Entry into Fez—Compulsory welcome—Grandees of Fez—Kaïd
Maclean—Violence of soldiers—Merchants of Fez—Jews—Our garden in
Fez—Kaïd El Meshwa—Moorish etiquette—Grand Vizier—Streets and shops.
_Fez, Saturday, 17th April 1880._
The excitement of the Moors on getting to their journey’s end was great
last night in camp, and rather communicated itself to us more
matter-of-fact Nazarenes. Many were the questions His Excellency had to
answer relative to the Sacred City. Some of us wanted to know if there
was any hair-cutter in the town—a tradesman of whose professional aid
most of us stand in need—forgetting that the razor, and not the
scissors, is the only instrument employed by _coiffeurs_ of the
faithful. Altogether, our ignorance of what we were to find was great;
but this only added to the interest with which we looked forward to
enlightenment.
Our camp was not more than five miles from the gates, but wonderfully
few people came out to look at it; etiquette prevents the officials
showing their curiosity, and the people, we heard, had been forbidden to
come. This morning, the only person of note to make his appearance was
Síd Búbakr; he had left us the day before yesterday to precede us into
Fez, and hear what were the latest arrangements for our reception, which
he rode out this morning to communicate. Fortunately the day was bright
and sunny, and the clean white _sulhams_[29] which most of the servants
had donned for the occasion, shone to advantage. They had all done
something in the way of brushing themselves up. Boomgheis in virgin
white looked the personification of innocence and chastity,—a character
to which he is perhaps barely entitled, while green silk handkerchiefs
adorned the smooth shaven and scarred heads of Abd-er-Rahman and “Dr.
Hooker.”[30]
We had rather expected that His Excellency would request us to appear in
uniform on the occasion, as one quite felt it to be a day on which
either that or a frock coat and tall hat—had we such things in our
kit—should be produced; but on reflection one recognised the fact that
no costume could appear more striking and thoroughly outlandish to the
eye of the Fasi[31] than that of everyday life! During breakfast Síd
Búbakr, sitting at Sir John’s feet, conversed eagerly with him about, as
we were told, the excitement in the city regarding our entry, the temper
of the populace, and the orders the Sultan had given. It seemed that a
certain class, instigated probably by the Grand Vizier, who is a fanatic
of the worst type, viz. an ignorant one, had determined to take no
notice of us, but to treat us with the contempt to which our creed
entitled us. To obviate this, however, the Sultan this morning gave
orders that all shops were to be closed and business suspended during
the forenoon, and the outpouring of the inhabitants caused by this
measure was a sight which none of us will readily forget. We got on our
horses about 8.30, all curiously eager to see what was to be seen, and
equally ignorant of the extraordinary nature of the spectacle that
awaited us. For the first three miles there were only a few isolated
groups of people come out to see us; but when within two miles of the
gate the crowd had greatly increased, and it became necessary for the
escort to close in a little for our protection, and for us to form
ourselves into two ranks to enable them to encircle us more completely.
I think from here to the gate the whole thing rather suggested scenes in
a circus of impossibly gigantic dimensions, than anything else, but so
constantly changing and varying as almost to baffle description, unless
one had noted down all as it occurred. The first military party to meet
us was a small body of horsemen, so gaudily and brilliantly attired,
that in the far distance, as they came galloping _ventre à terre_
towards us through the lanes of people, they looked like a handful of
precious stones thrown by a powerful and unseen hand, and glittering in
the sun; with one funny exception, they were almost the only piece of
colouring in the whole scene. Next we were met by the Governor of Fez,
with a party of more soberly clad riders, attended by a strong guard.
This official—an old and striking-looking man—greeted His Excellency
with much emotion, but as he is the individual who has been squeezing
our friends of Beni Aamer, we looked upon him with no loving eye, and
would much like to give a quiet hint to the Sultan regarding his
malpractices. When within a mile and a half of the entrance, our
following was augmented by several of the notables of the place, among
the most conspicuous of whom was the Kaïd el Meshwa, or Lord High
Chamberlain of the Court. He is a man of great presence, about 6 feet 2
inches in height, and broad in proportion; and being mounted on a large
white horse of about 16 hands, with a huge saddle covered with green
silk, formed a striking figure in the procession. His complexion is
almost black, as he belongs to the Bokháris[32] or hereditary bondsmen
of the Sultan, but his voice and features are by no means unpleasing. He
is one of the many instances in this country of “promotion by merit.”
Born a slave, his father having filled the office of “washerwoman” to
the royal household, he is now a rich man, and one of the highest Court
officials.
Each of these grandees, as he came up, shook hands cordially with His
Excellency, and then ranged their horses alongside his; while their
guards, mingling with our escort, helped to keep off the mob. At this
point the line of troops commenced; at least bodies of them were formed
up at intervals on our right hand, while on the left were drawn up,
about four deep, a motley line composed of many thousand Fasi, all armed
with the long gun of the country,—a plentiful stock, apparently, from
which to draw recruits for the regular army. The latter force took up
the line on our left as soon as we arrived at the end of the armed
populace. They were under command of Kaïd Maclean, lately an officer in
the English army, but who has been in the service of the Sultan for
about two years in the capacity of Instructor of Infantry, and to whose
untiring exertions His Majesty is indebted for whatever efficiency is to
be found in the dismounted branch of the forces in Marocco. Each
regiment got the command to “present arms” as we passed, and executed it
somewhat independently, according to their interpretation of the order.
Bands of musicians at stated intervals played salutes, and groups of
trumpeters sounded a flourish as we went by; while outside this lane of
soldiers was a surging, seething mass of people, old and young, clothed
and unclothed, mounted and on foot, pressing on and tumbling over one
another in their anxiety to lose nothing of the sight, their eyes being
constantly fixed on the strange-looking people whom their sovereign was
so anxious to honour. Among these were grand-looking old men on mules,
grave and reverend signors on large ambling horses, and occasionally on
a donkey were seated two and even three half-clad and grotesque-looking
creatures. Sometimes, when this moving crowd pressed too hard on the
line of soldiers, some half-dozen of the cavalry in rear of us would
break through the line, upsetting the soldiers, and charging
promiscuously among the people, knock them off their feet, or their
donkeys, as the case might be. The populace, though evidently holding
them in much awe, seemed to take this species of practical rebuke very
good-humouredly, and picking themselves up again, pushed forward as
vigorously as ever. A line of about twelve wonderfully-clad people, with
banners, posted inside the living street along which we rode, attracted
our attention, and these, we were told, represented the chief merchants’
houses in Fez. A funnier and more bizarre-looking group could not be
imagined; the first was a tall black-looking savage, who held his flag
up and scowled at us, as though this mark of attention was sorely
against his principles; the next to him, an aged-looking little dwarf,
with a sandy beard, a complexion almost white, and a look of infinite
cunning in his small red eyes as he squinted upwards at us; beside him,
a fat, unwholesome, and nondescript sort of youth, with a flabby face
about the same yellow hue as his banner, and so on,—no two of them
alike, but each one calculated to haunt you in your dreams, were it not
for the constantly changing supply of singular or revolting spectacles,
each of which served to obliterate the last from one’s mind. The
merchants are, of course, the class most interested in keeping up a
connection with Europe, and they owe much to His Excellency’s influence
with the Sultan on their behalf. Long ago, on a former occasion of Sir
John’s entry into this town, some of them who were under a special
obligation to him engaged several thousand women to go out and meet the
procession; they took up their position on some rising ground, and as
the cavalcade passed gave utterance to their peculiar shrill cry
(something like a Swiss jodel), a sound they always make when wishing to
express their satisfaction at or admiration of anything. The effect
produced, as I have heard it, from only a few people, is curious enough,
but coming from such a multitude of throats was very beautiful and
striking. Shaw, who writes in 1732, describes the sound I allude to,
spelling it phonetically, “Loo, loo, loo,” and says it is a corruption
of the Hebrew “Hallelujah.”[33]
No ladies, however, came out _en masse_ to-day to meet us, but as we got
closer to the city walls the moving panorama on either side became
wedged among the dense crowd who had collected just outside the gates,
and amongst whom were many veiled figures struggling for places where
they could get a good sight of us. Groups of Jews, too, were to be
seen—strange and weird-looking people; most of them in their small black
caps and dark flowing robes. A few were mounted, and all had their
slippers on, in neither of which luxuries may they indulge till outside
the walls of any of the sacred cities. A long-suffering race truly are
they, content to suffer these and all other indignities, provided only
they can make a usurious profit out of their oppressors. But
contemptible and despised as they so often are, they are not without
great title to our respect when one considers how through good and evil
report they stick together, always ready to help their weaker brethren,
even at the sacrifice of—what they value more than their blood—money.
This characteristic they have, to their honour, always possessed, and to
the last they will be found “united by the close moral affinity of
habits and feelings, treasuring in their hearts the same reliance on
their national privileges, the same trust in the promises of their God,
the same conscientious attachment to the institutions of their
fathers.”[34]
[Illustration: VIEW OF FEZ ENTERING FROM NORTH WEST.]
The ground rises on either side of the road just before one enters the
town, and this position was occupied by civilians of apparently a better
class than the yelling crowd who had hitherto surrounded us. These
people all wore prodigious white turbans, which, with spotless robes of
the same colour, formed a curious contrast to their dark faces, directed
towards and slowly following the movements of the strangers. Some
half-dozen brass guns were drawn up near here; the officer in charge, a
handsome man in a gorgeous dress, with a big white turban, rode up
alongside of me, and rather startled me by asking in excellent French if
I spoke that language. On my replying in the affirmative, he introduced
himself as Monsieur Erckmann, captain in the French Artillery, and
commandant of that branch of the Sultan’s army. Funnily enough he cannot
speak a word of English, and as Kaïd Maclean does not understand French,
they talk to each other in Arabic, in which language they both seem
proficient.
Leaving on our right the high walls of the royal palace with its green
towers and minarets, from one of which His Majesty, with his favourite
wives, was said to be watching us, we passed under a gateway into the
city, and a ride of less than an hour brought us through the most
extraordinary labyrinths to the head of a steep and narrow lane, down
which our horses slid till they deposited us at the gate of our present
quarters. Macadam and his art of road-making are unknown in Fez, and
there are not two consecutive yards in any part of our passage through
the streets to-day where an English horse would not be in danger of
breaking its knees and its rider’s head. The quarter of the town through
which we first passed was open and partly ruinous; afterwards we got
into a network of bazaars, but owing to the royal mandate closing the
shops and hunting the people out to _welcome_ us, there was no crowd of
any sort. Fortunate it was that they were kept out, for nothing short of
a charge of cavalry could have cleared the approach to this place. A
good many, of course, squeezed in with us at the city gate, mostly
Moors, for the Jews were delayed by having to dismount from their mules,
or to take off their slippers. One eager youth who had omitted the
latter precaution was detected soon after, and levelled to the ground by
a blow from the butt end of a gun. With the singular vitality, however,
possessed by these people, he picked himself up, and with his shoes in
his hand, I saw him presently running along parallel with us again, a
large scar on his head bearing witness to the ungentle treatment he had
received.
Dismounting at the gateway here, a guard of soldiers in red coats and
knickerbockers, but no stockings, received us with a salute, and passing
them, we found ourselves in a pretty orange grove about one hundred and
fifty yards long by fifty across, with raised paths traversing it and
several ducts of water running through in all directions; about the
centre a walk paved with mosaics crosses it, at each end of which is a
sort of house or kiosk. A few steps lead up to the level of the one on
the west side, and in front of it there is a tank of water of
considerable depth, with fountains playing in it. The house opposite
consists of an entrance hall or public room about twenty feet square,
lofty and lighted by a skylight; off it are three oblong-shaped rooms,
all of which have glass windows to them—an unusual luxury in Marocco;
the walls are covered half-way to the ceiling with pretty velvet
hangings; one or two tables and chairs, specially made for us, and
bedsteads, being the only articles of furniture. At the south end of the
grove the space between the trees is a little more open, and there we
have had our tents pitched, so as to keep the house on the east side
entirely for dining and sitting-rooms. The bedsteads, &c., with which
the side-rooms were provided have consequently been ousted, and owing to
the magic presence of an Englishwoman, the place has already assumed an
air of luxury and comfort about one quarter European and three-quarters
Oriental. In the other house, in front of which the fountains play, Lady
and Miss Hay have taken up their abode; while on the platform over the
gateway, in solitary grandeur, is pitched the tent of the Bashador. The
ground is very damp, but, with the aid of many donkey loads of fine sand
and a number of planks, we have managed to lay down pretty good flooring
to our tents; from the door of mine I have a capital view of the town
below and hills in the distance. Another garden, also made over to us,
is just below this, and here our horses and mules are picketed; behind
us rises a high wall shutting out all view of our neighbours; in fact,
unless one looks towards the east over the roofs and white terraces
visible in that quarter, one would not know there was a town within ten
miles, so thick is the foliage of the grove, and so distant sounds the
hum of the city.
Among the notables who called to pay visits of ceremony to Sir John
to-day were the kaïd of the Meshwa, or chamberlain, and the Sultan’s
private secretary, an amiable-looking old man with a pleasant, and, what
is uncommon here, a friendly expression of face. Both these visitors
remained long in earnest conversation with His Excellency, the chief
subject under discussion being the rather awkward announcement by the
Grand Vizier (of which Sir John had got notice privately some time
before), that it was quite incompatible with his position as Prime
Minister, and his rank as maternal uncle of the Sultan, to call upon or
even return the visit of any one. Under these circumstances the Envoy
distinctly declined to pay the visit of ceremony which was due to the
Vizier, without a guarantee of its being returned, with which rather
hard nut to crack, his auditors, who were inclined to agree with him,
took their leave. Among the governing class of Moors etiquette and
prerogatives are of vital import; and as this fanatical Minister is most
unwilling in all his correspondence, and now apparently in his personal
dealings, to extend to Sir John the courtesies which the latter
considers are due to the representative of Her Majesty, grave
complications might have ensued. All negotiations with the Sultan are
usually conducted through the Vizier; the political objects of the
Mission might therefore have been frustrated, and our journey, which a
French paper describes as “lointaine et périlleuse,” have been taken in
vain. Great cordiality existed between His Excellency and Síd Músa, the
talented predecessor of the present Vizier; and Sir John was naturally
much disgusted at the turn affairs had now taken. Fortunately, however,
at 6 P.M., a message came from the “maternal uncle” guaranteeing a
return of the Envoy’s visit, upon which that able diplomatist, desirous
of striking while the iron was hot, at once donned his official garb and
proceeded to the house of the Minister, from which he returned, tired
but triumphant, at 9 P.M.
As soon as we had got our tents pitched and had luncheon, some of us
went for a walk in the town, accompanied by the interpreters, and
escorted by six or eight soldiers. As long as we were in the narrow
lanes with walls and windowless houses ever so high on each side, we did
not come across many people to stare at us; but once in the regular
thoroughfares, where the bazaars are situated, the astonishment and
interest taken in us were unbounded. People left their work, customers
their bargaining, to turn round and look at us, most of them following
in our wake, while, along the streets parallel to the one we happened to
be in, we saw scores of people hurrying to take up a good place at any
corner we were likely to pass. Most of the streets in which there are
shops are roofed over, when the houses do not meet at the top, with
wicker-work or hurdles stretched across as a protection from the sun.
They are roughly paved with slippery stones, and are not ankle deep in
mud, as are the lanes by which we approached them.
Although one rather loses caste by being seen on foot, it is more
convenient than riding, owing to the crowds of people and narrowness of
the streets; also, in the places where the best shops are to be found
one is obliged to walk, wooden bars being placed across the entrance of
the street to prevent the ingress of mules and horses. The busy and
commercial quarter is a maze of these narrow thoroughfares, from which
the shops, or rather stalls, are retired a little way, and raised about
three feet from the ground, forming a kind of alcove in the wall. The
merchant sits cross-legged in this recess with his wares in front of and
round about him, perfectly indifferent, as becomes a true believer, as
to whether you deal or not; above his head, in the centre of his den,
hangs a cord by which he lazily pulls himself up to stretch across for
any article out of his reach which the customer may want to see. Each
time, however, that we stopped to look at anything, the crowd pressed so
uncomfortably upon us that it was all the soldiers could do to keep them
off, and their activity in clearing the road increased to such a degree
that, being uncertain how much knocking about the populace would stand,
we cut short our visit, and must delay our purchases to some future
date, when the sight of the Christians will have lost a little of its
novelty.
The quarter where we are is divided into gardens like our own, each
containing one house, and surrounded for the sake of privacy by high
walls. These enclosures are intersected by lanes from which all view is
excluded on either hand, and so narrow that two horsemen can with
difficulty pass one another. The sanctity of the harem and of the mosque
is much more carefully guarded here than in Mussulman countries farther
east; and there is one street, at all events, in this city, where
neither Christian nor Jew may enter, lest the taint of their presence
should reach the mosque situated at the farther end. It contains the
shrine of the son of Mulai Edris, the patron saint and founder of Fez,
whose name is on the lips of every beggar in the street, and without
invoking whom no bargain is made or business concluded.
We seem to have been wandering in the wilds for months instead of weeks,
and dinner to-night under a solid roof, seated on chairs with backs to
them, and at a table “on an even keel,” seemed to us a luxury carrying
us back to a long-forgotten era of civilisation.