Departure from Mequinez—Volubilis and Zarhún—Mulai Ismael and
the devil—Quintus Cæcilius Domitianus—Description of
ruins—Horse-stealers—Hondius his map—Ptolemy—Failure to enter Mulai
Edris—Fate of impostor—Arab tents—Dangerous route—Berbers and Jews.
_Camp, near Volubilis, 12th May 1880._
[Illustration: RUINS OF VOLUBILIS.]
We left Mequinez by a gate on the north side of the town, and rode
through a quantity of arable and waste land, which seems to form almost
an entire circle round the place, and was possibly a suburb of the city
in former days, being enclosed, like the town, by a high wall. About a
mile from the town we crossed by a bridge a deep but dry watercourse,
and four miles on forded a river, and continued our march along its
right bank. Another and smaller one we crossed about half-way here,
after which we climbed up a steep hill, a spur of the Zarhún range, from
the other side of which we saw our camp, and a little beyond it the
magnificent remains of what is now generally admitted to be the ancient
Roman town of Volubilis. About a couple of miles to the east of these,
and prettily situated in a sort of angle between two hills, is the
sacred town of Zarhún, or Mulai Edris, where the original saint of that
name, father of the founder of Fez, is buried, and to whose shrine all
Sultans of Morocco, before their coronation, must come and pay their
vows. The latter part of the road is strewn, at long and irregular
intervals, with enormous blocks of the gray limestone of which the ruins
are built. How they can have been taken from the place at all without
the aid of machinery to lift, and wheeled vehicles to transport them, it
is difficult to say. They are said to have been removed in the time of
Mulai Ismael (seventeenth century), whose taste for building could never
be satisfied, and who boasted he would make a road from Mequinez to
Marocco “on which a blind man could find his way,” _i.e._ by feeling it
along the wall. This charitable work was cut short by the monarch’s
demise. He is said by his enemies to have employed the devil to carry
the stones, but having had some misunderstanding with the Evil One
regarding the compact, his Sharífian Majesty was carried off by his
Satanic brother before his time. Our camp had been pitched on the left
back of the Wad el Khúman—Tissot calls it the Faraom—across which I
rode, and then walked up through a sort of prickly scrub to the ruins,
where I found Lawless and White, who had preceded the column, at work
with the camera. About twenty of the villagers who followed us round
appeared much interested in our proceedings, and one of them took us to
a large stone lying on the ground in a slanting position, with a long
inscription on it, which we transcribed as well as we could. This must
be the one overlooked by Windhus in 1721, but copied by Leared and
Tissot a few years ago, and which is incontestably proved to be the
epitaph of Cæcilius Domitianus, decurion of Volubilis. There is a big
longitudinal crack or rather gap in it, which made it hard to decipher
many of the words. Distinct remains of houses and walls are to be seen
all over the rising ground on which the town must have stood, and on a
level plateau at the top are the ruins of two buildings, one of them
especially of a considerable size. Of the smaller of the two there
remains a fine triumphal arch, and contiguous to it a massive square
keep or outwork, with immensely thick walls. In one of its faces there
is a small doorway so singularly out of keeping with the rest of the
building as to suggest the work of a later age; but the fact of the
stones being neatly cut to fit the bend of the arch is against that
theory, as such work would have been beyond the skill of the Goths and
Arabs who succeeded the Libyans here. A little to the east of this is
the larger building, of which the two arches, standing east and west,
are in good preservation, though the centre stone which supports one of
them is considerably displaced. It measured about forty yards by thirty,
the superstructure over the arches and a part of the south wall which
remains intact being about 40 feet high. The blocks of stone used in the
building are well cut, massive, and rectangular, and, lying about, are
fragments of round pillars over eight feet in length. The stones used in
the south wall are so fashioned as, when placed one above the other, to
give the appearance of a split column applied to and supporting the
wall. In 1721 this ruin is described as “good part of the front of a
large square building 140 feet long and about 60 high,”[77] of which
part of the four corners was still standing. It is interesting to notice
what have been the ravages of time since then, for none of the corners
are standing, and the walls are certainly not, if they ever were, sixty
feet high. It probably received a severe shake in 1755 from the
earthquake which affected Mequinez so severely.
The inhabitants of Mulai Edris, or Zarhún, the adjacent town, are all
descendants of the Prophet; and in the afternoon two of them obtained
access to the camp on pretence of bringing a young fawn as a present to
Miss Hay. At 9 P.M. there was a great uproar among the swarms of guards
supplied by the town, and it appeared these two men had been caught
trying to steal our horses. They were securely bound, and handed over to
old Kaïd Ali, who commands the escort. After this the chief men of the
town pitched a tent close to us, from whence they sallied out
periodically to visit the sentries. Taking a stroll before turning in at
night, I passed by it and was loudly challenged, “Skôn hada” (Who is
this?), while guns were ominously handled till they made out who I was.
On revisiting the ruins this morning I was shown another and smaller
tombstone, almost hidden in the coarse vegetation which covers all the
hill. I copied its inscription[78] on a bit of paper as accurately as I
could, much to the amusement of the men who had pointed it out, and who
seemed quite pleased at the interest shown in the ruins, of which they
are very proud. The concluding words, _Filio piissimo pos._, were as
clear as if cut yesterday—an effect attributable, probably, to the
climate, which is, however, not so indulgent in regard to Moorish
workmanship. Several writers have treated of the _questio vexata_,
whether these ruins are those of Volubilis or no, and to their
arguments, which are most of them more worthy of notice than mine, there
is little to add. Ancient historians speak of it as a flourishing town,
and if one could trust to the distances given by the writer of the
“Antonini Itinerarium,” there is no question but that Volubilis and
modern Fez are identical. He says Volubilis is “Mill. pass. xvi.” from
Aquæ Dacicæ, which is rather under the distance of Fez from the hot
sulphur springs of Ain Sí Yúsuf, or, as Tissot calls them, Ain el
Kibrit, and which are certainly synonymous with the above. Leo
Africanus—a great authority on all affairs Morescan—gives little or no
assistance in solving the problem, and concludes his arguments by the
incontestable theory that “by the Latine letters which are graven on the
walls I am rather of opinion that the Romans built this towne.” He also
mentions a town in this neighbourhood called Gualili, in which was the
tomb of the saint Idris, and that some distance from it were the ruins
of “Cassar Pharaon.” The name of Gualili seems now unknown, but in
“Hondius his map of Fez” (1600) I find a town “Gualila” just about in
the position of the modern Zarhún, or Mulai Edris. To the _east_ of this
town is placed Pharaonis Palatium, which is clearly wrong, as the ruins
are and always must have been to the west of it. The name of Kasr
Fara’ún tells us nothing, as there are fifty other ruins in Egypt and
elsewhere to which the natives have given this appellation; and it is
improbable that the Pharaohs are responsible for anything so far west as
this. Considering what must have been the scale of the original
buildings, and the almost superhuman labour involved in their
construction, it is strange that the classical writers at the
commencement of the Christian era, who treat of these parts, should not
have given us more certain information about this most conspicuous and,
except Shella, most westerly monument of the great Roman Empire.
[Illustration: VOLUBILIS.]
Ptolemy, from whose writings savants have extracted many geographical
facts about Marocco, tells us that Volubilis was on the Subur, four
miles from Tocolosida, and on the road from thence to Tangier. Now,
though there are some Roman remains three or four miles south of Kasr
Fara’ún, which might do duty for Tocolosida, the Subur (Sebú) does not
pass within fifteen or twenty miles of either place; so his testimony,
generally so useful, fails us in this instance. Speaking under
correction, I am of opinion that the large tombstone in memory of a
citizen of the place ought to go far towards proving its position; while
the imposing aspect of the grand old ruins—nobler in their decay than
the newest palace in this land of mud and concrete—combined with the
admirably chosen site, show that an important town must once have stood
here; the weight of evidence seems, therefore, in favour of its having
been Volubilis.
Whilst “meditating amidst decay,” and wondering if it would be possible
to get nearer to the sacred town of Mulai Edris—about two miles off—into
which no Christian has ever penetrated, a benign-looking old gentleman
rode up on his mule, and to him I explained in rather faltering Arabic
my wishes. He seemed to make no objection, so I went on, accompanied by
Haynes, and followed by our mounted soldier, who had expressed his
unmistakable horror at our intentions. Looking round presently we saw
our smiling old friend had disappeared, and only the soldier, muttering
and sulky, remained. A little way on we came on two men who were loading
their guns and took no notice of us: but when within about
three-quarters of a mile from the gate we were met by five or six men,
all armed, who barred the road and insisted on our turning back. From
the soldier we got no assistance, and the excitement and clamour of the
others prevented our getting in a word edgeways, which was of less
importance, as it would certainly not have been understood. We therefore
turned our backs on the holy city, after I had taken a good look at it
through my glasses, and Haynes had made a hurried sketch. The town,
which is on a slope, is small, but compact, containing, I should say,
from 1500 to 2000 inhabitants. A massive-looking building is on the
south side, and the centre seems laid out in gardens; to the north, and
extending outside the wall, is an edifice with a large mosque attached,
possibly containing the tomb, which is said to be very beautiful, and
ornamented with marble columns from Volubilis. Above us, on our left
hand, was an olive grove reaching to the city walls, and below us, to
our right, were gardens and orange groves along the banks of the stream.
On either side and at the back of the town rose the dark hills of the
Zarhún range, shutting out the country beyond. If I am not mistaken in
my geography, there must be a short cut from here across the hills to
the more hospitable and less bigoted town of Beni Aamer, which we
visited a month ago.
A curious story connected with the shrine of Mulai Edris was told me
to-day. It seems that some years ago a claimant to the throne of
Marocco, who gave himself out as a Saint and the Elected of God, caused
a considerable stir in the north-west portion of the empire, several
large tribes having become his adherents. Marching south he came to Ben
Aouda—a place we camped at on our road to Fez—and, in an engagement with
some troops the Sultan had sent against him, slew the father of the
present kaïd. Going on to Habassi, the father of our friend there
temporised with him, giving him a horse and showing him other
attentions. He was now at the head of a considerable force, and came
here to pay his vows at the shrine, as is customary, before being
proclaimed as Sultan. He had hitherto got the best of the troops sent to
oppose him, and having risked his person on every occasion, and never
having received a scratch, his followers fully believed in his sanctity.
The two Sharífs here in charge of the tomb, when they heard who was
coming, debated together, saying,—“If he is a holy man, as he declares,
and the Elect of God, our knives while he is praying at the shrine will
have no effect on him; otherwise he is an impostor, and an enemy to our
Lord and grand Sharíf.” Consequently, when he came to prostrate himself
in their presence at the tomb, one of them, plunging his knife into him,
literally disembowelled him; so he died, and the Sultan, thus rid of a
very troublesome foe, handsomely rewarded the holy man who had wrought
him this deliverance.
_Camp, Sídi Adab, Friday, 14th May 1880._
Though there would have been no possibility of effecting an entry into
Mulai Edris, we were all sorry to have had so short a time in the
neighbourhood, for we resumed our march towards Rabât after the usual
night’s halt. The high and gently undulating plateau above Volubilis is
about on a level with the town of Mequinez thirteen miles to the
south-west, and for miles round was literally carpeted with wild
flowers, whose varied colours, and the partiality with which each
species confined itself to certain ground, gave to the landscape a
brilliant and most unique appearance. Dark blue, yellow, and red were
represented by iris, marigold, and poppy, all of the brightest hues,
which covered the country in artificial-looking patches of about an acre
in size; while farther on, the delicate blue tint of whole hills and
valleys clothed with convolvulus and borage made a pleasant object for
the eye to rest upon.
Riding a little distance from the track I came on an Arab dúar, which
had just been shifted from its original position, about thirty yards
off. It was circular in form, with a strong prickly hedge built up round
it, the chief’s tent being by itself in the centre of the ring. I have
noticed that in neighbourhoods infested by robbers, as is the case here,
they always adopt this plan for the sake of protection, while in
peaceful districts the tents are dotted about anyhow. They had not quite
completed their move—an operation which takes place at certain periods
to get rid of the parasites which at last become too active for even
these thick-skinned Bedouin to endure. The tents are always of an oval
shape, in keeping to which pattern they are very conservative, for Shaw,
writing in 1732, alludes to their oblong form, like a ship’s bottom
turned upside down. This simile, however, the talented writer has
borrowed from an earlier author than himself.[79] From the dúar I
mentioned a man came running out, and showed me his arm, which had
apparently sustained a compound fracture, the bone protruding beyond the
skin, and which was roughly bound up in a sort of wicker splint. I
explained by signs that I could do nothing, but told him, in what I
flatter myself was comprehensible Arabic, that he would find a doctor in
the Bashador’s camp at Kariya el Abd-er-rahman Shlíah, where we remained
that night. He followed me some distance, but I am sorry to say never
turned up in camp, and is probably cursing me now for not curing him,
all Christians—so they think—being skilled in medicine and surgery. From
the end of the high table-land, along which our road for the first ten
miles took us, there was a magnificent view of our old friend the Plain
of the Sebú, which lay stretched out before us in a northerly and
westerly direction, and which we met, after descending the hillside, at
a point about three miles from the gorge by which we quitted it on our
way to Fez a month ago. Here we were to have found our luncheon-tent,
but the “boy Hamído” in charge had been led astray; and had it not been
for Kaïd Ali providing us with rugs to sit on, Moorish tea, and some
excellent mutton, which we were not ashamed to eat with our fingers, we
should have fared badly. The olive grove we halted in was cool and
shady, and a supply of oranges and milk brought by some villagers formed
an excellent dessert, making us forget our loss, and take a less keen
pleasure than we otherwise should have done in the kaïd’s assurance of
vengeance to be wreaked on the soldier who led Hamído wrong. A river,
the Wad el Rdem, flowed past this olive grove, and we followed its
course the remainder of that, and part of the following day. At night
there were very few guards round the camp, and a beggar, or saint,
roamed among the tents all night, calling on the Deity by every
attribute applied to Him, and they are many, in the Arabic language. I
walked round the village before dinner. Its inhabitants seemed friendly,
especially the gentler sex, a number of whom ran out in great excitement
to look at us. One was exceedingly pretty, but more modest than her
elders—and ugliers.
From Zarhún (Volubilis) to Rabât there is a short cut through the
country inhabited by the Zemmúr tribe—a lawless set, who are at present,
as indeed they usually are, in a state of rebellion against the Sultan.
By this route, which would have taken about three days, we had been
anxious to come; but the authorities at Fez, being afraid of what might
happen, declined to sanction it. Consequently, our first march out of
Volubilis was due north, and in the opposite direction to Rabât; but
after leaving Shlíah, we turned westward, fording, in the course of a
wearisome twenty-three-mile march, the Wad el Rdem and the Wad el Beht,
either of which would, I should say, be impassable in the rainy season.
The plain through which we passed was wholly waste; no crop of any sort
but thistles, of which there was an abundant supply. At the borders of
Sherarda and Beni Hassan we were met by a kaïd of the latter province,
his son, and six attendants, who rode with us to the banks of the Wad el
Beht, where his district ended. He was a dark, rather ill-looking man,
of few words; his son, a lively youth of sixteen, was well mounted, and
had a handsome saddle and koumia,[80] of which he seemed very proud. One
of his men, with whom, through the interpreter, I got into conversation,
asked how I liked Moorish saddles, and remarked on the _strength_ of my
bit—an ordinary pelham. _His_ horse’s mouth was, as usual, full of blood
from the severity of the one he was using, and with which I hope he will
himself be ridden hereafter. We had luncheon under the biggest palm-tree
I have yet seen, which sheltered us all. It was on the banks of the Wad
el Beht, which we forded afterwards. The river there was swift and
muddy, with high banks. The soldiers told us it “disappears into a hole”
some way farther on, and this turned out to be so far true, that the
river never does reach the sea, but loses itself in a big swamp, through
the outskirts of which we passed with difficulty later on. If it only
persevered a little longer, it might discharge itself into the Sebú,
which runs near the marsh in question. During the great drought of 1878
the Wad el Beht dried up altogether—a thing which had never happened
before; the cattle died, and the people, after much suffering, fled to
the hills, where they were well received and kindly entreated by the
Jebelis. In fact, these wild men of the mountains seem to possess some
remnant of ancient chivalry, and though much given to robbery and
murder, seldom if ever violate a safe-conduct given to any one who
penetrates into their fastnesses. I am told, too, that even the
unfortunate Jews, weary of persecution by the Moors, find an asylum
here, and this is confirmed by the statement of a French writer, who
says that among the mountains are to be found “certaines tribus Juives
intimement mêlées aux Berbères, dont elles portent le costume,
partageant toutes leurs habitudes, _guerrières_ même.” I think, however,
his concluding clause must be accepted with caution, as, from what I
have seen, the Israelites of Marocco are not imbued with that warlike
spirit which once animated their ancestors.
A few miles on this side of the Beht we were met by an escort of fifty
Beni Hassan, and at our camp here (Sídi Adab) by seventy more. Their
get-up is not so gaudy as that of their countrymen who escorted us
through the eastern part of the province _en route_ to Fez; but their
powder-play was as reckless, and their appearance wilder and more
unkempt. As they closed in behind us, and the parties of seven or eight
who trotted ahead came thundering back with loud yells, discharging
their guns almost into our faces, I could not help thinking I should
fight shy of their society if I ever travelled back this way “on private
affairs” without the sheltering standard of Marocco, and the odour of
sanctity which even here attaches to the person of an Envoy.
Since getting once more into the plains, the beauty of the flora is less
conspicuous, all the Beni Hassan country being covered with squills,
whose onion-like root the people pound up with water, using the fibre
for making the covering of their tents when goats’ and camels’ hair is
not available.
The country we have been travelling through for the last three days is
by far the most disturbed and dangerous we have yet visited, and at
night the noise of the guards, sitting in a continuous circle and
singing their monotonous songs close to our tents, was more than we
could stand. We all, therefore, tendered a vote of thanks to Lawless,
who, his patience being exhausted first, sallied out from his tent at 3
A.M., and with a volley of abuse and a crack of his hunting whip, sent
the offending villagers to the winds. At 8 A.M. we emerged from our
tents on to the almost trackless plain, the rain falling so that we
could not see a hundred yards in advance, while behind us rose a dense,
black bank of clouds. Some of us tried for bustard, but only put up the
smaller kind, which were very wild, and out of sight in a moment. The
people in the dúars we passed were a most ill-looking lot, though as
strongly built and hardy as were their ancestors of Beni “Chessen,” of
whose territory Leo writes, “Incolas habet validissimos.”[81] Their only
recommendation to us is that they are sworn enemies of the Zemmúr, from
whom Kaïd Ali seems apprehensive of an attack.