PRIDE OF RACE
When a Sherif of Yemen tells his lineage he generally begins with Noah,
and, passing through the legendary Kahtan and Johtan, explains the union
of Ishmael the son of Abraham with an ancestress of the Koreish, of whom
was the family of the blessed Mohamed. Mulai Ahmed ibn Mohamed ibn
Abdullah el Raisuli el Hasani, el Alani, began his with the Prophet.
“My house is of the Beni Aros, who are descendants of Abd es Salam
Sherif, buried on the highest point of Jebel Alan. We are the greatest
of the Western Sherifs, whose power has always rivalled that of the
Caliphs. Go to Tetuan and you will see the veneration paid to the Qubba
of our ancestor, Sidi Ali ibn Isa, and all through the country you will
hear of the Sherifs Raisuli. When we go to visit (the tomb of) Sidi Abd
es Salaam, we are fifteen thousand of the line of Jebel Alan, his
descendants, though of the family of Raisuli there are but seventy. We
have held great posts in the past and stood between our people and the
oppression of the Sultans. It is our duty to protect the people, for
they honour us as holy. For us who have the “baraka,”[11] the blessing
of Allah, they would give their lives and their property. If I tell a
man, ‘Start today for Cairo, or for Mecca,’ he would ask no questions,
but pick up his jellaba and go.
“No one dies of starvation in Islam, but a Sherif may sit at the door of
his house and the whole countryside will come to him to kiss the edge of
his robe and pour their tribute into his basket. I remember when I was a
boy, small so”—he made a gesture towards the ground—“my father, on whom
be peace, was angry with a slave. He ordered him to go out and tell the
others to beat him—so many lashes. I met the man on the way and asked
him where he was going. He told me, to get so many lashes. I asked him
what crime he had committed, and he answered, ‘I do not know, but the
Sherif knows, and without doubt it is a bad one.’
“Once it was necessary that someone should die for a crime that had been
done, and it was not politic that the murderer should be given up at
Tangier. The Sherif sent for a poor man and said to him, ‘Would you have
your family live in plenty, and yourself gain a paradise? If so,
remember that on such-and-such a date, you killed a certain person.’ The
man answered, ‘If the Sherif wills it—it must be that I am guilty,’ and
the Lord gave him wisdom to answer all questions that were put to him.
“Such has been the power of my house, and that is why men follow me in
battle. Death beside me is a blessing, and, were I to kill a man, his
family would know that I had sent him to paradise. Oh! Mubarak, bring me
my keys.” The slave, who had been listening eagerly, brought a great
leather box and, from it, el Raisuli extracted a key. “I will show you a
paper that you may understand my words and see that my family are
greater than the line of Mulai Idris who ruled in Fez.” Here is the
translation of the document laid before us:
“Praise be to Allah. The genealogical relation of our Master the Sherif,
the gifted, the great, the venerated, the excellent, the unique of his
epoch, the chosen among those endowed with majesty and goodness in these
times, the majestuous by his origin, of whom there is no peer or equal
at this moment, my master and lord Ahmed el Raisuli, el Hasani, el
Alani—may Allah grant him holiness and power. My lord Ahmed; the son of
Sidi Mohamed; son of Sidi Abdullah; son of Sidi el Mecki, who was the
first Sherif Raisuli and who, by order of our master, Mulai Ismail—whom
may Allah receive in his bosom, conceding him mercy—for the purpose of
ennobling this city, came to Tetuan, which longed for a bond of union
with Allah, the Almighty, through the baraka (blessing) which, by reason
of descent from the Prophet, this family possesses—May prayer and peace
be with him. Sidi el Mecki was son of Sidi Buker, son of Sidi Ahmed; son
of Sidi Ali; son of Sidi Hassani; our master and lord Mohamed; son of
our lord and master Ali, he who was first to bear the name of Raisuli,
who died in the year of the hejira 930; son of Sidi Aissa and of Lal-la
Raisuli;[12] son of Sidi Abderrahman, son of Sidi Ali; son of Sidi
Mohamed; son of Sidi Abd-Alah; son of Sidi Yunis, brother of Sidi
Mechich the celebrated, very holy and powerful Mulana Abd es Salaam,
most learned Imam, also known as Sidi Abi-el Hassam Chedli. May Allah
keep him in his mercy and pity. Our master Yunis was the son of Sidi abu
Beker; son of Sidi Ali; son of Sidi Hormat; son of Sidi Aissa; son of
Sidi Salaam; son of Sidi Mazuar; son of our master and the Prince of the
Faithful the Sultan of Morocco, Mulai Ali, who was known by the name of
El Hidarat, he who is always in places of danger in battle; son of the
Prince of the Faithful, Sidi Mohamed; son of the Emir Al-mumenina our
master Mulai Idris, founder of the holy capital of Fez, the white city
which shines from a distance, the noble, the generous and beautiful; son
of the Prince of the Faithful Sidi Idris the Great, a Conqueror for
Islam of the Empire of the West, el Aksa. His tomb is in Mt. Serhen,
venerated by all Moslems who believe in God. He was the son of Inulana
Abdallah el Kamel the Perfect, pretender to the throne of his ancestors
in the Orient, which was usurped by the Abasides who, having defeated
him, caused him to die loaded with chains; son of Sidi Hassan el
Muzenna. In the person of Muzenna the trunk of the descendants of the
Prophet divides into two branches; one of these we have already
followed, and the other is that of Alanien, in whose hands today is the
sceptre of empire and who are the descendants of Sidi Mohamed el Nefs
Ezzakia, brother of our master Abdallah el Kamel. They came to Morocco
more than fifty years after the ancestors of the Shorfa Raisuli, which
proves that these Sherifs possess a greater right to the throne than the
present Emperors. Hassan el Muzenna is son of the Emir Almumenina, our
lord and owner, Hassan the 7th—may God receive him in his mercy;—son of
the Prince of the Faithful, the fourth Caliph of the Mehidie (the
Reformers), Sidi Ali; son of Abu Talib, uncle of the Messenger of
God;[13] may peace and prayer be upon him and may his face be venerated
and may he be united before God with our mistress Fatima, the daughter
of our owner, the Prophet of Allah on earth. As the rain from heaven
falls, rejoicing the earth, may there fall upon him prayer and peace.”
The slave kissed the document when it was given back to him, and el
Raisuli continued, his voice rumbling at the back of his throat: “Once,
when I was a boy, I was riding with an important Sherif, and, as we went
by the outskirts of a village, a man was lying on the ground in the
shade of an olive. It was hot and he did not trouble to salute the
traveller, who stopped his mule quickly and asked the reason. ‘The sun
was in my eyes, Sidi,—I did not see,’ answered the man. ‘You do not use
your eyes, so you have no need of them,’ said the Sherif, and, from that
moment, the man was blind.
“It is also told of one of the brothers of the Sultan that when he was
in prison in Rabat, having rebelled against his ruler, he found, by
means of his friends, that the way was open for him to escape. A sentry
stood at the door and tried to stop him, as was his duty. ‘If you do not
let me pass, you will go blind for the rest of your life,’ threatened
the Sherif. The sentry hesitated, but he knew that he would lose his
head if he allowed the prisoner to escape, so reluctantly he still
barred the way. ‘Very well, then, you are blind,’ said the brother of
the Sultan, and the man fell back, putting up his hands to his face, for
he could see nothing.” There was a moment’s silence. Then the slave,
Mubarak, murmured, “These things are well known, and all me know that
those who disobey my master lose their sight.”
“Yes,” whispered the Spaniard, “that is quite true; but by means of hot
coins pressed on the eyelids, not by autosuggestion!”
“How old am I?” said el Raisuli. “I can tell you I was born in the year
of the hejira . . . (1871 A.D.), but what matter the number of my years?
No Arab keeps count of time. Ask Mubarak—oh, man, then, how old are
you?” “As old as my lord wills.” Then, evidently anxious to satisfy,
“Ten, eleven perhaps . . . or thirty. By Allah, I do not know.”
“I was born at Zinat,” said the Sherif. “You have seen the village,
small houses with great roofs that you cannot pick out at a distance,
and the hedges of cactus that even the dogs cannot get through. It was
but a gun-shot to the top of the mountain, which commanded a wide view.
I used to sit up there for hours and look at the country— not like these
hills but a rolling plain, golden with corn. I could see the women
gleaning, and imagine how they cried ‘A-ee, A-ee!’ when the thistles
tore their skin like needles. They used to make a shelter out of a haik
spread on a pole for the heat of noon, and later, when it was cool, they
would sit in a circle among the corn-sheaves and beat out the grain with
wooden flails. I could hear their song like a thread, and away by the
river I could see the boys bathing, but I never wished to be with them.
I was happier alone. On the horizon were the hills of Beni Mesauer, from
which came my mother, and I used to wonder why the others were content
to work in the plain, when there was a great country beyond, full of
valleys and rocks, where one could hunt in a different mountain each
day. The ideas of a boy!
“When I was ten or eleven, I was already a ‘talib’[14] able to read and
write and repeat the sayings of the Prophet. For this reason an ‘alim,’
a very learned man who came to the village, was interested in me and
told me many things. I used to look after his mule for him in order that
he would talk the more. He had the gift of speech, and he could make men
weep or laugh. I decided that I would do the same; so I collected some
of my friends (many were older and bigger than myself), and we went
round the neighbouring villages with small white flags, to collect money
for the alim who, as many wise men, was very poor. Sometimes people
laughed at us, and would not give. Then I spoke to them, and,
remembering the eloquence of my master, my words became swords to pierce
their hearts, and they said to us, ‘Take this and that,’ even more than
they could afford.
“When, after some days, we returned and poured the money into the alim’s
robe, he blessed me and said that I should travel much and acquire much
wealth. After that my spirit was restless, and I would make up speeches
on the mountain and declaim them to the birds and the goats. All that
was told me I could remember, and, to this day, I can repeat every word
that has been said in conversation between such and such people on such
and such days. It is a blessing from Allah, but it astonished my master,
as did my love of history. I wanted to know everything that had happened
in the past, for, in those days, I believed that all wisdom lay in
books. The right was not with me, for it is the study of one’s
neighbours that brings wisdom. What book can tell you that which lies in
the heart of your enemy?—it matters not about your friend, for you will
see your own thoughts there—and how can you conquer him if you do not
know his designs?
“When my feet grew too restless, I collected the same boys once more
and, with white handkerchiefs tied round our heads, and staffs cut from
olive-trees, our jellabas kilted up, we made a pilgrimage round the
shrines of the neighbourhood. You have seen them, perhaps,—a pile of
whitewashed stones under a bush from which flutters a strip of white
stuff, or a Qubba high on a hill. We took nothing with us, neither water
nor food, but the villagers gave to us plentifully—we had no need to
beg—and some of them, who remembered me, said, “Here is the little
messenger. Tell us stories, oh, master! Make us a speech, so that we see
if our ears played us tricks.” I told them many stories, but always of
war.
“It was at Tetuan that I finished my education, and there I lived till
the death of my father, who is buried in the tombs of our family in the
mosque of Sidi Isa. By this time I had studied law and jurisprudence. I
knew the four codes of Islam and could interpret them according to the
Koran. The mountains were shut out by the walls of Tetuan, and I thought
of them no more. It was my intention to be a lawgiver and a poet, for my
world was closed between the covers of my books. When I went back to
Zinat, people said, ‘He is a Faqih,’[15] and came a long distance to
consult me. In the daytime I used to explain to them the law of the
Prophet and the solution of their difficulties, and, at night, I used to
walk on the mountain-side and watch the stars. Have you thought how
great a part the stars play in our lives?—how the Prophet (may Allah
bless him) spent nights in the desert, communing with them, how Jesus,
the Breath of God, and David the father of Solomon, studied them while
they kept their flocks? It was in those nights that I wrote verses, but
none that were worthy of remembrance. Most of my wealth I gave away, for
it seemed to me then that earning and silver did not live well together.
The people heard of this, and, knowing that I had the ‘baraka,’ they
came to me the more for advice, and carried out all that I said to
them.”
[Illustration: Rosita Forbes, on white horse, amidst Raisuli’s people on
the way to Tazrut]
[Illustration: A halt on the way to Tazrut. Author and Mulai Sadiq
seated]