-
Traveller. - "Sidi Ali, what can I do to impress Muley Abd Errahman in my
favour?"
Sidi Ali. - "Money!"
Traveller. - "But will the Emir of the Shereefs accept of money from us
Christians?"
Sidi Ali. - "Money!"
Traveller. - "What am I to give the minister Ben Dris, to get his
favour?"
Sidi Ali. - "Money!"
Traveller. - "Can I travel in safety in Morocco?"
Sidi Ali. - "Money:"
Indeed "money" seems to be the all and everything in Morocco, as among
us, "the nation of shopkeepers." The Emperor himself sets the example,
for he is wholly occupied in amassing treasures in Mequiney. Another
acquaintance of mine was a little more communicative.
Aged Moor. - "What can I do for you, stranger? You are good to me, every
time I call here you give me tea with plenty of sugar in it. What can I
do for you in my country?"
Traveller. - "Tell me how to get on in my mission? How can I see Muley
Errahman?"
Aged Moor. - "Now I am bound to give you my best advice. First then, take
plenty of money with you. All love money; therefore without money you
can do nothing. Muley Abd Errahman loves money, and money he must have.
And the minister loves money, and the minister must not be forgotten.
The minister is the door to the Emperor. You cannot get into the house
but through the door. Out of the towns and cities, the Emperor has no
power; so that whenever you travel out of these places, remember to give
the people money."
I had numberless volunteers to conduct me to Fez. All came begging for
this honour and lucrative employment. Whatever may be said of the
virtues of hospitality, I found all the world alike in its determination
to make the most of strangers, if not to devour them. But the Emperor
was not at Fez; he was in the southern capital, and it was necessary for
me to go via Mogador, to endeavour to obtain an interview with him at
that place.
The dreary monotony of Moorish life was one day broken in upon by a
juvenile strolling singer, who attracted a crowd of silent and attentive
listeners. It was a grateful sight to see old men, with long and silvery
beards, reclining in mute and serious attention; young men lounging in
the pride and consciousness of animal strength; little children
intermixed, but without prattle or merriment - all fixed and fascinated
with the charm of vocal song. The vocalist himself was a picturesque
object; his face was burnt black with Afric's sun, his bare head was
wildly covered with long, black matted, and curly hair, but his eye was
soft and serene; and, as he stretched his throat upwards to give compass
to his voice, he seemed as if he would catch inspiration from the
Prophet in heaven. A coarse brown blanket enveloped his spare and
way-worn body, his only clothing and shelter from the heat by day and
the cold by night, a fold of which fell upon his naked feet.
The voice of the Arab vocalist was extremely plaintive, even to the
tones and inflections of distress, and the burden of his song was of
religion and of love - two sentiments which all pure minds delight to
combine. When he stopped a moment to take breath, a murmur of applause
vibrated through the still air of the evening, not indeed for the youth,
but for God! [8] for it was a prayer of the artless and enraptured
bystanders, invoking Allah to bless the singing lad, and also to bless
them, while ascribing all praise to the Deity.
This devout scene raised the Moors greatly in my estimation. I thought
men could not be barbarians, or even a jealous or vindictive race, who
were charmed with such simple melody of sounds, and with sentiments so
pure and true to nature.
The Arab youth sang: -
Oh, there's none but the One God!
I'll journey over the Desert far
To seek my love the fairest of maidens;
The camels moan loudly to carry me thither,
Gainly are they, and fleeter than the swift-legged ostrich.
Oh, there's none but the One God!
What though the Desert wind slay me;
What of it? death is from God.
And woe to me! I cannot repine.
But I'll away to the abode of my love,
I'll embrace her with all my strength,
I'll bear her back thence, and rest her on my couch.
Oh, there's none but the One God!
So sang in plaintive accents the youth, until the last ray of the sun
lingered on the minarets' tops, when, by the louder and authoritative
voice of the Muezin calling the Faithful to prayers, this crowd of the
worshippers of song and vocal harmony was dispersed to meet again, and
forthwith chant a more solemn strain. The poor lad of the streets and
highways went into the mosque along with his motley group of admirers;
and all blended their voices and devotion together in prayer and
adoration, lowly and in profound prostration, before the Great Allah!
It is my intention, in the course of the present narrative, to give a
brief account of the principal towns and cities of North Africa; and I
cannot do better than begin with Tangier. This city is very ancient,
having probably been built by the aboriginals, Berbers, and was usually
called by the Romans, Taigo on Tingis. The Emperor Claudius re-peopled
it, and called it Julia Traducta. The Moors call it Sanjah, and relate
that Benhad Sahab El-Alem built it, also surrounded it with walls of
metal, and constructed its houses of gold and silver. In this condition,
it remained until destroyed by some Berber kings, who carried away all
its treasures. The modern Tangier is a small city of the province of
Hasbat, picturesquely placed on the eastern slope of a hill, which
terminates in the west with its port and bay, having some analogy to the
site of Algiers.
