The Mole—The Two Moors—Djmah of Tangier—House of God—British
Consul—Curious Spectacle—The Moorish House—Joanna Correa—Ave Maria.
So we rode to the Mole and landed. This Mole consists at present of
nothing more than an immense number of large loose stones, which run
about five hundred yards into the bay; they are part of the ruins of a
magnificent pier which the English, who were the last foreign nation
which held Tangier, destroyed when they evacuated the place. The Moors
have never attempted to repair it; the surf at high water breaks over it
with great fury. I found it a difficult task to pick my way over the
slippery stones, and should once or twice have fallen but for the
kindness of the Genoese mariners. At last we reached the beach, and were
proceeding towards the gate of the town, when two persons, Moors, came up
to us. I almost started at sight of the first; he was a huge old
barbarian with a white uncombed beard, dirty turban, haik, and trousers,
naked legs, and immense splay feet, the heels of which stood out a couple
of inches at least behind his rusty black slippers.
“That is the captain of the port,” said one of the Genoese; “pay him
respect.” I accordingly doffed my hat and cried, “_Sba alkheir a sidi_”
(Good-morning, my lord). “Are you Englishmans?” shouted the old grisly
giant. “Englishmans, my lord,” I replied, and, advancing, presented him
my hand, which he nearly wrung off with his tremendous gripe. The other
Moor now addressed me in a jargon composed of English, Spanish, and
Arabic. A queer-looking personage was he also, but very different in
most respects from his companion, being shorter by a head at least, and
less complete by one eye, for the left orb of vision was closed, leaving
him, as the Spaniards style it, _tuerto_; he, however, far outshone the
other in cleanliness of turban, haik, and trousers. From what he
jabbered to me, I collected that he was the English consul’s mahasni or
soldier; that the consul, being aware of my arrival, had dispatched him
to conduct me to his house. He then motioned me to follow him, which I
did, the old port captain attending us to the gate, when he turned aside
into a building, which I judged to be a kind of custom-house from the
bales and boxes of every description piled up before it. We passed the
gate and proceeded up a steep and winding ascent; on our left was a
battery full of guns, pointing to the sea, and on our right a massive
wall, seemingly in part cut out of the hill; a little higher up we
arrived at an opening where stood the mosque which I have already
mentioned. As I gazed upon the tower I said to myself, “Surely we have
here a younger sister of the Giralda of Seville.”
I know not whether the resemblance between the two edifices has been
observed by any other individual; and perhaps there are those who would
assert that no resemblance exists, especially if, in forming an opinion,
they were much swayed by size and colour: the hue of the Giralda is red,
or rather vermilion, whilst that which predominates in the Djmah of
Tangier is green, the bricks of which it is built being of that colour;
though between them, at certain intervals, are placed others of a light
red tinge, so that the tower is beautifully variegated. With respect to
size, standing beside the giant witch of Seville, the Tangerine Djmah
would show like a ten-year sapling in the vicinity of the cedar of
Lebanon, whose trunk the tempests of five hundred years have worn. And
yet I will assert that the towers in other respects are one and the same,
and that the same mind and the same design are manifested in both; the
same shape do they exhibit, and the same marks have they on their walls,
even those mysterious arches graven on the superficies of the bricks,
emblematic of I know not what. The two structures may, without any
violence, be said to stand in the same relation to each other as the
ancient and modern Moors. The Giralda is the world’s wonder, and the old
Moor was all but the world’s conqueror. The modern Moor is scarcely
known, and who ever heard of the Tower of Tangier? Yet examine it
attentively, and you will find in that tower much, very much, to admire,
and certainly, if opportunity enable you to consider the modern Moor as
minutely, you will discover in him, and in his actions, amongst much that
is wild, uncouth, and barbarous, not a little capable of amply rewarding
laborious investigation.
As we passed the mosque I stopped for a moment before the door, and
looked in upon the interior: I saw nothing but a quadrangular court paved
with painted tiles and exposed to the sky; on all sides were arched
piazzas, and in the middle was a fountain, at which several Moors were
performing their ablutions. I looked around for the abominable thing,
and found it not; no scarlet strumpet with a crown of false gold sat
nursing an ugly changeling in a niche. “Come here,” said I, “papist, and
take a lesson; here is a house of God, in externals at least, such as a
house of God should be: four walls, a fountain, and the eternal firmament
above, which mirrors his glory. Dost thou build such houses to the God
who hast said, ‘Thou shalt make to thyself no graven image’? Fool, thy
walls are stuck with idols; thou callest a stone thy Father, and a piece
of rotting wood the Queen of Heaven. Fool, thou knowest not even the
Ancient of Days, and the very Moor can instruct thee. He at least knows
the Ancient of Days who has said, ‘Thou shalt have no other gods but
me.’”
And as I said these words, I heard a cry like the roaring of a lion, and
an awful voice in the distance exclaim, “_Kapul Udbagh_” (there is no god
but one).
We now turned to the left through a passage which passed under the tower,
and had scarcely proceeded a few steps, when I heard a prodigious hubbub
of infantine voices: I listened for a moment, and distinguished verses of
the Koran; it was a school. Another lesson for thee, papist. Thou
callest thyself a Christian, yet the book of Christ thou persecutest;
thou huntest it even to the sea-shore, compelling it to seek refuge upon
the billows of the sea. Fool, learn a lesson from the Moor, who teaches
his child to repeat with its first accents the most important portions of
the book of his law, and considers himself wise or foolish, according as
he is versed in or ignorant of that book; whilst thou, blind slave,
knowest not what the book of thy own law contains, nor wishest to know:
yet art thou not to be judged by thy own law? Idolmonger, learn
consistency from the Moor: he says that he shall be judged after his own
law, and therefore he prizes and gets by heart the entire book of his
law.
We were now at the consul’s house, a large roomy habitation, built in the
English style. The soldier led me through a court into a large hall hung
with the skins of all kinds of ferocious animals, from the kingly lion to
the snarling jackal. Here I was received by a Jew domestic, who
conducted me at once to the consul, who was in his library. He received
me with the utmost frankness and genuine kindness, and informed me that,
having received a letter from his excellent friend Mr. B., in which I was
strongly recommended, he had already engaged me a lodging in the house of
a Spanish woman, who was, however, a British subject, and with whom he
believed that I should find myself as comfortable as it was possible to
be in such a place as Tangier. He then inquired if I had any particular
motive for visiting the place, and I informed him without any hesitation
that I came with the intention of distributing a certain number of copies
of the New Testament in the Spanish language amongst the Christian
residents of the place. He smiled, and advised me to proceed with
considerable caution, which I promised to do. We then discoursed on
other subjects, and it was not long before I perceived that I was in the
company of a most accomplished scholar, especially in the Greek and Latin
classics; he appeared likewise to be thoroughly acquainted with the
Barbary empire and with the Moorish character.
After half an hour’s conversation, exceedingly agreeable and instructive
to myself, I expressed a wish to proceed to my lodging: whereupon he rang
the bell, and the same Jewish domestic entering who had introduced me, he
said to him in the English language, “Take this gentleman to the house of
Joanna Correa, the Mahonese widow, and enjoin her, in my name, to take
care of him and attend to his comforts; by doing which she will confirm
me in the good opinion which I at present entertain of her, and will
increase my disposition to befriend her.”
So, attended by the Jew, I now bent my steps to the lodging prepared for
me. Having ascended the street in which the house of the consul was
situated, we entered a small square which stands about half way up the
hill. This, my companion informed me, was the soc, or market-place. A
curious spectacle here presented itself. All round the square were small
wooden booths, which very much resembled large boxes turned on their
sides, the lid being supported above by a string. Before each of these
boxes was a species of counter, or rather one long counter ran in front
of the whole line, upon which were raisins, dates, and small barrels of
sugar, soap, and butter, and various other articles. Within each box, in
front of the counter, and about three feet from the ground, sat a human
being, with a blanket on its shoulders, a dirty turban on its head, and
ragged trousers, which descended as far as the knee, though in some
instances, I believe, these were entirely dispensed with. In its hand it
held a stick, to the end of which was affixed a bunch of palm leaves,
which it waved incessantly as a fan, for the purpose of scaring from its
goods the million flies which, engendered by the Barbary sun, endeavoured
to settle upon them. Behind it, and on either side, were piles of the
same kind of goods. _Shrit hinai_, _shrit hinai_, (buy here, buy here),
was continually proceeding from its mouth. Such are the grocers of
Tangier, such their shops.
In the middle of the soc, upon the stones, were pyramids of melons and
sandias, (the water species), and also baskets filled with other kinds of
fruit, exposed for sale, whilst round cakes of bread were lying here and
there upon the stones, beside which sat on their hams the wildest-looking
beings that the most extravagant imagination ever conceived, the head
covered with an enormous straw hat, at least two yards in circumference,
the eaves of which, flapping down, completely concealed the face, whilst
the form was swathed in a blanket, from which occasionally were thrust
skinny arms and fingers. These were Moorish women, who were, I believe,
in all instances, old and ugly, judging from the countenances of which I
caught a glimpse as they lifted the eaves of their hats to gaze on me as
I passed, or to curse me for stamping on their bread. The whole soc was
full of peoples and there was abundance of bustle, screaming, and
vociferation, and as the sun, though the hour was still early, was
shining with the greatest brilliancy, I thought that I had scarcely ever
witnessed a livelier scene.
Crossing the soc we entered a narrow street with the same kind of
box-shops on each side, some of which, however, were either unoccupied or
not yet opened, the lid being closed. We almost immediately turned to
the left, up a street somewhat similar, and my guide presently entered
the door of a low house, which stood at the corner of a little alley, and
which he informed me was the abode of Joanna Correa. We soon stood in
the midst of this habitation. I say the midst, as all the Moorish houses
are built with a small court in the middle. This one was not more than
ten feet square. It was open at the top, and around it on three sides
were apartments; on the fourth a small staircase, which communicated with
the upper story, half of which consisted of a terrace looking down into
the court, over the low walls of which you enjoyed a prospect of the sea
and a considerable part of the town. The rest of the story was taken up
by a long room, destined for myself, and which opened upon the terrace by
a pair of folding-doors. At either end of this apartment stood a bed,
extending transversely from wall to wall, the canopy touching the
ceiling. A table and two or three chairs completed the furniture.
I was so occupied in inspecting the house of Joanna Correa, that at first
I paid little attention to that lady herself. She now, however, came up
upon the terrace where my guide and myself were standing. She was a
woman about five and forty, with regular features, which had once been
handsome, but had received considerable injury from time, and perhaps
more from trouble. Two of her front teeth had disappeared, but she still
had fine black hair. As I looked upon her countenance, I said within
myself, if there be truth in physiognomy, thou art good and gentle, O
Joanna; and, indeed, the kindness I experienced from her during the six
weeks which I spent beneath her roof would have made me a convert to that
science had I doubted in it before. I believe no warmer and more
affectionate heart ever beat in human bosom than in that of Joanna
Correa, the Mahonese widow, and it was indexed by features beaming with
benevolence and good nature, though somewhat clouded with melancholy.
She informed me that she had been married to a Genoese, the master of a
felouk which passed between Gibraltar and Tangier, who had been dead
about four years, leaving her with a family of four children, the eldest
of which was a lad of thirteen; that she had experienced great difficulty
in providing for her family and herself since the death of her husband,
but that Providence had raised her up a few excellent friends, especially
the British consul; that besides letting lodgings to such travellers as
myself, she made bread which was in high esteem with the Moors, and that
she was likewise in partnership in the sale of liquors with an old
Genoese. She added, that this last person lived below in one of the
apartments; that he was a man of great ability and much learning, but
that she believed he was occasionally somewhat touched here, pointing
with her finger to her forehead, and she therefore hoped that I would not
be offended at anything extraordinary in his language or behaviour. She
then left me, as she said, to give orders for my breakfast; whereupon the
Jewish domestic, who had accompanied me from the consul, finding that I
was established in the house, departed.
I speedily sat down to breakfast in an apartment on the left side of the
little wustuddur, the fare was excellent; tea, fried fish, eggs, and
grapes, not forgetting the celebrated bread of Joanna Correa. I was
waited upon by a tall Jewish youth of about twenty years, who informed me
that his name was Haim Ben Atar, that he was a native of Fez, from whence
his parents brought him at a very early age to Tangier, where he had
passed the greater part of his life principally in the service of Joanna
Correa, waiting upon those who, like myself, lodged in the house. I had
completed my meal, and was seated in the little court, when I heard in
the apartment opposite to that in which I had breakfasted several sighs,
which were succeeded by as many groans, and then came “_Ave Maria_,
_gratia plena_, _ora pro me_,” and finally a croaking voice chanted:—
“Gentem auferte perfidam
Credentium de finibus,
Ut Christo laudes debitas
Persolvamus alacriter.”
“That is the old Genoese,” whispered Haim Ben Atar, “praying to his God,
which he always does with particular devotion when he happens to have
gone to bed the preceding evening rather in liquor. He has in his room a
picture of Maria Buckra, before which he generally burns a taper, and on
her account he will never permit me to enter his apartment. He once
caught me looking at her, and I thought he would have killed me, and
since then he always keeps his chamber locked, and carries the key in his
pocket when he goes out. He hates both Jew and Moor, and says that he is
now living amongst them for his sins.”
“They do not place tapers before pictures,” said I, and strolled forth to
see the wonders of the land.