mequinez. The threshold is 
 very high, the arch very low, and we have to stoop in order to get in. 
 In a square, bent corridor paved with tiles we pass through a second 
 door on the left, and we find ourselves in a spacious open courtyard. 
 It is surrounded by arcades, in the 
 back of which are wide folding-doors 
 of cedar giving access into long, 
 narrow rooms with very high ceil- 
 ings. In one of the leaves of each 
 door there is a second and smaller 
 doorway. 
 
 Harris relates with much humour 
 the summary fashion in wliich the 
 former occupants have been turned 
 out. This morning, therefore, he had 
 resolved to set off at full speed to 
 Mequinez with Ingram and the Kaid. 
 His object was to arrive in time to 
 take the necessary steps to obtain 
 from the Pasha quarters for ourselves 
 and men. The Kaid had positively de- 
 clined to go with them, pretending 
 
 that his jaded horse could never make such a long journey at a stretch ; 
 so El Aissoui had boldly spurred on his steed, followed by Ingram, and 
 left the old soldier behind him. Harris actually confessed that he was 
 most indiscreet in risking his life, without a responsible Kaid at hand, on 
 thisroad, where he would be sure to come across fanatics of the purest 
 water at every slip, and where at any moment the terrible Zemours miglit 
 rush upon him from the tops of their mountains, and then ... it 
 would have been all up with him and his unfortunate companion. 
 The " Illustrated London News " would appear in mourning columns, 
 
 THE DOOR OF OUR HOUSE. 
 
140 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 Forestier would rise to the occasion with a striking sketch representing 
 them struggling as long as a particle of breath w as left ; I, heart- 
 broken, would give a pathetic description of their lamentable end, their 
 names would be handed down to posterity, and . . . the journal would 
 print off half a million copies. 
 
 But fortunately Harris's lucky star decreed that instead of fanatics 
 he should meet with worthy traders, who, far from picking a quarrel 
 with him, politely greeted him, asking him to show them his revolver, 
 whose fame had reached their ears, and with this request he most 
 graciously complied, nor could he say nay to them when they begged 
 him to sound a blast on his horn. 
 
 At one moment, however, he was rather startled. While fording a 
 river he suddenly heard a furious gallop behind him, which he imagined 
 could be nothing else than that of a big troop of mounted soldiers. No 
 doubt they were the fierce Zemours pursuing him at a breakneck speed. 
 He dug his spurs in the flanks of his horse, who in a couple of leaps 
 reached the other bank, and at the moment when resolving to meet his 
 fate like a man, he breathed one brief prayer and turning suddenly 
 round prepared, revolver in hand, to sell his life dearly, he saw. . . 
 Ingram, whom he had completely forgotten, landing on the bank close 
 beside him, a trifle astonished at seeing him in this bellicose attitude, 
 and, about two hundred yards off he descried, not the dread Zemours, 
 but the poor, panting old Kaid, who had at length changed his mind, and 
 putting his broken-winded jade into a wild gallop, was struggling to 
 overtake him. After this false alarm they reached Mequinez safe and 
 sound, and there they had to wait a long time at the Pasha's door before 
 they could obtain an audience. 
 
 The crafty prancing of Harris's steed quickly dispersed a pestering 
 crowd whose impudence went so far as to invoke all the maledictions of 
 heaven on his head, and whose ignorance was so sublime that they mistook 
 our beloved Eover for a black sheep. He had afterwards presented 
 his letters of introduction to the Pasha, who, impressed by his chivalrous 
 and imposing mien, had treated him with profound deference, and with 
 leisurely haste endeavoured to find the house for him and his ..." suite." 
 
 As there were none vacant, the Pasha's soldiers entered the first 
 
MEQUINEZ. 
 
 141 
 
 dwelling they came to, and proceeded briskly to turn out the occupiers, 
 bidding them pack up their furniture and decamp with as little delay 
 
 ZEMOUKS MOUNTAINEERS. 
 
 as possible. The poor stupefied people were forced to comply : men, 
 women and children set to work with all speed, and in half an hour 
 they liad removed all their goods and chattels. 
 
142 AMONG THE MOOKS. 
 
 Just as after the joiuniey to Slieshouan Harris's friends had remon- 
 strated with him fur his excessive daring, we too in turn heaped 
 reproaches upon him for venturing upon this reckless expedition, in 
 which with unpardonable imprudence he had so lightly risked the life 
 of his trusty companion and his own. We felt, I must confess, a sort 
 of retrospective terror when we called to mind that we too, without 
 even a soldier to protect us, had exposed ourselves to the same dangers, 
 and had escaped as miraculously from them, but with this advantage, as 
 Harris sensibly remarked to us, with a swift smile, that as we had not 
 been forewarned of the perils, the pleasure of the journey had not been 
 spoiled by any disagreeable apprehension. The truth of this specious 
 remark was too self-evident not to be accepted at once by us all. 
 
 The house is roomy and damp. The floor is paved with tiles, green, 
 black, yellow and white. A hole in the centre serves as a drain for 
 rain-water and domestic liquids. Under one of the porticoes we hear 
 the bubbling of a fountain, the water of which flows in two jets from a 
 lovely piece of inlaid mosaic embedded in the wall. In the form of a 
 horseshoe, it is of a charming design, the result of the alternation and 
 interlacing of subjects derived from the circle and the hexagon. 
 Around it is a frame of two narrow pilasters surmounted by a cornice, 
 The water falls into a vast square basin externally dressed with tiles. 
 Beside it lies a big pitcher. 
 
 At the four angles of the court are square stucco columns supporting 
 rafters of corbelled and carved cedar, which form the opening of the 
 portico. The gallery of the first floor, where our men are quartered, rests 
 on these rafters. The moucharahieh balustrade, with panels of various 
 shapes, is a delicate piece of w^ork, and its lines are combined with 
 unerring taste. On the top of the house a terrace enclosed by a wall 
 from five to six feet high serves as a roof. A completely dark winding 
 staircase, scarcely a couple of feet wide, is constructed in one of the 
 corners of the building, and communicates with all the floors from the 
 OTOund to the terrace. 
 
 But everything about the place is old, worn, and shabby ; the tiles 
 of the fountain are falling one by one, those in the courtyard show 
 numerous gaps between them, the graceful interlaced ornaments on the 
 
STREET IN MEQUIMEZ. 
 
 [To face p. 142. 
 
MEQUINEZ. 
 
 143 
 
 f 
 
 pilasters of the doors are chipped away, the mouldings of the imposts 
 are defaced, tlie archivolts are hacked, the big cedar doors shining with 
 dirt are rotten, the moucharahielis are disjointed and full of holes. 
 
 An all-pervading dampness mingled with the nauseous stench from 
 sewers fills the whole house. 
 
 The sky is overcast, the rain begins to fall, and our quarters assume 
 a lugubrious aspect. 
 
 This morning, on leaping out 
 of bed, we catch from our dim 
 well a glimpse of a square patch 
 of blue, over which big white 
 clouds tinged with gold are 
 rolling, bullied by the wind. 
 
 Some Jews arrive. From 
 underneath their black shabby 
 garments they extract from 
 dirty check handkerchiefs 
 bracelets, silver collars, copper 
 candlesticks, and importune us 
 to buy at exorbitant prices these 
 almost worthless articles. We 
 leave them to effect bargains with 
 Harrisand Ingram, andForestier 
 and I set off to see the town 
 under the guidance of Antonio. 
 
 Our narrow alley lined by 
 high dead walls opens on to a 
 fairly wide street. The houses 
 are rather low, and there are 
 wide empty spaces between them. Everywhere are filth, plashes of 
 mud, big blocks of stone interspersed here and there. Shop fronts are 
 fitted into pieces of walls cracked and split by the sun ; their foundations 
 are laid bare by the rain, the closed shutters are worm-eaten, and the 
 disjointed boards of the porches are covered with thick green moss. 
 
 % 
 
 1 4^ 
 
 \J 
 
 t^ ^y*« 
 
 ■ ' 1 
 
 1 1^ 
 
 
 i' . j»«^'!^'^^B- 
 
 .1* 
 
 ■ - %© -^ V* t ^^ 
 
 
 
 STREET IN MEQUINEZ. 
 
144 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 A long plank-roofed passage looks like a dark hole ; at the end of 
 it yoLi perceive a square of light neatly defined on a lime washed 
 wall, and in this dazzling spot another hole, the entrance to another 
 passage. 
 
 In the square an enormous sycamore shadows a number of rickety 
 greenish booths, most of them empty and many others boarded up. 
 
 We halt for a while under a broad cinter gateway ornamented with 
 arabesques of pure design. It opens in a grey wall entirely covered 
 with a lepra of yellow lichen ; wild plants, mosses, flowers that grow on 
 its ruined summit, shrubs and thistles that flourish between the stones, 
 lend to it an aspect of utter decay and decrepitude. Under the vault 
 seats of stones are leaning on each side against the base of the wall. A 
 second ogee archway of equal size faces the first and leads us into the 
 court of an inn, a fondak. The skylight aperture above our heads 
 is barred by a tall iron grating. The bevelled columns of the porticoes, 
 inside the court, are protected at their inferior part by a wooden case ; 
 from their imposts arches start, broken by curves and straight lines, 
 intersected by a triple row of superposed beams surmounted by a 
 moucharabieh gallery. Doors on the ground and first floors give access 
 to rooms let to merchants and travellers. 
 
 Everything about the place is in an indescribable state of dilapida- 
 tion. The paving in the court is torn up, on the ground are pools of 
 putrid water, in which vegetable refuse, legs of fowls, some horrid 
 vertebrae, are rotting; the wooden sheaths, ornamented at the top 
 Ijy a thin torsel delicately carved, are eaten away at the bottom and 
 bespattered with mud ; portions of the graceful 77ioucJiarahieh gallery, 
 covered with a thick coat of mud coagulated by the rain, hang from the 
 first floor ; stucco that once moulded the delicate edges of the arches 
 and pilasters has disappeared, exposing the bare bricks, and on the 
 degraded fagades unsightly denuded slabs still accentuate the air of 
 utter forlornness, of profound desolation, that reigns in this damp and 
 nauseous court. 
 
 In some of the corners baulks and trunks of trees lie piled upon the 
 ground, and sawyers are at work manccuvring their big saws. Under 
 one of the arcades an Arab is squatting, cooking food on a clay stove. 
 
INTERIOR OF A FONDAK IN JIEQUINEZ. 
 
 ITt) Jace j>. U4. 
 
MEQUINEZ. 
 
 145 
 
 A massive door that has fallen off the hinges of the second archway has 
 been removed beside the columns, where it will remain for ever, exposed 
 to the attacks of sun, the injuries of rain, instead of being replaced in 
 its former position. Now and again a door opens, an Arab sallies forth 
 silently, shuts the door behind him, and betakes himself off. 
 
 We traverse vaulted passages, winding lanes, sombre alleys, between 
 immense, high, severe blank walls, and the desperate uniformity of these 
 great frontages is never broken, except at 
 rare intervals, by a loophole in the form 
 of a cross, a narrow aperture blocked by 
 boards grey with dust, a low door studded 
 with projecting nails. And not a sound 
 breaks the silence of these gloomy dungeons, 
 where our footsteps, deadened by the thick 
 coat of dust, make no noise, where at 
 times a white shadow glides along like a 
 phantom and disappears round the corner 
 of a wall. And as you advance at the 
 bottom of the sombre trench you feel 
 oppressed by the taciturn sadness of these 
 stern facades, these deserted streets. 
 
 We are now near the bazaar, in a 
 picturesque crossing. A part of the street 
 is sheltered, the rest is open ; the sun falls 
 upon the walls, and the light streams in 
 dazzling sheets. Parts of walls are entirely 
 covered with remarkably worked mouch- 
 arahieh. A few shops are open ; one of the shutters is raised as a 
 protection against the sun, the other is laid in front of the entrance, and 
 the bulging framework of its panels serves as steps up to the tiny store- 
 house. The street is nothing but a long miry marsh. We are forced to 
 skirt along the walls, holding on to the awnings, to the door lintels, to 
 anything that we can seize, in order to keep our footing on the narrow 
 dry paths that run along on both sides of the way. 
 
 Here is a handsome Moor, with soft eyes, finely-filed and polished 
 
 WOMAN OF FEZ PROMENADING. 
 
146 AMONG THE JklOORS. 
 
 nails, preciously set in the flesh, daintily trimmed, and stained with 
 henna. Draped in his white, scented muslin, shod in wooden high- 
 heeled pattens, plated with pointed iron caps and fastened to the instep 
 by red leathern thongs embroidered with rose silk, he advances with 
 slow precaution, carefully avoiding the mud and splashes. He passes 
 close by us with disdainful indifference, intent on the beads of his 
 rosary. He made his way towards a shop, lifted one shutter, took down 
 the other, entered his niche, and squatted in the waving of the trans- 
 parent muslins of his haik, beside a pyramid of flour of an immaculate 
 whiteness. 
 
 We pass by the entrances to mosques, with gigantic ogees adorned 
 with marvellous laces of arabesque. Through the half-open doors, with 
 bronze fittings, you vaguely perceive in the blue penumbra innamerable 
 rows of columns, infinite perspectives of arcades, porticoes, jets of water 
 flowing from walls constellated with mosaics, and falling down into 
 marble basins, corners of courts paved with tiles blazing in the sun. 
 
 An iron chain, supported by two bronze pillars, is stretched across 
 the doorway. On the threshold, lying rolled in rugs, horrible-looking 
 creatures, eaten up with fearful ulcers, repugnant leprosy, beg, chanting 
 the praises of Allah. On seeing us they half raise their cadaverous 
 bodies, exhibiting their hideous sores ; their eyes gleam with a deeper 
 flare, their voices grate still more harshly, their emaciated features are 
 lit by a still flercer exultation, and, lifting their shrivelled arms, they 
 invoke maledictions on our heads. 
 
 Then we reach the main street of the bazaar, a broad way with 
 high walls protected, by a roof of reeds on cross-beams, from the rays 
 of the sun, which dart through its numerous apertures and flash on 
 white walls with a thousand tongues of fire. 
 
 Here, as everywhere else, the middle of the street is nothing but a 
 sewer, but there is a trifle more animation. The greater part of the 
 shops are open, displaying fcrradjieh, scarlet caftans, burnooses, rose, 
 violet, pale blue silk cords, woven with gold. They sell dressed 
 leather, boots, red, blue, and yellow slippers embroidered with silk and 
 gold, saddles, harness for mules and horses, stirrups inlaid with gold 
 and silver, and spurs with points as sharp as stilettos. 
 
MEQUINEZ, 147 
 
 Piles of carpets of coarse Eabat and Mogador wool fill the small 
 recesses, and behind you catch sight of the shopkeeper huddled up in a 
 small space, smoking cigarettes or mechanically twining the beads of his 
 rosary, supremely indifferent to the few customers that might drop in. 
 
 Farther on are the olccls occupied by Jews, some of whom are care- 
 fully sorting stalks of dried sarsaparilla, senna-leaves in little boxes, 
 whUe others sell sugar, tobacco, spices. 
 
 Here and there a high, grey minaret rises above the cracked walls, 
 towering above the street with its powerful silhouette ; its tarnished tiles 
 gleam with soft lustre, and its gilded balls sparkle. Storks have made 
 their nests between the embrasures of its gallery, and they scarcely wing 
 their heavy flight when the muedden, appearing on the balcony, hoists 
 the white flag and summons the true believers to prayer. 
 
 We pass a high ruined gateway, more wretched than any we have 
 yet seen. The sides of its walls disappear under a dense row of 
 rickety stalls, each clinging to the other, in which hang bridles, bags, 
 belts. In some nooks women squat near baskets of oranges, and Arabs 
 selling dates and dried figs are crouching. 
 
 Not far off, in half- tumbledown shops whose decay beggars descrip- 
 tion, odds and ends of every variety are heaped up : rusty sabres with 
 handles of rhinoceros horn, yataghans, old powder-flasks of fantastic 
 shapes, lances, guns, tambourines, flutes, harness, pottery. And all 
 these relics of bygone days stranded there are worn, broken, and 
 shrivelled like the frail old men with dim eyes who handle them with 
 their decrepit hands. 
 
 Near by is the goldsmiths' quarter, a number of narrow lanes 
 running out of a very wide, very dirty, very uneven place, with the 
 inevitable stream full of refuse offal. Centenary mulberry-trees and 
 sycamores throw a little shade over the broad road. 
 
 The houses are simply low cubes of masonry pierced with a square 
 hole. Inside, in front of a counter of white wood near a forge of the 
 most infantine simplicity, men are working gold and silver articles with 
 primitive tools, and on dusty shelves silver trinkets of extraordinary 
 shape are displayed. These are clasps, on which, instead of emeralds 
 and rubies, false pearls and Venetian coloured glass beads have been 
 
 L 2 
 
148 
 
 AMONG THE ]\IOORS. 
 
 encrusted ; heavy necklaces of strange design, anklets and bracelets 
 of the time of Mouley-Ismail, worn out by the contact with the 
 limbs, jewellery from the Soudan. There are tigers' claws, lions' 
 teeth set in silver, with coral pendants to ward off the evil eye ; 
 silver flasks filled with liolieid for staining the eyebrows, quaint, 
 curiously-chased amulets to keep off the djinns. 
 
 Crafty Jews follow us closely, 
 and with a diffident expression 
 they take out from torn and dirty 
 handkerchiefs costly jewels, which 
 they torment us to buy. 
 
 Farther on are tlie armourers, 
 the blacksmiths, almost naked, 
 working in larger rooms under- 
 ground, manufacturing the long- 
 barrelled muskets for the warriors 
 of the Moghreb. 
 
 We return to the old dilapi- 
 dated doorway, which is that of 
 the Mellah, the Jews' quarters, an 
 accumulation of houses huddled 
 together. 
 
 From the slimy, shiny soil, 
 raising itself higher and higher 
 by the superposed coats of filth, 
 rotten vegetables, and putrefying 
 flesh, a stench for which there 
 is no name rises mingled with 
 abominable kitchen smells. .^Ul 
 these things float in thick oppressive vapours between the sweating 
 M'alls, where space is wanting, and you feel your heart giving way. 
 
 In some squalid by-streets repulsively dirty dealers sell some sorts 
 of repugnant goods. Scurvy, tattered children swarm, wallowing in 
 gutters of stagnant water with mangy dogs. Pallid yellow men, in black 
 skull-caps, with long greasy curly hair, pass by, with shoulders bent and 
 
 WOMAN OF MEQTJINEZ AT HOME. 
 
MEQUINEZ. 
 
 149 
 
 blinking eyes, squeezed in their dark robes, near some others with 
 roseate faces, black goggle eyes, reddish locks. 
 
 Heavy, commonplace women, of a sickly pallor, are sitting on the 
 thresholds, winnowing the head of their progeny ; and the flabby flesh of 
 their unwieldy feet falls in rings of fat round their leather slippers. 
 
 Through a door ajar I perceive a Jewess with painted brows, black, 
 deep eyes, decked in festive attire. She has a dull, pallid, wax -like 
 complexion ; on her head is a pointed mitre brocaded with gold ; heavy 
 earrings frame her face ; on her legs are bangles, and her wrists are 
 
 
 TijjiJf: 
 
 !.(»*; 4 f, 
 
 
 ^^Jimr-^^- 
 
 'p^'i 
 
 SQUARE FACING THE KASBAH. 
 
 encircled by bracelets, set with stones. The stuff enveloping her bust 
 is quite bedizened with gilded trimmings, and tightly pressed over her 
 chemise, spangled with gold ; and her velvet skirt, with a corner covered 
 with large gold embroideries, falls straight down without a single fold. 
 
 Through open doors reeking, sickening gusts escape and stick to the 
 walls, impregnating the garments of this sallow-faced people, whose 
 unwholesome skin gives off sickening odours. 
 
 ' -i We are glad to return to the mournful aspect of the big grey walls, 
 the sepulchral tranquillity of the ruined quarters, to lose ourselves in 
 
150 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 deserted streets, in dark passages, where grave, stately Moors, clad in 
 their white perfumed garments, wend their silent way. 
 
 This afternoon we set off to see the ^Kashah. Tortuous lanes bring 
 us to a vast arid square surrounded with walls. On our left a line of 
 huge blocks crops out of the ground, smoothed by the rain, the sun, 
 and the people that sit on them, and runs parallel to a high wall, quite 
 sinister in its nudity. On the opposite side is a lower wall, against 
 which a few shops are built. Behind us rise the crenellated walls of 
 the town, dominated by two tall minarets ; and we see, like a black hole, 
 the gateway through which we have just passed. In front of us, 
 forming the fourth side of the square, are the ruddy, yellow, embattled 
 ramparts of the Kasbah, in which opens the magistral gateway of 
 Mouley-Ismail, the cruel sultan, the great saint, the patron of Morocco. 
 
 Its imposing mass, interrupting the line of the ramparts, stands out 
 in its robust elegance, full of sombre majesty, between its two square 
 bastions, whose arches rest on short massive pillars of marble. 
 
 The gigantic horseshoe-shaped ogee is supported on each side by 
 two smaller columns of marble. A flange of finely-delineated arabesques 
 runs round it with its graceful festoons, and a square frame, a sort of 
 ribbon, on which verses from the Koran are scrolled in black letters on 
 a green ground, separates it distinctly from the rest of the high fafade, 
 completely hidden under the magnificent layer of its tiles. 
 
 One stands amazed at the perfect arrangement of the tens of thou- 
 sands of these little glazed pieces, w^hose setting is lost in alternations of 
 curves and broken lines, intersecting with each other, in endless variety, 
 in a series of geometrical combinations of marvellous complexity, but at 
 the same time exquisitely graceful in their charming fantasy. 
 
 The shadows thrown by the relief of the interlaced ornaments play 
 with the shimmering lights falling on the innumerable tiles, subduing 
 the vigour of the tones, softening the lines, bathing the whole in an 
 immense warm, calm, restful tonality, of an indefinable harmony, wliich 
 inclemency of weather and the patina of centuries have only serN'ed to 
 accentuate by mixing yet more the shades in one.great, neutral, ambered 
 tint of infinite softness, of a grandiose melancholy. 
 
 The base of the gateway is degraded and corroded, and the whole ol" 
 
MEQUINEZ. 
 
 151 
 
 the lower part, to the height of ten feet, has been whitewashed, and the 
 deHcate arabesques, the fine mouldings, have disappeared under the 
 successive coats of lime. 
 
 The space under the gateway 
 between the oo'ee facing tlie town, 
 and the opposite one that opens 
 into the courtyard of the Kasbali, 
 is covered by a lofty vault. 
 Here is the entrance to the 
 Justice, a little door in a plank 
 partition. Under low arches, 
 built in the thickness of the 
 wall, Arabs are lying on stone 
 steps, and the ground is paved 
 with round, shiny pebbles. 
 
 The fapade overlooking the 
 courtyard is quite plain, with- 
 out a single ornament. It is 
 dressed with a thick layer of 
 yellowish plaster, which is fall- 
 ing away in patches, laying bare 
 the bricks beneath through big 
 excoriations. The ogee of the 
 doorway rests also on small 
 marble columns. The summit 
 of the building is partly dis- 
 mantled, and plants, shrubs, 
 wall-flowers, grow on the ruined 
 fronton, between the embra- 
 sures that are still left, and 
 on the top of the wall with 
 which the door is connected on each side. 
 
 Above the doorway iron hooks are firmly fixed. After each revolt of 
 the tribes the rebel leaders, hurled from the top of the battlements with 
 ferocious skill, are caught by these sinister points, where they remain 
 
 BRINGING HEADS OF REBELS. 
 
152 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 exposed as a terrifying example of the omnipotent justice of the Sultan, 
 and the birds of prey come to pluck their eyes from their sockets, while 
 life is still left in the body, and tear the quivering flesh from the bones, 
 and the corpses will not be taken down until the putrefied flesh has 
 come off and fallen on the ground beneath in nauseous shreds, over which 
 the dogs by day, and the jackals at night, fight. 
 
 We are in the inner Courts of the Kashah. AVe pass doorways 
 opening on to large, empty, silent spaces enclosed by ranges of 
 threatening walls. We skirt along interminable grey chinked enceintes, 
 grope our way under rude arches, and arrive at an airy rectangular 
 esplanade surrounded by walls and buildings. 
 
 The sky lowers, the thunder bursts, and the rain falls in torrents. 
 We take shelter under a portico in front of a door plated with copper 
 sheet, and fastened by a strong padlock of choice design and of original 
 and intricate manufacture. From there we see, flanked by ruined 
 buildings and surmounted by gilded balls, the green roofs of the Jcliouha, 
 in a perfect state of preservation, which contain the tombs of the Sultan 
 Mouley-Abdhuram and of Mouley-Ismail, the most venerated sultan 
 in all Morocco. He was an ugly customer, this Mouley-Ismail. He 
 used to cut off with his own hands the heads of the craftsmen who 
 didn't do their work to his liking, smash the bricks on the heads of the 
 builders when they were not of good quality, and entombed Christian 
 slaves alive if they happened to displease him. 
 
 The rain has stopped, the sun has made its reappearance, and we 
 move on from the door that bears the charming padlock. Near by is a 
 hole in the ground, something like an ox3ening for a cellar ; it is the 
 entrance to immense vaults, extending, so say the Arabs, underneath the 
 whole palace. Forestier and I venture into it. The ground slopes 
 sharply down, lighted by the faint gleam that comes through the narrow 
 opening. We roll, rather than descend, the declivity, and stumble to the 
 bottom across the dried carcase of a camel. Vaulted semicircular roofs 
 with massive pillars extend in every direction. Bats whisk past us at 
 every moment, our feet slip on viscous matter, and a stale odour of 
 mould and rot pervades these funereal passages. We make all speed to 
 escape by another gallery that brings us on to the square. 
 
[2'o/uce p. 152. 
 BOOR OP THE KASHAll OF MEQUINEZ lUiOM THE INTElilOli OF THE KASliAH. 
 
MEQUINEZ. 
 
 153 
 
 It is in vaults of this kind, according to the Arabs, that the Sultans 
 have been wont from time immemorial to store their treasures, and 
 terrible legends are told of men 
 entombed inside these massive 
 walls, of miserable negroes forced 
 to guard these hoards and remain 
 in these fatal dungeons till they 
 died, without once seeing the 
 light of day ! And, in truth, 
 the sight of these lugubrious 
 passages, these ruined chambers, 
 these desolate crypts, makes you 
 inclined to accept as gospel 
 truth these strange tales, in which 
 Harris, with his love for the 
 marvellous, puts implicit faith. 
 
 We advance now along series 
 of interminable embattled ram- 
 parts, of gloomy, crumbling walls 
 sapped at their base, and only 
 kept standing by a miracle of 
 equilibrium. We walk through 
 pierced vaults, pass by terraces, 
 towers, bastions lying one upon 
 the otlier, entangled in a most 
 vertiginous disorder, retaining, in 
 spite of their caducity, their 
 ravaged flanks, a fierce and im- 
 posing air. 
 
 We cross broad, abandoned 
 tracts and between lofty, sombre 
 walls, enclosing naturally grown 
 gardens ; we stroll over plots of thin grass full of poppies, daisies, 
 anemones. 
 
 The general tone of all this agglomeration of walls, arches, passages. 
 
 ■^- 
 
 VAULTS IN THE KAS15AH. 
 
154 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 falling-clown towers, made of sand and lime, is yellow ochre with long 
 streaks of red brown. All these things are worn out, crumbling, slowly- 
 disaggregating, and seem to have been cut out of hardened sand. A wild 
 veo"etatiou has taken root, invades and covers little by little the rubbish ; 
 mignonettes, stocks, grow lietween the mosses, on the tops of the walls ; 
 thorn, thistles, bushes conceal yawning gaps ; gigantic cactuses spring 
 
 up in the broad fissures ; and 
 here and there a fig-tree, a hun- 
 dred years old, gi'owing in a cre- 
 vice, bathes with its blue shade 
 the yellow masses scorched by 
 the sun. On every side storks 
 are standing motionless near their 
 nests of dry branches. 
 
 And still the endless lines of 
 sombre walls, the cn:im. bastions, 
 the bold arches, project on the 
 blue sky the harsh outlines of 
 their broken summits, and suc- 
 ceed one another with that 
 gloomy and oppressive uniformity 
 of dead things, so full of unutter- 
 able melancholy, of heartrending 
 sadness. 
 
 We follow a round way, 
 broad enough at the foot of the 
 rampart, that winds along shady 
 paddocks crossed by brooks, lined 
 with willows ; orchards full of 
 fruit-trees, on which blossoms, in a wonderful profusion beneath the stern 
 walls, an exuberant vegetation. Between the ba,y laurels, the almond- 
 trees, the cactuses, there are orange-trees, pomegranates, fig-trees, gi-owing 
 v/itli a surprising vigour. Hose bushes climb along the old mossy walls ; 
 bird weeds wind round the trunks of trees ; witwalls, finches, wrens, 
 and tomtits flutter in the dense foliage, warbling their full-throated 
 
 RUINS NEAR FEZ. 
 
MEQUINEZ. 155 
 
 song in brilliant, clear notes ; and among the tall thick grass of these 
 uncultivated gardens, gladiolus, irises, aud ferns form an impenetrable 
 copse. 
 
 We are at length outside the town, skirting a vast square reservoir, 
 lined with dressed stones and filled with clear water, which is almost 
 hidden underneath the broad lilies. 
 
 Not far off we find ourselves in the midst of strange and inexplicable 
 ruins, avenues of broken, massive arches with bulky, square pillars in a 
 complete state of dilapidation. Some cows roam in these enfilades of 
 arches, cropping the grass that grows through the rubbish, and a few 
 goats browse on the thistles that have taken root in the crevices of the 
 pillars. 
 
 We return to the town and set off to visit a covered bazaar. You 
 enter by an ogee doorway, barred by a cross-beam to prevent mules and 
 cattle from making their way in. Wooden, bevelled columns support a 
 roof with apparent joists ; the light comes in through grated, lateral 
 windows, and the ground is paved with flag-stones. The precincts are 
 vast, the shops numerous, but only a few are open, aud there are not 
 many people to be seen. 
 
 All sorts of goods are sold there, groceries, clothes, carpets, weapons, 
 harness for horses and mules. Harris and Ingram bargain for some 
 pretty things, and get them tolerably cheap. Harris, who has the 
 commercial vein right down to his finger-tips, is endowed with a 
 peculiar faculty for discovering rare and curious articles, and for 
 obtaining them at an almost ridiculously low price. He devotes hours 
 to the task, but at last he exhausts the proverbial patience of the 
 Orientals, and that's saying a great deal, and wdnds up by carrying off 
 what he has been haggling for. With his quiet, crafty ways, I would 
 back him against the wiliest Jew any day. Eight under Forestier's 
 nose, he whisks off, with the deftness of a conjurer, some knicknacks 
 which that terrible brigand, his beard now bristling with disappoint- 
 ment, had but a few moments ago seen in imagination hanging on the 
 walls of his studio. Some amulets of original design, on which I 
 bent my longing eyes, fondly fancying that I had them in my hands, 
 were snapped up in a trice, and quickly disappeared in the wallet 
 
156 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 of the faithful Selim, proud of being the depositary of his master's 
 purchases. 
 
 If Harris spends hours in concluding a bargain, Marshall, with his 
 lymphatic nonchalance, devotes days to the task, and that explains why 
 he bought only one article at Fez, a handkerchief worth about three 
 shillings, which the shopkeeper let him have, a week later, for eight- 
 pence, to compensate him, no doubt, for this procrastination without 
 example. As for Ingram, he bows to the commercial superiority of 
 Harris, and leaves him to do all the bargaining, which he has no reason 
 to regret. 
 
 They have spread before us superb carpets of soft shades and 
 delicious designs ; they have brought out from dingy nooks silk and 
 velvet garments embroidered with gold, stuffs woven with gold and 
 worked with silver, rare old arms, stirrups inlaid with gold, and sabres 
 with Damascus blades ; and we set off dazzled by all these riches, 
 most of them relics of distant epochs, which were produced from their 
 dark holes by these grave, courteous dealers, gliding silently, like 
 
 shadows, in their shrouds of muslin. 
 
 ****** 
 
 It is bitterly cold this morning, and snow is falling. From the 
 terrace at the top of our house we see the mountains, quite white. An 
 hour later the snow ceases, the sun appears, and with the sun the good 
 and welcome warmth. 
 
 Forestier stays behind to finish a water-colour sketch of our house, 
 while Harris, Marshall, and I set off with Ingram, who is provided with 
 his photographic apparatus, and we wander the wliole day through the 
 town, photographing doorways of mosques, streets, and picturesque 
 nooks. 
 
 This miserable apparatus of Ingram's — how many times I have vented 
 my curses on it — later on ! How many times I have hurled anathemas 
 on this pseudo-artist, this automaton in a polished mahogany or cedar 
 box, this awkward, shy myope and presbyte at the same time, unable 
 to see right through the complicated arrangemant of its concave and 
 convex lenses, that infests to-day the United Kingdom with its dingy 
 productions, its livid images, perverting the taste of the public, and 
 
MEQUINEZ. 157 
 
 producing, as the eonsumniate expression of art, as the true criterion of 
 the beautiful, a stupid copyline, a deformed and lugubrious picture of 
 men and things ! 
 
 And to confess, after all, that I spent no end of trouble on the 
 creature, overwhelmed him with delicate acts of kindness, supported his 
 tottering stand ; that, with almost maternal solicitude, I helped Ingram 
 to restore to his morocco case this wretched chameleon, this perfidious, 
 spectacled serpent, this ungrateful Cyclops, and thus tranquilly paved 
 the way to my own ruin, and that of my " confreres " of the pencil. 
 
 Insinuating himself by degrees into the journal with the timidity of 
 a poor aspirant, he presented himself, first of all, with downcast eyes 
 and hypocritical candour, as a simple document, an auxiliary, something 
 to assist the artist's memory, taking up a very small, modest space, a 
 back seat, relegated into a corner, scarcely noticed. Then all at once, 
 poking out his elbows vigorously, he extended his borders, took the 
 place of others, and strutted about with the impudent insolence of a 
 parvenu, monopolising every page of the paper, overflowing on to the 
 cover, encumbering every part of it, side by side with the senseless 
 advertisements of shopkeepers, soiling, with the veriest platitudes, the 
 immaculate vellum, formerly reserved for the masters of the pencil, 
 who for more than half a century had charmed the public with their 
 original works. 
 
 Was it possible to suspect that this shining Pandora's box, so 
 seductive in its exterior, contained in its flanks such dire evils ; that 
 this accordion-shaped instrument, which seemed, from its mild, inoffen- 
 sive aspect, nothing else than a child's plaything, was a terrible engine 
 of destruction, an explosive substance that was destined to pulverise the 
 world of art ? 
 
 Could I ever imagine that a dreadful monster was crouching like a 
 tiger in a jungle in the shadow of its camera-obscura, hatching sinister 
 schemes, and patronised by the " process," in connivance with the too- 
 grasping editors, was preparing with a light heart the exodus, was coldly 
 plotting the destruction of a mournful band of designers and engravers, 
 elements in the future, useless in a mechanical journal ? 
 
 And poor Ingram ! Utterly oblivious of the fact that the Tarpeiau 
 
158 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 rock is very near the Capitol, was it possible for him, too, to suspect, 
 when, owing to this photographic craze, developed into a fatal mania by 
 ambient Semitic influences, by clumsy, short-sighted advisers ; when, 
 thanks to this sudden sweeping of a grumbling lot of expensive, ill- 
 tempered artists and stubborn engravers, he was effecting a prodigious 
 saving and piling up heaps of money, that the day was not far distant 
 when this glorious journal this well-bred, artistic, and original memorial, 
 would, as well as all his other doomed congeners, utterly collapse, 
 assassinated by photography ? What a fall would be there ! This 
 beloved and inseparable companion of the enlightened and respectable 
 people of Great Britain and its colonies, this unique and splendid 
 collection of sketches taken from life, these pages quivering with reality, 
 full of picturesqueness, humour, and graceful fancy — the " Illustrated 
 London News ! " — this monumental work of art that rose complete from 
 the brain of a creative genius, as Athene sprang in full panoply from 
 the brow of Zeus ! 
 
 Had he ever felt a faint presentiment of such a monstrous and 
 improbable event, the " Illustrated London News," that giant with a 
 powerful circulation, dying of anaemia, and giving its last gasp for want 
 of sufficient circulation, in spite of the fabulous sums spent in vain 
 efforts to resuscitate its popularity? 
 
 How could he for a moment imagine that the public, the very select 
 public that takes delight in turning over the beautiful illustrations, 
 might one day get disgusted with the idiotic profusion of photographs 
 and advertisements, and cease to buy a journal which, after having 
 been a characteristic feature of the times, was becoming only a vulgar 
 collection of portraits, photographs of mere nobodies, an omnium 
 gathcriim of ankylosed sketches, acquired at haphazard from any chance 
 photographer, a shameless parade of stupid and pretentious commercial 
 advertisements ? 
 
 Oh, if the unfortunate, reckless accomplice of the collodion 
 could have formed only a dim idea of the disastrous consequences of 
 his unreflecting enthusiasm for the invention of Daguerre, of the result 
 of his fatal complaisance to interested counsellors, and foreseen tlie 
 final catastrophe that must involve both himself and us ! 
 
SECOND NOUTH ENTRANCE GATE TO MEQUINEZ. [To face p. 158. 
 
MEQUINEZ. 159 
 
 But was there ever a newspaper editor who doubted anything, or 
 
 could foresee something? 
 
 ****** 
 
 We are going to leave to-morrow. Forestier and I take advantage 
 of a radiant sun to go and sketch, here and there, in the town all tlie 
 morning. 
 
 In the afternoon we set off to inspect the great gateway through 
 which we were borne by the surging crowd. We traverse once more 
 the narrow lanes, covered passages, pass under a dilapidated arch, 
 then another facing it, and fall into a large square surrounded on 
 every side by ruined walls, behind which gigantic fig-trees raise their 
 heads. 
 
 People are encamped under tattered tents, asses are lying near 
 a flock of goats on the chopped straw that covers the ground. A 
 large number of square girders are propped against the walls, or lying 
 on the ground, the lower half rotting in the mud, the upper warping 
 in the sun. A minaret in a street near by towers majestically above 
 the walls, and overlooks the square, which is shaded by its great 
 violet tint. 
 
 Before us rises the huge doorway, whose enormous ogee stands out 
 against the blue sky. We have passed under its lofty arch, through 
 its tall, heavy doors plated with copper sheaths. When seen from 
 the outer side it is imposing, flanked by its two bulky towers with 
 ruined summits and cracked flanks, its vast contour intersecting the 
 line of the old ramparts, and its yellow mass forming a barrier across 
 the long, broad road that descends to the bottom of the valley. The 
 steep and rugged slope, lined on one side by walls, and on the other by 
 thick hedges of cactuses and reeds, is broken and furrowed, depressed 
 by hollows with jutting rocks, battered and polished by the tramp of 
 the caravans. 
 
 It is simpler and yet as grandiose as the gateway of the Kasbali, 
 with its two square pilasters ascending to its top, and crowned by pro- 
 jecting capitals ornamented with pendentives. It entirely disappears 
 under magnificent traceries of interlaced carvings and glazed tiles, 
 entwined with consummate art and a wondrous wealth of fancy. 
 
160 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 gleaming in soft, dull hues, melted into a grey neutral tint of exquisite 
 harmony. 
 
 Farther away, built against the wall that runs along the road-side, 
 is the tomb and the kJiouha of the venerated Sidi-Ali-Ben-Hamdouch, 
 and its pretty monumental fountain close by. 
 
 The ensemble of these graceful edifices stands very clear against a 
 cluster of olive-trees, with dusty, greyish-green leaves. The arch of the 
 doorway in the khouba is of an admirable pure style, a simple 
 
 #^ 
 
 K 
 
 -^»t* 
 
 TOMB AND KHODBA OF SIDI-ALI-BEN-HAMDOUCH. 
 
 moulding encircling it interlaced at the top, and entwined with a 
 square band that forms a frame around it. Above the arch reigns an 
 entablement with an open-worked corbelled cornice covered with a roof 
 of green tiles overgrown with grass and moss. A paved, sloping 
 pathway lined with parapets leads up to the entrance, 
 
 The adjoining fountain, whose cornice is like that of the khouha, 
 but deprived of a roof, is l)uilt in a more elaborate manner. From the 
 
MEQUINEZ. 
 
 161 
 
 centre of a Gothic arch of tiles, charmingly designed from subjects 
 derived from hexagonal and octagonal lines combined with a masterly 
 taste, the clear water falls into a big square trough. Around the 
 cinter unrolls an ornamental triple row of arabesques of a very 
 decorative effect and deft workmanship. 
 
 We return to the town before the gates are closed. 
 
 ^^.t\ i 
 
 '^-^^ "= 
 
 M 
 
^. 
 
 THE ZAHROUN MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Djedida, 25th January. 
 
 We bid adieu to tlie " dead " town, the Versailles of Morocco. The 
 weather is splendid. We trudge along by the side of endless rows of 
 decrepit, falling walls, we disappear under vaulted passages, we climb 
 over heaps of rubbish. 
 
 Near the Fez gate we descry a group of horsemen on a paved 
 hillock. It's the Pasha of Mequinez with his suite, who has come to 
 say good-bye, and to invite us to camp near his country house, where 
 all our wants will be supplied. 
 
 He has a handsome appearance, this wliite-bearded Pasha, with tine 
 features, in his robe of mauve silk, his hath of white muslin, mounted 
 on his mule, magnificently caparisoned, at the head of his smart 
 soldiers, in garments of various colours, their long muskets Hashing in 
 
DJEDIDA. 
 
 163 
 
 the sun. Harris went forward and thanked him. The stately old man 
 bowed, laid his hand on his heart, and then, turning round, departed 
 with his escort, while we continued our way by the side of the old 
 tottering walls. 
 
 We pass under one more arch, and then we are outside the town. 
 The shallow stream flows over a bed of pebbles among big blocks of 
 stone, bathing an entangled mass of trees and shrubs at the base of the 
 ramparts. Hundreds of women, 
 most of them negresses, are wasli- 
 ing clothes, treading the linen ^ith 
 their naked feet, and chanting 
 without intermission. A few men, 
 after rinsing the only garments 
 they possess, spreading them out in 
 the sun, are waiting, perfectly 
 naked, until they are dry enough 
 to put on. 
 
 We halt for a moment near a 
 ruined bastion at the top of the 
 incline that we have just climbed. 
 From this spot Mequinez presents 
 a striking view. Above the lines 
 of formidable ramparts lying one 
 upon the other, and entwined in 
 a series of frowning walls, unac- 
 countable intricate enceintes, dis- 
 mantled towers with gaping clefts 
 rise in rows, running into each other, 
 piling up in an infinite way, the innumerable terraces of houses, the 
 green roofs of the mosques, the tall minarets, and the bushy summits 
 of the forsaken palaces of the Sultan. And over all this sepulchral 
 whiteness, scorched by the implacable sun, weighs the mournful sadness 
 of the old town, expiring amidst its grim ruins. 
 
 The home of our Kaid is at Mequinez. His emotions at seeing his 
 family again must have been very deep, for he seems quite jaded to-day. 
 
 M 2 
 
 -^Wr^ 
 
 VIEW OF MEQUINEZ. 
 
164 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 He frequently lags iDeliind, and looks older, more bent, more shrivelled 
 than ever. His sunken eyes, his tense skin stretched over his bones, 
 his jerked automatic movements, give him the appearance of an 
 
 OLD BRIDGE. 
 
 articulated mummy. His face has such an expression of indefinable 
 gloom, of profound depression, of forced resignation, that you can't help 
 feeling pity for the poor careworn old creature, stiffening on his saddle, 
 supporting with stoic calm the acute consciousness of his bygone youth. 
 
DJEDIDA. 
 
 165 
 
 of his exhausted strength, powerless notwithstanding the energy of his 
 desires. 
 
 Our men behind him smile maliciously, and the old soldier, upright 
 with a rigid pose, a particle of life still left in his old worn body, 
 moves on, his eyes iixed, looking straight in front of him, seeing 
 nothing with his dead purblind eyes. 
 
 After a wood of olive-trees, there are fields of barley between high, 
 yellow, cracked walls, the remains of forts. Then come again the 
 immense plains with dwarf palms, bounded by horizons of blue 
 mountains, and beyond them by peaks covered with snow. We ford 
 
 ON THE WAY TO FEZ. 
 
 cool waters with flower-bedecked banks, and at the bottom of a steep 
 rocky ravine we cross a bridge with a shelving ridge, and a single arch, 
 under which reeds are growing. At an angle of the bridge, in front 
 of a thatch hut, a negro with empty sockets, from which streaks of 
 blood trickle down, implores the pity of travellers. Afterwards the 
 plain begins afresh with the dwarf palms, the barren tract, its rocky 
 table-lands, where underneath limestone arches with greenish slabs, 
 streams run and flow away into gorges and ravines. 
 
 For some time we skirt a rivulet and halt near a hamlet consisting 
 of about a dozen tents and thatched cottages. 
 
 In front of us, about three miles off, rises the Zahroun range, with 
 
166 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 jagged summits, rent with deep breakings. They are inhabited by 
 unconquered tribes, recognising no authority. The people of the 
 village relate that a few days ago these fierce mountaineers cut an 
 envoy of the Sultan to pieces. 
 
 While the camp is being pitched, the Nimrods scour the region 
 round about. We hear the blast of Harris's horn, the crack of cuns, 
 and the lucky sportsmen return abundantly provided with game. Our 
 larder is full to overflowing with partridges and quails. 
 
 The weather gets bad after sunset, the sky is covered with ominous 
 grey clouds, and the rain falls in torrents. The whole night long the 
 Arabs on guard have been singing and shouting to one another in the 
 battering rain. 
 
BRIDGE ON THE MEHDIOUNA. 
 
 Bjedida, 26th January. 
 The weather has turned fine again, the sun is warm and the sky blue. 
 The country is full of game. Harris, Ingram, and Marshall start with 
 Antonio in pursuit of coveys of partridges, and we take a different route 
 with the caravan and the Kaid. We arrange a meeting-place not far 
 away, a bridge on the road to Fez. 
 
 The Kaid seems uneasy. Can it be the mountains hard by, infested 
 with plundering tribes, that are making him anxious ? Is there some 
 other reason ? I am unable to find out. He carefully examines the 
 lock of his musket, tries the trigger, primes it afresh, and holds it ready 
 to fire. He then digs his spurs into the flanks of his beast, which, though 
 retaining its immutable pace, has assumed a brisker gait, and keeps all 
 the while twenty yards ahead of us. We march in close file. Nobody 
 speaks; vague, restless uneasiness weighs on everybody. Is there 
 some unexpected danger threatening us ? Are we going to be attackctl 
 at any moment ? 
 
168 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 For quite half an hour we have noticed on our right, on the farthest 
 crest of the hill that bounds the plain, an armed horseman, who is 
 galloping in a line parallel to ours and seems to watch our every 
 movement. Now and again he stops facing us, keeps immobile for a 
 
 GROUP OF MOUNTAINEERS. 
 
 moment, his gun across his saddle, and sets off again at full speed along 
 the edge of the hill, without ever losing sight of us. What the deuce 
 does all that mean ? 
 
 The Kaid grows more anxious, he often pauses, raising his hand to 
 shade his eyes, which seem to scrutinise the dips of the plain and the 
 
THE MEIIDIOUNA. 
 
 [To face p. 16S, 
 
THE MEHDIOUNA. 169 
 
 recesses of the mountain. And still on our right the dark shadow of 
 the fleeing horseman stands along the sky. 
 
 We have reached the farthest limit of the plateau, the mysterious 
 horseman has disappeared like a vision, the Kaid has resumed his wonted 
 expression, our men have begun to chatter again, and we have strapped 
 our guns across our shoulders. This time we are at last relieved from our 
 fears, if in fact there was anything at all to be afraid of; it was not 
 written that our death-knell should sound this very day. 
 
 The slope from the plateau is arid, streaked with broad strata of 
 grey rocks rough with enormous blocks of limestone indented at the top. 
 At the foot of the decli\ity flows a river, the Mehdiouna, between wooded 
 banks that form a strong contrast to the bare and rocky incline. 
 
 From the bridge we catch sight of Ingram in the middle of the 
 stream making his ablutions. A crowd of Arabs are eagerly watching 
 this stout, plump, lusty boy with a fair skin splashing about like a 
 young seal in the water that whirls in sheaves around him. 
 
 This part is much frequented by caravans and travellers, who 
 generally halt here. A knot of soldiers of the Maghzen are plunging 
 their horses into the stream. A rich Moor, accompanied by his harem, 
 is installed under the shade of an olive-tree ; some of his servants are 
 holding the mules by their bridles, others are preparing a repast ; his 
 veiled wives, reclining on the grass, are fondling sweet babies dressed in 
 rose, blue, yellow, amaranth and green silk, and many bursts of laughter, 
 peals of joyous shouts resound from the variegated group, A grey- 
 bearded pasha has just dismounted, and his attendants have laid down a 
 carpet, on which they spread provisions. 
 
 Above the bridge, the water flows smoothly between banks lined 
 with canes, irises, gladioles, willows, rose-bays, and is lost to sight farther 
 down under the shade of clumps of olive and orange-trees, whoso 
 appearance assumes a very green tinge when contrasted with the red- 
 brown colouration of the bare slope. In front of the piles of the bridge 
 are clusters of reeds, wliose tall slender stalks rise above the parapet. 
 
 Below stream the river preserves the same rural aspect, but two 
 hundred yards lower down its lied sinks suddenly in brusque dips, and 
 the water rushes on in a series of boiling falls. From the top of the 
 
170 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 abrupt and almost vertical banks you can see, at nearly a hundred feet 
 below, the jirecipice, the foaming waters clearing a passage between 
 enormous rocks which lift their black heads in the midst of the current. 
 At the bottom of this steep gorge a wild vegetation flourishes. On 
 earthy and rocky islets, fig and olive-trees are growing among thick 
 bushes. From narrow strips of alluvion, kept from slipping by roots 
 and belts of mossy rocks, spring up gigantic reeds, more than twenty feet 
 high, their tops gilded by the sun and their roots bathed by the stream. 
 Plants cover the rugged sides, penetrating into the crevices, winding 
 round the sharp projections, and a thin fresh blue vapour, together with 
 the dull roar of falling waters, mounts constantly from below. 
 
 "We stay behind to make a few sketches, but the feverish, enthu- 
 siastic sportsmen go in front, dealing destruction to every creature they 
 come across. 
 
 We branch off from the Mehdiouna, and three miles away we come 
 up with Harris, Ingram, and Marshall resting from their fatigue near 
 another river. We ford it about fifty yards above a frightful waterfall 
 three hundred feet high. 
 
 This stream is not unlike the Mehdiouna, but wilder, fiercer, and with 
 yet more character. The landscape up-stream is calm and mournful, 
 cultivated fields slope gently down to its banks, but not a tree, not a 
 .shrub breaks the desolate monotony of these tilled lands. 
 
 The scenery down-stream presents a wild and awful spectacle. In 
 an immense arid plain bounded by a low dark blue line of 
 mountains, in a red-brown clayey soil, a gigantic chasm has been 
 formed, as if in some fearful convulsion the earth had been suddenly 
 rent in twain. At the bottom of the gulf, obstructed by huge calcareous 
 ])locks, broken masses of basaltic rock strangely shaped, heaps of stones 
 scraped and polished by repeated frictions, the rumbling stream whirls 
 and eddies furiously, and the enormous mass of water dashing into the 
 empty depths, falls foaming into the abyss with a tremendous crash, 
 howling its terrible and harrowing wail. 
 
 On a level plot formed by the sinking of the ground and over- 
 hanging the precipice. Bedouins have erected their tents ; and at every 
 hour of the day, at every hour of the night, they hear the incessant 
 
THE MEHDIOUNA. 
 
 171 
 
 tlmnder of the cataract, the dull rumour of the waters eating away the 
 base of the cliff. And one day the steep rock, undermined in its 
 foundations, will disappear in the surging billows, sweeping away 
 
 r'^m 
 
 r 
 
 "^m 
 
 THE FALL 
 
 everything with it, and 
 
 the men of the caravans '^ ''^•• 
 
 who will hear of the story of the 
 
 landslip, of the destroyed plateau, 
 
 the engulfed village, will say 
 
 it was written that the will of 
 
 Allah be done, and other Bedouins will j^itch 
 
 their tents in the crumbling steeps of the 
 
 accursed ravine. s^ 
 
 Only a year ago there existed a stone 
 bridge daringly thrown over the abyss. It has now fallen in, borne 
 away by the winter floods, and the ends of the bridge, with strips of 
 paved roads, still remain on each side as mute witnesses of the catas- 
 
172 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 trophe. And the indifferent Arabs now cross the ford just as they 
 formerly crossed the bridge, which will never be rebuilt, any more than 
 will be reconstructed the ruined walls of Mequinez, the fallen down 
 palaces of the ancient Sultans, the superb mosques of Islam. It was 
 written, praise be to Allah ! for everything is written in Morocco, even 
 that which cannot possibly be written. 
 
 Our men are some way off from here, in a village where we are 
 going to encamp to-night. From the top of a hillock we can see them 
 and the mules. We make our way towards them across tilled fields 
 with the sportsmen on our flanks, who let off their guns right and left, 
 rousing all the country-side and causing great excitement. 
 
 The Sheik of Djedida, for that's the name of the village, exasperated 
 no doubt by this unexpected racket, has treated us in a very surly 
 fashion, refusing to supply us with anything at all. But Harris, the 
 impetuous Harris, always a stickler where his "amour-propre" is 
 concerned, extremely touchy about his own dignity, and of a punctilious 
 susceptibility about his reputaiton as a man that can't be trifled with, 
 quickly brought the old curmudgeon to his senses and handled him in 
 fine style. 
 
 Directly he had quitted the saddle he had called on the Sheik, who, 
 unaware that a letter from the Sultan — a letter out of date, be it said " en 
 passant" — authorised us to make a requisition on his services, had 
 received him with marked coolness. Harris, furious at seeing himself 
 treated like a mere errand-boy, had, with a theatrical gesture, thrown 
 down the letter at the feet of the Sheik ; the official had picked it up, 
 reverently kissed it, and put it to his brow. Then after informing 
 himself of its contents he had apologised, put himself entirely at the 
 service of Harris, held out his hand, and bade him welcome. 
 
 But incensed at the indignity put upon him as an unappreciated 
 illustrious traveller, Harris had flatly declined all — the proffered hand, 
 the excuses, the welcome, — and in an Arabic jargon which fortunately 
 no one imderstood but himself, he heaped on the poor astounded Sheik 
 a variety of the choicest epithets, spurning him as a miserable cur, and 
 then had withdrawn forthwith, like Achilles, in wrathful indignation 
 to his tent. 
 
THE MEHDIOUNA. 
 
 173 
 
 When the miserable fellow presented himself at the camp to j-enew 
 Ids excuses and his offers of service, Harris had haughtily refused to see 
 liim, and had told the Kaid to hand to the suppliant a list of the 
 provisions that were to be furnished immediately without any remune- 
 ration. The unfortunate man had retired in confusion, in order to 
 procure the mouna tliat had been exacted in such an imperious 
 manner. 
 
 Harris had struck a mighty blow. He had proudly vindicated his 
 prerogatives, chastised as he deserved the behaviour of this vile 
 
 =*:5*i....-^ 
 
 A BERBER VILLAGE. 
 
 Moor, who had been so presumptuous as to refuse the mouna to 
 strangers until he had been assured by a written order that they had a 
 right to it, had been so utterly blind as not to see at once by our faces 
 — by Harris's at least — that we were bearers of a letter from His 
 Majesty the Sultan and Sherif of Morocco. 
 
 It is quite true that if from the very first it had been handed to him, 
 he would forthwith have complied with the instructions of his sovereign, 
 would have treated us according to the tenor of the document, and this 
 Tegrrettable incident would never have occurred. That would have been 
 more logical, I confess, but we should have lost the fine scene between 
 
174 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 Harris and the Sheik, the theatrical effect produced by throwing down 
 the letter, and that was well worth a slight violation of common-sense. 
 And moreover, could Harris, Al Aissoui, could the hero of Sheshouan, 
 demean himself so far as to furnish a mere subaltern with a proof of the 
 validity of the demands that he was making ? No, it was out of the 
 question, that w^ould have been too debasing, and Harris, for fear he 
 should lower himself, had already got himself firmly screwed on the 
 pedestal of his fame while waiting for a befitting occasion to have his 
 bronze statue placed upon it. 
 
VILLAGE NEAR FEZ. 
 
 27th January. 
 In the early hours of the morning we are startled by an infernal din, 
 and Harris, much excited, and armed from head to foot, rushes into our 
 tent with tremendous blasts of his horn. 
 
 He explains in a few words that the villagers have had lately a crow 
 to pluck with a neighbouring Berber tribe, and at that very moment 
 they were gathering all the men fit for service to go and try conclusions 
 It shan't be said that there's fighting going on near him without his 
 appearing on the scene. He will accompany these valiant warriors, will 
 be their " stratege," and will make them mow bundles of laurels. His 
 terrible horn shall sound the charge, and, if need be, the retreat. Duly 
 primed and loaded are his trusty rifle and his famous revolver, the 
 terror of Mussulmans. 
 
 We mildly suggest that this quarrel has nothing to do with him, 
 that he is not involved in this village squabble, that perhaps the 
 people whom he is bent upon exterminating may be more in the riglit 
 than those who are going to attack them. But it's all of no use. He 
 has smelt powder, the fumes of battle have taken possession of him, 
 he'll let off his firearms all the same, right or left, in front or behind, 
 
376 AMONG THE MOOKS. 
 
 into the air and into the ground, it doesn't matter where so long as they 
 go off. His heroic spirit rises superior to all considerations, and he 
 rushes out of the tent, singing at the top of his voice : " Forwards, all 
 ye good men and true ! Forwards ! by Jingo ! up and at them ! " 
 
 Fancying for a moment he is slightly deranged, or suffering from 
 a sunstroke, w^e follow him in order to avert, if possible, the disastrous 
 consequences of this bloodthirsty feeling, this unaccountable fit of 
 martial fury. 
 
 What he said is quite true. The whole village is under arms. 
 Tall, strapping, bronzed fellows, with hardly any clothes on, armed with 
 long guns encircled with copper bands, are moving about and talking 
 with great animation. With his carbine slung across his shoulder, his 
 revolver in hand, and his case crammed with cartridges, Harris moves 
 from group to group, haranguing the men, and offers to share their 
 perilous enterprise. They examine his gun, his revolver, his cartridges, 
 his horn, his knife, and the stalwart fellows scan his figure with a 
 grimace of disdain. They will be very pleased to borrow his weapons, 
 but they flatly decline to encumber themselves with his person. 
 
 Our Kaid comes to the rescue. He warns the Sheik, who hasn't 
 forgotten the dressing he got last evening, that if anything happens to 
 Harris, he will be held responsible for it. Accordingly, our impulsive 
 companion arrives, after duly considering the matter, at this conclusion, 
 that he will certainly serve as a target for both sides. His warlike 
 fever abates, and while deeply regretting that he is not able to utilise 
 this superb opportunity of adding a fresh leaf to his crown of laurels, he 
 yields to our pressing solicitations, and allows himself to be dragged 
 away by Ingram, who wants to photograph the wild ravine, and the 
 soldiers set off laughing on their expedition. 
 
 Profiting by the departure of the warriors, the women, freed from 
 any restraint on their curiosity, gather together with shoals of children 
 from every nook and corner of the village, in order to inspect the 
 roumis. 
 
 In the meantime Harris and Ingram return and seize the occasion 
 to photograph a few groups. Though terrified at first by this big black 
 spider, which glares at them with its one solitary eye, they soon get 
 
THE POOLS NEAR FEZ. 177 
 
 used to it, and even proceed to treat it with a familiarity that bodes ill 
 for its stability. In spite of that Ingram succeeds in taking some fine 
 typical groups. 
 
 We set out between thick rows of women, children, and old men, and 
 follow paths skirting fields of barley and colzas. Then the cultivated 
 region ceases, wild plants make their appearance, and before us stretches 
 a vast plain lowering down in a very slight incline, bounded by the 
 Zahroun chain of admirably transparent blue. 
 
 The broad expanse of asphodels reappear, the endless tracts of dwarf 
 palms, the fresh streams, the little lakes with flower-clad banks, the 
 clear pools gleaming in the sun. The ridges succeed one another like 
 the crests of frozen billows, and the breeze sweeps over us laden with 
 the strong odours of plants and flowers. 
 
 Tufted larks run on every side, almost under the feet of the mules. 
 Near some pools, lost in bulrushes, herons rest rigid on one foot, their 
 beaks warmly ensconced under the down of their wings. 
 
 At long intervals you notice brown patches cut out on the emerald 
 tints of the vast grass-land. They are fields cultivated by the inhabit- 
 ants of the douars, whose sombre tents witli pointed roofs you perceive 
 in the distance. 
 
 All along the route we meet with numbers of people and animals, 
 soldiers on horseback, veiled women on mules, asses, camels, horses, and 
 always in front of us extend far-off blue mountains and the snowy 
 peaks of the Atlas. 
 
 We are near a river with a placid current and clear shallow water. 
 The grassy banks are covered with flowers ; shrubs, reeds, and beds of 
 bulrushes form islets in the middle of the stream. There is a bridge, 
 a fine bridge with several arches almost intact, decorated with mosaics, 
 surrounded by layers of pale dead-green tiles, on which unroll in black 
 letters, in a winding calligraphy, verses from the Koran. The parapet is 
 adorned by interlaced mouldings corroded by lichen and the rain. The 
 bases of the piers are hidden by a network of grass, thistles, shrubs, which 
 sprout from the interstices between the stones. Amid bushes and cactuses 
 a tall palm-tree rises towards the parapet, side by side with an old twisted 
 fig-tree, itslong narrow shadow falling on the grassy soil dotted with daisies. 
 
178 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 "We notice on one of the banks foundations of grey stones with ruddy 
 streaks and patches of yellow lichen ; strips of creviced walls over 
 which vines and jessamines climb ; dressed jagged stones lying in the 
 fine grass, and in the nooks and corners of the walls are entangled thick 
 masses of shrubs, of plants, of flowers. 
 
 There's not a breath of air stirring, a profound calm reigns over the 
 broad plain, and in the endless vault of the sky the sun slowly descends in 
 its dazzling splendour, bathing with golden gleams the great melancholy 
 of tilings. The sreen are shaded with warm tints ; amber-colour 
 
 td 
 
 ^ 
 
 A^ 1 
 
 BRIDGE NEAR FEZ. 
 
 glazings run on the old grey walls ; dull lights glide along the inter- 
 laced mouldings, shining over the old tarnished mosaics, reflecting on 
 the immobile waters ; the denuded blue mountain tops are lined with 
 thin scarlet fringes, and far away in the south the ices of the Atlas 
 glitter in rosy hues in the purple-tinted sky. 
 
 The caravan, which had fallen behind, now O'/ertakes us. "We pursue 
 our way for some time longer along half-hidden paths, through the midst 
 of dwarf palms, and the plain of Fez stretches away before us, a vast 
 
THE POOLS NEAR FEZ. 179 
 
 green plain, from the midst of wliicli spring here and there solitary 
 eyots of red-brown. 
 
 We pass some ploughed fields, turn to the left into a path lined 
 with trees and quick hedges, over which asses stretch their curious 
 heads, oxen gaze at us ^vith their big melanclioly eyes. We hear the 
 snorting of horses, and get within sight of a village. 
 
 Large holes level with the ground like pit-mouths appear in several 
 places ; they are empty silos, and as the twilight falls we advance more 
 and more cautiously. Marshall has nearly fallen into one of them, 
 which was completely concealed under brambles and thorns. 
 
 The village consists of a few thatched cottages and of l)rown colour 
 tents streaked with black bands made of goat-hair. A little farther 
 off we perceive another village standing in clear relief against the 
 blue background of a chain of hills. Between these and the camp, 
 lakes, or rather big ponds, extend, surrounded by l)ulrushes, marshes, 
 and bogs. On the other side of the lakes, very far away, you distinguish 
 bare, ruddy hillocks, a narrow line of trees of bluish green, the Sultan's 
 gardens near Fez, and far behind all these the Atlas, with its eternal 
 snow, the whole bathed in a great neutral shade, soft and harmonious, 
 brought by the deepening twilight with its dewy and shivering freshness. 
 
 The night has been cold, white frost lies on the shrubs, and stiffens 
 the grass. But the radiant sun appears, melting the light coats of ice, 
 and the trembling drops evaporate in transparent vapours, • in blue 
 spaces, the softened grass bends under the warm breath of the breeze, 
 and the leaves flutter on the supple branches. Myriads of imperceptible 
 tiny winged beings whirl desperately, filling the air with their ceaseless 
 buzzing. Far aloft larks are soaring out of sight, chafing their numbed 
 wings, and only a faint echo of their morning song reaches our ears. 
 
 On the lakes hosts of geese, ducks, plovers are disporting them- 
 selves, and from among the rushes snipes start, and bustards wing 
 their heavy flight. 
 
 In the village we hear the prolonged lowing of oxen. Men are 
 setting out to work in the fields, women are tending the cares of their 
 households, milking cows, fetching water from the spring hard by, 
 
 N 2 
 
180 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 grinding corn between two stones, weaving coarse stuffs of goat or 
 camel hair ; children are playing, and tall old gaunt men, clad in 
 woollen haiks, standing, leaning against the walls, or squatting on the 
 ground with their long sticks beside them, are basking in the sun. 
 
 And then a feeling of intense felicity steals over you, and a violent 
 desire to live for ever this simple, healthy country life, that flows 
 tranquilly, uniformly, immutably, to-day as it was yesterday, as it will 
 be to-morrow, and as it will be for ever. 
 
 The route of the caravans lies between the douar and our tents, and 
 horsemen, foot-soldiers, files of camels, and flocks of sheep are constantly 
 passing by. 
 
 A troup of men on camels advances, preceded by a grey-bearded 
 negro in a white turban, and followed by an escort of horsemen. Men, 
 bareheaded and nearly naked, are tied on the camels ; heavy chains are 
 fastened to their ankles and wrists, and streams of blood run from wide 
 tears produced by the constant friction of the rings against the flesh. 
 They are the chiefs of rebel tribes, Beni-M'ter, who are being taken to 
 Morocco ; and for days and months under a broiling sun, over barren 
 regions, across wild ravines, they will go miles, in order to end their 
 wretched days in a loathsome dungeon. And on they are driven, their 
 energetic heads jDroudly erect, and a grim expression on their fierce 
 faces, accepting their fate with that passive resignation to the will 
 of Allah, before which the whole world of Islam bows without a 
 murmur. 
 
 The victims of the Sultan's wrath have passed, and the sportsmen 
 have returned " bredouille," or nearly so, and not in the best of humour. 
 Harris is in a lamentable state, jaded, covered with mud from top to 
 toe, and considerably vexed. He was pursuing some birds in the 
 marshes, and riddled with shot the nozzle of a cow projecting between 
 the reeds, having taken it for a bustard. 
 
 After we have finished dinner, our men rush in to tell us that a 
 fire has broken out in one of the houses in the village. We run to the 
 spot, carrying lanterns, for the night is pitch dark, and a score of times 
 we risk falling into the yawning silos. When we get to the place, we 
 see the men lifting their arms, invoking tlie name of Allah ; the women 
 
THE POOLS NEAK FEZ. 
 
 181 
 
 wail, the children scream, and they all keep staring at the flames 
 without making the least effort to arrest their progress. The one 
 exception was an old woman with a child clinging to her back ; she 
 filled a small wooden bowl with water from a jar, and poured it on the 
 raging fire, with the only result to make the flames burn brighter. 
 
 Antonio was one of the first to arrive on the spot ; our men have 
 brought pails, and under his guidance everybody sets to work, and in a 
 few moments the fire is extinguished. 
 
THK POOLS KEAR FEZ. 
 
 Fez, Tuesday, 22th January. 
 For some days we have ceased to be charmed with Marshall's 
 crystalline-toned voice, chanting the praises of " Mary Ann." 
 
 In consequence of his obstinate refusal, in spite of our repeated 
 remonstrances, to cover himself with a sufficient number of blankets at 
 night, and also of his reckless dietary laws, for he used to devour half- 
 ripe oranges wholesale, he is now suffering from dysentery, which has 
 brought him down very much. 
 
 This morning we came across, at a bend of a path, our old Kaid, 
 engaged in washing his clothes. He had laid his gun, his sabre, 
 his bag, in fact all his warlike accoutrements, on the ground. His 
 horse, tied to a bush, was nibbling the leaves with the tips of his 
 lips, and he with naked feet and bare head, by the side of a pail of 
 soapsuds, was hopping in rather a lame fashion on his wretched dripping 
 toggery. 
 
 A few articles already washed were spread o\it on a hawthorn hedge 
 to dry. When seen from a distance in this guise, treading the pile of 
 white linen with his bony lank legs, his burnoose tucked halfway up his 
 
FEZ. 183 
 
 thigh, his bald pate glistening in the sun, he looked for all the world 
 like an enormous heron stalking over its eggs. 
 
 Everybody is in the saddle, the Kaid in front arrayed in clean linen 
 and a brand new blue burnoose. We pass by the few hillocks of ruddy 
 sand, and all at once from the top of a last ridge, Fez, the old capital, 
 tlie Mecca of the Occident, comes in sight, standing out against the 
 peaks of the Atlas between the two high mountains on its sides. We 
 descry a great grey line of crenellated ramparts broken with square 
 towers, from the midst of which rise numberless terraces, mosques, 
 minarets, and the fierce walls of the Sultan's palace. We proceed for 
 some time along narrow intersecting paths, through fields of barley, and 
 we are at the foot of the ramparts of the town. 
 
 The lofty walls when seen close by have an austere, menacmg aspect 
 with their dark embattlements towering into the sky. We pass under 
 an immense decrepit ogee gateway eaten np at the base, and enter a 
 large courtyard enclosed by gloomy walls, where we halt. The wall 
 facing us, in which there is another gateway, rises to a prodigious height, 
 pierced in its thickness with holes through which the sky is visible, 
 spotted with yellow patches from which the coat of mortar has fallen. 
 A few of the embrasures remain intact ; all the others have disappeared, 
 as well as a part of the crowning. On the left the square is barred hy 
 another enceinte of not so great a height, but in a better state of preserva- 
 tion. On the fourth side, on the right, they are building a wall, which is 
 already four yards above the ground. It is being built in tahia. This 
 mixture of sand and lime is run like concrete between two plank 
 partitions propped in a vertical position by stakes fixed in the ground, 
 joined in pairs through the masonry by cross pieces, which are drawn 
 out when the mortar is solid enough. This explains the multitude of 
 holes which you remark in all the buildings in Morocco. 
 
 About forty masons armed with wooden rammers are at work on the 
 top of the wall, chanting in unison, and between each stanza they batter 
 all at the same time the concrete, in order to ram it down. On catching 
 sight of us they all turned round as one man, with a movement that 
 looked very comical in its automatic simultaneity. They suddenly 
 ceased their singing, stared at us with broad grins, and at a signal 
 
184 AMONG THE MOORS- 
 
 given by their foreman swerved round once more in an amusing '* volte 
 face," with their backs towards us this time, taking up again their 
 
 monotonous plaint, beating time with the 
 thuds of their beetles as they ram the mortar 
 in tune. 
 
 Harris has gone to ask the Pasha for 
 quarters for us and our men. While they 
 are unloading the mules a crowd gathers 
 round us, wind their way between us and 
 our baggage, and we have great difficulty in 
 getting rid of them. Dirty, tattered tents of 
 black, yellow, and grey are pitched on every 
 side. There are rickety stalls in which 
 food is sold, kitchens in the open air 
 where camel-drivers take their meals, 
 water-carriers clash their brass goblets, 
 negresses crouching in the sun sell flat 
 cakes of bread, barbers are shaving their 
 customers under open sheds propped by 
 stakes, camels with shackles on their feet 
 are bellowing terrifically, mules are rolling 
 in the dust, frisky young donkeys are 
 trotting, kicking about in every direction. 
 
 Through the midst of this motley throng 
 resplendent horsemen clear a passage with 
 their galloping steeds, soldiers are loitering, 
 veiled women in white haiks move on, while 
 '-/ • ""'^"^ knots of naked lads rush about like ferrets, 
 
 yelling and shouting. 
 
 Harris has returned; he has got no 
 accommodation from the Pasha as yet. While 
 
 STKEET IN FEZ. . . 
 
 waiting for him to come to some decision 
 we are going to make our way into the town. 
 
 The mules are loaded again, and passing through the second gateway 
 we follow by the side of crenellated ramparts a quagmire of a road 
 
STREET IN FEZ. 
 
 J- '. 'I 
 
 ITo/ace p. 184. 
 
FEZ. 185 
 
 obstructed by big blocks of stone broken up by the cavernous mouths of 
 silos, gaping apertures of ruined vaults. Clearing one more ogee gate- 
 way, we reach the inner part of the town, Fez Djedid, the new Fez. 
 Proceeding along narrow streets and others of greater width more 
 frequented and lined by houses, shops, high decayed walls, we trot 
 under arches, vaulted buildings, roofs of reed. Now and again we halt at 
 a crossing under the shade of an old fig-tree with boughs outspread over 
 the terraces of the houses, in order to let the caravans, the droves of 
 oxen, and the files of laden camels pass by. Then we plunge under a 
 ward's gateway with triple arches, beyond which there are no more 
 shops. We descend a tolerably wide street with a steep slope between 
 houses with bare fronts, crumbling walls supporting plank huttings, and 
 we halt on a broad crossway. 
 
 Here Harris leaves us, taking Ingram with him, whom he wishes to 
 introduce to Kaid ]\Iaclean, an English officer in the Sultan's service, 
 whose acquaintance he made last year. He lives in the neighbourhood, 
 and Harris is going to take the opportunity to explain the state of our 
 affairs to him, and ask his advice and assistance. Time is pressing, the 
 Pasha doesn't seem in a hurry to find us lodgings, and we are running a 
 great risk of sleeping in the open air. 
 
 For three hours we are kept cooling our heels, impatiently awaiting 
 his return ; but since, like Sister Anne, we can see no one coming, we 
 send one of our muleteers on a reconnoitring expedition, and to remind 
 Al Aissoui that we are shivering in our saddles on a bleak crossway, 
 exposed like a band of redskins to the curiosity of a malicious crowd. 
 
 It is well we took this step, for after a few minutes our messenger 
 returns, and reports, what we had strongly suspected, that Harris had 
 quite forgotten us. 
 
 After introducing Ingram to the Kaid, he could not forego the 
 pleasure of initiating the latter into the terrible vicissitudes of " my ride 
 to Sheshouan." The Kaid had, with his usual urbanity, listened with an 
 attentive ear to the flowery periods, the learned digressions, the striking 
 reflections of the poet-traveller, and Harris, encouraged by this tacit 
 approbation, was going to continue with a "visit to Wazzan" when the unex- 
 pected arrival of our messenger had brusquely reminded him of his duties. 
 
186 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 The Kaid, profiting by the occasion, had leaped on to his horse, which 
 was waiting ready saddled in the court, and liad set off, accompanied by 
 Harris, leaving Ingram lying on a sofa, where he had fallen sound asleep 
 from the very commencement of " my ride to Sheshouan." Five 
 minutes later the Kaid was on the spot, shook hands with us, and invited 
 us to take up our quarters under his roof. 
 
 We thankfully accept his kind offer, and follow his lead. We enter 
 a narrow lane lined by garden walls in which our stirrups grate, for the 
 path is so strait. Turning to the right and then to the left at a part 
 of the road where the least slip would have plunged us with our beasts 
 into a stream that drives a mill in front of us, whose ticking we can 
 hear, we pass through a low door opened by an old negro, and we are 
 in the Kaid's garden, an orange-grove, where saddled horses are tethered 
 and soldiers move to and fro. Our host introduces us to his brother. 
 Captain Allen Maclean, and our kindly hostess, Mrs. Maclean, enter- 
 tains us in the most charming manner. 
 
 # -m * * » * 
 
 We are to stay at the house of Captain Maclean, who lives a short 
 distance off, in a pavilion, in a delicious garden of orange and citron- 
 trees, gaily decked with flowers and watered by fresh streams. 
 
 In a high, vast room with uncovered rafters, supported by a strong 
 pillar in the centre, and lighted by a large grated window, our camp-beds, 
 which are put up, and our baggage piled on the floor, fill up the captain's 
 elegant dwelling. A narrow staircase in a corner of the building leads to 
 the ground floor and the terrace. Just before you get to the landing there's 
 a recess, occupied by Ahmed, a fine young Moor, our host's servant. 
 
 From the terrace we got a view of the town rising amid a belt of 
 valleys in an infinite number of white terraces, from the middle of which 
 surge the square towers of the minarets, the menacing enceintes of the 
 ramparts, the tall yellow walls of the Sultan's palace. Down below a 
 portico stands in front of the pavilion, and its triple ogee arcade is 
 supported by pretty octagonal columns with a coating of limewash. 
 
 In front of this fapade a fountain pours its clear water into 
 a broad deep square reservoir formed level with the ground and lined 
 with mosaics. Its overflowing waters escape in rills between the flowers, 
 
DOOR OF A rONUAK IN FEZ. 
 
 [To face p. 186. 
 
FEZ. ■ 187 
 
 the plants, the clusters of orange and lemon-trees. Their boughs laden 
 with fruit form a verdant dome above the reservoir, and their leafy 
 fringes graze the walls of the house and penetrate right through the 
 window grating into our room. 
 
 The sun shines through interstices of the thick leafy vault on tlie 
 ground in an endless number of luminous flickering spots ; warbling 
 birds wing their flight ; the wind rustles over the top of the trees. Now 
 and again an orange falls into the reservoir with a splash, making the 
 water leap up in diamond sheaves. 
 
 Mosses, lichens, saxifrages cover the rugous summits of the old 
 walls surrounding the garden. Honeysuckles, convolvuluses, bindweeds 
 hide the crevices, creep over the crumbling masonry, crawling through the 
 shrubs. A quantity of plants, gorged with sap, grow in an extravagant 
 profusion and luxuriate in every nook and corner of the dilapidated 
 parts, and a fresh delicious odour perfumes the air. 
 
 This morning, at breakfast, Harris related to us a stormy interview 
 that he has just had with the Pasha. This gentleman, last evening, on 
 the presentation of the letters from Si-Torres, had at once promised to 
 find us lodgings. When the evening had drawn in, and the Pasha had 
 not kept his word, Harris had returned to the charge and insisted that 
 some house or other should be X3ut at our disposal before the 
 nightfall. They had soothed him with deceitful promises, and while we 
 were at the house of Kaid Maclean, our men had received an order to go 
 and encamp on a waste piece of ground between Old and New Fez, and 
 there they had spent the night. 
 
 That was a serious want of respect, to which our fiery comrade could 
 not by any means tamely submit, and it had actually spoiled his first 
 night in Fez. So as soon as he had got out of bed he had set off to the 
 Pasha, whom he found dispensing justice, surrounded by soldiers and 
 officials. Without paying the least heed to his presence, the Pasha had 
 with the most tranquil indifference continued to call and to try the 
 various cases before him. 
 
 Harris's patience was utterly exhausted by this complete disregard 
 of the courtesy due to him, this insolent unconcern. He had leaped 
 into the hall with flashing eye and provoking mien, and then with a 
 
]88 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 thrilling voice called upon the functionary to keep his promise forthwith. 
 
 The latter, incensed at being thus treated in his own sanctum, had 
 
 flatly declined to do anything. 
 
 At the last affront Al Aissoui 
 had sent orders to his soldiers — for 
 so in his noLle wrath he termed our 
 muleteers — to strike the camp, 
 enter the town, and to go and pitch 
 the tents full in front of the 
 Sultan's windows. Then turning 
 with a defiant air towards the 
 Pasha, he had threatened him that he 
 would let off guns the whole night 
 long until the Sultan himself — he 
 laid strong emphasis OiU ''himself" 
 — should come and inquire the 
 reason of this unwonted discharge 
 of musketry, and then he would let 
 him know how shamefully he had 
 been treated by his subordinate. 
 
 In order to get rid of Harris, 
 the Pasha had then sent one of 
 his soldiers to find some house or 
 other ; but the wily rascal, following 
 no doubt the directions of his chief, 
 who wanted to revenge himself 
 on Harris for his aggressive impor- 
 tunity, and to have a laugh at him, 
 had taken him to a dirty, filthy 
 cowshed. 
 
 This supreme insult had driven 
 Al Aissoui beside himself. He 
 returned to the court, poured out a 
 
 torrent of abuse, made the ears of the Pasha tingle with a shower of 
 
 epithets opprobrious to the last degree ; but the facetious representative 
 
 STKKET IN FEZ. 
 
FEZ. 
 
 189 
 
 of the Sultan, who all the while had been making merry at the expense 
 of our irascible friend, finally put an end to this unseemly joke by 
 letting for an exorbitant sum a middling sort of house where Harris 
 could lodge his " soldiers " and stow 
 
 our baggage. 
 
 Marshall is very weak, he can 
 scarcely stand on his legs. The 
 Macleans have put up a bed for 
 him in their own house, sent 
 for Dr. Linares of the French 
 mission, a friend of the family, 
 and they leave nothing undone for 
 him. Let us hope that he will be a 
 trifle more careful in the future, and 
 will take heed of our warnings. 
 
 We set off to the town, 
 accompanied by Selim and our 
 Kaid. Everything is quite as old, 
 as decayed, as decrepit as at 
 Mequinez, but there is more life, 
 more bustle. The buildings are 
 higher, the crowd is more lively, 
 more noisy, but the houses, 
 mosques, palaces, fortifications are 
 mingled and interwoven in the 
 same inextricable fashion, the same 
 odd complexity of architecture. 
 Series of arches one above the 
 other are erected at great heights 
 across the streets, buildings are 
 thrown like bridges at different 
 storeys from one house to tlie other. On their facades are grafted little 
 canted bays with domes, supported by carved corbels of cedar- wood ; 
 storeys project on offset beams artistically carved, and between the 
 
 STllEET IN FKZ. 
 
190 AMOXG THE MOOES. 
 
 tops of the houses, which almost touch one another, 3'ou perceive a 
 strip of sky. 
 
 One feels oppressed between these high, gloomy, bare walls, pierced, 
 at long intervals, by a narrow loophole, a grated window, a low entrance, 
 now and again, where through a door barded with rows of nails, which 
 half opens and is shut at once without noise, a white shadow disappears. 
 
 We pass under long vaulted tunnels oozing with moisture and 
 stained by mouldiness ; passages with carved rafter ceilings. Here and 
 there lovely fountains spread over the tottering walls their rich mantles 
 of mosaics, the marvellous interlacings of their arabesques and their 
 delicate traceries. 
 
 Through wretched ogee doorways we get glimpses of courtyards 
 surrounded by arcades and filled with" folk, cattle, and steeds. These 
 place are caravansaries, where entertainment is afforded to man and 
 beast. 
 
 At every moment you pass under double and triple ranges of 
 elegantly decorated arches, with indented ogees. There are wide holes 
 in the paved street, and you hear the sound of rippling streams. 
 
 In some of these streets it is difficult to move about, the crush is so 
 great, and ever and anon in front of you, behind you, beside you, always 
 and everywhere, you hear the continuous yelping, the execrable, 
 menacing cry of haleuh ! 
 
 Galloping soldiers pass by on horseback, and before we have time to 
 squeeze ourselves against a wall for fear of being run over, there comes 
 the yell hcdeick ! 
 
 Camels laden with planks, piles of wool, sacks of barley, come 
 stalking along, obstructing the whole street, thumping their heavy loads 
 against the walls and jostling the people in front of them — haleuh ! 
 
 A drove of oxen driven by fierce herdsmen blocks up the way, and 
 ere we can take refuge under the arch of a gateway or any other nook 
 at hand, in order to let the menacing tide flow away — halculc ! 
 
 An important functionary, an amin, attended by servants, is riding 
 along on his mule, his finely-shaped head set off by the folds of his 
 muslin haik — halenJc ! 
 
 Then comes a magnificent negro horseman, one of the Sultan's guards. 
 
FEZ. 
 
 191 
 
 a hokhari in white sidliam, clad in the folds of- his silk lia'ilc, mounted 
 on a black horse — Balmhl And still for ever lahnh! still in the towns 
 in the villages, along the routes — 
 everywhere, hum in your ears, buzz 
 in the crowd, the eternal haleuk ! 
 the incessant, the inevitable watch- 
 cry of the Moghreb. 
 
 We quit these noisy streets and 
 roam through gloomy labyrinths of 
 lanes, passages, blind alleys, where 
 awful silence reigns, where carcases 
 are rotting. We stumble over big, 
 lean, mangy cats with bristling 
 backs, climb heaps of refuse, piles 
 of rubbish ; we skirt yawning holes, 
 at the bottom of which the waters 
 of underground canals run with a 
 dull noise, gleaming with a cold 
 lustre. 
 
 Then we suddenly emerge on 
 open spaces, orchards, gardens, 
 lanes lined by low walls, cracked 
 by the sun, covered by yellow 
 lichen, saxifrage, slender plants, 
 bushes, above which fig-trees spread 
 their twisted branches ; orange-trees 
 laden with fruit form a bower over 
 our heads, and the breeze warmed 
 by the sun sweeps by with fragrant 
 odours. 
 
 On every side you hear the 
 tricklincr of water, the rolling of 
 millwheels. You constantly come across streams of water rushing from 
 mossy walls and disappearing with a hollow murmur under vaults. 
 
 Donkeys laden with sacks of corn and flour pass by, driven by 
 
 STREET IM FEZ. 
 
192 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 white-powdered lads, and you efface yourselves along the walls to make 
 room for them. And everywhere, in the middle of these ruins, of this 
 absolute decrepitude, one remarks, even in the least details of architec- 
 ture, an acuteness of observation, a search of elegance, a refinement of 
 
 taste surprising. On the worm-eaten 
 iloors of empty houses are sus- 
 l)ended, half torn away from their 
 fastenings, marvellous knockers of 
 wonderful shape, and chiselled with 
 L'xquisite taste and amazing sureness 
 nf hand. Horseshoe arches with 
 lurves of admirable purity are 
 idorned with delicious laces of 
 arabesques, of mosaics, composed 
 with a rare felicity both in design 
 and colour. Angles of walls are 
 chamfered with curves and broken 
 lines that are charming in their 
 unexpected effect. On the fronts of 
 the houses, decorations in high relief 
 on the stucco produce plays of light 
 and shade that delight the eyes by 
 Ijreaking the wearisome monotony 
 of the great bare walls. 
 
 Sometimes in order to embellish a 
 simple opening, an unpretentious win- 
 dow, treasures of art andpatience have 
 Ijeen spent on the elaboration of a 
 series of arches, small columns, ogees, 
 interlacings, ornamental designs, com- 
 binations of curves and straight lines, 
 
 that unite in producing an architectural jewel of an adorable fancy. 
 
 # # * » * * 
 
 To-day we are going to visit the bazaars. The zigzag paths lined by 
 old walls near those of the Kaid's, bring us into a rather broad, long 
 street that slopes sharply down to the shops. 
 
 -A^f^ 
 
 .sTiM;i'/r IX n;z. 
 
FEZ. 193 
 
 The top of the street is barred by a great crenellated ogee gateway, very 
 dilapidated, and propped by beams. A little way lower down another 
 ogee gateway opens in a grim embattled wall, flanked by octagonal 
 towers ; a triple row of arabesques encircles the cintcr, and the upper 
 part of the fapade is covered with interlaced carvings and mosaics of a 
 nice design and remarkable harmony in tone. Almost all the embrasures 
 are broken, big holes disfigure the handsome facade, the base of the 
 walls is eaten up, and the cants of the towers are completely worn away. 
 
 There is a great bustle of soldiers coming and going, and under the 
 deep vault we see some sitting and others lying on the ground. 
 
 Lower down, in a re-entering angle, a very fine door attracts our 
 attention. The double wooden panels are covered with brass orna- 
 ments artistically designed. A succession of corbelled beams, carved 
 with precious skill, painted over in colours relieved with gold, support 
 a roof of green tiles, where mosses, grass, and shrubs grow at will. 
 
 Farther off stands the tower of a ruined mosque. On its summit 
 storks have built their nests, and its base is hidden by a number of 
 wretched shops. 
 
 Near by, raw-boned beggars are huddled in sombre recesses. Bald, 
 toothless, horrid old hags are carrying heavy loads, and heap abuse on us 
 as they go by. 
 
 We pass under vaults, arches ; we advance by the side of glabrous 
 walls of gloomy buildings, and then, still descending, we disappear under 
 an obscure, moist passage, and emerge on a sort of irregular open 
 square, a pretty broad crossway. 
 
 On one side of the place, in a gigantic wall, opens between two 
 narrow bastions a monumental gateway. The immense ogee is encircled 
 by festoons of arabesques, and a triple fillet in relief forms a rect- 
 angular frame round these ornaments. Above the horizontal fillet lies 
 a long band of mosaics in tiles of indistinct colour, on which stand out 
 in black letters verses from tlie Koran. Immediately over this are 
 infinite rows of small indented arches with pendants resting on tiny 
 columns, rising one above the other in a succession of- alveolate corbels. 
 Figured dentils, delicate pilasters, and interminable interlacings, deftly 
 combined, are entwined in the intervals between the ogees, which seem 
 
 
 
194 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 as though they were sculptured on a large stone laeework. Over all 
 that, and strongly projecting, dominates a powerful crowning covered 
 with a roof of green tiles, and supported by receding consoles, one on 
 top of the other, carved with ogees, wreaths of arabesques, in an extra- 
 ordinary profusion. Above all this, still higher, runs up the smooth 
 high wall, its summit covered with a roof of tiles. 
 
 The whole structure forms a dull grey, dusty mass, worn by the 
 centuries, but still retaining a mournful and grandiose splendour. 
 Birds have built their nests in the covings of the ogees, spiders have 
 woven their webs between the cornices of the consoles, parasite plants 
 liave taken root in angles, and great black " strise " tarnish the inter- 
 lacings ; hard layers of coagulated dust impaste the listels of the 
 fiutings, the fine arrises of the curves, the delicate chasings of the 
 fillets, and the antique monument, battered by the rain, cracked by the 
 sun, is falling into dust, dispersed by the winds. 
 
 The bastion on the right, which advances a long way out, between 
 the noble gateway and the dark hole through which we came on the 
 place, is adorned by a lovely fountain, whose waters flow m two jets 
 from a cintered mosaic inlaid in the wall, and fall into a big marble 
 basin. Over the arch lies a band of carved interlacings, surmounted by 
 a frieze formed by beams set over one another, and with ornamented 
 angles, and higher up a roof of tiles rests on an alignment of sculptured 
 and painted consoles ; the ensemble is in a frightful state of decrepitude 
 and decay. On the front of the other bastion there is a sham window 
 with its pointed arch blocked up. 
 
 This colossal gateway is the entrance to SLfondak. The courtyard 
 is surrounded by porticoes with octagonal columns, whose bases are 
 covered with wooden casings. The plane surfaces of the capitals, whose 
 corbel tables form the arcade, are worked with lovely arabesques, and 
 the arrises of narrow ogees, alternating with the wide openings of the 
 porticoes, are indented with fine mouldings. Above these rise two tiers 
 of galleries with balconies decorated with moucharabiclis, fitted with 
 benches. At the back of these galleries are rooms where Jews store 
 their wares. The porticoes on the ground floor are closed by carved 
 doors surmounted by iron gratings. 
 
INTERIOR OF A FOUDAK IN FEZ. 
 
 [7b/ae« p. 194. 
 
FEZ. 195 
 
 Here, too, everything is crumbling, corroding, decaying ; the plaster 
 is falling from the masonry, the moucharahiehs are rotting, the sculptured 
 panels are worm-eaten, and the festooned ogees are slowly disaggregating 
 — it is a general ruin. A haouadji is installed under the archway ; in 
 the courtyard, bales and boxes are piled up, camels and mules are 
 being unloaded. 
 
 Outside t\\Q fondah, on the right, under the shade of an old vine, 
 climbing along the creviced walls, over a rotten dislocated trellis, camel- 
 drivers are sleeping near crouching beasts, donkeys are lying down, 
 beggars are taking their siesta. High walls with a few doorways line 
 the square to the right of the fountain ; on the left are grocers' shops, 
 and in low, ramshackle huts, harness-makers. 
 
 We are in the midst of the bazaars : first a long steep street, quite 
 crowded with people and animals, lined with shops ; and in the framing 
 of thousands of articles hanging outside, calm and reserved dealers are 
 squatting in their small square holes. 
 
 The air is impregnated with aromatic scents. You inhale the 
 odours of incense and kif, mingled with the vague stench of sweat and 
 excrement of beasts, and when rolls on the hollow flood of these people, 
 whose bare or slippered feet tread noiselessly on the ground, the clack- 
 ing of our heels re-echoes strangely on the worn, shiny, small, round 
 paving-stones. 
 
 The shops are of various kinds here. There are saddle-makers, silk- 
 mercers, leather-sellers, grocers, tobacconists. They sell tea, coffee, 
 scarlet fez, hides, yellow morocco leather ; low tables with marble 
 mosaic tops, carved and painted legs ; cedar stands of vivid colours set 
 off by a few gold fittings, manufactured at Tetouan. By the side of 
 stalls filled with German looking-glasses, French hardware, Manchester 
 cottons, Venice jets, Italian coral, Russian samovars, are displayed 
 the products of the Soudan, gums from Senegal, ostrich feathers 
 amulets of cloth, black stone, which protect against the bites of reptiles. 
 You brush by grim-faced mountaineers, under their ample brown 
 djcllabiehs, speckled with gay tufts of silk, their heads encircled by the 
 red cases of their muskets, which they carry on their shoulders. There 
 are fair-haired Berbers in white liaihs of coarse wool, illuminati 
 
 2 
 
196 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 with deep sunken eyes, bloated saints entirely naked, droning verses 
 from the Koran, beggars with repulsive sores, handsome horsemen, 
 Pashas mounted on fine mules brilliantly harnessed, crafty Jews 
 stealthily gliding, and veiled women making purchases. 
 
 At times you hear the harrowing notes of the ghaUas, the bag- 
 pipes of the Arabs, with such sad strains, the sound of flutes, and a 
 rapid succession of gunshots. Then you are forced back against the 
 shops by armed bands which come rushing and yelling through the 
 retreating crowd, leaping like wild animals, and firing off" their guns 
 right and left. It is the lah-el-haroud, the " game of gunpowder," a 
 fantasia in celebration of a wedding or circumcision. 
 
 We are in front of the Karaouin mosque, the holy mosque " par 
 excellence." We pass by slowly. Through the open massive folding doors 
 you foresee interminable ranges of columns, infinite successions of arcades 
 losing themselves into the sombre distance in a mysterious penumbra. 
 Thousands of lanterns are suspended from the vaults of the sanctuary, 
 and on the floor a crowd is prostrated, the foreheads touching the dust, 
 and in the fever of a wild religious exaltation implore panting the 
 mercy of the Most High. 
 
 The immense murmur of these voices, united in solemn and 
 formidable prayer to invoke the name of Allah, rolls with dim roar under 
 the innumerable vaults, breaks out, and rises into the air above with 
 hollow resoundings, strange and terrible outbursts. 
 
 We stroll round the mosque along high, dull chap walls with dingy 
 summits entwined with the neighbouring houses. Through other doors of 
 the mosque you perceive marble mirhahs with elegant small columns, 
 antique pulpits of cedar-wood adorned with marvellous reliefs, and 
 inlaid[with ivory and ebony. By the side of massive j)illars with heavy 
 cinters run lines of slender columns connected by delicate curves 
 scalloped like old lace, facades of porticoes of dazzling whiteness. You 
 see gleaming with faint tints, pieces of sculpture set off by tarnished 
 gildings of faded pallid colours, under a shroud of dust, which has 
 accumulated for centuries. Between the embrasures of the minarets 
 storks have made their nests, and are quietly resting on one leg. 
 
 From walls faced with mosaics glittering in the sun with sparkling 
 
FEZ. ]97 
 
 reflects, fresh water of fountains flows and falls into marble basins with 
 the sheen of liquid gold. And still resounds, like the rumbling of a 
 distant thunder, the imposing clamour, the religious hymn of prostrate 
 believers. 
 
 We have come back to the bazaars again, the part where saddlery 
 and pottery are sold — a wide passage with low shops. A subdued light 
 comes through a lattice roof formed by reeds thrown over cross-beams 
 that rest on the top of the shop walls. Vines centuries old have grown 
 in angles, and stretch their branches over warped, dislocated trellises, 
 and soften the fierce brightness of the sun. 
 
 Arabs are quenching their thirst at a mural fountain. From some 
 shop-fronts hang velvet harness, red, crimson, light blue, pale green, 
 mignonette green, deep amaranth, jonquil, set with stones ; saddles 
 with high cantles and pointed pommels entirely covered with gold 
 embroidered velvet ; stirrups encrusted with gold or silver ; curb-chains, 
 bridle-bits, spurs carefully chased, reins embroidered with gold and 
 silk. 
 
 Then there are ranges of pottery, of lovely form, design, colours, 
 speckled with purple spots, looking like drops of blood ; urns with a 
 pure contour of a rare elegance, with double or .triple ears ; vases 
 modelled like the ancient canopes of Memphis, embellished by bands, 
 by scrolls of foliage, flowers, dentils of various colours ; dishes, basins 
 largely splayed at the base, some of them fluted, strewn inside with roses, 
 stars and ogees, with palms and nosegays interlaced with lines cleverly 
 ordered. All these things are covered with an enamel of light rosy 
 colour, and enhanced by polychrome decorations, in which crude green, 
 citrine yellow, warm brown, azure blue shades dominate with a most 
 lovely harmony. 
 
 From there we proceed to the arms bazaar — a steep narrow street, 
 where beam heaps of weapons. Eafters supporting rotten planks 
 indicate that at one time the bazaar was covered in. Amines have taken 
 root in the corners, wind along the walls, scaling arches, creeping into 
 the crevices. Here the dealers are less polished, less mindful of their 
 attire and their persons than those in the other bazaars. Many of 
 them are of Berber or Kabyle origin. Their brusque ways, loud voices. 
 
198 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 and fits of vulgar unprovoked langhter, strangely set forth the cold 
 gravity, the distinguished and courteous manners of their " confreres " of 
 the other bazaars. They soon grow provokingly familiar, forcing their 
 wares on us, and holding us back in order to induce us to conclude a 
 
 bargain. 
 
 The shops are crammed with 
 
 weapons, especially swords, 
 
 J sabres, daggers of every shape, 
 
 ^^_^^R of every epoch, of every 
 
 country. Sabres with hilts of 
 rhinoceros horn and iron 
 guards, their blades graven in 
 letters of gold, with the mottoes 
 of noble Andalusian families ; 
 curved khangiars in chiselled 
 brass sheaths ; scimitars whose 
 blades are stamped with Solo- 
 mon's seal, their steel guards 
 inlaid with gold, and their 
 pommels set with rubies and 
 emeralds ; Kabyle Jlissas with 
 narrow curved blades and 
 guilloched copper hilts; pistols 
 with damask barrels and butts 
 artistically carved, set with 
 stones ; old Spanish blunder- 
 busses, the relics of some bri- 
 THE AKMs BAZAAR IN FEZ. gauds ; slcudcr flexible straight 
 
 swords, with large basket hilts 
 in open-M^ork, whose supple blades bend till the point touches the guard, 
 and whose steel, when with a brusque movement it grows straiglit 
 again, cuts the air, whizzing and vibrating long afterwards. You 
 find-;, there "adargues," .these curious pointed shields dating from the 
 fifteenth century ; siege forks, triple-pronged, and hook-shaped ; war 
 flails; damaskeened axes; Saracen armour; guns from tla- Sous, with 
 
FEZ. 199 
 
 thin ivory butts inlaid ^vith silver, and set with rubies, topazes, 
 amethysts, their barrels chased with gold, and mounted with silver 
 rings, worked in " repousse." 
 
 Among these weapons you perceive shields of hippopotamus hide ; 
 lances with shafts of iron- wood, javelines whose heads are fastened to 
 the handle by animals' gut ; bows, quivers of human skin, filled with 
 barbed and poisoned arrows ; knives with broad, bent blades, and 
 roughly adjusted to wooden cudgels; big sabres from the Soudan, 
 with broad straight blades, their hilts wound with red leather thongs, 
 and tlieir sheaths of yellow skin ornamented with shells, and which 
 are slung over the left shoulder. Next are lots of rude and sinister 
 instruments of death and torture : heavy chains and rings to be 
 fastened to the wrists and ankles ; iron balls bristling with sharp 
 spikes, and provided with a pointed prong, with which the fanatical 
 santons pierce through their own cheeks. 
 
 We are now in the babouche bazaar, a very narrow, very gloomy 
 passage flagged with stones, where hides, boots, shoes, bags of all sorts 
 and colours are piled up in obscure recesses. The air scarcely stirs in 
 this dimly lighted alley, the atmosphere is heavy, and laden with a 
 strong smell of leather. Magnificent yellow and blue leather boots, 
 temmags embroidered in silk and gold, are exposed for sale, together 
 with delicious ladies' slippers in various colours, blue, turquoise, 
 yellow, salmon, and sea-green, adorned with silk, which appear through 
 the delicately cut leather. A little farther off are bags with several 
 pockets ; satchels worked in silk ; cartridge pouches with coloured tufts ; 
 and leather Koran cases embroidered in silk and gold. Veiled women 
 in liaihs, are sitting on the ledges trying on boots, and the merchants 
 are gallantly attentive to their pretty customers. 
 
 "We now come to the clothes bazaar, a covered place too, but some- 
 what less narrow and less sombre. Cloth and silk eaftans in purple, 
 orange, scarlet, and mauve colours, are fastened to the front of the shops, 
 together with fabrics woven with gold, spangled with silver, silk cords, 
 blue, mauve, green, violet, red, lemon, for strapping up bags, 
 hhangiars, satchels, and the fine ornamented cases for the Koran. 
 They show us remarkable .embroideries, broad gilt women's belts, as stilf 
 
200 
 
 AMOXG THE MOOES. 
 
 as cardboard. They spread before us superb tapestry, haities of silk and 
 velvet resplendent with gold embroidery. Calm, serious-looking, polite 
 shop-keepers, seated at the bottom of their dark recesses amid piles of 
 fabrics, offer us cups of amber and mint-scented tea, and put outrageous 
 prices on their goods, which they finally part with for a reasonable sum. 
 
 Cheap jacks, laden with articles of every kind, 
 roam about, shouting the prices of their wares 
 put up for auction. 
 
 lu a little courtyard adjoining the bazaar 
 there's an old enormous fig-tree entwined 
 by a vine ; some poor town and country 
 women squatting under the shade of the old 
 tree are offering at a low price, to poorer 
 customers, second-hand clothes, out of use 
 jewels, worn-out frippery; Jews in a few 
 open stalls are selling bracelets, necklaces, 
 ribbons, flasks of rose-water, laces, Jcoheul, 
 antimony, and souaJc, the pounded bark of 
 walnut-trees, which the Moors chew for 
 hardening the gums. 
 
 Farther on are sold Tafilet products : 
 dates, ostrich eggs, Tlemcen wares, olive and 
 argan oil from Sous. 
 
 We are now in the carpet bazaar, a 
 square courtyard roofed in lattice-work, 
 surrounded by shops, above which is a 
 boarding with ogee and star-shaped apertures 
 symmetrically placed. This upper timber 
 construction projects far in front of the 
 shops, supported by wooden corbels. In 
 one of the corners there's a running fountain. They expose to us 
 carpets from Eabat and Mogador, traversed by yellow, orange, and 
 violet ornamented bands, woollen blankets with red stripes and blue 
 tufts, prayer carpets brought from Syria, of soft and delightful shades. 
 Here is the dyers' street. In large underground cribs men with 
 
 A LADY OF FEZ AT THE 
 PROMENADE. 
 
A PUISON IN FEZ. 
 
 {To face p. 200. 
 
FEZ. 
 
 201 
 
 naked bust, their arms stained with colour, are soaking stuffs in tubs 
 containing purple, yellow, and indigo dyes. 
 
 We then reach the armourers' quarter, where they manufacture in 
 thousands those guns of unvarying shape with splayed butts plated with 
 copper sheet and nails, and long barrels mounted with silver rings, the 
 weapons preferred above all others by the Arab horsemen. 
 
 Near by is the coppersmiths' bazaar, in which there is a ceaseless 
 hammering of the metal, which is wrought into trays, tables, vases, 
 censers in open-work, and cylindrical lamps 
 carved in arabesques. 
 
 * * » * 
 
 To-day we have paid a visit to the prison. 
 We traversed two or three obscure passages and 
 entered a sombre yard taking its light from a 
 narrow grating. On presenting a written order 
 from the Pasha, the warder showed us into the 
 cells on the ground floor, where the ragged 
 prisoners, some of them in fetters, appear to bear 
 their sad fate with philosophic calm. They live 
 on donations, and what their families and friends 
 bring them. Those who have no one to take 
 an interest in them die of starvation, or nearly 
 so, unless they devote themselves to manufacturing 
 trifles of rushwork, such as mats, koufas, and 
 baskets, the sale of which brings them in a few 
 coppers to buy a little food. 
 
 The upper story is of frightful aspect. Under 
 damp vaults lit by one pale gleam of light filtering through a hole, 
 prisoners in rags, infested with vermin, are chained to massive square 
 pillars. Iron collars are fastened round their necks, and rings riveted 
 round their ankles, and when these phantoms with livid flesh, emaciated 
 features, make a movement, their heavy chains clank with a sinister 
 sound. 
 
 In the ground among the filth, exsanguinous bodies, lean as skeletons, 
 are stretched. They lay as rigid as corpses, and foul, liairy black rats 
 career over their bare limbs. 
 
 A PRISONER. 
 
202 AMONG THE MOOllS. 
 
 Occasionally a wailing cry, a shrill, piercing prolonged shriek is heard, 
 and one of the doomed beings, suddenly losing his senses, rattles furiously 
 his chain, dashes about, and falls back strangled by the horrible iron 
 collar, his ankles lacerated by the rings that bind him to his Calvary. 
 
 When one of the unfortunate creatures succumbs, a rope is tied 
 round his feet, his body, half devoured by rats, is dragged out and 
 carried away on a stretcher. 
 
 The gaoler has just led us to a corner of the dungeon from which 
 constantly escapes a hollow convulsive moan, full of indescribable 
 anguish. It is with some difficulty that we distinguish at first in the 
 shadow a grey, shrivelled, curled-up mass, squatting in a' pestilent cloaca. 
 On coming nearer we perceive a human being chained to the wall, and 
 the waoler informs us that he is a robber who is enduring the " salt- 
 torture," and that he will be dead before night, killed by the appalling 
 sufferings. 
 
 With outstretched arms, hugely open eyes, dilated pupils, tightly 
 clenched teeth, haggard features stiffened in a supreme convulsion, 
 the poor wretch was writhing in agony. We pause for a moment, 
 spellbound with horror at the expression of frightful grief imprinted on 
 the contracted face of this miserable being, with the death-rattle in his 
 throat, dying with the terrible torture. 
 
 This punishment, which is sometimes inflicted on criminals, is 
 atrocious. It is done in this way. An incision is made in the palms of 
 the hands, the wounds are filled with salt, each hand is then clenched 
 with the nails dug into the sores, and is kept in this condition by a 
 bandage of fresh hide wound tightly round it. At the end of a certain 
 time the bandage is taken off, the hand is anchylosed and won't open, but 
 the nails continue to grow, penetrating into the flesh, and inflicting such 
 awful agony that tlie victim soon dies or becomes mad. 
 
 Another variety of torture consists in scorching the eyes with a red 
 hot iron, and very frequently these miserable creatures with bleeding 
 orbs are to be met with at the corners of streets and on the crossways, 
 imploring alms of the passers-by. 
 
 In comparison with these modes it seems almost a trifle to cut off a 
 thief's hand or to bastinade a poor devil. 
 
A MADMAN IN A PKISON IN FEZ. 
 
 [/■„ /a,.t /.. 2UJ. 
 
FEZ. 
 
 203 
 
 From the terrace on the top of the house wliere our men are lodged 
 the aspect of the town is quite fairjdike. It is, first of all, a succession 
 of wdiite platforms, an agglomeration of terraces rising in tiers, inter- 
 penetrating each other, stretching endlessly, blended into the far bluish 
 distance. From the midst of this wide expanse surge the tall towers of 
 mosques, the high crenellated wall of 
 the Kasbah, the formidable enceintes of 
 the town, and the sombre walls of tlie 
 Sultan's palace buried in masses of 
 verdure. Then it is an immense circle 
 of mountains with sharp peaks and steep 
 slopes, at the foot of which you descry 
 remains of ruined walls and Ichouhas, 
 domes, cupolas of tombs like white 
 specks, and farther off, far away in the 
 south, the Atlas with its snow. 
 
 The terraces are crowded with women, 
 some reclining on carpets, others 
 promenading in groups, a few sitting 
 with dangling feet on the ledges of the 
 walls, chatting with their neisrhbours on 
 the opposite side of the street. They pass 
 in endless succession from house to 
 house, from terrace to terrace ; they 
 throw flying bridges from one side of 
 the street to the other; they escalade 
 roofs and climb with a cat-like agility 
 short ladders placed against low walls. 
 And in this amusing gymnastic sudden 
 gusts of wind, indiscreet freaks of dress, disclose now and again a fine 
 bosom, a pretty arched foot, a marvellously shaped leg, and occasionally 
 something more. 
 
 Women are preparing meals on little earthenware ovens, otliers are 
 washing, spreading out the linen on lines, taking it down, folding it, and 
 occupying themselves with the thousand-and-one duties of the household. 
 
 AT HOME ON THE TERKACE. 
 
204 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 Nothing is more interesting, more curiously original, than the sight 
 of these roofs swarming with people, this feminine life manifesting itself 
 without constraint on this multitude of terraces, exuberant with spirit, 
 mirth, animation. 
 
 ]\Iost of the women are handsome, with a proud, savage, attractive 
 Ijeauty. Their attitudes are marked with a strange suppleness mixed 
 
 TUE TERRACES OF THE HOUSES IN FEZ. 
 
 with a surprising abruptness ; and in the feline movements of their pose, 
 astonishingly graceful, unconsciously provocating, there is a suggestion 
 of a voluptuous fatigue. 
 
 Some of them, their foreheads entwined with sequins, their eyes 
 enlarged by antimony, their eyelashes and eye^brows darkened, their 
 brows tattooed with blue, stand erect, motionless with folded arms, fixed 
 eyes, the look lost in the space. Their heads are covered with the 
 
FEZ. 
 
 205 
 
 glistening hantouze, whose ribbons spangled with gold fall on each 
 
 side of their breasts like the bandlets of an Egyptian god, and light 
 
 gold-embroidered veils float over their shoulders. A wide and stiff belt 
 
 of gold and silk secures at the waist their kaftan, which, underneath a 
 
 surplice of transparent gauze, falls down to the knees. And the 
 
 kaftan's upper edge, braided with gold, opened on the breast, reveals the 
 
 hem of their linen chemise, whose snowy whiteness strongly contrasts 
 
 with their dark skin plated with necklaces and jewels. Their wide 
 
 sleeves turned up to the shoulders 
 
 with silken cords expose their iine 
 
 naked arms, clasped by antique shape 
 
 bracelets, and silver rings tinkle on 
 
 their delicate ankles. One would 
 
 think to see them thus rigid in their 
 
 straight pose, magnificently attired, 
 
 they were mysterious idols who had 
 
 been exposed out of their venerated 
 
 temples. 
 
 Slim young girls with big dark 
 eyes, and a simple silk kerchief 
 attached round their heads, move 
 about with an adder-like flexibility, 
 and their long loosened tresses flow 
 over their shoulders. 
 
 Slaves, negresses with hard pro- 
 files and sombre faces, with heavy 
 metal rings in their ears, clad in checked garments of red or blue 
 squares on a white ground, their waists encircled by red belts, are 
 standing hard by. 
 
 The women walk with arms entwined along the terraces, with 
 a voluptuous sway of the hips, lean on the old whitened walls, 
 lengthen themselves lasciviously over the calcinated roofs, and the 
 friendly chats begin : delicate disclosures are made in a low voice, 
 secrets of the harem are whispered into the ear, many peals of laughter 
 burst in pearled notes, mingled with the harsh titter of the negresses ; 
 
 A MAKRIED WOMAN WITH THE 
 " HANTOUZE." 
 
206 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 and the echoes of these youthful voices, of these gay pranks, of this 
 amusing life in the open air, rise from the innumerable terraces in a 
 long and melodious murmur. 
 
 And the lovely creatures in the halo of their golden head-dress, in 
 the splendour of their superb poses, breathe the evening air, and when 
 
 the balmy breezes laden with 
 the overpowering odours of 
 benzoin and aloes, mixed with 
 the puissant fragrance of far- 
 off plains, pass between their 
 moist lips, kiss their nacred 
 teeth, envelop with a caress 
 their bare, shapely limbs, their 
 nostrils slightly quiver, their 
 bosoms swell a little more, 
 gleams flash in the shadow 
 of their deep eyes, and 
 their unsatiated flesh, shaken 
 with inexplicable tremor, 
 thrills, bitten by some mys- 
 terious desire. 
 
 And the sun slowly setting 
 ^ in the immense canopy bathes 
 with its golden hues the old 
 terrace walls, which take 
 amber tints. The gilded 
 mitres of the hantouzes 
 glisten, the bandlets, the 
 veils spangled, interwoven 
 with gold, scintillate, the 
 necklaces glimmer, ruddy reflects glide on the proud dark heads, on the 
 bare lovely arms, encircled by bracelets ; the negresses, with inflexible 
 profiles, are resplendent like bronze statues, and warm tints run on the 
 loose tresses of the lithe-limbed maidens. 
 
 The fiery orb disappeared behind the liighest peak of the mountains, 
 
 AN INCIDENT OF THE HAEEM. 
 
FEZ. 
 
 207 
 
 fringing its broken summits with a purple thread, and a great blue 
 shadow falls on the terraces, softening its glaring tones ; one last flame 
 illumes the height of the lofty ramparts, envelops the highest points of 
 the minaret towers ; tlieir gilded balls sparkle, and the old worn-out 
 mosaics shine in softened glares. The dying gleams colour with a rosy 
 sheen the green tiles on the roofs of the mosques, and in the pale 
 yellow sky, speckled with light purple clouds, birds in triangular array 
 pass flying to the south, and 
 storks soar aloft on the wing. 
 
 Then in a great and imposing 
 silence that has suddenly fallen, 
 shrill plaintive droning voices are 
 lieard, and the solemn prayer is 
 done, bowing the front in the 
 dust, all the world of Islam. 
 
 We often see Dr. Linares, 
 and the more we see of him tlie 
 more we wish to see him. He 
 has set Marshall on his legs, 
 and our friend is completing his 
 convalescence by strolling idly 
 through the bazaars. 
 
 This morning the doctor 
 invited Forestier and myself to 
 lunch, and in the very heart of 
 
 Fez we sat down to a repast entirely Parisian in character from 
 the first course to the last. The wine was excellent, the liqueurs 
 choice ones, and the coffee like nectar. As the doctor is a charming 
 host doubled with an erudite, and as Forestier is as clever with his 
 tongue as he is with his brush, it is not hard to infer that we had a 
 delightful time. 
 
 In fact, we are pampered like spoilt children by everybody ; we are 
 overwhelmed with kind attentions of every sort by our host and hostess 
 Kaid Maclean, his brother the Captain, and Dr. Linares, and I shall always 
 
 A WOMAN OF FEZ. 
 
208 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 feel deeply grateful to them for all the thought and care they bestowed 
 
 on us. 
 
 ******* 
 
 "We are to take tea with the Spanish Consul in Fez, Si-Omar-Barada, 
 a Moor, with whom we have had some business transactions. He is 
 going to take us afterwards to call on one of his friends, a rich merchant 
 
 in the town. 
 ^^~ ' Through a dark labyrinth of 
 
 narrow, winding streets he leads 
 
 us into a still narrower passage, 
 
 roofed in at a great height, with 
 
 beams supporting a building. 
 
 He opens a low door in a 
 
 high grey M'all, and through a 
 
 bent corridor we enter the 
 
 mosaic paved courtyard of liis 
 
 dwelling, a pretty house with 
 
 >^ Tfli ' ' Ti' ^F^ sculptured and painted porticoes. 
 
 ^ I bJ ^ W^ > '^ Slaves bring in the samovar, 
 
 " i "^^B »'.•'' 1 t little glasses of enamelled crystal 
 
 used as cups, in which we are 
 served five or six times with 
 mint-scented tea. Si-Omar and 
 his friends squatted down on 
 mats at the entrance of one of 
 the long rooms, but he accom- 
 modated us with straw-seated 
 chairs. The negress who has 
 served us with tea, examines 
 us from head to foot from the 
 top steps of the staircase where she took refuge, and rows of saucy heads, 
 roguish faces with very dark eyes appear above the gallery of the first 
 storey, only to vanish suddenly as soon as we glance that way. We 
 purchase various things from Si-Omar, and he takes us to his friend's house. 
 In a dirty street lined by ruined walls we halt before a worm-eaten 
 
 STKEKT ur TUE LAU.SUEESU IN' I'EZ. 
 
FEZ. 
 
 209 
 
 door which opens into a noisome courtyard. The centre is quite a sewer 
 with floating rubbish ; in one of 
 the corners a dead fowl is putrefying 
 on a heap of filth. We ascend a 
 few disjointed stone steps ; Si- 
 Omar knocks, and his friend, a 
 Moor, remarkably neat, with an 
 expressive head and a grey beard, 
 comes and opens the door. After 
 exchanging a lot of courteous salu- 
 tations we follow him along a 
 narrow meandering corridor, per- 
 fectly dark, which brings us to a vast 
 open square courtyard with walls 
 as white as snow, and paved with 
 tile mosaics, surrounded by porti- 
 coes. Their columns, wdiite up to 
 the impost, support arches broken 
 by lines bending in graceful curves, 
 their pendentives tastefully carved, 
 their fafades covered with arabesque 
 lacework painted in fresh vivid 
 colours set off with gold. 
 
 Under the arcades, on three 
 sides of the square, ogee doorways, 
 symmetrically disposed, lead into 
 the apartments. The folding doors 
 are entirely dressed with glaring 
 colours, underlined with gold. On 
 a pure vermilion background are 
 displayed, in an inextricaljle geo- 
 metrical entanglement, lines, curves, 
 stars, rosettes of blue, green and 
 yellow colours in festooned cinters, 
 enclosed in rectangularly framed bauds, whose pale white flesh- 
 
 P 
 
 % 
 
 M- 
 
 STKKKT IN i"JiZ. 
 
210 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 coloured background sacred texts stand out in ultramarine blue 
 letters ; and the crudeness of these glaring tints, ^A-hicll kill each 
 other by the very excess of their brightness, is melted into a warm 
 luminous " ensemble " extremely harmonious, forming a strong contrast 
 
 to the whiteness of the -vralls. 
 ^ ^ On the fourth side there is 
 
 '^^-^ a pretty mural fountain ; inside 
 
 an elliptic arch are grouped, 
 in an admirable arrangement, 
 mosaics in tiles of intricate 
 delicious design, whose colours 
 are mixed in a most felicitous 
 way. The water flows into a 
 marble basin in a double jet. 
 
 Passing through the door 
 opposite the fountain, on the 
 other side of the courtyard, 
 you find yourselves in a long 
 high room with a ceiling 
 adorned with carved wood 
 caissons decorated with gilded 
 paintings. In the wall, along 
 which runs a high plinth of 
 mosaics, a sort of alcove into 
 which the plinth also extends, 
 opens facing the door. Its 
 floor, also in mosaics, is a trifle 
 higher than the rest of the 
 room, and its aperture is in the shape of an ogee. First it is a pure 
 cinter, then a second broken by stalactites, next a third, afterwards 
 others intermixed with pendentives, alveoles, little ogees entwined 
 apparently in a disorderly fashion, in a series of curves of a close design 
 and mathematically exact. 
 
 All these things, painted in ardent colours, in red, green, blue, yellow, 
 set off with gold, hang in a lot of innumerable polished facets over 
 
 ENTRANCE DOOR TO A HOUSE IN FEZ. 
 
FEZ. 
 
 211 
 
 your heads, lorming a vault delightful in its lines, in its colour, in its 
 brilliant fancy. On the mosaic floor are thrown fine woollen carpets of 
 delicate softened shades. The doors on the two opposite sides are 
 closed. 
 
 On the first floor, a gallery decorated with coloured moucharahiehs 
 fills, to the height of four 
 feet, the spaces between the 
 columns of the porticoes, 
 also painted and sculptured. 
 Under the arcades lower 
 than those on the ground 
 floor, there are likewise 
 symmetrically placed doors. 
 In one of the rooms in 
 which we are taken, carpets 
 cover the floor, and the light 
 comes from grated windows 
 fitted up with coloured glass, 
 through which the sun fil- 
 ters, falling on the carpets, 
 making their colours flash 
 and shine like so many 
 rubies, diamonds, and sap- 
 phires. 
 
 When we are descending 
 again, the master of the 
 house shows us the kitchen, 
 a little room on the stairs 
 half-way down. 
 
 No sooner are we at the 
 bottom than a number of 
 curious little brown faces with hantouzes or silk kerchiefs on 
 their lieads are bent over the balustrade, eager to see the Roumis, 
 and vanish as if by enchantment when we look that way. We 
 imbible endless cups of tea, take leave of our host, cross again 
 
 p 2 
 
 '^PPi'. 
 
 INTERIOR OF APARTMENTS IN' FEZ. 
 
212 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 the abominable courtyard, and Si-Omar-Barada accompanies us to the 
 
 Kaid's house. 
 
 « * * * * » 
 
 This morning Kaid Maclean ordered Hadj Mohammed, our dear old 
 scamp, to appear before liim. It seems that last night, in the house let 
 to Harris by the Pasha, our men were led to indulge in wild revelry, 
 entertained men and women of shady character, and disported them- 
 selves in the most frolicsome style. The Kaid, instead of interfering and 
 exercising his authority to stop the saturnalia, had, on the contrary, 
 exerted the remains of his exhausted strength to put more life into it, 
 playing, in fact, first fiddle in these high jinks. 
 
 When he arrived he w^as a piteous sight. His haggard face under his 
 soiled turban, all awry on his head, his two grey wisps of hair hanging 
 loosely down over his furrowed temples, his eyes sunken,'his glassy look, 
 his features sallow, his gait uncertain, all these tokens sufficiently 
 indicated the " role " he had played in this little family banquet. 
 
 Kaid Maclean had him seized by two of his soldiers, censured his 
 conduct in no measured terms, severely reprimanded him for his daily 
 thefts, and sentenced him to be bastinadoed. Then feigning to be 
 moved by the tears and promises of the vicious old boy, who had 
 
 fallen on his knees, he let him off with the lecture he had given him. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Whenever in the villages, on the roads, in the towns, we have 
 inquired of the Arabs if they knew Al-Aissoui, the disciple of the great 
 saint Sidi-Ben-Aissa, the illustrious serpent charmer, they one and all 
 replied they had not the least knowledge of him and never heard his 
 name mentioned. Nevertheless Harris is known by this title right 
 throughout Morocco ; he has told us so many times, and even a book of 
 his, recently published by my amiable editor, " The Land of an African 
 Sultan," bears this surname side by side with his own ; and in the 
 preface he has taken great pains to inform the reader that he is thus 
 designated througli the length and breadth of the vast empire of Morocco. 
 WJien we told him of our deep surprise at discovering that nobody here 
 seemed to be aware of his existence, he explained, in confidence, that the 
 Sultan, alarmed at his ever-increasing fame, seeing the devotion of his 
 
FEZ. 213 
 
 subjects alienated from himself and concentrated on Al-Aissoui, whose 
 name was in everybody's mouth, and even going so far as to suspect 
 him of a design to overthrow him and reiun in his stead, had endea- 
 voured to wean the people from this strange infatuation by prohibiting, 
 under the penalty of death, every man, woman, and child from ever 
 breathing his name. And that is why Harris the Terrible, the darling 
 of ]\Iorocco, a sultan embryo, Mouley -Walter-Harris, Al-Aissoui, the 
 predestinate, was forced by a strange irony of fate, by the jealous caprice 
 of a sultan, to gad about as a common-place being just like one of Cook's 
 tourists, in the midst of a population of eight million Mussulmans, 
 all of whom had his name engraven on their hearts. 
 
 But Allah watched over the destinies of Harris and was ready to 
 redress the injustice of fate and thwart the inept precautions of the 
 Sultan. " My Eide to Sheshouan " was now known from one end of the 
 Moghreb to the other. The story-tellers on the crossways, the wander- 
 ing troubadours under the tents of the Bedouins, the old men under the 
 thatched roofs, were, like enthusiastic rhapsodists, chanting to the sounds 
 of thegimbry the never-to-be-forgotten epic of Al-Aissoui ; and in face of 
 these extravagant exploits, these surprising adventures, these miraculous 
 events, the people, in revenge for the veto put upon the name of Al- 
 Aissoui, had bestowed upon their idol the epithet Bouak-al-Hadj — 
 " The Son of the Pilgrim," or " Your father was a pilgrim " ; and when 
 these words were sounded in his ears, Harris was wont to smile an 
 approving smile under his thin moustache and reply, Salani al Koum 
 vv'hich means " May peace be with you," or something of the sort. 
 
 It is true that the epithet Bouak-al-Hadj was a trifle common, vulgar, 
 trivial even, was sometimes taken as an offence, and generally applied to 
 a braggart, to one who relates stories as dull as ditch-water. But that' 
 as Harris told us, under the seal of secrecy, was simply a stratagem to 
 evade the formal order to suppress his name — an ingenious way resorted 
 to by the crowd to allay the distrust of the Sultan, who could never for 
 a moment imagine that a creature thus designated was ever destined to 
 be the elect who should one day oust him from his throne. 
 
 And now under the tents, under the thatched roofs, in the towns, in 
 fact everywhere, the only topic of conversation is Bouak-al-Hadj, the 
 
214 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 second incarnation of Harris, who, after charming serpents, now charms 
 men, and is preparing, like Brahma, for his third and final incarnation 
 in the skin of the glorious Sultan Mouley- Walter-Harris Al-Aissoui 
 Bouak-al-Hadj, the Mahdi of the Moghreb-el-Aksa, and of the rest of 
 the Orient. 
 

 ^ C 
 
 THE PLAIN OF FEZ. 
 
 In view of Fez, Qth February. 
 
 We are leaving Fez to-day; Marshall is better, and Ingram should 
 be in London before the end of the month. Our valises are crammed 
 with objects purchased at Mequinez and Fez. We have splendid gold- 
 embroidered haites, sabres with hilts made of rhinoceros horn and 
 blades inlaid with gold, rare manuscript copies of the Koran, illuminated 
 like old missals of the Middle Ages, carpets, brocaded fabrics, necklaces, 
 bracelets, curious jewels, pieces of figured silk stuff worked in gold, 
 stirrups, saddles, harness, purple sulhams, ferradjiehs, burnooses, haiks, 
 tarhouclis, pouches of ornamented leather, guns, in fact, all kinds of 
 things. What raptures of joy when we hang all these treasures over 
 the walls of our studios ! 
 
 Our mules have been re-shod, our saddles repaired, the bridles and 
 straps patched up, tlie dislocated baggage-train has been reformed and 
 sent forward. Kaid Maclean has replenished our provision stores, well- 
 nieh exhausted. All we have to do now is to take leave of our kind 
 hosts and to depart. 
 
 We return through the streets by which we came ; we pass the 
 great ogee gates, opening in the dilapidated, frowning, lofty walls. We 
 
216 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 make our way between the barley fields and tilled lands of the plain of 
 Fez, and descry our tents set up at a short distance from our late 
 camping-ground near the lakes. 
 
 Harris, who is always anxious to be the first to reach the goal, digs 
 his spurs in the flanks of his horse, and with a furious blast of his horn, 
 passes like a blowing hurricane between Forestier's mule and mine, 
 and our two beasts, terrified and distracted, set off at full speed and 
 
 VILLAGERS. 
 
 kick right and left. Forestier's saddle-girth at last gives way, with the 
 result that he is pitched headforemost into the middle of a colza field, 
 and it is with the greatest difficulty in the world that I can master my 
 mule, which, in a spirit of imitation, sought to get rid of me. 
 
 Luckily Forestier had no hurt. Our men caught the runaway 
 animal, which was gaily careering about, and we reached the camp with- 
 out any broken limbs. 
 
 Some of the villagers came to-night to beg us to prescribe for one 
 of their people who suffered from dropsy and eye disease, and Harris, 
 
IN VIEW OF FEZ. 
 
 217 
 
 encroaching on Forestier's attributions as our ajjpointed practitioner, 
 followed them and made the sick man take a rhubarb pill, leaving some 
 permanganate of potash ointment for the eyes. He has returned to 
 camp with a light heart, and rejoices in the thought that he has fulfilled 
 his duty both as a Christian and as a medical man. 
 
ON THE WAY TO MEKIS, 
 
 idekis, 10th February. 
 
 Again we wake up under the tent. The flowers that we had trodden 
 down when installing ourselves yesterday evening have resumed their 
 wonted appearance. A sheaf of tall yellow marigolds stands close to 
 my pillow, daisies litter the floor, mixed with corn-flowers and anemones, 
 and a fresh breeze, laden with perfumes, glides under the edges of the 
 tent, which swell out with a light rustle. 
 
 We skirt, in a northwardly direction this time, the spurs of the 
 Zahroun mountains, whose bristling tops profile themselves in black 
 on the blue sky on our left. On their woody flanks appear circular 
 groups of tents, thatched roofs, and terraces, half hidden in the masses 
 of verdure. 
 
 We are now in sandy regions, on table-lands with dales, cut up by 
 gullies and rocky ravines, where slender and stunted shrubs grow with 
 difficulty on a sterile soil. 
 
 We meet with a large troop of Arabs. These are people from a 
 distant tribe on a pilgrimage to Mouley-Idriss. They have with them 
 
MEKIS. 219 
 
 no mules, no tents, no baggage of any kind, nothing but the clothes they 
 stand in. For the last twelve days they have been journeying exposed 
 to wind, to sun, to rain, sleeping on the bare earth, living on figs and 
 dried dates ; poor, light-hearted and careless. 
 
 After traversing a series of little wild valleys in a country getting 
 more and more uneven, we halt by a village perched on a liillock 
 descending rather abruptly to the banks of a river that winds in a plain 
 surrounded by a circle of hills and mountains. 
 
 The approaches to this hamlet are strewn with dried-up carcases, 
 and foul smells are emitted from these rotten bones. The Sheik does 
 his best to induce our Kaid to set up the tents within the ring of the 
 village habitations, as the neighbourhood is infested with robbers and 
 not at all safe. A troop of camels is there already, with the drivers, 
 near a pack of gaunt dogs, busy devouring strips of putrefied flesh. We 
 decline the Sheik's offer, and, as we prefer running the risk of being 
 robbed to the certainty of spending the night in the vicinity of these 
 sickening odours, we pitch our camp at a hundred yards from the 
 village, taking good care to avoid placing ourselves to windward of the 
 horrible carrion. 
 
 This valley is very picturesque. The river, the Oued-Mekis, a 
 pretty little river with a quiet stream, on a bed of pebbles, winds 
 between banks lined with rushes, willows, rosebays in the middle of a 
 cultivated plain. Around oxen yoked to wheelless ploughs, wliite ibis 
 flutter, herons hop about, clumsily flapping their wings; at every 
 moment numerous bands of plovers noisily wing their flight. When 
 our men go to the river to water the beasts, wild ducks start out of the 
 rushes, water-hens dive out of sight, and startled blackbirds fly away 
 with strident cries. 
 
 The plain sinks between ranges of hills where, from amidst the 
 dwarf palms, are seen brown patches showing where the ground has 
 been rent by the plough. Behind these foremost hillocks files of hills 
 rise above one another, and on the far-off horizon summits of mountains 
 rise aloft. On the northern slopes half-melted snow glistens in the sun 
 with rose-coloured hues. 
 
 Marshall, who proves to be more stubborn even tlian our mules, and 
 
220 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 who is hardly recovered from his illness, makes haste to resume his old 
 negligent habits, in spite of our reiterated remonstrances, and takes it 
 into his head to spend the night in his clothes, but without any other 
 protection from the damp cold and morning dew. The consequences of 
 this silly act of imprudence were soon forthcoming, and the result was 
 that the obstinate fellow has been complaining all day long of pains in 
 his back and his head, and this evening he does not seem to be in very 
 good spirits. 
 
 I am smoking my pipe while Forestier, hard at work on his " spring 
 number," grumbles at his lazy Pylades, and furiously plies with kicks 
 that insufterable bore Don, who ever and anon makes distracted rushes 
 between his legs, and upsets the complicated and unsteady contrivances 
 of his extemporised working table. 
 
 Ingram is reclining on his couch, while dinner is being got ready ; 
 but now and then he starts from his slumbers to go and pay sundry visits 
 to the kitchen, to hustle Brooks, and to threaten his dogs with dire 
 punishment. 
 
 Harris never leaves the muleteers' tent. He joins in their cliildish 
 pastimes, takes gimhrij lessons, improves under their guidance his 
 execrable pronunciation of Arabic, and learns by heart verses of the 
 Koran. As a reward for all this, he treats them every evening to a 
 relation of " My Eide to Shesliouan," teaches them the good manners of 
 the Occident, and rids them of their fleas. These apterous epicures, with 
 a marked preference for white flesh, clamber up his person in close 
 storming order. Some nursed babes forgotten in the hurry of the 
 departure, a few old sedentary fleas of depraved tastes and conservative 
 habits, are the only ones who stay, wearing out their mandibles on the 
 tough epidermis of our muleteers. 
 
 When Harris leaves this kennel, we flatly refuse him ad- 
 mittance to our tent, and we beg him to go and shake his fleas 
 elsewhere. 
 
 We have parted with Sambo. He was too partial to Idf ; his 
 companions, though not very particular, entertained a dislike for him. 
 So we left him at Fez, and replaced him by another Sambo — Sambo II., 
 a negro with a magnificent jet-black skin. 
 
MEKIS. 221 
 
 A relative of the Sherif of Ouezzan, a member of the younger branch, 
 accompanied us since we left Fez. He is going to Tangier, and is glad 
 to accept our hospitality for the present. He has much of the negro 
 blood in him, but his features are rather finely cut. His baggage 
 consists wholly in a sherifs hatchet, and a saucepan with a handle 
 adorned with a tuft of feathers. He has to leave us to-morrow at the 
 crossing of the Tangier and Ouezzan roads, and he will proceed on his 
 way begging for alms. 
 
 This humble offspring of the Sherif is a gentleman to the very tips 
 of his fingers. We were made aware of this through an incident which, 
 though of trifling importance in itself, was nevertheless pregnant with 
 sicrnificance. 
 
 
 THE OUED-MEKIS. 
 
 A big, plump, sleek louse, with chubby cheeks and shiny face, of 
 luxuriant health, with jocund air and bland demeanour, one in fact who 
 looked spoilt, like an old dowager's blear-eyed King Charles's spaniel, was 
 strolling listlessly on Cyclops' neck, warming in the sun some persistent 
 rheumatism of old standing. As the thoroughbred gentleman which he 
 unquestionably is, Mahomet's descendant had delicately seized the 
 promenader between his thumb and forefinger, and instead of then and 
 there throwing him on the ground, or destroying him as one of those 
 coarse fellows from the Occident would certainly have done, he had 
 with the most exquisite politeness deposited him on the hand of his 
 owner, who thus was free to act as he pleased with regard to the fate of 
 his boarder. 
 
 Cyclops, who on his side was not lacking in " savoir-vivre," had 
 politely thanked the Sherif; and after examining the prisoner with great 
 
222 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 care, and making sure of his identity, he had gently reinstated him in his 
 former post on his neck, remarking that the insect was a paterfamilias, 
 and that he did not ^vish to make orphans of his offspring, for does not 
 the Koran recommend kindness to animals ? 
 
 I confess I was deeply moved by this extraordinary forbearance, this 
 sweeping and singular charity, wliich went so far as to allow oneself to 
 be devoured by the vermin, rather than bring sorrow and mourning unto 
 their families. 
 
 I was filled with respectful admiration for this supreme Eastern 
 courtesy, without going to the length, however, of wisliing that these 
 customs, so poetically chivalrous, and worthy of the old Abencerages, 
 should take root amongst us. But it behoves me to say that henceforth 
 I always kept Cyclops at a respectable distance, and took precious care 
 to avoid contact with his noble self, lest one of his ravenous and 
 numerous clients, tired with the Arab " menu," should wish to try French 
 " cuisine " for a change, and seek new quarters on my own person. 
 
 In the meantime Harris is getting himself initiated into the extra 
 refinement of maglirebin high-life by this self-same individual and his 
 companions ! Poor man ! how far will he go in his imitation of the 
 manners of Eastern genteel society ? 
 

 A DOUAR OF BKDOUINS. 
 
 Along the Zahroun Mountains, llth February. 
 The weather continues splendid and the glorious sun shines in a sky 
 of an intense blue. Fresh breezes blow, perfumed with the odours of 
 trees and plants, and the caravan proceeds gaily through a fertile hilly- 
 country irrigated by streams and rivulets. 
 
 Still, on our left, stand out harsh and lurid the jagged ridges of the 
 Zahroun mountains. AVe skirt the foot of their extreme buttresses. 
 On steep hillsides covered with forests and thick undergrowth you 
 descry white towns with belts of walls, fortified villages, rings of 
 Bedouin tents, and up above surge, like the remains of formidable ruined 
 bulwarks, grey ranges of rugged rocks. For a very long time we follow 
 the levels of table-lands endlessly covered with dwarf palms and gorse, 
 through which appear large bare, stony spaces. Then we again come 
 across tilled lands, thatched villages, and again begin the green expanses 
 of dwarf palms and gorse in dreary, infinite, monotonous succession. 
 
 "We gradually deviate from the Zahroun mountains, which we leave 
 more and more on our left. They are now growing indistinct, and fade 
 away in a uniform blue tint. 
 
 A town appears in view, strangely situated on the extreme heights 
 
224 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 of two mountains separated by a deep vertical chasm, as if tliey had 
 been rent asunder by the sword of a giant. The Arabs tell us that 
 formerly there was but one mountain, on which the town stood. An 
 earthquake had severed it in twain, digging an abyss between the towns 
 thus violently parted. 
 
 We make a halt for lunch near a brook, and feast on a harvest 
 of watercress gathered by Ingram on its banks. "We are at a cross- 
 way, and we have the choice between two routes, both converging to 
 
 THE ZAHEOUN MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Ouezzan. Antonio suggests that we should journey on the levels of the 
 plateaus, the Kaid strongly urges the expediency of proceeding along the 
 valleys, and the latter course is adopted. 
 
 At first there are cultivated lauds ; we traverse lavender fields, cross 
 multitudes of streams and brooks, and the everlasting dwarf palms make 
 their reappearance. Then the hitherto dry ground grows more flexible, 
 the soil becomes soft ; we come to bare sodden tracts that turn into 
 swamps, in an immense dull and mournful plain of mud, in whicli our 
 mules sink up to their saddle-girths. The sun disappears behind tlie 
 mountains that encircle us, and we struggle on, plodding behind the 
 
ALONG THE ZAHROUN MOUNTAINS. 
 
 225 
 
 silent and sullen Kaid, lost in the dull grey extent of these marshes, 
 reeking with an all-pervading moisture. Gradually we outstrip the 
 baggage mules, our train is broken up in distant groups, and each one 
 follows as best he can. The 
 
 exhausted animals make 
 prolonged halts and are 
 hardly able to start afresh. 
 An icy wind chills our 
 bones, and the distant out- 
 lines are growing darker in 
 the blue shadows of the 
 twilight that falls slowly 
 and stretches like a great 
 shroud on the uniform and 
 lugubrious plain. 
 
 At length, as night is 
 coming in, we emerge one 
 by one, fagged, soiled, from 
 this sea of mud, and we 
 halt on the slope of a hill 
 near a douar. Ingram and 
 Harris are the first to 
 arrive with the Kaid ; Fores- 
 tier and I follow on their 
 heels ; then comes Marshall, 
 bent double on his saddle, 
 his features distorted with 
 pain ; then we discern 
 through the mist the stiff 
 silhouette of impassible 
 Brooks, and that is all ! As far as the eye can search, no trace of our 
 rearguard is perceptible in the darkness, which grows deeper and deeper. 
 The country is ill-famed, infested by bold miscreants always upon the 
 watch to plunder distressed caravans. We are getting uneasy as to the 
 fate of our servants. 
 
 Q 
 
 :^feW^ 
 
 
 UKSUBDUED MOUXTAINEERg. 
 
226 
 
 AMOXG THE MOOES. 
 
 Harris, escorted by an Arab of the doitar, who is riding Ingram's 
 horse, eroes out to reconnoitre, and returns after a few minutes. He has 
 discovered our men at the foot of the hill, and they soon make their 
 appearance with the mules. Men and beasts are worn out with fatigue 
 and dripping with liquid mud. The baggage is splashed all over. 
 
 Mad with rage, our exasperated muleteers make an onslaught on the 
 Kaid, who misdirected them. They surround him, hustle and abuse Mm, 
 and we hasten to interfere in order to pacify them and extricate the old 
 man from their clutches. 
 
 The camp is pitched by the light of a fire, which the people of the 
 doitar have lit within the ring of the tents, as the neighbom-hood is 
 anything but safe, and we go to sleep amid the din made by baying dogs 
 and by our guards, who keep shouting to keep themselves awake. 
 
TIIC SEBOU. 
 
 A'in-Ali Beni Hassan, \1th February. 
 When we strike our tents the weather is threatening, the air is 
 sultry, and big clouds roll in the dull and heavy sky. We feel that 
 waterfalls are hanging over our heads. 
 
 At first we skirt cultivated fields where Arabs lead their ploughs, 
 drawn by small ruddy-coated oxen. White ibis follow in the wake of 
 the team, pecking at worms and insects in the cut open furrows. Some 
 are resting on the backs of the oxen. 
 
 The ground grows more uneven. The gorse and dwarf palms 
 alternate with great bare rocky patches, and on our right, in the far-off 
 distance, the meanders of the Sebou glisten in pale tints in the plain 
 bordered by a range of low mountains. 
 
 The sky has become of a livid hue, the clouds are lower, and crawl 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 heavily, the atmosphere is sultry and oppressive, big drops fall with a 
 sharp sound, the clouds burst, and the rain comes down in torrents. 
 Streams are instantly formed, unite into pools, tumble along the 
 crumbling paths. The wind sweeps the lonesome plain, furiously 
 driving the rain which lashes our faces, rattles over our dripping water- 
 proofs, and we march on, blinded under the howling waterspout, 
 drenched to the skin. 
 
 After an hour of this turmoil the rage of the squall abates, the down- 
 pour slackens, the sky clears up, and we find ourselves on the banks of 
 the Sebou, whose swift turbid waters speed on boisterously. Its stream 
 is obstructed here and there by sandbanks and eonrmous darkish rocks. 
 
 THE HAYA-AI.-OUEBKAF BOCKS. 
 
 After skirting for some time the abrupt banks, we arrive at the ford. 
 
 The descent of the cliff is most arduous. The clay, drenched by the 
 rain, has been transformed into a marsh full of flabby and tenacious 
 mud, where the mules stick fast ; and when they do succeed in extri- 
 cating themselves from this viscous mess, it is only to slide on their 
 hind-quarters, in a succession of alternating slips and tumbles, down a 
 steep slope of a greater consistence, but which the rain has made 
 extremely smooth and slippery. 
 
 The Kaid is tlie first to enter the river. We follow close behind in 
 Indian file, and our baggage mules come next, led by the drivers wading 
 by their side. The water reaches up to the girths of our beasts ; they 
 proceed slowly, hesitatingly, with the utmost caution facing the up- 
 
AIN-ALI BENI HASSAN. 
 
 229 
 
 roarious current, and cleaving it sideways. Now and then they come to 
 a dead halt, with a shudder that shakes their whole frame, stretch out 
 their necks and start afresh, carefully feeling their way, and never 
 setting one foot before the other until they have satisfied themselves 
 tliat they can do so safely. 
 
 We reach the opposite shore without any accident. The bank on 
 that side presents a less hard declivity; the soil is more firm, less 
 uneven than on the other border. We wait in a colza field, under a 
 pelting shower, till tlie baggage mules and the drivers have crossed the 
 stream. 
 
 In front of us, standing dark against the range of hills bordering the 
 horizon, a huge mass of rocks, strangely isolated in the plain, towers 
 aloft to the height of a hundred feet, like a colossal and fantastic 
 animal. The Arabs call it the " Haya-al-Ouerkaf." 
 
 It has left off raining, the sky is quite bright again, the sun comforts 
 us with its cheery glow, and after an hour's march through the dwarf 
 palms and the sparse tilled fields, we reach a douar consisting of a few 
 houses. This hamlet is situated on the slope of a hill in the valley of 
 the Oued Warghla, and its thatched cottages form picturesque groups in 
 the shade of clumps of tamarisks. 
 
THE OUED WARGHLA. 
 
 Sidi-Moliamined-Shcrif, iZtli Fehruary. 
 The glowing sun, bright and warm, shines in the deep blue ether of a 
 marvellous limpidity. Before us the plain undulates in gentle waves 
 as far as the foot of the Beni M'sara mountains, with indented summits 
 of a very accentuated blue. Farther on, beyond another range of mounts 
 of an extremely transparent greyish l^lue, you descry the snowy peaks 
 of the Sheshouan mountains. 
 
 Harris, with a stately wave of his hand, points them out to us, and, 
 proud of his past exploits, anticipates those to come. 
 
 We are close to the Oued Warghla. The sportsmen dismount and 
 wend their way across the fields towards the ford. The scenery is 
 gracefully rustic Groups of trees relieve the monotony of the great 
 lines of the plain, streams gleam in the tall grass bordered by irises, 
 gladioles, reeds, whence woodcocks wing their flight. Coveys of red 
 partridges rise under our horses' hoofs in the clover and colza fields. 
 Marigolds, that grow thick and strong, stretch in golden sheets by the 
 side of plots of mallows and lavender, exhaling sweet odours. You 
 
VILLAGK OF SIDI-MOHAMMED-SHERIF. 231 
 
 skirt the edge of thick clumps of rose-bays, cork-trees, and lentisks. Birds 
 warble under the vaults of greenery ; wanton butterflies tumble about, 
 hustled by the breeze ; bees are at work, their bodies jjuried in the 
 chalices of flowers, and emerge, hampered by the pollen that burdens 
 their legs. And the incessant buzzing of the infinitesimal creation, of 
 the myriadsof imperceptible winged beings whirling in the air, — the dull 
 sounds of the eternal toil of the innumerable army of insects, — ascends 
 aloft in a confused rumour, like a distant echo from the ocean. 
 
 Antonio and his brother Nimrods have not wasted their powder and 
 
 THE OUED WARGHLA. 
 
 shot. Their Ijag consists of a score and a half of partridges, quails, and 
 snipe. 
 
 The crossing of the Oued Warghla takes place without impediment ; 
 we move along the plain, which rises in a very soft acclivity, and brings 
 us to the base of some denuded, barren hills, destitute of any vegetation 
 whatsoever. Near a spring surrounded by stones, at the bottom of a 
 ravine, women are drawing water. The ground grows more uneven, 
 and we descend into gorges bristling with a \\ild \'egetation ; then we 
 find ourselves again on woody hillsides with tilled slopes, we come across 
 some dollars, pass through villages, and suddenly on the flank of a hill 
 we set eyes on a swarming crowd. 
 
 It is a market, such as is held on certain days in the villages or 
 their vicinity, sometimes at a good distance, as in the present case, but 
 always on fixed days, on settled sites, and invariably the same. 
 
232 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 We move among the peo]ile, who one and all scrutinize us with a 
 kindly curiosity. The crowd is gay, very noisy, and good-natured. 
 
 Broad-shouldered men from the Beni M'sara trihes, stalwart and 
 supple, with their long guns on their shoulders, the hliangiar in their 
 belts, . have come down from their mountains. They stalk proudly, 
 
 towering above the crowd, ^nth 
 the red cloth wrapper of their 
 musket round their heads as a 
 turban. There are people from 
 the Gharb Asa-apped in their 
 rough woollen haiks, peasants or 
 krcomnes with simply a tunic 
 fastened round the waist by a 
 leather lielt, and negroes clad in 
 ample red or lemon-coloured 
 sulhams. Lost in the crowd, 
 tightly Avrapped in long scant 
 l)lue roltes, with black caps on 
 their lieads, some weazen-faced 
 Jews are worming about with a 
 timid and crafty look and bent 
 back, assuming a humljle mien, 
 endeavouring to sell at exorbi- 
 tant prices their bales of cotton- 
 stufts — the refuse of storehouses, 
 sent them by their European 
 brethren. 
 
 A number of wretched articles 
 
 are spread out on the ground, on 
 
 mats, in hovfas; seeds, dates, dried figs, flat loaves, kitchen and 
 
 toilette implements, nails, old iron. The rough fabrics of the locality, 
 
 clothes, game-bags, dressed leather, are heaped up in some small tents. 
 
 Negroes are cooking nondescript messes on small earthen kitcheners, 
 and water-sellers are promenading witli their dripping skins. 
 
 Our men are plied with ([uestions : "Who are we, whence do we 
 
 MAN OF THE BENI Jl'SARA TRIBES. 
 
VILLAGE OF SIDI-MOHAMMED-SHEKIF. 
 
 233 
 
 come, where are we going, wliat is our errand, how do we live, etc. ? " 
 and their replies must be rather strange, judging from the startled 
 expression of the inquisitive ones, and the attention they bestow on 
 all our movements, feeling our clothes, fingering our boots, jostling one 
 another to have a better view of the cabalistic figures that are drawn 
 in Forestier's album and mine. 
 
 We leave these worthy people, and go along the borders of a 
 watercourse at the bottom of an extremely fertile and well-tilled valley. 
 This river separates us from the territory occupied by the unconquered 
 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 mountaineers of the Beni M'sara, through which it would be imprudent 
 for us to journey, to say the least. "VVc tlierefore take good care 
 to keep on the west bank, where we are in perfect safety. 
 
 This side is very steep, and forms a kind of bulwark that abruptly 
 limits the plain stretching to the foot of the mountains inhabited 1»y 
 the unsubdued tribes. 
 
 In some parts the bank, whose upper edge we are skirting, rises in 
 almost vertical slope, covered with thickets, brambles, bushes that 
 grow down to tall trees below, along the water edge, opposite copses 
 of willows, rose-bays, and pomegranates, which line the exceedingly 
 
234 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 level bank on the other side. From where we stand we are able to 
 scan the wayward meanders of the oucd winding in the plain, and the 
 harsh lines, the jagged summits of the blocks of the Beni M'sara 
 standing in rugged outline on the sky. 
 
 We shortly descry a village, follow a kind of sandy highway right 
 through it, and halt on the top of a hill commanding the river, near 
 some vast buildings, the property of Sidi-Mohnmmed, a rich and highly 
 venerated relative of the Sherif of Ouezzan. 
 
 Harris, accompanied by the Kaid, who remains on his knees, after 
 kissing the threshold of the door, pays him a visit, and is received with 
 affable politeness. Soon after, besides a bountiful mounci, quantities of 
 green tea, sugar, and mint leaves are sent us in beautiful china vases 
 with polychrome designs. The Sherif, in his kind attention, has gone so 
 far as to provide us with silver spoons, and a ready-lit stove joined to 
 a tripod of hammered iron, wrought artistically, on which is placed a 
 copper kettle full of boiling water. To all this he has added a superb 
 copper tray, delicately chiselled, bearing, instead of cups, small dainty 
 crystal glasses adorned with designs of rose, green, and white enamel. 
 
 Our old gormandiser of a Kaid makes tea " a la Mauresque " ; that 
 is, he nearly fills the teapot with sugar and tea, adds a handful of mint 
 leaves, pours the boiling water, stirs the mixture with a spoon, and in 
 a few minutes we are . served with the remarkable beverage. We take 
 a sip of the nectar, and at once put down our glasses almost untouched, 
 to the great astonishment of the old soldier, who, without losnig a 
 moment, drains our glasses to the very last drop with peculiar clicks of 
 tongue and loud smacking of lips. Then he greedily quaffs what 
 remains of the decoction in the teapot, which he fills afresh with tea, 
 sugar, mint, and boiling water, and swallows innumerable glassfuls 
 of this sickening syrup, stopping only when the ingredients fail him. 
 
 Now that he is glutted to liis heart's content, he produces his 
 disgustingly foul, tattered handkerchief, and makes a conscientious 
 application thereof to the tray, the spoons, and the glasses. He was 
 on the point of bearing them back to the Sherif after having wiped 
 them in this fashion, when Brooks, who by chance had witnessed this 
 summary and picturesque cleansing of the tea-things, interfered in 
 
VILLAGE OF SIDI-MOHAMMED-SHERIF. 
 
 235 
 
 time, snatched them out of his hands in order to wash them thoroughly 
 and return them to their owner. 
 
 After this grand feast Hadj Mohammed is in very good spirits, 
 and kind enough to condescend for a consideration, and under seal 
 of secrecy with regard to his co-religionists, ito allow Forestier and 
 myself to make a sketch of his old shrivelled and tanned countenance. 
 
--^m^^'- - 
 
 s^' 
 
 OUEZZAN. 
 
 Oi(ezzan, l^th February. 
 It froze last night, but the sun rose in radiancy, drinking up the 
 moisture of the morning mists, warming the grass numbed by the cold, 
 and the air is fresh and sweet-scented. 
 
 Harris waits upon the Sherif to take leave of him, and we resume 
 our journey. We are at about four hours' march from Ouezzan, and we 
 descry the twin peaks of its mountain, standing out very clearly on 
 a sky of great purity. 
 
 We are following the summits of steep and rocky hills, which we 
 descend, only to get bemired in the swamps at the bottom of narrow 
 valleys. Then we skirt the banks of streams flowing across meadows 
 dotted with daisies, irises, crocuses ; we enter bare gorges where the heat 
 is overpowering. Now the ground changes in appearance, the hills are 
 getting smoother and unroll themselves in quieter depressions; rivulets 
 run in every direction, clumps of trees are seen here and there ; we come 
 upon wild orchards encircled by low walls of loose stones, where old 
 gnarled fig-trees are growing with vines twined round their twisted 
 
OUEZZAN. 237 
 
 boughs. The couutiy assumes more characteristic features, and the 
 region becomes more and more wooded ; we are following the skirts of 
 thick woods of olives ; we meet with springs, around which travellers 
 are halting ; we pass numerous herds of oxen with caravans, troops of 
 camels, and, suddenly reaching the end of a plateau, we sight Ouezzan, 
 the holy city of the Sherifs, the Kome of Moghreb, lying at the foot of a 
 mountain covered with groves of orange-trees and olives, interspersed 
 with wide barren and rocky patches. 
 
 The town rises in tiers of white terraces, climbing the steep declivity, 
 and from the middle of this sheet glittering with light spring tall square 
 minarets, domes, green-tiled roofs of mosques, and farther on, l)eyond 
 the hilly masses bristling with sharp points, with slopes climbing one 
 above the other, you see the snowy summits of the Sheshouan 
 mountains. 
 
 Harris promises us a generous hospitality on the part of the Sherif, 
 who is a friend of his. He gives us wonderful accounts of the 
 sumptuousness of his palaces, and describes the strange things to be seen 
 there. He expatiates on the gold-fish swimming in marlile basins 
 incrusted with massive gold, on the rare furniture, wondrous prayer 
 carpets, and fairy-like gardens. He gives us a glimpse of a prince-like 
 reception with unexpected honours, followed by plentiful mounas served 
 in luxurious kiosks, with sculptured, painted and gilded ceilings, walls 
 adorned with silken hangings and gold stitched velvet, surrounded by 
 rich and downy couches. 
 
 We make our way down the hill thinking of the sweet things in 
 store for us. The ground is sandy, cut up, covered with dwarf palms, 
 tamarisks, undergrowth of red laurels, fhen we ascend a broad road 
 lined with low walls enclosing shady gardens. The middle of this road 
 is a cesspool of liquid mud, where the mules sink in right up to the 
 knees. At a sharp bend it leads us down a steep declivity, and we find 
 ourselves in the suburljs of Ouezzan. 
 
 We pick our way along filthy muddy streets lined with vile broken- 
 down huts, we wind through a maze of narrow and dirty lanes, and we 
 stop at a crossway by a mosque, while Harris goes to apprise the Sherif 
 of our arrival. 
 
238 AMONG THE MOOKS. 
 
 After an interval of half-an-hour Harris makes his reappearance: he 
 looks utterly disappointed. He had declared his Christian name, 
 surname, and status to the Sherif's secretary, begging him to inform his 
 master of his arrival, and the latter made answer that he, by no means, 
 cared to receive him, that they had no house to lodge us in, and that the 
 best thing we could do was to go and encamp on the f<oulc outside the 
 town. We could not ha^'e been informed in a less courteous and more 
 peremptory manner that our presence was importunate, and that we 
 might go to the devil for all they cared. 
 
 Harris, horribly vexed at this affront, as wanton as it was in- 
 explicable, leads us towards the f<ouk, and we follow him with all our 
 illusions grievously dispelled. Having reached the square, our men 
 pitch the camp on ground defiled by garbage and offensive refuse, in 
 the middle of a brutal, terribly aggressive crowd of people, who do not 
 scruple to insult us and make coarse gibes at our expense. The old 
 Kaid, in spite of the free and impartial application of liis strap on the 
 backs of the populace, is outmatched, and our men are compelled to 
 come to the rescue and to support him and aid him to drive off some 
 evil-disposed rascals who are bent on examining our tents at too 
 close quarters. 
 
 Harris, who is unalJe to account for tliis sudden change in the 
 feelings of the Sherif with respect to himself, comes to the conclusion 
 that the secretary has not taken the trouble to inform his master of his 
 presence, and that it was of his own accord that he so cavalierly sent 
 us . . . to encamp on the Souk. He entrusts a note for the Sherif to one 
 of our men, and charges him to deliver it personally into the liands of 
 the addressee. 
 
 He guessed rightly : the secretary had not accjuitted himself of the 
 commission, and had throughout acted on his own authority ; for the 
 messenger returns accompanied by an escort of a dozen soldiers, who are 
 to take us and our baggage to a lodge which the Sherif places at our 
 disposal. At the same time he summons Harris to his presence and 
 condescends to offer him his excuses for the uncivil manner in which 
 his secretary has denied him his request, owing to a regrettable 
 misunderstanding. In fact, the latter mistook us for some Germans who 
 
STREET IN OUEZZAN. 
 
 {TuJ'acep. 238. 
 
OUEZZAN. 239 
 
 recently, during their stay in Ouezzan, after being very well received by 
 the Sherif, conducted themselves like veritable cads. 
 
 Harris, reinstated in our esteem, is beaming witli joy, and our hopes 
 once more rise high. We shall at last gaze on tlie gold-fish, the marl)le 
 basin incrusted with gold, the fairy palaces, the enchanted gardens, and, 
 who knows ! perhaps lovely slaves docile to all our caprices. 
 
 Our hearts beating with joy, proudly settled upon our nudes, we 
 leave the abominable Souk and its motley crowd, who already show 
 some signs of respect, and we wade through the mud after the soldiers, 
 who conduct us to the quarters which the Sherif has provided for us. 
 Our men are put up somewhere or other in the town. Our domicile is 
 indeed a rather small one ; it is hardly more than a simple dilapidated 
 portico facing a long narrow room, where they set up our beds. Instead 
 of ceilings resplendent with gilding, there are only rafters innocent of 
 all adornment ; for mural decorations, instead of silken and velvet 
 stuffs embroidered with gold, we have naked partitions from which the 
 plaster falls in large scales ; in lieu of the rich silken sofas and soft 
 cushions conjured up l)y our imaginations, the floor is paved with 
 mosaic work, for the most part rough and broken ; the enchanted 
 gardens have dwindled into an old deserted kitchen garden, destitute of 
 any vegetation, in whose corners lie in profusion heaps of cabbage stalks 
 and other vegetable refuse mingled with filthy rubbish; there is not 
 even a trace of red fish, let alone the gold ones, and I firmly believe 
 that we shall have to give up our fondly cherished hope of seeing any 
 of the slaves or lovely almchs appear in this hovel. 
 
 It is not exactly what Harris had led us to expect ; indeed, it is 
 (Xuite the reverse. We had anticipated something more luxurious, 
 less scantily furnished. And yet Harris is not a native of Gascony, 
 and there is not, to my knowledge, a province of this name and 
 with like reputation in the United Kingdom. . . . But after all it is 
 perhaps a mistake ; the soldiers in their excitement, when setting 
 eyes again on Bouak-al-Hadj, must have lost their heads, and they 
 undoubtedly brought us to the gardener's lodge, in the same way that 
 on our arrival they sent us . . . to the SoiiJc. It is certam that matters 
 will be mended to-morrow. Forestier is convinced that such will be the 
 
240 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 case, and I share his opinion ; Ingram devoutly hopes so, and Marshall 
 follows suit. Harris keeps his own counsel, but I am sure he thinks 
 
 as we do. We go to sleep 
 dreaming of wondrous 
 palaces, of sultans, slaves, 
 houris, and a heap of pleasant 
 Oriental things. 
 
 'W 
 
 This morning we take a 
 stroll through the town. 
 The streets are disgracefullv 
 unclean and are covered with 
 puddles of mud, bones with 
 flesh still adhering to them, 
 and rotten vegetables. The 
 houses are low, but some 
 few rejoice in European win- 
 dows with shutters painted 
 blue. The walls are greasy, 
 degraded. We pass under 
 ruined archways, damp vaults 
 full of fissures, and worm- 
 eaten trellis-work. 
 
 The saddlers' quarter is 
 notliing else but a long- 
 swamp of black mire lined 
 with tumble-down shops, 
 where bags of worked leather, 
 shot pouches, and hdbouchs are 
 offered for sale. The clothes 
 bazaar, near that of the gold- 
 smiths', is dark, narrow, very 
 poorly' provided with wares. 
 It communicates with an adjunct, a large rectangular square thatched 
 with reeds and resting on huge rafters supported by a row of rough- 
 
 STBEET IN OUEZZAN. 
 
1 
 
 PI 
 
 M.-A 
 
 
 MOSQUE OP OlEZZAX. 
 
 iToface p. 240. 
 
OUEZZAN. 
 
 241 
 
 hewn logs, forming a colonnade in the central line of the square. 
 Most of the shops are closed. A motley crowd fills all these bazaars ; 
 negroes, Moors, mountaineers, Berbers, Jews, and some European 
 renegades who have settled in the country. 
 
 Close to our lodge stands a superb mosque. Its octagonal tower of 
 red brick is inlaid w^th magnificent white and green tiles in mosaics, 
 framed in ornamental centerings cut out in delicately worked small 
 ogees. The minaret rises above — also octagonal — with a roof of green 
 tiles, surmounted by its file of gilded balls, and topped by a golden 
 
 BAZAAR Oli" OUEZZAN. 
 
 crescent. Parallel to one of the sides of the minaret, and towering up 
 above, a cross beam is erected, on which the mucdden hoists the white 
 flag at the prayer hour. 
 
 A very low piece of construction, provided with a tiny door with 
 festooned ogee, a narrow window in the shape of an embrasure, and a 
 roof of dull, discoloured, moss-eaten tiles, rests against the base of the 
 tower. 
 
 A large ogee door opening on a square block of masonry, covered 
 over by a large white cupola, leads to the mosque, whose large open 
 square court, paved in marble and tile mosaics and central fountain, we 
 
242 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 can very distinctly make out in every interior detail. This court is sur- 
 rounded by porticoes opening into galleries roofed in with cedar rafters. 
 There are doors at different places in the walls. The arches, with 
 very neat arrises and exquisitely shaped curves, are of a dazzling white. 
 The floor is covered with mats on which the faithful are prostrated. 
 
 The great ogee archway, with carved voussoirs, in which two columns 
 with Corinthian capitals support a wondrous entablature, is framed in 
 a splendid portal. First it is the architrave, all dressed up with tiles, 
 rosettes and stars interlaced with lines of charming design ; then a frieze 
 scooped into a series of arcades, ogees, and interlacings combined with 
 exquisite taste, carved in a lacework of arabesques ; and lastly a cornice 
 consisting of a succession of narrow elongated consoles sculptured 
 daintily and supporting a roof of tiles. 
 
 The glare of the fiery midday sun imparts to this monumental arch- 
 way a fairy-like appearance. The balls of the minaret sparkle ; the light 
 plays on the tiles, standing out in clear tints on the dusky red of the old 
 bricks, rosed by the sun ; the domes and whitewashed walls gleam with 
 blinding radiancy ; the tall portal and the minaret's roofs are resplendent 
 with a streaming flood of emerald green flashes, and bluish tints glisten 
 on the marble of the columns. The sun irradiates the whole with his 
 ardent golden beams ; clinging to the numberless reliefs of the superb 
 entablature; gliding over the roses and the stars of the tiles in the 
 architrave ; accentuating the mouldings of the interlaced ornaments in 
 the frieze ; the carved facings of the consoles in the cornice producing 
 unexpected effects of vigorous intensity. 
 
 In spite of the noisy and troublesome remarks of a mob of true 
 believers and mendicants who encircle me, I succeed in giving the 
 finishing touches to a fully detailed sketch of the interior of the mosque. 
 
 Harris comes to inform us that his highness Sidi-Hadj-el-Arbi, the 
 eldest son of the Sherif of Ouezzan, Hadj-abd-es-Selam, deigns to accord 
 us an audience sometime in the afternoon. We make ourselves tidy, and 
 follow the servant of his highness to the palace. 
 
 At last we are going to set eyes on the marvellous things which 
 Harris so eloquently described, and this dazzling prospect fiiirly sets our 
 nerves vibrating and brings up to red heat our over-excited imaginations. 
 
INTEUIOK (H- A SIOSQUE IN OUEZZAN. 
 
 [To face p. 242. 
 
OUEZZAN. 243 
 
 Leaving the garden we go down an almost vertical incline. We halt 
 opposite a high wall, along which soldiers are reclining. One of these 
 opens a small door leading to a kind of waiting-room — an unfurnished 
 chamber lined with wooden benches — then going through a second door, 
 we follow a narrow passage, go down a few steps into a garden with 
 flower-beds and small sanded paths, surrounded by walls hung with 
 climbing plants, rose-trees, clematis, jessamine. We hear the bubbling 
 of some fountains hard by. In front of us a long, low, white portico 
 with marble columns, supporting ogees with very varied and intricate 
 traceries, stands in front of the Sherif's apartments. 
 
 In the middle of the portico, under the arcade, a cedar folding-door, 
 decorated with copper ornaments, opens in an ogee archway supported 
 by small double columns of marble. 
 
 We are ushered in by slaves. Selim, who accompanies us, kisses 
 the threshold, and we enter a room with a ceiling of bare rafters. The 
 narrow chamber extends a long way right and left, and is hung with 
 half-drawn curtains by which it can be divided, when necessary, into 
 several compartments. The middle of the room is paved with mosaics. 
 At the foot of a wide staircase facing the entrance door and leading to 
 the divan there is a curious ill-shaped object made of wood and copper, 
 which does duty for a chandelier, and between its branches jets of 
 water flow without touching the grotesque structure. 
 
 We have not yet realised our dream of the " thousand and one 
 nights," but ere long we sliall probably be shown into the famous gilded 
 chambers. The present room can only be a sort of hall for receiving 
 people who are not on the visiting list. 
 
 On one of the sofas Sidi-Hadj-el-Arbi is reclining, dressed in a blue 
 sulham and a silk haik as white as snow, and occupying himself with 
 cutting pieces of cardboard with a pair of scissors. Two straw-seated 
 chairs of white wood and cushions are brought in for us. 
 
 Hadj-el-Arbi seems to be about thirty years of age. He has a 
 swarthy complexion, very dark eyes, rather heavy eyelids, thick lips, 
 and a slightly prominent aquiline nose. On his pleasing face there is 
 a proud and refined expression, and the whole aspect of the man seems 
 to wear an air of polite disdain, languor, and kindly feeling. 
 
 R 2 
 
244 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 Tea is served. He asks to see our sketches, which he examines 
 with some interest. Then he invites us to accompany him to the divan, 
 where we sit down, our legs crossed in Oriental fashion, on mattresses 
 covered with carpets, among his ministers and councillors, by the side 
 of a big gawky creature, with a deranged nervous system — a sort of 
 laughing-stock, a buffoon, unconscious of the part he is playing. 
 
 We converse a little through Antonio and Harris, who act as our 
 dragomans ; tease now and again the wretched noodle, who starts at 
 every movement we make, and drain a few more cups of tea scented 
 with mint, vervain, and amber. The Sherif graciously makes Harris a 
 present of a very pretty Smyrna carpet, and we then take leave of our 
 amiable host and return to our quarters. 
 
 On our way Forestier cast a glance into the basin into which the jet 
 of water flows in order to get a glimpse of the famous gold-fish. It is 
 true he saw an old, snuffy salamander, but not the least trace of the 
 most attenuated bleak or of the tiniest gudgeon. Harris forestalls our 
 questions by explaining that Si Ali, the Sherif's secretary, informed him 
 that they died last year from inflammation of the lungs, which was 
 brought on by a cold they had caught after the candles of the chandelier 
 had been put out. 
 
 When we express our surprise at the bareness of the walls and 
 the ceilings, the scarcity and the indifferent quality of the carpets, and 
 finally at this more than Spartan simplicity, when, led by his descrip- 
 tions, we expected to find dazzling luxury, Harris at last discloses with 
 a sigh the sad truth. The poor Sherif is at the present moment awfully 
 in want of cash, thanks to the wild extravagances of his father, who is 
 married to an English lady and settled in Algiers, where he is living in 
 grand style, too grand, even for a Sherif, and Sidi-Hadj-el-Arbi, like a 
 good son desirous of rendering monetary assistance to his illustrious 
 parent, and of paying a few pressing debts, resolved to turn everything 
 to account. He has sold or pawned the beautiful haitcs embroidered 
 with gold, the silk and velvet cushions, and the superb prayer carpets ; 
 he has let his magnificent gardens, got rid of a part of his wardrobe and 
 his harem, and has gone even so far as to scrape off the gold from his 
 panels to turn it into hard cash. All this has been done to fill the gap 
 
OUEZZAN. 
 
 245 
 
 made in the treasure of the Sherifs by his amial^le sire, wlio is a great 
 epicure and very fond of costly dainties. 
 
 We have now bidden adieu to our last, lingering illusions. The 
 Pope of Morocco reduced like a penniless prodigal to pawn his knick- 
 knacks, and to make the shady acquaintance of " uncle," seemed highly 
 improbable, but it was, unfortunately, strictly true. 
 
-.■<■:> '^••' 
 
 
 ■ J ^', 
 
 -f^ 
 >.-.,. 
 
 NEAK OUEZZAN. 
 
 Near Ouezzan, IQth February. 
 
 We set out in dull cold weather. We leave the town by one of the 
 two gates that open on to the SouJc, which we cross. For some minutes 
 we follow a miry path lined by a hedge of cactuses and aloes on either 
 side ; then leaving the gloomy ruins of the old Ouezzan on our right we 
 come into the open country. In front of us stretches a succession of 
 plateaus bounded on the horizon by mountain peaks shaded by mist. 
 The soil is sandy, covered with dwarf palms. The weather clears up a 
 little, but it still continues cold. 
 
 The plateaus have given place to a number of low, steep hills 
 crowned with rocks. We wind round the declivitous slopes, and in the 
 valleys we skirt along streams that have dug their deep beds in the 
 sand, and flow clear and fresh between banks lined with rose-bays, 
 pomegranates, cork-trees, that form an almost continuous leafy arbour, 
 beneath which we hear the water rippling over the pebbles. The sun 
 has come out ; the sky is of a fine deep blue. 
 
NEAR OUEZZAN. 
 
 '247 
 
 On an abrupt, rocky ascent, bare of any vegetation, furrowed by 
 the rains, scorched by the sun, we meet with an invalid lying on his 
 back, with scarcely any covering, on an ass led by another Arab. The 
 poor wretch, racked by fever, groans frightfully ; his limbs dangle along 
 the legs of his beast ; his head tosses to and fro on the croup. Now and 
 again the animal stumbles or slips on this rugged ground, then the body 
 
 A CKMETEHY. 
 
 is shaken in a frightful manner, and you hear a heartrending cry. Far 
 away in the distance vultures follow the lugubrious group. 
 
 The hills become woody. We follow a pretty sandy road along the 
 flank of a ravine. At the foot on our left runs noisily a stream through 
 clusters of trees of various essences ; on our right every part of the hill 
 to the very top abounds with olive-trees centuries old, with enormous 
 gnarled trunks cut through by wide fissures, and their huge branches 
 
248 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 twisted in fantastic curves stretch high over our heads. Thatched 
 houses rise between the trees, echeloning on the side of the hill. 
 
 As it leaves the gorge, the stream, obstructed by an enormous, 
 almost vertical, limestone cliff, nearly a hundred feet high, forms an 
 underground channel, and emerging beneath a broad archway falls into 
 a pool dug in the sand, and surrounded by big blocks of detached rock. 
 Women with copper and earthenware pitchers come here to draw water. 
 
 The path continues to wind along the flank of the hill on the borders 
 of the olive wood, which is used as a burial-place by the villagers, and 
 numerous white slabs on mounds of earth mark out the graves. Down 
 below on the left mountains and valleys rise and fall in low undulations, 
 and far in the distance we can see on the horizon a baud of light — the 
 Atlantic. 
 
 On the hillside, not far away, our men pitch the camp near a hamlet 
 surrounded by orange- and olive-trees. 
 
ON THE WAY TO AL-CAZAR. 
 
 On the way to Al-Cazar, 17 th February. 
 Under a glowing sun, in a dazzling blue sky, we break up the camp. 
 For two hours we journey across a group of hills, uniformly covered 
 with dwarf palms, ferns, and gorse. Then we issue forth to a wooded, 
 fertile, well-cultivated plain, watered by numerous streams and full of 
 life. Eushes, irises, grow in thick masses, and willows, with a pro- 
 fusion of shrubs, plants, flowers, overspread the banks with the network 
 of their exuberant vegetation. The waters teem with little fish, and 
 when the frightened shoals, scared by our presence, make a sudden dive 
 and dart through the clear water, their scales flash again ; tortoises are 
 swimming beneath the surface, frogs are leaping on every side, and long 
 green snakes crawl silently in the grass under the large leaves; the 
 perfumed flowers, glide into the water, cross the stream with head erect 
 and fixed eyes, and are lost in the verdure on the opposite bank. 
 
 We ride along narrow, intersecting paths of fine sand, between grassy 
 plots dotted with blue daisies, gentians, mallows, and on either side 
 unroll fields of lavender waving under the breeze, of colza, barley, and 
 
250 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 clover. Larks trill their passionate notes in the deep azure ; men with 
 bronzed features, bare arms, and garments tucked up to the waist, are 
 guiding their light ploughs; fresh breaths pass with strong balmy 
 odours, and the sun irradiates with his luminous splendour, fecundates 
 with his warm caress the earth palpitating with life, swelling laden with 
 humus, gorged with essences. 
 
 We leave these fertile plains and pass on to sandy tracts. We find 
 again the endless expanse of ferns and dwarf palms, the barren, stony 
 grounds covered w^ith gorse, thorn bushes, the numberless rocky ridges, 
 the wild valleys with streams of clear water between verdant banks ; 
 the vast dismal regions without villages, without houses, without tents, 
 where there are neither men nor flocks, where only the vultures soar 
 overhead with hoarse cries. 
 
 A last plateau which we cross through lentisks, gigantic gorse, that 
 lash our faces at every step, brings us to a group of hills bending in 
 ample and soft curves, partly under cultivation. The crude and harsh 
 tints of the brown, green, and yellow fields contrast ^ith the mono- 
 tonous hue of this sea of verdure. On the side of one of the hills rise 
 the thatched roofs of a village. 
 
 The road follows the bare banks of a rivulet, which widens out here 
 and there into broad pools. We leave on the left the ruined tomb of a 
 saint, sheltered by a clump of olive-trees, and near the douar we 
 come to a halt. The sportsmen, except Marshall, who is still ailing, 
 have gone shooting, and the men pitch our camp. 
 
 This evening the villagers are merry-making. We hear the shrill 
 notes of the bagpipes and the flutes, and the roll of the tabors. As 
 the night is very clear, we distinguish the silhouettes of men pressed 
 close together, linked arm in arm in a circle, bending backwards and 
 forwards with a jerky rhythmic movement, and uttering in accord a 
 hollow cry, a sort of smothered doleful lamentation, each time they 
 bend their bodies. One of the men is in the centre of the circle, 
 twisting and turning himself in a violent lascivious fashion, clapping 
 his hands to beat time. Now and again one of the dancers gives a 
 shriek and falls foaming on the ground. They carry him off, an Arab 
 from the crowd takes his place, and the dancing goes on more lustily 
 
ON THE WAY TO AL-CAZAR. 251 
 
 than ever, while the bystanders continue to clap their hands, beating an 
 accompaniment to the modulations of the orchestra of flutes, tabors, 
 and bagpipes. 
 
 On drawing nearer we are greatly amazed to see in the centre of the 
 circle of dancers our w^orthy Selim, very wide-awake, with gleaming 
 eyes, disporting himself with the lewd gestures of an ape. 
 
 As the merry-making threatens to go on for ever, we return to the 
 camp, and for a long time the noise of this wild revelry prevents us 
 
 getting to sleep. 
 
 * * * » m * 
 
 This morning the sun is dazzling, the heat oppressive. The sports- 
 men brought back, yesterday, fifteen brace of partridges, a hare, and a 
 few quails. As the country abounds in game, we are going to stay a 
 day longer to massacre a few more poor birds. 
 
 Oh, these fanatic sportsmen ! How many times Forestier and I 
 have vowed to sacrifice them to the gods infernal, when in order to glut 
 their sanguinary and irresistible passion for killing a brace of partridges, 
 a hare, or a dozen larks, they have forced us to dawdle on over 
 monotonous wearisome plains, absolutely devoid of any interest, while 
 close by were curious ruins, wonderful landscapes, and picturesque 
 rivers. 
 
 Mequinez, with its majestic and mournful sadness, its splendid 
 gateways, ravaged by centuries, and its imposing ramparts with broken 
 crownings ; Fez, with its frowning disjointed walls, its mysterious 
 mosques, its quaint streets, and strange people ; Ouezzan, that curious 
 city of the Moghreb ; Al-Cazar, Al-Araish, Arzilah, all these wonderful 
 towns, failed to excite in them any other feeling than weariness and 
 deep disgust, never meant more to them than piles of ruins, and 
 labyrinths of dirty streets, from whicli they were always eager to 
 escape in order to " make speak the powder " to the ears of the rabbits 
 in the plain. 
 
 A flock of sheep, which he lost no time in photographing, was 
 sure to interest Ingram far more tlian the old dismantled gateways with 
 their dull and solemn aspect ; Harris never saw in these curious and 
 silent cities of Islam anything except the bazaars, and in the bazaars an 
 
252 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 opportunity of making a good bargain; Marshall made a point of 
 parading his careless indifference to everything. And we two, Forestier 
 and I — victims of this maniacal partiality to flocks of sheep, of this 
 insatiable desire to worry, with luxurious hammerless guns, the lives of 
 inoffensive Moorish partridges, of the censurable contempt for things of 
 an original and supreme beauty — we quitted these bewitching towns of 
 the East with bitter regret, and in a pensive mood we followed in the 
 wake of the implacable Nimrods over the vast lonely plains. 
 
 m/m.' 
 
Al-Cazar, 19th February. 
 We strike the camp rather late. We are only two hours' journey from 
 Al-Cazar. Leaving behind us the cultivated fields, we proceed along 
 broad ridges through heather and gorse, we follow wooded gorges and 
 slopes, and soon we come to j^lains of gorse and dwarf palms, where 
 brooks and pools of water gleam in the sun. We traverse swamps by a 
 bridge or rather a series of low, ruined arches covered with brushwood, 
 weeds, lichens, and we reach the banks of the Kous. 
 
 The river is shallow. In the stream men are washing skins spread 
 on wooden trestles, women wade across holding one another by the hand, 
 forming a kind of chain. We make, easily, our way to the other side, 
 where we land on a paved road, rising in almost vertical ascent to level 
 ground, which continues in a succession of lakes of mud, lined witli 
 broken stone footpaths, between garden fences. 
 
 These are old rickety walls, corroded by yellow lichen, carpeted 
 with moss, bindweeds, jessamines, convolvuluses ; wooden, worm-eaten 
 palisades, almost entirely hidden by a wild rampant overgrowth of enor- 
 mous hemlocks, huge fennels, tall red gladioli, and gigantic acanthuses. 
 
 Behind these tumble-down walls, these disjointed palisades, extend 
 
254 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 immense orchards, and mixed with palms, aloes, cactuses, appear groves 
 of orange-trees, pomegranates, and lemon-trees, together with impene- 
 trable masses of entwined plants, blue borages, stocks, periwinkles, 
 geraniums which grow in the form of trees, and verdant flowery spots. 
 Tomtits, finches, orioles, flutter in the foliage with endless twitterings, 
 and storks fly from tree to tree lashing the air with their heavy wings. 
 A sweet and strong odour rises from all these flowers, these plants, 
 these trees, and fills the air with its keen delightful perfume. 
 
 We are now in the suburbs of Al-Cazar : ruined hovels girded by 
 
 ""^^r^ 
 
 THE KOUS. 
 
 dung-heaps, and a little farther off we halt outside the town on a bare 
 patch strewn with chopped straw, feathers, fowls' legs, half-picked 
 bones, vegetable refuse, and we pitch our tents on this spot, where 
 layers of filth left by the caravans in their successive encampments 
 have accumulated for centuries. Eound about us are marshes where 
 washerwomen are at work. 
 
 Al-Cazar, lying very low, very dingy, profiles on the blue sky, its grey 
 walls tinged by the sun with a rosy hue. Intermixed with the terraces 
 rise double roofs of red tiles with double slopes araid clumps of trees, and 
 on :dl the tall square towers of the minarets, storks are standing motion- 
 less near their nests of boughs. Some of them on the topmost summit of 
 
THt; HAZAAIt AT AI,-CAZAK. 
 
 {To face p. 254. 
 
AL-CAZAR. 
 
 255 
 
 the minaret are resting on one leg, and seem like terminal embellish- 
 ments in stone. 
 
 We enter the town by an ancient ogee gateway, undermined at the 
 base, worn at the angles, warped, decayed. One imagines more than he 
 sees on its voussoirs, that there are festoons of arabesque with worn-out 
 arrises, and effaced lines. We flounder in puddles of mud, splashing 
 the passers-by, who repay us with usury. We pass under other dilapi- 
 dated gateways, gloomy vaults ; we penetrate in labyrinths of winding 
 narrow streets, cloac?e redolent of sickening smells, where scarecrow 
 
 creatures in filthy rags crawl along with livid faces. They sally forth like 
 big rats from yawning gaps in greenish walls that ooze with moisture. 
 
 We reach the bazaars, protected from the sun by cane and reed mats 
 stretched over the cross-beams, which admit only a faint diffused light, 
 and in this semi-obscurity the shopkeepers are squatting in their dark 
 holes ; in front of their stalls hang leather, harness, and esparto work of 
 every kind. 
 
 The goldsmiths' bazaar is occupied entirely by Jews, wlio sell silver 
 collars, bracelets set with precious stones, and jewels of every design 
 and epoch. 
 
256 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 We leave the bazaar by another gateway, facing a large, paved 
 square, encompassed by big bare houses with roofs of red tiles. 
 Against these houses are propped horrid, little shops, rotten and 
 
 dislocated, where stuffs of various 
 r ' sorts are sold. All round the 
 
 square Arabs are squatting, some 
 selling fruit and vegetables, others 
 fish. Here sacks of wheat are 
 heaped up, which are put up for 
 auction"; there " bric-a-brac" dealers 
 have spread out on planks, laid on 
 the ground, a few miserable articles 
 of antediluvian manufacture. Per- 
 spiring Water-carriers move about 
 clinking their goblets among the 
 numerous groups clustered over the 
 square. We make our way through 
 the crowd, and return to the camp 
 by another ogee gateway, more 
 dilapidated, more decayed than 
 any we have seen, and only kept 
 together by a marvel of equilibrium. 
 For some minutes we hear from 
 the town a great flourish of musical 
 instruments, the squeaking of bag- 
 pipes, the piercing notes of flutes, 
 and the roll of tabors. Then burst 
 forth incessant cracks of gunshots, shouts, yells. 
 
 All at once we see sallying forth from the gate opposite our 
 camp a troop of magnificent horsemen, gorgeously attired, followed by 
 a yelling rabble in grey burnooses. 
 
 A young man about twenty-five, of very distinguished appearance, 
 precedes the cavalcade. His features are delicate, his large eyes are 
 soft and bright, and liis lilack beard is as fine as silk. He is, so we are 
 told, one of the Sultan's brothers, and is going to preside over and 
 
 A NEGRO MUSICIAN. 
 
A STREET OF AL-CAZAK. 
 
 L/„,/,-r, /., ■■..,j. 
 
AL-CAZAK. 
 
 257 
 
 take part in a fantasia, in honour of the circumcision of the son of a 
 great personage who lives at Al-Cazar. The crowd has invaded every 
 vacant spot, and is kept back in line while the horsemen, with the 
 Sultan's brother at their head, take up their position. 
 
 They have really a very noble appearance, these handsome Semites, 
 with their proudly modelled heads, their expressive features, these sinewy 
 men with impassive faces, concealing beneath their cold dignity the 
 ferocity of a wild beast. Seated on their high saddles of embroidered 
 velvet, they flourish with their bare arms their long guns begirt by silver 
 
 ^^ ^ 
 
 
 THE SOUK AT AL-CAZAB. 
 
 rings, scarcely touching their gold-chased stirrups with the extremity 
 of their naked feet. They are dressed in caftans of purple, saffron, 
 amaranth, " bleu de roi " colour, in silk burnooses of pale green, 
 celadon, reddish hue, with hoods half tlirown back over their turbans, 
 and enveloped in the flowing veils of their fine muslin haiJcs. Their 
 horses, accoutred in velvet, gold, and silk, prance, rear, foam, and refuse 
 to form into line. 
 
 All at once the young chief utters a shrill, prolonged cry, the riders 
 plunge their spurs into the flanks of their steeds, and these, rushing 
 along at a furious pace, foaming, and their manes floating in the wind, 
 
 s 
 
258 
 
 AMONG THE MOOES. 
 
 dash past us like a flash of lightning, carried away in a vertiginous 
 gallop. You hear a clank of arms, a loud panting of beasts, and in the 
 rapid whirl of these white phantoms you only just perceive through a 
 cloud of dust floating burnooses, fluttering gauzes, rose, blue, purple, 
 garnet fringes of caftans, bronzed arms, gleaming gun-barrels, fierce 
 
 THE FANTASIA. 
 
 faces with flashing eyes. Suddenly the riders throw themselves back 
 till their heads touch the croups of their horses, utter with one 
 accord a hoarse cry, fire off their guns at the same time, and, by a 
 brusque movement, halt in the midst of their mad career. Then, amid 
 the plaudits of the enthusiastic Arabs, they ride at a walking pace their 
 foam-covered horses back to the starting-point, and begin afresh their 
 furious gallop, their frenzied fantasia. 
 
AL-CAZAR. 
 
 259 
 
 In the crowd groups of mountaineers dance, leap, and circle 
 round, firing through each other's tibite, giving vent to terrible cries. 
 
 As the t^vilight falls the horsemen form into marching order, to the 
 exasperating sounds of the tabors and flutes, the bagpipes begin again 
 to wail, and the brilliant escort, followed by the tag-rag and bobtail in 
 grey woollen tatters, return within the walls of Al-Cazar. 
 
 The whole night long they held bacchanalian revelry in the town, 
 the music never discontinued, gunshots were constantly cracking, 
 the shouts and yells never ceased. The frogs in the marshes hard 
 by, joining in chorus, croaked an accompaniment to the tumult ; 
 while the miasma of the swamps, the morbid emanations from the 
 layers of filth on our camping-ground diiven by the wind, penetrated 
 into our tents. 
 
 s 2 
 
THE OUED WARROUB. 
 
 JSTsala Borian, 20th February. 
 We leave Al-Cazar and its sickening smells, we cross its odorous 
 gardens, and we now march on its fertile plains. Then the mournful 
 landscape begins again, the iields of asphodels and the hills covered 
 with heather. 
 
 We pass near a village ; for a long time we hear the dogs barking 
 after us. The neighbourhood is charming, watered in every direction 
 by streams flowing between plantations of olive-trees, groves of orange- 
 trees, and thickets of myrtles, bay laurels, cork-trees. 
 
 With regret we leave behind us the delightful oasis, and continue 
 our way across interminable arid plains, finally halting at the bottom of 
 a valley, where oxen are grazing on the banks of a stream shaded by 
 olive-trees. Two Arabs are lying here under an olive-tree, near an ass 
 laden with sacks of corn. 
 
 The brook intersects the road. On one side it bubbles placidly 
 over pebbles and smooth blocks of stone, winding round an enormous 
 rock, riven, corroded, spotted with green moss and yellow and reddish- 
 
N'SALA BORIAN. 261 
 
 brown lichen. Two fig-trees that have taken root in a large crevice are 
 jammed together so tightly that their twin trunks have grown into one 
 another, and the enormous trees cover a broad space with its shade. 
 Jessamines, bindweeds, honeysuckles climb round the gnarled trunk, 
 twine round its twisted branches, and their drooping tendrils reach 
 down to the surface of the limpid water. Thick clusters of myrtles line 
 the opposite bank. On the right, on the other side of the road, the 
 river has dug a channel in the soft soil of meadow-land, covered with 
 fine grass, rock roses, daisies, irises, and flows tranquilly between beds 
 of rushes, water-lilies, anemones, bathing the roots of the clump of 
 olive-trees, under the shade of which we repose. 
 
 Oxen, up to their flanks in water, are taking deep draughts ; then 
 lifting their heads, they stand motionless wdth necks stretched out, 
 dripping muzzles, gazing at us with their big soft eyes. Frogs, 
 
 MAIiSUY PLAINS. 
 
 disturbed by their presence, plunge with a loud splash into the water, 
 tortoises swim from one bank to the other, dragon-flies dart by flashing 
 like sapphires, amid swarms of mosquitoes, and thousands of butterflies 
 flutter in wayward fliglit all around us. 
 
262 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 It is one o'clock. The two white-bearded Arabs, our neighbours, 
 have spread their carpets, prostrated themselves, and repeated the 
 second prayer of the day. 
 
 We resume our march across fields of lavender, silent wastes, in- 
 
 THE HAMLET. 
 
 variably carpeted with heather as far as the Oued-Warrour, "svhose 
 denuded, barren borders are parched by the sun. 
 
 While crossing the river one of the pack mules deviates from the 
 narrow ford, loses its footing in a hole, and sinks with its load in the 
 water. Our men run to its assistance, and after great exertion enable 
 it to reach the bank. 
 
 We halt for a moment. Among the drenched baggage are one of 
 Forestier's portmanteaus containing his fur cloak, and a trunk of 
 Ingram's packed with linen. These are opened ; their contents are 
 spread out in the sun. Half an hour later they are quite dry, and we 
 continue our way. 
 
 At a short distance from the Oued we halt near a hamlet and pitch 
 our camp. 
 
 The weather keeps remarkably fine, the sun is gaily bright, and the 
 blue sky without a cloud. We strike the camp and set off. 
 
 At first there are but wooded slopes watered by streams; then 
 following the ridge of a long plateau, sparsely dotted with ferns and 
 gorse, we come to a region of ruddy sand and rocks, absolutely arid, of a 
 heartrending solitude. The ground is wild, piled with enormous grey 
 bare rocks, furrowed and crossed by ravines. In this Sahara-like spot 
 there are dazzling reflections, and the heat is suffocating. Tlie mules 
 advance slowly, stumbling at every step, and with difficulty avoiding 
 deep ruts with crisp margins tliat crumble beneath their feet. 
 
N'SALA BORIAN. 
 
 263 
 
 All at once the fore-quarters of my mule are buried out of sight. I 
 describe a geometrical curve in space and fall flat on my face in the 
 sand, with my arms stretched out, two yards in front of my beast, who, 
 with her front legs and shoulders sunk in a hole, makes desperate efforts 
 to extricate herself. We manage to get her out at last, and after 
 putting the harness to rights I get into the saddle again and we push on 
 under the broiling sun. 
 
 Now and again between two rocks we catch a glimpse of the sea, 
 which gleams like molten silver, and of the transparent greyish blue 
 headland of Cape Spartel. 
 
 The rocks gradually disappear ; we jolt up and down over sandy 
 ridfjes while the heat grows still more stifling. 
 
 THE ATLANTIC. 
 
 In the midst of the dreary desert a man suddenly appears on the 
 crest of one of these sand billows. With an oil-cloth satchel strapped 
 across his shoulder, almost naked, he advances at a running pace. The 
 perspiration streams from his brow, and the sun shining on his bare 
 limbs makes them glitter like bronze. 
 
 He said something or other to our men, saluted us without stopping, 
 and sped on over the burning sand, under the relentless sun. 
 
 He is a rekka, a courier carrying the mail from Tangier to Fez. 
 And he will hold on his course at this rate for hours together, hardly 
 taking time to eat or to rest, pushing on across mountains, plains 
 valleys, at his swift, unvarying step. He will swim swollen rivers, 
 
264 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 struggling against the terrible currents, the treacherous eddies ; his 
 skin will get tanned by the fierce sun, the nipping winds, the 
 diluvial rain, and still his horny heel will tramp on the ground at an 
 indefatigable, unchanging pace, and the perspiration flowing from his 
 limbs will be absorbed by the parched earth. 
 
 And some morning no letters will arrive at Fez at the time 
 
 appointed ; they will wait in vain for the carrier, and terrible accusations 
 will weigh on the miserable wretch. Then at some distant day, in a 
 ditch by the roadside, they will find, near a skeleton, an oil-cloth satchel 
 containing letters, and then they will cease to accuse the unfortunate 
 rekha, who has perished in an out-of-the-way corner, like a poor, sick 
 beast that takes refuge in a crevice of the rock when it feels that 
 
N'SALA BORIAN. 
 
 265 
 
 death is drawing near, in order to draw its last breath in peace. 
 Poor rekka! 
 
 We get at last out of this desolate wilderness, we climb one last 
 steep ascent and set foot on a plateau where the vegetation reappears 
 at first thinly scattered dwarf palms, then lentisks, clumps of trees, 
 holm oaks, cork-trees, and in the distance you see blue summits 
 of mountains towering into the sky. Now fields of clover, barley, and 
 colza become visible. We are in a mountainous and woody country, 
 and we camp near a group of Bedouin tents, on the slope of a hill. 
 
 Two other caravans with troops of camels have already settled 
 close by, and all night long we are wakened by the bellowing of these 
 horrible beasts. 
 
?W. "^ 
 
 ON THE WAY TO AIN-DAILEH. 
 
 Ain Baileh, 22nd February. 
 The camels and the caravans have started at break of day. The spot 
 where we are encamped commands an admirable view, an endless 
 expanse of hill ranges, plateaus, woodlands, bathed in a bluish tint 
 stretching away in fainter colour to the peaks of the Djebel Habib, 
 and still farther off to the Tetouan mountains, which raise to the sky 
 their grey-blue summits of an undefinable transparency. 
 
 In the foreground on the right are inclines planted with orange- 
 and olive-trees, dingy green copses through which zigzag white path- 
 ways. On the left, the upper parts of the hills are laid out in square- 
 shaped fields of lavender, clover, and soil newly ploughed. 
 
 We ride for a long time round the flanks of hills, then we come to 
 sandy ground covered with scrubby vegetation, gorse thinly scattered, 
 heather, and here and there stunted shrubs. 
 
 Now we get an almost constant view of the sea on our left, 
 spreading in broad marshy estuaries, and penetrating boldly into the 
 recesses of the land. The headland of Cape Spartel grows bigger and 
 bigger, and seems less aerial in shade ; we begin to distinguish its white 
 needle-like lighthouse. 
 
AIN-DAILEH. 
 
 267 
 
 We are riding between dwarf palms, gorse, and heather, over 
 the plain through which runs a pretty broad winding river, the Oued 
 
 THE MOUNTAINS OF HABIB AND OF TETOUAN. 
 
 On the other side a tamarisk grows, the 
 
 Maghsen, which we cross 
 
 only one in all the plain, planted there no doubt to mark the ford. 
 
 We ascend hills, traverse some more sandy tracts, and arrive near a 
 
 •g^A^. _ ^^^ 
 
 OUR CAMP AT AIN-DAILEH. 
 
 village of about a dozen tents, near which we establish our camp on 
 the edge of a plateau that descends in a gentle incline down to the sea, 
 which gleams reflecting the warm gold rays of the setting sun. 
 
 Hard by a watercourse winds in numberless meanderings over the 
 plain. 
 
268 
 
 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 We hear the calls of i3artridges, and larks are taking flight in all 
 directions. The sportsmen set off with all speed after the partridges, 
 while Forestier and I go in quest of the larks, which we shoot as 
 they rise on the wing. 
 
TANGIER FROM INLAND. 
 
 Tangitr, 2Srd February. 
 This evening we shall be lodged in Tangier. Everybody is eager to 
 get there, the beasts as well as the men. The mules scent the stable ; 
 they walk briskly at a sharp pace, their heads erect, their nostrils 
 dilated, and we can scarcely check them when required. 
 
 We come to a tiny " cafe," a reed hut with a roof of boughs under an 
 old fig-tree, and here we all stop to take coffee. 
 
 Harris gets more of an Arab than ever, especially of late. He has 
 gone nearly every evening to take tea with the men in their tent, told 
 them stories and listened to theirs. 
 
 The men even whisper that he is going to be circumcised ; but a 
 still more vital fact, of which they will not breathe a word, is that, under 
 the pretext of learning Arabic, and of taking lessons on the gimlry 
 under the muleteers' tent, Harris is preparing " sub rosa " his accession 
 to the throne of Morocco, in the probable event of the people 
 deposing the Sultan and calling Harris to wield the sceptre. 
 
270 AMONG THE MOORS. 
 
 He had even gone so far as to nominate the chief officials, and, 
 through Selim's indiscretion, the composition of the ministry has 
 leaked out : Selim himself is to be moul-el-mechouar, the Introducer of 
 Ambassadors, a sort of Lord High Chamberlain ; our old Kaid, Chan- 
 cellor of the Exchequer; the two muleteers, sherifs or ministers of 
 public worship ; Cyclops, Lord Chancellor, and as Justice is pro- 
 verbially blind, it will now have at least one eye in Morocco ; Jubilee 
 is to be Lord of the Privy Seal, and moul-el-md'ol, the Master of the 
 Parasol; Antonio Master of the Pickets, or guard of the Sultan's 
 tent ; while Brooks is to take over the control of the Kitchen, as Chief 
 Baker or Head Chef. 
 
 Harris's kindly heart has not forgotten us either. Ingram is to 
 establish, with the collaboration of Forestier and myself, the official and 
 '•' Illustrated Gazette of Morocco," under the title of 'The Setting Sun.' 
 To Marshall the delicate post of warden of the harem will be assigned. 
 Of course Harris is bent on having a harem, and well stocked too, for 
 what is a Sultan without a harem ? Besides, he has already given orders 
 for furnishing it on the most elaborate scale ; five hundred ladies of 
 every shade, and hair, warranted, vaccinated, of a high respectability. 
 Yes — five hundred ! neither more nor less. Why, after all, however 
 robust one may be, he has still to take into account that his vigour is 
 not boundless, that Nature has her limits even if the desires of the 
 sultans have none. 
 
 The imperial order — for an empire without an order could not 
 possibly exist long — is to be " The Star of Sheshouan," with the motto 
 " quo non ascendam ? " 
 
 Moreover, he had sketched out a heap of plans — the construction of 
 roads, canals, railways, the building of factories, the opening of mines, 
 decrees ready drawn for reforming the army, the administration of 
 justice, morals, manners, and even fashions. His versatile genius had 
 ranged through every department of imperial s\vay, and even con- 
 descended to the regulation of the most trifling actions in their 
 minutest details. 
 
 The third and last incarnation of Harris was planned on grand and 
 majestic lines. Al-Aissoui was going to jump into the skin of Bouak- 
 
TANGIER. 271 
 
 al-Hadj, just as Harris was already enveloped in the hide of Aissoui- 
 Morocco was going to add another great emperor to its illustrious rulers, 
 and a new dynasty would deluge the empire with myriads of little 
 sherifs. 
 
 For Harris — we had almost forgotten to mention that, while carefully 
 examining some old parchment and tracing back his genealogy — had 
 finally discovered, or persuaded himself that he had discovered, which 
 comes to the same thing, that he was descended from Mahomet in some 
 way or other, — he was not quite clear yet through which branch, the 
 parclunent was so old, so worm-eaten, and just at the very place where 
 the connection was indicated in the most convincing manner. It was 
 certain, however, that the prophet's blood ran in his veins, — a small 
 drop, it is true, but of such fine quality that it amply compensated 
 for the lack of quantity. 
 
 After taking coffee, we stroll for a time in order to stretch our legs. 
 Harris is in front of us, between Selim and Jubilee. The three are 
 holding one another by the hand, frolicking and singing Arab songs 
 as they waddle along. Since this close intimacy prevails between- 
 master and servants, the embryo ministers must have in their pockets 
 their patents of nobility as Master of the Parasol and Introducer of 
 Ambassadors, which put them almost on an equality with Aissoui, and 
 that explains the undue familiarity that exists between, them. 
 
 We mount our mules again. We cross some rough broken waste 
 ground, pass over streams, reach cultivated fields, and in front of us 
 appears Tangier — Tangier the white, the town tainted by the presence 
 of the Eoumis. 
 
 We jog on up hill and down dale, then at a last bend in the road we 
 see its outskirts, in which we are in a few minutes. After ascending a 
 steep road bordered by trees, we skirt the gardens outside the town, and 
 enter the lane running behind the Villa de France Hotel, from which we 
 started six weeks before, on the 7th of February, 1889. 
 
 We lift Marshall, who can scarcely hold on to his saddle, anil carry 
 him to the hotel. The men stow our luggage in our rooms, and the 
 dislocated detachments of our caravan enter the town. 
 
 Three days after we hoisted Marshall, wrapped in a number of 
 
272 
 
 AMONG THE MOUKS. 
 
 woollen blankets, more dead than alive, on board the Djebel Tarik. The 
 little steamer brought us to Gibraltar, where we embarked on one of the 
 splendid P. & 0. boats, and five days later we were in the midst of the 
 worries of the Custom House, the London fogs, the cabs, the railways, 
 and all the complex accessories of things of the Occident in which 
 we were taking once more our place, as some or other wheel-work, to 
 wage the fierce insane warfare forced upon us by our ill-balanced 
 civilisation. 
 
273 
 
 A MONTH AFTER. 
 
 Marshall, completely cured, has got back his cherubic voice, and 
 appeals each morning to echo for news of his Mary Ann. 
 
 Ingram is getting a Moorish pavilion built on to his country house. 
 
 Harris, who has stayed behind in Morocco, is manipulating the 
 elections, and making a dead set at the Sultanate. 
 
 Carlton is now as well as ever, and ready to start on another 
 expedition. 
 
 Forestier and I are pegging away at Arabic, and have vague ideas of 
 becoming Mussulmans. 
 
 Brooks, unfortunate Brooks, has left a part of his l»rain in Morocco, 
 and is in a constant tremor lest his sporadic master may drag him on 
 another expedition of the same sort and make him lose the few wits 
 he has still remaining. 
 
 Don has been left at Tangier, where he is initiating the rather 
 wild bitches of Islam into the virtuous manners of the canine tribe 
 of Albion. 
 
 Eover barks in Arabic, and relates to a select circle of his friends 
 strange stories of the loose ways and curious customs of their Eastern 
 " confreres." 
 
274 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 My journey in Morocco was accomplished in the most pleasurable 
 circumstances, thanks to the company of my excellent fellow-travellers : 
 Ingram, of the " Illustrated London News ; " A. Forestiei-, my colleague ; 
 W. B. Harris, a globe-trotter, crossed with a man of letters ; Marshall, 
 a sympathetic, well-to-do personage; Carlton, who unfortunately fell ill 
 at the outset of the expedition ; and thanks also to our hosts at Fez, to 
 whom we are indeljted for their most cordial hospitality. 
 
 I have recorded the bold accents of Harris's phenomenal trumpet, 
 his encounter with an imaginary lion, and imputed to him designs on 
 the Sultan's parasol as dishonest as they were problematical. This 
 has been as a set-off- for having, in a very witty work on ]\Iorocco,* 
 most irreverently insinuated that " Tartarin," instead of being a native 
 of Tarascon, might well come from Burgundy, my birthplace, and 
 enhanced this entirely gratuitous supposition by describing a Homeric 
 combat between myself and a ferocious hare, whose neck was adorned 
 witli a rose-coloured ribbon, and who was the terror of the neighbour- 
 hood, the Burgundian " Tarasque." 
 
 I owe it to Ingram to apologise for having, deceived by appearances, 
 prematurely announced the decease of the " Illustrated London News," 
 the complaisant receptacle for a quarter of a century of all the lucu- 
 brations of my pencil. 
 
 Thinking this celebrated newspaper for ever lost, eaten u\) by the 
 golden calf of publicity, and contaminated with the photographic 
 infection — that sort of hospital rot which preys upon all its fellows — I 
 
 * ' The Land of an African Sultan.' By Walter B. Harris, F.ll.G.S. (•' Al-Aissoui "). 
 Published by Sampson Low, Marston & Company. 
 
EPILOGUE. 275 
 
 went into muurniiig, ehantetl its " de profundis," and had masses said 
 on its behalf, telling in nionriiful rliynie of Ingram's sorrow and of the 
 "krack" of the leading illustrated contemporary, gone to rack and ruin, 
 together with its brethren, in the chaos of " positives " and " negatives." 
 
 A bird of ill-omen, I found — praise to Allah ! — that my ])essimistic 
 forecasts had proved false. Indeed, the old athlete, the honoured 
 ancestor of illustrated ])apers, is now as young and vigorous as ever ; 
 the coin jingles gaily in his ever-flowing easli-box, and Ingram gleefully 
 bathes in the golden waves of this Pactolus. 
 
 The liebdomadary \-eteran must be possessed of an iron frame, haA'e 
 his soul riveted in his body, for not only has he borne without wincing 
 this deadly sub-cutaneous infection of collodion, but he does not at all 
 seem the worse for it, as he robustly flourishes and expands imder the 
 fraternal eye of the " Penny Illustrated Paper," between his two younger 
 brothers, the " Sketch " and the " English Illustrated Magazine," and by 
 the side of his elegant and spruce sister, the " Lady's Pictorial." 
 
 Is this result owing to an early inoculation by Pasteur, which 
 neutralised the fatal effects of the virus ? Would it Ije, on the contrary, 
 this redoubtable improvement tliat precedes agony ? . . . I prefer to 
 believe in the beneficent effects of the opportune " brotli " administered 
 in time by the illustrious savant. 
 
 I have very wickedly teased ^Marshall about his silver}- voice and its 
 angelic tones. This was solely due to jealousy at not being gifted with 
 such a delicate organ, and to my bitter disappointment at being unable 
 to produce, notwithstanding my repeated efforts, those melodious and 
 crystalline sounds airily flowing from his nightingale throat. 
 
 I took good care in my book not to maltreat Forestier, lest the 
 irascible son of Norman ... Calabria should retaliate after the sanguinary 
 fashion of his ancestors. As I hold him in high esteem, and only wish 
 him good, the task was an easy one, and I have been able to escape this 
 " vendetta " in j)erspective. 
 
 It was with much pleasure that I paid our kind hosts at Fez my 
 debt of gratitude. This will, I trust, be placed to my credit, so 
 common is tlie custom of quickly iorgetting services rendered to you 
 and speaking ill of those who oltlige you. 
 
276 EPILOGUE. 
 
 I bewailed Carlton's illness, which deprived us of a genial com- 
 panion and invaluable guide. 
 
 I sympathised with old Brooks, because the poor fellow, in all his 
 tribulations, never thought of doing so himself. 
 
 I have given due recognition to the accurate shooting of Antonio, 
 the accredited purveyor of our larder, less through admiration of his 
 skill than through stomachic gratitude. 
 
 In delineating the dismal features of our dear old scamp, the Kaid, 
 and expatiating on his various qualities, I was actuated by the wish 
 that persons of quiet tastes, who prefer being robbed by people they 
 know rather than by strangers, should be enabled to recognise him by 
 the portrait I drew of him, and should entrust him with the manage- 
 ment of their travelling exchequer. 
 
 As for our muleteers, they were trusty servants whom 1 beg to 
 recommend one and all, as well as their beasts (trappings excepted), to 
 those who may feel inclined to go and present their respects to the 
 Sultan of Maghreb-el-Acksa. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Aguauok, the (water-carrier), 0, 10. 
 Ain-Ali Beni Hassan, 227-9. 
 Ain-Bouileh-Sidi Mouktar (village), 93- 
 
 108. 
 Ain-Daileb, 266-8. 
 Al-Aissoui, see Harris, W. B. 
 Al-Cazar, 249-260; suburbs of, 254; 
 
 gateway at, 255 ; bazaars at, 255 ; 
 
 fantasia at, 256-9 ; Souk at, 257. 
 Amazirgbs, see Eiff, natives of. 
 Antonio, SeQor (a guide), 21, 32, 37, 83, 
 
 109, 134, 138, 224, 231, 244, 276. 
 Arab, an, in prayer, 70, 112, 113, 196, 207. 
 
 -dog, 12. " 
 
 ploughs, 48, 126. 
 
 music, 27-29, 52. 
 
 shejAerd, 34. 
 
 Arabs, /an tos^a by, at Al-Cazar, 257-9. 
 
 legend current about the Jews, 15. 
 
 our, 38 ; see also Kaid Hadj 
 
 Mohammed. 
 Arcades at El-Araish, 88, 89. 
 Armourers' quarters in Mequinez, 148 ; 
 
 in Fez, 201. 
 Arms bazaar at Fez, 197-9. 
 Arvari, a Sheik's son, 100. 
 Arzilah, town of, 53-62, 64, 05; Sheik 
 
 of, 49 ; streets in, 55, 56 ; gateway at, 
 
 58, 59. 
 Atlas mountains, 177, 179, 183. 
 
 Babouche bazaar at Fez, 199. 
 Backsheesh, demands for, in Tangier, 19. 
 
 'Baleuk!'the expression in Tangier, 12, 
 
 13 ; in Fez, 190, 191. 
 Bazaars at Al-Cazar, 255. 
 
 iu Fez, 192-201. 
 
 in Mequinez, 145, 140, 155. 
 
 in ( )uezzan, 240. 
 
 Bedouins, camps of, 131, 170, 223. 
 Beggars in Tangier, 31 ; iu Fez, 193. 
 Ben-Abdallah, father of the founder of 
 
 Fez, 130. 
 Beni-Hassan tribe, 121. 
 Beni M'sara mountains, 230. 
 
 tribes, 232. 
 
 Beni-M'ter tribe, 180. 
 
 Berber village. A, 173, 175, 176. 
 
 Berbers in Fez, 195. 
 
 Blacksmiths' quarters in Mequinez, 148. 
 
 Bouak-al-Hadj, 213 ; see Harris. 
 
 Bridge near Fez, 177, 178. 
 
 near Mequinez, 104, 105. 
 
 Brooks (Ingram's valet), 2, 5, 20, 32, 37, 
 
 40, 43, 45, 47, 50, 08, 09, 83, 109, 273, 
 
 276. 
 Buildings in Morocco, 14, 15 ; holes in, 
 
 accounted for, 183. 
 Butcher at El-Araish, 91. 
 
 Caf£ at El-Araish, 86. 
 
 , a Moorish, 14. 
 
 Camels, caravans of, 110, 265. 
 Cape Spartel, 30, 33, 46, 263, 260. 
 Caravans in Morocco, 123. 
 on the way to Fez, 178-180. 
 
278 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Carlton, Mr., 32, 37,42, 4<), 53, 54, G4, 71, 
 
 274, 275. 
 Carpet bazaar in Fez, 200. 
 Carpets in Mequinez, 147. 
 Cataract, a big, 170-2. 
 Caves of Hercules, 40, 41. 
 Cemetery near Ouezzan, 247, 248. 
 (Jharcoal dealer at El-Araish, 89. 
 (Jlierabras tribe, 121. 
 Clothes' bazaar at Fez, 199. 
 
 at Ouezzan, 240. 
 
 Convicts at work near Harbassiz, IIG. 
 Coppersmiths' bazaar in Fez, 201. 
 ('orn-market at El-Araish, 86. 
 C'ourier, a (rekka), 263-5. 
 Court of .Tustice in the Kasbah of Tangier, 
 
 16, 18. 
 Criminals, puishment inflicted on, 202. 
 
 DjKBEL-Habib, the suniniits of, 35, 266. 
 
 Djebel-Sarsar, the, 71, 73, 74. 
 
 Djebel-Tarik, 93, 94. 
 
 , steamer, 272. 
 
 Djedida, the Sheik of, 172-4. 
 
 Djelifah, 62-70. 
 
 Dog, an Arab's, 76. 
 
 Dogs, Mr. Ingram's, 20, 22, 98, 273. 
 
 Donkey, at Arzilah, 57, 58. 
 
 Ihuars (native villages), 48, 99-101, 105, 
 115, 123, 131, 173; near Fez, 175, 
 179 ; village on fire, 180, 181 ; market 
 in, 231-3. 
 
 , see also Bedouins. 
 
 Dyers' street in Fez, 200, 201. 
 
 El-Akaish, town of, 82-93 ; Kasbash in, 
 84 ; Jews at, 86 ; cafe at, 86 ; the Sovk, 
 86, 88 ; gateways in, 86-89 ; corn- 
 market, 86 ; arcades in, 88, 89 ; law 
 court at, 91 ; butcher at, 91. 
 
 Faidasia at Al-Cazar, a, 257-9. 
 Ferry-boats on the Bebou River, 117-9. 
 Fez, 165, 183-217; the founder of, 136; 
 woman of, promenading, 145; ruins 
 
 near, 154; village near, 175; plain and 
 lakes of, 178-9, 215-19 ; pools near, 182 ; 
 the old capital of, 183; gateway at, 
 183, 193-5; streets in, 184, 188-192, 
 208, 209 ; the new town, 185 ; bazaars 
 in, 192-201 ; beggars in, 193 ; mosque 
 at, 193, 196, 197; Berbers in, 195; 
 women in, 200, 204-7 ; prison in, 201, 
 220; view of, from the terraces of 
 the houses, 203; terraces in, 203-5; 
 interior and door of house in, 210, 211. 
 
 Fire, native village on, 180, 181. 
 
 Forestier, M., 2, 5, 20, 21, 31, 32, 37, 42, 43, 
 47, 51, 54, 63, 64, 69, 70, 72, 78, 97, 
 109, 123, 128, 140, 152, 155, 156, 159, 
 207, 216, 220, 224, 244, 273, 274, 275. 
 
 " Game of gunpowder," the, 196. 
 Gateway of Al-Cazar, 255. 
 
 at Arzilah, 58, 59. 
 
 at El-Araish, 86-89. 
 
 at Fez, 183, 193-5. 
 
 of the Kasbah at Mequinez, 
 
 150, 151, 159. 
 
 in Tangier, 11. 
 
 Gebeleh, 37. 
 
 Ghaitas, the (Arab bagpipes), lin;. 
 
 Gharb, peojjle from the, 232. 
 
 Gharbiah, in the, 29-32. 
 
 Ghreefa river, 53, 71. 
 
 Gimbry, a (Arab guitar), 7, 27, 38, 51. 
 
 Goldsmiths' bazaar at Al-Cazar, 255. 
 
 ■ — quarters in Mequinez, 147. 
 
 Governor of a Meirocco town, A, 125. 
 Grocer's shop at El-Araish, 89. 
 
 Hai>j-abi)-ks-Sklam, sec Ouezzan, Sherif 
 
 of. 
 Had) Mohammed (guide), see Ka'kl. 
 Ilantouzc, head-dress of Fez women, 
 
 205, 206. 
 Harbassiz, town of, 115-20, 130. 
 Harris, Walter B., 2, 19-22, 32, 37, 42,43, 
 
 47, 49, 50, 53, 54, 63, 69, 76, 93, 97, 99, 
 
 105, 109, 117. lis, 127, 128, 131, 132, 
 
INDEX. 
 
 279 
 
 Harris, W. B.—roiit. 
 
 134, 13G, 139, 140, 142, 155, 156, IfiT, 
 170, 172-G, 180, 184-9, 212-14, 216, 
 220, 222, 226, 230, 234, 236-40, 244, 
 269-71, 273-5 ; ride to Slieshouan, 
 78-81, 213; visit to Wazzan, 81. 
 
 Haschicli smoker, A, 26-9. 
 
 Haya-Al-Ouerkaf, rocks called, 228, 229. 
 
 Hercules, Caves of, 40, 41. 
 
 ' Illi'stratkd London News,' 158, 274. 
 
 Ingram, Mr., 2, 5, 20, 32, 37, 39, 40, 42, 
 43, 45, 47, 49, 50, 54, 63, 69, 76, 78, 
 93, 94, 105, 128, 134, 136, 139, 140, 
 155-8, 167, 169, 170, 176, 177, 185, 
 186, 215, 220, 224, 273, 274, 275. 
 
 Imi at Mequinez, 144. 
 
 Interior of Moorish dwelling, 24, 25. 
 
 Jews, Arab legend current about the, 1'). 
 
 at El-Araish, 86. 
 
 at Mequinez, 143, 147, 148 ; .Jewess, 
 
 149. 
 "Justice,"' the, at El-Araish, 91. 
 , at Mec|uinez, 149-154. 
 
 Kau) Had) Mohammed (a guide), 22-32, 
 50, 64-8, 83, 113, 136, 167-9, 176, 182, 
 212, 224, 226, 234, 234, 276. 
 
 Ka'id Hadj Mohammed's home at 
 Mequinez, 163-5. 
 
 Karaouin mosque, at Fez, 196. 
 
 Kasbah, the, of El-Araish, 84. 
 
 of Fez, the, 203. 
 
 at Mequinez, 149-154, 15!i. 
 
 of Tangier, 15-19 
 
 Klioulia, A, near Arzilah, 58, GU. 
 
 near El-Araish, 8G. 
 
 Khoubas in Fez, 152, 160. 
 
 Kous river, 83, 84, 253. 
 
 " La bass," the expression, in Tangier, 12, 
 13. 
 
 Lab-el-barond, the, or " game of gun- 
 powder," 196. 
 
 Lakes near Fez, 172, 182, 216. 
 
 I Law Court at El Araish, 91. 
 
 ' in the Kasbah of Tangier, 16, 18. 
 
 t Legend, Arab, about the Jews, 15. 
 
 Lighthouse near Tangier, 35, 36. 
 
 Linares, Dr., 189, 207. 
 
 Maclean, Captain Allen, 186, 189, 207. 
 
 Kaid, 13G, 18.5-9, 207, 212, 215. 
 
 Market day in Tangier, 6. 
 Marshall, 2, 5, 21, 32, 37, 42, 43, 45, 47, 
 69, 76, 78, 105, 109, 134, 156, 1()7, 170, 
 182, 189, 207, 215, 219, 220, 270, 271, 
 I 273, 274, 275. 
 Masons at work on Fez rami)arts, 183, 184. 
 Mecca, i)ilgrimage to, 102, 103. 
 Mehdiouna river, bridge over the, 1G7, 
 
 169, 170. 
 Mekis, 218. 
 Mequinez, mountains of, 122, 126-130. 
 
 , town of, 134-164, 189, 251; 
 
 ramjiarts of, 135 ; entrance gate of, 138 ; 
 our house at, 139, 142, 143 ; streets in, 
 143, 146, 148 ; inn at, 144 ; bazaar 145, 
 146, 155 ; mosques at, 146 ; woman of, 
 148; carpets in, 147; Jews at, 143, 147, 
 148 ; storks in, 147 ; goldsmiths' (luarter, 
 147 ; houses in, 147 ; blacksmiths' and 
 armourers' quarters, 148 ; the Kasbah at, 
 149-154, 159 ; tombs at, 163 ; Fez, gate 
 at, 162 ; the Pasha of, 162, 163 ; view of, 
 163 ; walls of, 172. 
 Moghreb, the, a crumbling empire, see 
 
 Preface. 
 Moor, A handsome, 145, 146. 
 
 , A rich, 169. 
 
 Moorish cafe, a, in Tangier, 14. 
 
 dwelling, interior of, 24, 25. 
 
 fountain in Tangier, 11. 
 
 Morocco, a crumbling empire, see Preface. 
 
 , buildings of, in ruins, 14, 15 ; 
 
 holes in, accounted for, 183. 
 
 , caravans in, 123. 
 
 , countrywomen of, 75. 
 
 , the salt-torture in, 202. 
 
 . Sherifs in, 101-3. 
 
280 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Morocco, the Sultan of: artillery at Arzilah, 
 57; his gardens near Fez, 179; palace 
 at Fez, 203. 
 
 Mosque in Fez, 193, 196, 197. 
 
 in Ouezzan, 2-41, 242. 
 
 Mosques at Mequinez, 146. 
 
 ^louley-Abdliuram, Sultan, tomb of, 152. 
 
 Mouley-Idriss, 136 ; pilgrimage to, 218. 
 
 Mouley-Ismail, Sultan, 150 ; tomb of, 152. 
 
 Muedden, the, at Tangier, 4, 5. 
 
 Mules, our, 83. 
 
 Music, Arab, 27-29, 52. 
 
 Negro dancer in Tangier, 28. 
 N'sala, A, 62, 63. 
 N'sala-Borian, 263. 
 
 OuED-AL Ihotjdi, 33. 
 
 Oued-Faraoun river, 132, 134. 
 
 Oued-Edoum river, 134, 137. 
 
 Oued Maghsen (river), 267. 
 
 Oued-Mekis (river), 219, 221. 
 
 Oued-AVarglila (river), 229-233. 
 
 Oued-Warrour (river), 260-62. 
 
 Ouezzan, Sherif of, 221; a relation of, 
 234-6; secretary of, 238-40; visit to 
 the son of the, 242-5. 
 
 Ouezzan, to^vn of, 224, 236-246; the 
 Souk at, 238, 239 ; streets of, 240 ; bazaar 
 in, 241 ; mosque in, 241, 242 ; visit to 
 the Sherif's son, 242-5 ; cemetery near, 
 247-8. 
 
 Ourdighia, mountains of, 88. 
 
 — , Captain T., 76-81. 
 
 Pharaoh's Castle, 135. 
 Photography, 156-59. 
 Pillaging tribes, 120. 
 Plain of Fez, 178, 179, 215, 216, 219. 
 Ploughs, primitive Arab, 48, 126. 
 Pools near Fez, 182. 
 Pottery in Fez, 197. 
 Prison in Fez, 201, 202. 
 Prisons in the Kasbah of Tangier, 16-19 ; 
 a prisoner, 21. 
 
 Punishments inflicted on criminals in 
 Morocco, 202. 
 
 PiAMPAKTS of Tangier, 10. 
 
 Piebel chiefs of Beui-M*ter tribe, 180. 
 
 Bekha, A (courier), 263-5. 
 
 Piiff, natives of the, in Tangier, 8, 9. 
 
 Koad, A, near Arzilah, 64. 
 
 Eocks called Haya-Al-Ouerkaf, 228, 229. 
 
 Roman ruins near Mequinez, 135. 
 
 Ruins near Fez, 154. 
 
 of Volubilis, 135. 
 
 Saddlers' quarters at Ouezzan, 240. 
 
 Saddlery in Fez, 197. 
 
 Sahal-el-Khemis, 71-81. 
 
 Salt-torture in Morocco, the, 202. 
 
 Sambo (negro), 220. 
 
 Santon, A, 60, 61. 
 
 Sarsar, mountains of, 95, 99. 
 
 School, a village, 43. 
 
 Sebou river, 124, 130, 227, 228 ; plain of 
 
 the. 111, 115-121 ; ferry boats on the, 
 
 117-19 ; tributary of, 126. 
 Selim (Harris's servant), 2, 22, 31, 243, 
 
 251, 270. 
 Serpent-charmers in Tangier, 22, 23. 
 Shepherd, an Arab, 34. 
 Sherifs in Llorocco, 101-3. 
 Sheshouan mountains, 230. 
 Sheshouan, Mr. Harris's ride to, 78-81, 213. 
 Shops in Fez, see Bazaars. 
 Sidi-Aissa-Beni-Hassan, 109. 
 Sidi-Ali-Ben-Hamdoueh, tomb of, 160. 
 Sidi Cassim, 122-129, 246-48. 
 Sidi-Hadj-el-Arbi, son of the Sherif of 
 
 Ouezzan, 242-5. 
 Sidi-Mohammed-Sherif (village), 230-35. 
 Si-Omar-Barada, Spanish Consul in Fez, 
 
 208-12. 
 Si-Torres of Tangier, 136. 
 Smokers, haschich, 27-29. 
 Snake-charmers in Tangier, 22, 23. 
 Soldiers, the Sultan's, 63, 85, 90, 117, 118. 
 Souk, the, at Al-Cazar, 257. ^ 
 
INDEX. 
 
 281 
 
 Souk at El Araish, 86, 88. 
 
 at Ouezzan, 238, 239. 
 
 at Tangier, 5-11, 15, 19, 22, 32. 
 
 Sousse, natives of, 6. 
 
 Spanish Consul in Fez, see Si-Omar. 
 
 Spartel, Cape, 30, 33, 46, 263, 266. 
 
 Storks in Mequinez, 147. 
 
 Storm, a lieavy, 46. 
 
 Story-teller, A, in Tangier, 8. 
 
 Streets in the towns of Morocco, 56 ; in 
 Tangier, 10, 12-14 ; of Arzilah, 55, 56 ; 
 in Mequinez, 143, 146, 148 ; in Fez, 184, 
 188-192, 208, 209 ; in Ouezzan, 240. 
 
 Sultan of Morocco, the : artillery at 
 Arzilah, 57 ; soldiers of, 63, 85, 90, 117, 
 118 ; gardens near Fez, 179 ; palace at 
 Fez, 203. 
 
 Tafilet products in Fez, 200. 
 
 Tangier : arrival at, 1-3 ; Marine street, 4 ; 
 the Souk at, 5-11, 15, 19, 22, 32 ; a 
 market day in, 6 ; negress bread-seller in, 
 7 ; a story-teller in, 8 ; water-carriers, 
 9, 10 ; streets in, 10, 12-14 ; ramparts of, 
 10 ; a gateway in, 11 ; the "Whip Gate 
 at, 14, 15 ; the Kasbah in, 15 ; official 
 buildings of, 15-19 ; the treasury in, 15, 
 16 ; Law Courts of, 16, 18 ; serpent- 
 charmers in, 22, 23 ; haschich smokers, 
 27-29; beggars in, 31; a panoramic 
 view of, 35 ; viewed from inland, 269 ; j 
 return to, 271, 272. 
 Tea ' a la Mauresque,' 234, 235. | 
 
 Terraces, the, in Fez, 203-5. 
 
 Tetouan, mountains of, 35, 266. 
 
 Timbuctoo, a nigger fmiii, 6. 
 
 Tomb of Sidi-Ali-Ben-Hamdoueh, 160. 
 
 Torture of criminals in Morocco, 202. 
 
 Treasury, the, in Tangier, 15, 16. 
 
 Tribes inhabiting Zahroun mountains, 166- 
 
 68, 225. 
 pillaging, 120. See also Beni- 
 
 llassan, Beni-M'sara, Beni-M'ter, Chera- 
 
 bras. 
 Tsaha Dartz river, 42 ; estuary of the, 45, 
 
 40. 
 
 Vaults in the Kasbah at Mequinez, 153. 
 Villages, native, see Douars. 
 Volubilis, ruins of, 135. 
 
 Waggon, an enormous, 95. 
 Walls of Mequinez, 172. 
 Water-carriers in Tangier, 9, 10. 
 Waterfall, a big, 170-72. 
 Wazzau, Mr. Harris's visit to, 81. 
 Weather, stormy, 104, 105. 
 Whip Gate of Tangier, 14, 15. 
 Woman wood-carrier, A, 96. 
 Women water-carriers, 100, 106, 107. 
 , young country, 106, 107, 123. 
 
 Zahroun mountains, 162, 165, 177, 218, 
 
 223-26. 
 Zemours mountaineers, 139-41. 
 
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