KARIA-EL-ABBASSI.
We struck our camp and moved on in the usual order, amid the cries and
musket-shots of the escort, arriving in two hours’ time at a small
watercourse which marked the confines of Seffian. Here we were met by a
large company of horsemen, led by the governor of the province which
extends from Seffian to the large river Sebù. The escort from Ben-Auda
turned and disappeared; we forded the stream, and were instantly
surrounded by the new-comers.
[Illustration: The Governor Abd-Alla.]
Bu-Bekr-Ben-el-Abbassi, an elegant and graceful personage, pressed
warmly the hand of our chief, saluted amicably Ducali, his former school
companion, and welcomed the rest with a dignified and graceful gesture.
We rode on, and for some time not one of us could take our eyes off the
new-comer. He was the most interesting of all the governors we had seen.
Of middle height, and slender figure, dark, with soft penetrating eyes,
aquiline nose, and a full black beard, through which, when he smiled,
gleamed two rows of beautiful teeth. He was wrapped in a fine snow-white
mantle, with the hood drawn over his turban, and mounted on a jet-black
horse with sky-blue housings. He looked like a generous, beloved, and
happy man. Either my fancy misled me, or the aspect of the two hundred
horsemen from Karia-el-Abbassi reflected the benignity of the governor.
They appeared to me to have the open and contented expression of men who
had for years enjoyed the miraculous grace of a humane government.
This appearance, together with the huts, that began to be more frequent
in the country, and the serene weather, refreshed by a perfumed breeze,
gave me for a time the delusion that the province was an oasis of
prosperity and peace in the midst of the miserable empire of the
Scherifs.
We passed through a village composed of two rows of camel-skin tents,
held together with canes and sticks; every tent having a tiny enclosure
surrounded by a cactus hedge. Beyond the tents cows and horses were
feeding; in front, upon our road, were some groups of half-naked
children come to look at us; ragged men and women peeped at us over the
hedges. No one shook his fist at us, no one cursed us. Hardly had we
passed the village when they all came out of their huts, and we beheld a
crowd of some hundreds of black, hideous, famine-stricken wretches, who
might have risen from some graveyard. Some ran behind us for a while;
others vanished among the irregularities of the ground.
The configuration of the country through which we were passing gave rise
to a wonderful variety of picturesque effects as the escort and caravan
proceeded. It was a succession of deep valleys, parallel to each other,
formed by great earth waves, and all covered with flowers like a garden.
Passing from one valley to another we would lose sight of the escort for
a moment; then on the top of the height behind us would appear, first
the muzzles of the muskets, then fezes and turbans, then faces, and
finally the figures of men and horses, rising apparently out of the
earth. Looking back from a height we could see the two hundred scattered
along the valley amid the smoke and re-echoing noises of their shots,
and far along behind, the servants, soldiers, horses, and mules,
appearing for an instant, and then plunging into the depths and lost to
sight. Seen in that way the caravan appeared interminable, and presented
the grandiose aspect of an expeditionary army or an emigrating people.
Karia-el-Abbassi was made up of the governor’s house and a group of huts
shaded by a few fig and wild olive trees. We accepted the governor’s
invitation to rest at his house, and the caravan went on to the spot
selected for the camp.
Crossing two or three courts, enclosed between bare white walls, we
entered a garden, upon which opened the principal gate of the mansion; a
little white house, windowless, and silent as a convent. A few mulatto
slaves showed us into a small ground-floor room, also white, with no
aperture except the door by which we entered, and another little door in
a corner. There were two alcoves, three white mattresses on the mosaic
floor, and some embroidered cushions. It was the first time we had been
within four walls since our departure from Tangiers; we stretched
ourselves voluptuously in the alcoves, and awaited with curiosity the
continuation of the spectacle.
The governor came in wrapped in a snowy _caic_ that reached from his
turban to his feet. He threw off his yellow slippers, and sat down
barefooted on the mattress between Ducali and the ambassador. Slaves
brought jars of milk and plates of sweetmeats, and Ben-el-Abbassi
himself made the tea, and poured it out into beautiful little cups of
Chinese porcelain, which his favorite servant, a young mulatto with his
face tattooed in arabesque, carried round. The grace and dignity of our
host in all that he did are not to be described, and seemed amazing in a
man who was probably very ignorant, who governed a few thousands of
tented Arabs, and never in all his life perhaps had seen fifty civilized
persons. In the most aristocratic _salon_ in Europe not the least fault
could have been found in his manners. His dress was fresh, neat, and
fragrant as that of an odalisque just come from the bath. As he moved,
his _caic_ showed beneath gleams of the splendid and varied colors of
his costume, inspiring in the spectator an ardent wish to tear off the
veil and see what was hidden under it. He spoke in quiet tones and
without the slightest appearance of curiosity, as if he had seen us the
day before. He had never been out of Morocco, and said that he should
like much to see our railways and our great palaces; and he knew that
there were in Italy three cities which were called Genoa, Rome, and
Venice. As he conversed, the little door opened behind him, and the head
of a pretty little mulatto girl was thrust out, which rolled around two
large astonished and startled eyes, and vanished. She was the governor’s
daughter by a black woman. He was aware of the apparition, and smiled.
There followed a long interval of silence. In the middle of the chamber
rose the fumes of burning aloes from the perfume burners; before the
door stood a group of curious slaves; behind the slaves were palm trees;
and over all smiled the clear blue sky of Africa. It all seemed so
unreal that I found myself thinking of my little room in Turin, and of
its sometime occupant, as of another person.
On our way to the encampment, which was about half a mile from the
governor’s house, upon a high plain covered with dry grass, we for the
first time felt the scorching power of the sun. It was only the 8th of
May; and we were not a hundred miles from the Mediterranean coast, and
we had yet to cross the great plain of the Sebù.
[Illustration: Taking Tea With The Governor Of Karia-El-Abbassi.]
Notwithstanding the heat our camp was enlivened toward evening by an
unusual concourse of people. On one side a long row of Arabs seated on
the ground, watched the manœuvres of the cavalry escort; on the other,
some were playing ball; a little farther on a group of women huddled in
their coarse _caics_ observed us with gestures of astonishment, and a
throng of children ran about everywhere. The population seemed really
less savage than those we had left behind.
Biseo and I went to look at the ball-players, who immediately left off,
but after some consulting glances resumed their game. There were fifteen
or twenty of them, tall fellows, big and athletic, with nothing on but
shirts bound round the waist, and a kind of mantle made of coarse and
dirty stuff, wound round the body like a _caic_. Their play was
different from that at Tangiers. One struck the ball into the air with
his foot; all the others rushed to catch it as it fell, leaping up into
the air as if they were about to fly; and the one who caught it struck
it up again in his turn. Often in the mêlée, one would fall, and others
falling over him, and others again on them, the whole would roll about
together kicking and screaming, and with small regard for modesty. More
than one thus turned upside down displayed a curved dagger at his
girdle, or a little purse hung from his neck, containing probably some
verses from the Koran as a charm against illness. Once the ball fell at
my feet, and I seized it, placed it on my open palm, made some
necromantic gestures over it, and launched it into the air. For a few
moments not one of the players dared to touch it. They came near it,
looked at it, touched it with a foot timidly; and it was not until they
saw me laugh and make signs that it was a joke, that they ventured to
pick it up and go on with their play.
Meantime nearly all the boys who were running about had gathered around
us. There might have been fifty of them, and all the clothing they
possessed among them would not have brought ten-pence at the ragshop.
Some were very handsome, some had scald-heads, most of them were
coffee-colored, and the rest had a greenish-yellow tint as if they were
plastered over with some vegetable substance. A few had tails like the
Chinese. At first they stood about ten paces off, looking suspiciously
at us and exchanging observations in whispers. Then seeing that we did
nothing hostile, they came a little nearer and began to get upon tiptoe,
and bend themselves about in order to see us on every side, as we do in
looking at statues. We stood immovable. One of them touched my shoe with
the tip of his finger, and snatched it away as if it had burnt him;
another smelled at my sleeve. We were surrounded, and smelt all sorts of
exotic odors; we felt as if they were plotting something. “Come,” said
Biseo, “it is time to free ourselves; I have an infallible method”; and
he pulled out sketch-book and pencil, and made as if he were about to
copy one of their faces. In a moment they were all gone, like a flight
of birds.
A little later some women approached. “Wonderful!” said we. “It is to be
hoped that they are not coming to give us a dagger-thrust, in the name
of Mahomet!” But they were only poor sick people, who had scarcely
strength to walk, or hold up their arms to cover their faces; among them
there was a young girl whose groans moved our compassion, and who showed
only one blue eye full of tears. We understood that they were seeking
the doctor, and pointed out his tent. One, helping her words with
gestures, asked if there would be any thing to pay. We said no, and they
tottered toward the doctor’s quarters. We followed to assist at the
consultation. “What do you feel?” asked Signor Miguerez, in Arabic, of
the first one. “A great pain here,” pointing to her shoulder, “I must
see it,” said the physician; “take off your mantle a moment.” The woman
did not move. This is the great point! Not one of them, not even a woman
of ninety will let herself be seen, and all pretend that the doctor can
divine what is the matter. “Come, will you or will you not unveil
yourself?” said Miguerez. No reply. “Well, let me hear the others,” and
he questioned them, while the first withdrew, sadly enough. The others
had no need to unveil, and the doctor distributed pills and potions, and
sent them away “with God.” Poor creatures! Not one of them was more than
thirty years old, and already youth was over for them, and with its
departure had come the fatigue, brutal treatment, and contempt, which
make an Arab woman’s old age horrible; instruments for man’s pleasure up
to twenty, beasts of burthen until death.
[Illustration: A Centipede.]
The dinner was made gay by a visit from Ben-el-Abbassi, and the night
was disturbed by a frightful invasion of insects. Already during the
heat of the day I had foreseen the coming terrors in the unusual buzzing
and swarming which was apparent among the grass. The ants were making
long black lines, beetles were in bunches, and grasshoppers as thick as
flies; and with them a great number of other insects unseen until now,
which did not inspire me with confidence. Captain de Boccard, the
professor of entomology, named them for me. There, among others, was the
_Cicindela campestris_, a living trap, which closes the opening of its
den with its own large head, and drops down into the depths the
incautious insects that pass over it; there was the _Pheropsophus
Africanus_, which darts at its pursuing enemy a puff of corrosive vapor
from its tail; the _Meloe majalis_, dragging along its enormous
dropsical belly swollen with grass and eggs; the _Carabus rugosus_, the
_Pimelia scabrosa_, the _Cetonia opaca_, the _Cossyphus Hoffmannseghi_,
animated leaf, of which Victor Hugo gives a fanciful description enough
to chill one’s blood. And a great number of big lizards, enormous
spiders, centipedes six inches long, crickets as big as my thumb, and
green bugs as big as pennies, that came and went as if they were
preparing by common accord some warlike expedition. As if these were not
enough, I had scarcely seated myself at table and stretched out my hand
to take my glass, when there appeared over the edge of it the head of a
monstrous locust, which instead of flying away at my threatening
gesture, continued to look at me with the utmost impudence. And finally,
by way of climax, Hamed appeared with the face of one who has escaped a
great danger, and laid before us, stuck in a cleft stick, nothing less
than a tarantula, a _Lycosa tarantula_, the terrible spider, that
“_cuando pica á un hombre_, when it stings a man,” said he, “Allah help
him! The unfortunate one begins to laugh and cry, and sing and dance,
and nothing but good music, very good music! the music of the Sultan’s
band, can save him.” The reader can imagine with what courage I went to
my bed. Nevertheless my three companions and I had been in bed for some
little time, the lights were out, and silence prevailed, when suddenly
the commandant sprang into a sitting position, and cried out:—“I am
populated!” (_Io mi sento popolato!_) Then we too began to feel
something. For a time there were furtive touches, timid punctures,
ticklings and slight provocations of explorers and advanced sentinels
that were not worthy of notice. But soon the big patrols began to
arrive, and a vigorous offensive resistance became necessary. The
struggle was ferocious. The more we fought the hotter grew the attack.
They came from the head, from the foot, and dropped from the curtains of
the bed. They seemed to be carrying on the assault under the direction
of some great insect of genius. It was evidently a religious war.
Briefly, we could resist no longer. “Lights!” roared the vice-consul. We
all jumped out of bed, lighted our candles, and prepared for strategy.
The common soldiers were slaughtered on the spot; the leaders, the big
bugs, first classified by the captain, and sentenced by the commandant,
were roasted by the vice-consul, and I composed a funeral eulogium in
prose and verse which will be published after my death. In a few minutes
the ground was strewn with wings and claws, legs and heads; the
survivors dispersed, and we, weary of carnage, reciprocally named each
other knights of various orders, and retired once more to bed.
The following morning at sunrise Governor Ben-el-Abbassi presented
himself to escort us to the confines of his province. We descended from
the high table-land on which our tents were pitched, and saw spread
before our eyes the immense horizon of the plain of the Sebù.
This river, one of the largest in the Magreb, descends from the western
flank of the mountain chain that stretches from the upper Atlas toward
the Straits of Gibraltar, and in a course of about two hundred and forty
kilomètres, swelled by many affluents, goes in a vast curve to throw
itself into the Atlantic Ocean, near Mehedia, where the accumulation of
sand, common to the mouths of all the rivers of Morocco on that side,
prevents the entrance of vessels, and produces great inundations at
certain seasons. The valley of the Sebù, which embraces at its
commencement all the space lying between the two cities of Laracce and
Salé, and touches at its upper extremity the high basin of the Muluia
(the great river which marks the eastern boundary of Morocco), opens to
Europeans, by the shore and by Teza, the way to the city of Fez;
comprising, besides Fez, the large city of Mechinez, the third capital;
which gathers to itself, it may be said, all the political life of the
empire, and is the principal seat of the wealth and power of the Scher.
The Sebù, it may be noted, marks in the north the confines which the
Sultan never oversteps, except in case of war, the three cities, Fez,
Morocco, and Mechinez, lying south of the river. In these three cities
he sojourns alternately. There is also the double city of Salé-Rabatt,
through which he passes in going from Fez to Morocco. He takes this road
in order not to have to cross the mountains that shut in the valley of
the Sebù to the south, their slopes being inhabited by the Zairi, a
mixed Berber race, who have the reputation of being, with Benimitir, the
most turbulent and indomitable of the tribes of those mountains.
The Sebù reminded me of the Tiber in the Roman Campagna. At the point
where we struck it, it is about a hundred yards in width, of a muddy
color, turbulent and rapid, shut in between two high arid banks, which
are almost vertical, and at whose feet extend two zones of miry ground.
Two antediluvian barks, rowed by eight or ten Arabs, approached the
shore. These boats alone, if there were nothing else, would suffice to
show what Morocco is. For hundreds of years sultans, pashas, caravans,
and embassies, have crossed the river on such hulks as these, with their
feet in mud and water, sometimes in danger of drowning; and when the
hulks—as often happens—are full of holes, caravan and embassy, sultan
and pasha, wait on the shore while the boatmen stop the holes with mud
or something else, sometimes for several hours in rain or scorching sun;
and for hundreds of years horses, mules, and camels, for want of a piece
of plank a couple of yards long, run the risk of breaking their legs,
and do break them, in jumping from the shore into the boats; and no one
has ever conceived the idea of constructing a bridge of boats, and no
one has ever thought of bringing down a piece of plank two yards long;
and if any one reproves them for these things, they look at him with an
air of stupefaction as if he had suggested a prodigy.
In many places they cross the rivers upon rafts made of cane, and their
armies cross on floating bridges made of skins blown up with air and
covered with earth and branches.
We dismounted, and went down a steep pathway to the river, when we
Italians crossed in the first boat, and then looked on from the opposite
shore at the passage of the caravan. What a picture it was! In the
middle of the river came a great boat filled with the Moors and camels
of a caravan of merchandise, and a little beyond, another bringing the
horses and men of the escort from Fez, from the midst of which floated
the banner of the Prophet, and shone the black visage and snowy turban
of the caid. On the opposite shore, in the midst of a great confusion of
horses, mules, servants, and baggage, which encumbered the bank for a
long distance, appeared the white and gracious figure of the governor
Ben-el-Abbassi, seated upon a rising ground, his officers grouped behind
him, and his fine horse with its sky-blue trappings standing near. Upon
the top of the bank, which rose like the wall of a fortress, and upon
which sat a long row of country Arabs with dangling legs, were ranged
the two hundred horsemen of the governor, who, seen thus against the
blue background of the sky, looked like giants. Some black servants, as
naked as they were born, were plunging and re-plunging into the river,
screaming and shouting. A few Arabs, according to Moorish custom, washed
their rags, bobbing up and down over them like so many puppets; and some
crossed the river swimming. Above our heads passed flights of storks;
far away on the shore rose the smoke from a group of Bedouin tents; the
boatmen chanted in chorus a prayer to the Prophet for the good result of
the enterprise; the water sent up golden sparkles in the sun, and Selam,
standing at a little distance in his famous caftan, made in the midst of
this barbaric and festive picture the most harmonious red point that
could be imagined by a painter.
The passage occupied several hours, and as each party reached the shore,
it resumed its march with the caravan.
When the last horse had crossed, Governor Ben-el-Abbassi mounted and
joined his soldiers in the heights opposite. The ambassador and his
suite all raised their hands in salute. The escort of Karia-el-Abbassi
answered with a storm of musket-shots, and vanished; but for a moment or
two the fine white figure of the governor was visible amid the smoke,
with his arm stretched toward us in token of amity and farewell.
Accompanied only by our Fez escort, we now entered upon the sadly famous
territory of the Beni-Hassan.