BENI-HASSAN.
For more than an hour we travelled through fields of barley, from which
showed here and there a black tent, the head of a camel, or a cloud of
smoke. In the paths we traversed, scorpions, lizards, and snakes were
numerous. Our saddles were so heated by the sun that we could scarcely
hold our hands upon them. The light blinded our eyes, the dust choked
us, and every thing around was still as death. The plain which stretched
before us like an ocean seemed awful to me, as if the caravan were
doomed to go on forever. But at the same time my curiosity to see the
proud Beni-Hassan, of whom I had heard so much, kept up my drooping
spirits. “What kind of people are they?” I asked of the interpreter.
“Thieves and murderers,” answered he; “faces from the other world; the
worst crew in Morocco.” And I scanned the horizon with anxiety.
The faces from another world were not long in coming. We saw in advance
a great cloud of dust, and in a few minutes were surrounded by a throng
of three hundred mounted savages, in green, yellow, white, violet, and
scarlet, ragged, dishevelled, and panting, as if they had just come out
of a fray. In the midst of the thick dust they raised, we could discern
their governor, a long-haired, black-bearded giant, who, followed by two
hoary vice-governors, all armed with muskets, approached the ambassador,
pressed his hand, and then disappeared. Immediately the usual charging,
firing, and yelling began. They seemed frantic. They fired between the
legs of our mules, over our heads, and close to our shoulders. Seen from
a distance they must have looked like a band of assassins assailing us.
There were formidable old men, with long white beards, all skin and
bone, but looking as if they might live for centuries; and young men
with long locks of black hair flying like manes. Many had their chests,
arms, and legs bare, turbans in tatters, and red rags twisted round the
head; _caics_ torn, saddles broken, bridles made of cord, old sabres and
poniards of strange forms. And such faces! “It is absurd,” said the
commandant, “to suppose that these people will be capable of the
self-sacrifice of not killing us.” Every one of those faces told a story
of blood. They looked at us, as they passed, out of the corner of their
eyes, as if to hide the expression of their glance. One hundred came on
the right, one hundred on the left, one hundred behind us, stretched out
in open order. This guard on the flank was new to us; but we were not
long in perceiving its necessity. As we advanced, the tents became more
frequent in the open country, so that we finally passed through real
villages surrounded by cactus and aloe hedges. From all these tents came
Arabs running, dressed in a single garment or shirt, in groups, on foot,
on horseback, on the cruppers of donkeys—two, and sometimes three on the
same animal; women with children hung to their shoulders, old men
supported by boys, all breathless, wild to see us, and perhaps not to
see us only. Gradually a veritable people had gathered about us. Then
the soldiers of the escort began to disperse them. They darted among
them at a gallop, here and there and everywhere, yelling, striking,
overturning beast and rider, and raising a tempest of cries and curses.
But the scattered groups formed again, and continued to accompany us at
a run. Through the smoke and powder, broken by the lightning of the
shots, we saw over those vast fields, in the distance, tents, horses,
camels, droves of cattle, groups of aloes, columns of smoke, crowds of
people turned toward us, motionless, in an attitude of amazement. We had
at last reached an inhabited land! It did exist then, and was not a
fable, this blessed population of Morocco! After an hour’s rapid riding
we were again in the solitude of the country, with no one save our
escort, and soon came to our camp, which was pitched upon the bank of
the Sebù a thick chain of sentinels, on foot and armed with muskets,
being extended all around the encampment. The country then was really
dangerous! If I had been able to doubt it, I should have been more than
persuaded by what I afterward heard.
The Beni-Hassi are the most turbulent, the most audacious, the most
quarrelsome, and the most thievish tribe in all the valley of the Sebù.
Their last performance was a sanguinary revolt which broke out in the
summer of 1873 (when the reigning Sultan came to the throne), which
began with the sack of the governor’s house, and the carrying off of his
women. Theft is their principal profession. They gather together in
bands, armed and mounted, and make raids beyond the Sebù, or in other
neighboring lands, stealing all that they can drag or carry off, and
killing, by way of precaution, all persons whom they encounter. They
have their chiefs, their statutes, discipline, and rights recognized, in
a certain sense, even by the government, which sometimes makes use of
them to get back stolen property. They rob in the way of forced imposts.
The people who are despoiled by them, instead of losing their time in
seeking their property, protect what is left to them by paying a certain
stipulated sum to the chief of the robbers. As for the boys especially,
it is admitted as a most natural thing that they should all steal. If
they get a ball in the back, or a skull fractured by a stone, so much
the worse for them; no one will be robbed if he can help it; and there
is no rose without its thorn. Their fathers say ingenuously—a boy of
eight years old makes little, one of twelve much more, one of sixteen a
great deal. Every thief has his own peculiar branch of the profession:
there is the corn thief, the cattle thief, the horse thief, the
merchandise thief, the thief of the _duar_ (or Arab encampment), the
street thief. In the streets they assault particularly the Jews, who are
forbidden to carry arms. But the commonest kind of larceny is that at
the expense of the _duar_. In this they are incomparable artists, not
only among the Beni-Hassan, but all over Morocco. In stealing on
horseback the great art consists in the lightning-like rapidity with
which they act; they pass, seize, and disappear before any one can
recognize them. They rob also on foot, and in a masterly manner. They
creep into the _duar_ naked, because dogs will not bark at a naked man;
they soap themselves all over so as to be able to slip out of the hands
of any one who might seize them; and carry a branch in their arms, so
that horses, taking them for bushes, may not be frightened. Horses are
the most coveted prey. They seize them round the neck, stretch their
legs under the belly, and away like an arrow. Their audacity is
incredible. There is no encampment of a caravan, be it that of a pasha
or ambassador, where they will not penetrate in spite of the strictest
watch. They glide upon the ground like snakes, covered with grass, with
straw, with leaves, dressed in sheepskin, disguised as beggars, as
madmen, as saints, as soldiers. They will risk their lives for a
chicken, and go ten miles for a dollar. They will even steal a bag of
money from under the head of a sleeping man. And that very night, in
spite of the chain of sentinels, they stole a sheep that was tied to the
cook’s bed, who, when he discovered his loss the next morning, stood
half an hour motionless, with folded arms, before the door of his tent,
his eyes fixed upon the horizon, exclaiming ever and anon: “Ah! holy
Madonna! what a country!—what a country!—what a country!”
I have spoken of the _duar_: Morocco cannot be understood without a
description of them, and with what I saw, and what Signor Morteo, who
has lived twenty years among them, told me, I can venture to describe
them.
The _duar_ is in general made up of ten, fifteen, or twenty families,
who are related to each other, and each family has a tent. The tents are
disposed in two parallel rows, distant from each other about thirty
paces, forming thus a sort of square open at both ends. The tents are
almost all of equal size, and consist of one great piece of black or
chocolate-brown stuff, woven of the fibre of the dwarf palm, and of
camels’ and goats’ hair which is sustained by two poles or thick canes
upholding a cross-piece of wood. Their shape is still that of the
habitations of Jugurtha’s Numidians, which Sallust compares to a boat
with its keel in the air. In the winter and autumn the cloth is
stretched to the ground and securely fastened by cords and pegs, so that
wind and water cannot enter. In summer, a large aperture is left all
round for the circulation of air, protected by a little hedge of reeds,
canes, and dried brambles. By these means the tents are cooler in
summer, and better closed against the rain and wind than even the
Moorish houses in the cities, which have neither doors nor windows. The
greatest height of a tent is two metres and a half, the greatest length
ten metres; those that exceed these measurements belong to some opulent
sheik, and are rare. A reed partition divides the tent into two parts,
in one of which the father and mother sleep, while the other is occupied
by the children and the rest of the family.
One or two straw mats; a gaily painted and arabesqued wooden chest for
clothes; a little round mirror from Trieste or Venice; a high tripod
made of cane, which is covered with a _caic_, under which they wash
themselves; two large stones for grinding grain; a weavers loom, such as
was in use in Abraham’s time; a rusty tin lamp, a few earthen jars, a
goat-skin or two, a plate or two, a distaff, a saddle, a musket, a
poniard, comprise the furniture of such a tent. In a corner there is
generally a hen with her brood of chickens; in front of the tent door,
an oven composed of two bricks; on one side a little kitchen garden
beyond, two or three round pits lined with stones and cement, in which
they keep their corn.
In almost all the great _duars_ there is a tent appropriated to the
school-master, who receives from the community five francs a month and
his food. All the little boys are sent to him to recite a hundred
thousand times the same verses from the Koran, and to write them, when
they know them by heart, upon a wooden tablet. The greater part of them
leave school before they know how to read, to go and work for their
parents, forgetting in a short time the little they have learned. The
few who have the will and power to study, continue until twenty years of
age, after which they go to some city to complete their studies, and
become _taleb_, which signifies notary or scrivener, and is equivalent
to being a priest, because among the Mahometans the civil and religious
law is identical. Life in the _duar_ is of the utmost simplicity.
Everybody rises at dawn; they say their prayers, feed the cows, make the
butter, and drink the buttermilk that remains. For drinking vessels they
make use of shells and _patelle_ which they buy from the people of the
coast. Then the men go to labor in the fields and do not return until
evening. The women fetch wood and water, grind the corn, weave the
coarse stuffs of their own and their husbands’ dress, twist cords for
the tents out of the fibre of the dwarf palm, send food to their
husbands, and prepare the _cùscùssù_ for the evening meal. The
_cùscùssù_ is a mixture of beans, squash, onions, and other green stuff;
sometimes it is sweetened, peppered, and flavored with the juice of
meat; on feast days it is eaten with meat. When the men come home there
is supper, and in general bed at sundown. Sometimes after supper an old
man will tell a story in the midst of a circle of listeners. During the
night the _duar_ remains immersed in silence and darkness; here and
there a family will keep a small lamp burning before the tent to serve
as a guide to wandering travelers. The dress of the men and women
consists of a cotton shirt, a mantle, and a coarse _caic_. The mantles
and _caics_ are only washed two or three times a year, on the occasion
of solemn festivals, and in consequence they are generally of the same
color as the wearer’s skin and often blacker. The cleanliness of the
body is better cared for, since without the ablutions prescribed by the
Koran, no one can pray. The women for the most part wash all over every
morning, hiding themselves under the tripod covered by a _caic_. But
working as they do, and sleeping as they sleep, they are always dirty
more or less, even although, for a wonder, they make use of soap. In
their leisure hours many play at cards, and when not playing, one great
amusement of the men is to lie on the ground and play with their
children; for whom, however, they care less when they get older. Many of
these children of the _duar_ arrive at the age of ten or fourteen years
without ever having seen a house, and it is curious to hear an account
of their behavior when taken into the service of Moors or Europeans in
the cities; how they feel the walls, stamp on the floors, and with what
intense emotion they look out of a window, or run down a staircase. The
principal event in these wandering villages is a marriage. The parents
and friends of the bride, with a great noise of firing of muskets and
shouting, bring her seated on a camel to the husband’s _duar_. She is
wrapped in a white or blue mantle, perfumed, with her nails tinted with
henna and her eyebrows blackened with burnt cork, and is generally
fattened for the occasion by the use of an herb called _ebba_, much in
vogue among young girls. The husband’s _duar_ meantime has invited the
neighboring _duars_ to the festival, and from a hundred to two hundred
men, mounted and armed, respond to the invitation. The bride dismounts
from her camel before the door of her husband’s tent, and seated on a
seat decorated with flowers and fringes, looks on at the festival;
whilst the men go through the _powder play_, the women and girls,
disposed in a circle before her, dance to the music of a fife and drum,
around a cloth spread upon the ground, into which every guest in passing
throws a coin for the newly married pair, and a sort of crier announces
the amount of the offering in a loud voice, with good wishes for the
donor. Toward evening, the dancing and firing over, every one sits down
on the ground, and great dishes of _cûscûssù_, roast chickens, sheep on
the spit, tea, sweetmeats, and fruits are carried round; the supper
being prolonged up to midnight. The next day, the bride, dressed in
white, with a red scarf bound over her mouth and a hood upon her head,
goes, accompanied by her friends and relations, to the neighboring
_duars_ to collect more money. This done, the husband goes back to his
labor, the wife to hers, and love takes to flight. When any one dies,
the dances are repeated. The relations nearest to the defunct record his
virtues; the rest, crowd about him, dance with gestures and attitudes of
grief, cover themselves with dust, tear their hair, and scratch their
faces. After which they wash the corpse, wrap it in a piece of new
cloth, carry it on a bier to the cemetery, and bury it, lying on the
right side, with its face turned to the east. These are their customs
and usages, as one may say, patent to all the world; but who knows their
more private doings? Who can follow the clue by which life in a _duar_
is ordered? Who can say how first love speaks, how slander is
disseminated, in what strange forms, by what strange accidents,
adultery, jealousy, envy are produced; what virtues shine, what
sacrifices are consummated, what abominable and perverted passions are
rife under the shadow of those tents? Who can trace the origin of their
monstrous superstitions? Who can clear up the odd mingling of Pagan and
Christian traditions in their religious rites; the sign of the cross
made on the skin, the vague belief in satyrs where forked elm trees are
found, the image carried in triumph at the budding of the grain, the
name of Mary invoked for the help of women in childbirth, the circular
dances resembling those of the worshippers of the sun? One thing only is
certain and manifest: their poverty. They live on the scant produce of
ill-cultivated ground, borne down by heavy and often changing taxes,
collected by the sheik or head of the _duar_, elected by themselves, but
directly under the orders of the governor of the province. They pay the
governor, in money or produce, the tenth part of the harvest, and one
franc a head for cattle. One hundred francs a year is paid for every
tract of land corresponding to the labor of a yoke of oxen. The Sultan,
at the principal festivals of the year, exacts a “present” equivalent to
five francs per tent. They pay money or furnish provisions at the order
of the governors whenever the Sultan, or a pasha, or an ambassador, or a
body of soldiers passes by.
Besides this, any one who has money is exposed to the extortions of the
governor, veiled or excused by no pretext whatever, but practised with
insolence and violence. To be esteemed rich is a misfortune. Whoever has
a small sum laid by, buries it, spends in secret, feigns poverty and
hunger. No one accepts a blackened coin in payment, even when he knows
it to be good, because it may look as if it had been buried in the
ground, and cause the suspicion of hidden treasure. When a rich man
dies, the heirs, in order to avoid ruin, offer a present to the
governor. Presents are offered to secure justice, to prevent
persecution, to avoid being reduced to die of hunger. And when at last
hunger has them by the throat and despair blinds them, they strike their
tents, seize their muskets, and raise the signal of revolt. What happens
then? The Sultan unchains three thousand mounted fiends and sows death
throughout the rebellious district. His soldiers cut off heads, lift
cattle, carry off women, burn grain fields, reduce the land to a desert
and strew it with ashes slaked in blood, and then return to announce the
extinction of the rebellion. If the rebellion extends, and the armies
and arts of the government are vain, what advantage do the rebels gain
beyond a few short days of warlike liberty, bought by thousands of
lives? They can elect another Sultan, and provoke a dynastic war between
province and province, behind which lurks a worse despotism than before;
and so it goes on from century to century.
On the morning of the tenth the caravan resumed its march, escorted by
the three hundred of Beni-Hassan and their chief Abd-Allah—_servant of
God_.
All that morning we travelled over a plain covered with fields of
barley, wheat, and buck-wheat, interspersed with large tracts of wild
fennel and flowers, and dotted with groups of trees and black tents,
which last resembled in the distance those heaps of charcoal that are
seen on the Tuscan _maremma_. We met more cattle, horses, camels, and
Arabs than on the preceding days. Far away in front extended a mountain
chain of a most delicate gray tint, and in the middle distance glimmered
two white _cube_—the first illuminated by the sun, the second hardly
visible. They were the tombs of the saints Sidi-Ghedar and Sidi-Hassem,
between which lie the confines of the land of Beni-Hassan. Our camp was
to be pitched near the latter.
Some time, however, before arriving at that point, Governor
Sidi-Abd-Allah, who from the moment of our departure had seemed anxious
and thoughtful, drew near to the ambassador, and signified his wish to
speak. Mohammed Ducali came up quickly. “The ambassador from Italy will
pardon me,” said the haughty chief, “if I venture to ask permission to
turn back with my men.”
The ambassador demanded why.
“Because,” answered Sidi-Abd-Allah, contracting his black brows, “my own
house is not secure.”
Is that all? thought we. Only two miles away too! What an agreeable
existence must be that of a governor of Beni-Hassan!
The ambassador consented; the chief took his hand, and pressed it to his
breast with an energetic expression of gratitude. This done, he turned
his horse, and in a few minutes the many-colored, ragged, and terrible
crew was nothing but a cloud of dust upon the horizon.