The Moorish Court — II. Life at the Moorish Court

II. LIFE AT THE MOORISH COURT. MULAI ABDUL Aziz's stay in Fez, the northern capital, in 1894, was not of long duration, for it was important that the Court should move to the south to consolidate his throne in those regions. While Northern Morocco has always been the un- restful and most seditious part of the country, it has never presented such a serious danger as the south is capable of becoming, for the northern tribes are poor, numerically in no great force, and always at war with each other. But in the Marrakesh region it is different. The rich agricultural land, and the great harvest reaped from it, render the tribes affluent ; they are well horsed and well armed, and very prolific. Again, beyond the plains, the great range of the Atlas Mountains is inhabited by spirited and warlike Berber tribes, to all intents and purposes unconquered. Fortunately for the welfare of a long succession of Moorish Sultans, these great tribes, governed by hereditary chiefs, were nearly always on bad .terms with one another ; and one of the most important results accomplished by the French Protectorate Government in the last few years has been to form a league of the southern tribesmen. Any one who knew the old Morocco could scarcely believe that the great chiefs — the Glaoui, the Mtougi, the Gin- dafi, and the Rahamna Kaid — would ever join hands, even in the interests of the country. But to-day it is so. , Mulai Abdul Aziz was able to leave the north in a state of peace and security. New Governors had been appointed, and Bou Ahmed's firm hand had made itself felt, and it was indispensable that the Court should move south : there were already signs of unrest that could not be ignored. The arrival of the Sultan in the southern capital had a tranquillising effect, and Bou Ahmed set to work to restore order amongst the restive tribes and to build himself a palace — at the public expense. For six years he continued building, and every available workman and artist was employed. The result was grandiose, and the building now forms the " Residency " of the French Protectorate Government. The " Bahya " — that is to say, " The Effulgence," as the palace is called — consists of a succession of handsome courtyards, one planted with cypress, orange, lemon, and other fruit trees and flowers, leading one out of the other. These courts are surrounded by arcades, on to which the great rooms open. Everywhere are fountains and tanks of water. This palace must cover many acres of land, and though quite modern, is a building of singular interest. There is one courtyard which c is particularly beautiful, where the Moorish architect based his art on the traditions of the past. The walls are higher ; the woodwork is not painted, as is usual, in polychrome; while the court itself is not nearly as large as some of the others. The rooms themselves are perhaps less interesting than the courtyards into which they open, though in many cases the elaborately carved and painted ceilings are very good. On a very recent visit to Marrakesh I was able to wander at leisure over this great palace, accompanied by a native who was in charge, and who knew its every corner and turret, for he had been employed on its construction. I had seen it years before — or, rather, a portion of it — for I had twice been entertained at dinner by its owner, the famous Bou Ahmed. I recall now one of those evenings : the hot, jasmine-scented air of the courts, for it was late in spring, and the great dinner served in one of the saloons, while a native band discoursed anything but soft music just outside ; and Bou Ahmed himself — short, dark, and of unprepossessing appearance, but none the less an excellent host. He has been dead now for twenty years, and his property, confiscated by the Sultan on his death, has passed into other hands. His name is only a memory of the past. In Morocco it was not, " How are the mighty fallen ! " but " How are the mighty falling ! " for almost month by month some great Kaid, some Vizier, or some Prince fell — and fell far indeed. Bou Ahmed had other things to think of besides his house. There was grave dissatisfaction amongst some of the tribes, particularly amongst the Rahamna, whose extensive territory lies immediately to the north of the city of Marrakesh. A leader, Taher ben Suleiman, had arisen, and under his influence the tribes revolted. The local authorities were murdered or driven out, and the rebellion became general. Its suppression took long, and cost much in lives and money. On one occasion the rebels arrived at the walls of Marrakesh and took possession of the northern suburbs of the town, but were driven back. Bou Ahmed showed considerable ability in the suppression of this revolt : not only was his energy unceasing, but he knew also how to utilise the jealousy and mistrust that always exists among the rebels. He worked tribe against tribe, and division against division. The Maghzen, by its superiority of organisation, and by the means at its disposal to obtain men, arms, and ammunition, prevailed. The Rahamna rebellion was repressed, and hundreds of square miles of country were given up to fire, the sword, and pillage. The tribe was almost wiped out ; hundreds died in prison ; the women and children became the prey of the soldiery, and were sold or driven away to starve, and devastation reigned supreme. A few years later I travelled through the Rahamna country. It was still deserted, and the fields were grown over with thick weeds and thorn-bushes. Only a few most miserable black tents, with half -starved inhabitants, remained where once the rich and flourishing Rahamna tribe had dwelt. Taher ben Suleiman was captured. He was imprisoned in a cage made of the barrels of his partisans' rifles — a cage so small that he could scarcely move in it, — and was exhibited to the public of Marrakesh, to be spat upon and reviled. He died in prison. As long as Bou Ahmed lived the young Sultan remained in the palace. True, he appeared at ceremonies and celebrated the religious feasts in public, but he was a nonentity. Bou Ahmed alone governed Morocco. In 1900 he died. I was in Marrakesh at the time of his last illness, when he lingered on day by day, kept alive by inhalations of oxygen. No one cared, unless it was a few of his personal followers and attendants, who would naturally suffer by his demise. As for the rest, there was a general indifference. He had never been popular, and the immense fortune he had amassed and great palace he had constructed awoke the jealousy of others who had the same desires but not the same opportunities. He was feared certainly, for his will was indomitable, and he was cruel. A sort of superstitious reverence had encircled his life, but it disappeared when sickness laid him low ; and when he breathed his last, the pent-up feelings of the people burst forth, and they rose up and cursed him. The death of a great personage in Morocco is terrible, and for several days as the Vizier lay expiring, guards were stationed outside his palace waiting in silence for the end. And then one morning the wail of the women within the house told that death had come. Every gateway of the great building was seized, and no one was allowed to enter or come out, while within there was pandemonium. His slaves pillaged wherever they could lay their hands. His women fought and stole to get possession of the jewels. Safes were broken open, documents and title-deeds were extracted, precious stones were torn from their set- tings the more easily to be concealed, and even murder took place. While all this was proceeding within the strictly guarded walls, Bou Ahmed's body was borne out and buried. The Sultan, weeping, followed the bier of the man who had put him on his throne and kept him there through those difficult years of his youth. He must, indeed, have felt himself alone as he stood beside the grave of his Vizier, who, whatever may have been his faults, however great may have been his extortions, had been loyal throughout. When Mulai Abdul Aziz, still weeping, had returned to his palace, his first act was to sign the decree for the confiscation of all Bou Ahmed's property. It was now organised loot, for officials and slaves were turned loose to carry out the royal commands. For days laden baggage animals, half -concealed under great masses of furniture, heaped with carpets and bedding, or staggering under safes, bore Bou Ahmed's property into the Sultan's palace. His women and his slaves were made to give up their loot, and the house was left empty and its owners penniless. A few days later nothing remained but the great building — all the rest had disappeared into space. His family were driven out to starvation and ruin, his slaves were taken by the Sultan to be kept or sold, and his vast properties passed into the possession of the State. It was the custom of the country. The belongings of all State functionaries passed at death to their lord and master the Sultan. I see Bou Ahmed's sons now and again. They are in complete poverty, and accept as presents with real gratitude the little sums which an upper servant in England would despise. The accepting of small presents of money is, in Morocco, not considered by any means derogatory, much less the accepting of large sums. I remember well a great-uncle of the reigning Sultan, a man who had been Viceroy in his time, who regularly toured the country with a slave or two, collecting alms. He was a pleasant genial old gentleman, and had no hesitation in asking any one he met to help him, or in accepting the smallest of coins. On one occasion he arrived at the residence of a native ex-official of the Moorish Court, who lived in Tangier. There was a tennis-party going on, and the guests, amongst whom were a certain number of the representatives of the European Powers, were at tea. His Highness called me aside and asked who all these Europeans were. " They are," I replied, " largely the Ministers of the foreign Powers." " Aha," said the Prince, " they ought to be good for a pair of shoes if not for a cloak. Rich people, rich people." I was able to deter him, much to his surprise, by explaining that it was not the custom in Europe for members of the royal families to ask total strangers for coats, or even shoes, and I added that if he would wait a little I would see what could be done. I mentioned the Prince's request to a few of my friends, and we subscribed between us the six francs necessary to purchase a pair of yellow slippers, the only footgear of the country. He was graciously pleased to accept them with the dignity of a Prince of the Blood. The death of Bou Ahmed naturally brought about changes at Court. Whatever jealousies there may have existed amongst the viziers, and no doubt they were many, they realised that common action was necessary. Each might have, and probably would have, to defend his own particular position from the others, but collectively they had to defend their united positions from all the world. They must either succeed or fall together, and they determined to succeed. The Sultan was now about twenty years of age, and might at any moment desire to assert himself ; and the self-assertion of young monarchs of autocratic power and no experience is dangerous. The viziers realised that in all probability the disappearance of the strong hand of Bou Ahmed would tempt the young Sultan to become more independent, and it was necessary to come to some arrangement as to how he should be led to think and act. Certainly it must not be in the direction of affairs of State — those the viziers meant to keep to themselves. An occupation must be found for the inexperienced and hitherto secluded monarch. It was the exact reverse of all the traditions of Morocco ; but the situation was an unusual one, for there had never been a Sultan in a similar position. The viziers felt that should influence be brought to bear to keep him in his palace he might rebel against this enforced seclusion, and rid himself, and probably in no gentle manner, of the men who had instituted it. No ; it was clear the Sultan must be amused, and his amuse- ments must be so numerous and so varied that his entire attention would be distracted from affairs of State. Morocco itself could not supply the novelties that would be required. Such pleasures and such luxuries as the country could produce were his already — women, horses, jewels, and the whole paraphernalia that goes to make up an oriental potentate's surroundings. For further distractions appeal must be made to Europe. It was not made in vain. It was the beginning of the great debacle, of the reckless extravagance, of the follies and the debts that led to foreign loans, and step by step to the loss of Morocco's independence. A strong and good adviser might have prolonged the life of an independent Morocco, for although possessed of no great attainments or will-power, Mulai Abdul Aziz was thoughtful, intelligent, and desirous of doing well. It was no easy matter, however, at Marrakesh, the southern capital, where the Court was at this time in residence, to keep the young Sultan amused. Situated 100 miles from the nearest port, which itself was 300 miles down the Atlantic coast, communication with Europe was necessarily very slow, and the Sultan's ever-increasing orders of European goods took long to carry out. Often, too, the heavy Atlantic swell rendered communication impossible between the ships and the shore for weeks together. The Sultan's caterers were at their last resources. v Fireworks were played out ; bicycle tricks had led to bruises and sprains ; and even photography had lost its pristine interest. At this critical moment came word of a belated circus at one of the coast towns. It must naturally have been a very poor circus ever to have found itself at that dreary little port, but its advent was welcomed as enthusiastically as if it had been Barnum's entire show. Imperial letters were directed to the local Kaids and Governors, agents rushed wildly to and fro, and eventually the circus, bag and baggage, consisting of a dozen people and three or four horses, started out across the weary plains of Morocco to obey the royal command. It all took time, and meanwhile in Court circles it was the absorbing topic of conversation. One or two serious rebellions among the tribes, and an acute quarrel with the Government of a European Power, passed into temporary oblivion. Now, the proprietress of this circus was an extremely stout Spanish lady of uncertain age, on whose corpulent body the rough jogging on a mule for more than a hundred miles had left almost as painful an impression as the discomfort, heat, and worry of the journey had upon her temper. She herself took no active part in the performance, and it was on this account, to her intense indignation and wrath, that she was refused admit- tance to the court of the palace in which the Sultan was to witness the show. His Majesty's orders were that none but the actual performers should be allowed to enter. So the fat lady and one or two of the employees of the circus remained in an outer courtyard adjoining the enclosure in which the Sultan, seated under a gorgeous tent, was witnessing the performance. A wall some twenty feet in height separated these two courts ; and in the outer one, where the fat lady found herself, the Sultan had been building some additions to the palace, and a pile of stone, mortar, and other material reached almost to the top of the wall. The lady was both angry and bored, nor were a herd of gazelle and a few fine specimens of mouflon — Barbary wild sheep — that roamed about the enclosure sufficient to keep her amused. To have received a royal command to come all that way to the Moorish capital, and then to be deprived of the glory of seeing her own circus performing before a real Sultan, was more than she could bear, and she straightway began to climb the great heap of building material that lay piled against the wall. It was hard work, nor was her figure suited for such mountain-climbing ; but she was to receive assistance from a source undreamed of. Affected, no doubt, by her slow progress in a sport of which he himself was so proficient, the old ram mouflon lightly bounded after her. Balancing himself for a moment on his hind-legs, he lunged forward and butted the fat lady so successfully from below that her ascent was materially assisted. In a series of repeated bounds, owing to no voluntary action on her own part, she found herself pantingly grasping the top of the thick wall. Meanwhile the performance of the circus was progressing to the Sultan's satisfaction. Suddenly, however, an expression of wrathful consternation became visible in his face, and, speechless, he pointed at the wall. There, far above, was the agonised and purple visage of the fat lady, peering down at the Sultan and his Court. In a moment the officers of the suite were shouting and gesticu- lating to her to retire. But the only reply they received was a sudden vision of a considerable portion of her immense body, as a playful mouflon, himself invisible, gave her another hoist up. At last all her body was on the wall, to which she clung for dear life with arms and legs, as she lay extended on its summit. It was at this moment that the mouflon appeared. With a majestic bound he leaped on to the summit, stood for a moment poised on his hind-legs, then suddenly dropped, and with a terrific prod from his wide horns, butted the fat lady at least a yard along the wall. He was evidently intent upon taking her round the entire circuit of the courtyard. For a few moments there was turmoil. The Sultan sat silent and amazed, while the Cabinet Ministers all shouted to the lady to disappear, which she was certainly most anxious to do. The slaves, more wisely, pelted the mouflon with stones, and drove him from his point of vantage. Then slowly the lady disappeared — the fat legs first, then the heaving mass of body, and finally even vfche purple face was seen no more. It was in 1901 that I became personally ac- quainted with the young Sultan. I had seen him once or twice, for I had accompanied Sir Arthur Nicolson's special Mission to Marrakesh in 1896 ; but at that time the Sultan had not emerged from his shell of reserve. He was still a young boy, evidently very shy, and entirely under the thumb of Bou Ahmed, the famous Grand Vizier. One audience that we had with him on that occasion was not without interest. We had ridden far into the depths of the great Agdal gardens to a summer-house, where His Shereefian Majesty was waiting to receive the British Minister. A tangled jungle of orange-trees ; vines climbing over broken trellis, and clinging in festoons to great cypresses ; here and there a broken marble fountain or a tiny stream — such were our surroundings. With our escort of white-robed Moorish cavalry, led by the Master of the Ceremonies, we rode through the great garden to dismount before a kiosk of arches and pillars, of green-glazed tiles and red geometric frescoes on a yellow wall. Everywhere the tangle of vegetation had over- grown its borders. The cypresses shot up, pillars of dark green, above the building, while vine, jasmine, and geranium strove for the supremacy below. Outside the building, and out of sight of ' its occupants, sat a row of Moorish officers, the Sultan's attendants. At the door of the one room that the kiosk contained — for it seemed all arches and pillars without — stood Bou Ahmed, the Vizier, a dark, stout, short man, showing his black origin in every feature. Within, opposite the doorway, on a Louis Seize settee, was Mulai Abdul Aziz. He was seated cross-legged, with his hands folded in his lap and half -hidden in his soft white raiment. I remember being particularly struck with his pale complexion and his evident shyness. At the side of the divan was a chair, where the British Minister was invited to be seated, while we who were in attendance stood around the door. The Sultan himself said little, and that little was addressed to his Vizier in almost a whisper, and repeated by him to the British Minister. In a few minutes Mulai Abdul Aziz had largely recovered his self-possession, and was busy taking in every item of the uniforms worn by the Minister's suite. He could scarcely keep his eyes off one man — the present Lord Loch — whose six feet five, capped by an enormous busby, was of evidently entrancing interest to His Majesty. Four years later, talking to Mulai Abdul Aziz in the intimacy of personal friendship, I reminded him of this episode. He laughingly replied that he had certainly been more struck with his height and uniform than anything else on that Mission, and requested me to ask the British Minister whether it would not be possible for Lord Loch to accompany a second embassy that was to start a few months later. This message duly reached the authorities at home, and in January 1902 Mulai Abdul Aziz, no longer shy, had the pleasure — and it was an evident pleasure — of once more welcoming Lord Loch at his Court. I little thought at their first meeting, when I watched the young Sultan's shy interest in the big Guardsman, that a few years later I should witness the same Guardsman instructing the same Sultan in the mysteries of " tip-and-run " in an enclosure of the Shereefian Palace. My first private audience with Mulai Abdul Aziz was in the summer of 1901. After a considerable delay, largely owing to the discussion of the kind of obeisance I was prepared to make in entering His Majesty's presence, I was honoured with a private audience. I found His Majesty courteous, pleasant, and intelligent. He was easy to amuse, and by my departure from the austere etiquette of the Court in not confining my remarks to replies to His Majesty's questions, although at first it seemed a little to surprise him, I succeeded in gaining his attention and amusement. I had been told that my audience would be very formal and last a few minutes. It lasted over an hour. The Sultan was seated, and I remained standing the whole time — to which I could not very well object. In any case, I had overcome the difficulty of my reception by refusing point-blank to go down on my knees and to touch the floor with my forehead— a form of salutation which was being practised by the Europeans in His Majesty's service, for already he had begun to increase his Christian entourage. I had stated that I was prepared to enter the Sultan's presence in adopting the same formalities as I did in the presence of my own sovereign, and the Sultan had accepted that formula. Almost the first question he asked me was if I had ever been received in private audience by my own King. I replied that I had experienced that honour. He then asked what obeisance I had made. I replied that I had bowed on entering the room, and again on approaching His Majesty's person. The Sultan seemed surprised, and demanded why it was the Englishmen in his service carried out the Moorish form of etiquette by kneeling and touching the floor with their foreheads ? I could only protest that I didn't know, except to surmise that, as they were in the service of a Moorish Sultan, they probably thought they ought to adopt the traditional Moorish form of obeisance. The Sultan gave orders that it was to be discontinued, though, as a matter of fact, the Europeans in his service still continued to use it on the great feast-days of the year until the end of his reign. A few years later, on one of these occasions I saw a long line of Englishmen drop on to their knees and bow their foreheads to the ground as the Sultan approached. It is a matter of personal option, based on prejudice. It seems to me that any human being has a right to act in such matters just as he thinks right. That he demeans himself or his country by so doing appears to me ridiculous. An Englishman, and much less England, cannot be demeaned by any fantastic gymnastics. I preferred not to do it solely for the reason that it seemed to me to be absurd, just as half the ceremonies at a British coronation would appear absurd and meaningless to a Moor. Nearly all etiquette is ridiculous, only we are more or less accustomed to it, and have largely modified its eccentricities. I have experienced things nearly as absurd as this Moorish custom in other Courts. Some years ago, on one of the very hottest days of a hot summer in a country of Southern Europe, I had the honour to be received by the sovereign. I arrived at the palace at half-past ten in the morning and left it at one o'clock. The king in question was dressed in the heavy blue uniform of an admiral ; I was in a frock-coat. The thermometer, even in the room, must have been in or very near the nineties. Yet we stood the whole time— for two hours and a half. At half-past two I was summoned back to the palace to complete this long but interesting audience. With a sigh of relief His Majesty said, " I think this time we can sit down." And we did. Why on earth we hadn't sat down in the morning during all those perspiring hours Heaven only knows. I could have understood a king sitting and his visitor being made to stand, but mutual discomfort and fatigue in such a case and for such a length of time appears to me to be almost childish folly. The Moorish protocol would have compared favourably with this European etiquette. The Moorish visitor would have made his lowly obeisance to the sovereign, but this done he would have squatted down, more or less comfortably, in his Sultan's presence, and remained seated till the end of the audience. It seemed to me to be preferable. But etiquette is all a question of custom and habit. Take kissing, for example. How well every man must remember how, when a small boy, he feared that his mother might kiss him in the presence of his schoolfellows. In after years, when it is too late, how he would have treasured those lost kisses were they now obtainable ! What amusement, too, the kissing of foreign men on the railway platforms of the continent has caused us ! But witness the meeting of two great Morocco chiefs — the stately approach, the last few more hurried steps, and the graceful embrace as each bends forward and kisses the other's shoulder. I have seen the meeting of great men in Morocco in the hour of sorrow, when they have fallen upon each other's necks and wept. How few soldiers know that the origin of the salute they give to-day comes from the East, and is really no more than the movement of the subject to shield from his eyes the effulgent glory of his sovereign, only to-day it applies equally to the effulgent glory of his second lieutenant as well. Habit is everything, and prejudice scarcely less. These were the first days of the toys and fireworks at the Moorish Court. For a time the t latter were paramount, and almost nightly the southern capital was illumined by the reflection of Catherine-wheels and startled by the flashing of the many colours of marvellous rockets. A man was brought especially from England to show and prepare the fireworks, and he became a permanent member of His Majesty's suite. The natives were partly amused, partly shocked. Thrifty as the Moor is by nature, he could not overlook the wild extravagance of this manner of spending money, and the fireworks by the time they had arrived in Marrakesh had cost a pretty price. Freight, insurance, and the long caravan transport from the cost had to be added to the original cost, and there was an item known as commission. They were certainly very beautiful fireworks and very expensive. I was present at a display given to amuse a British Minister, who highly dis- approved of this extravagance, but could not refuse the invitation. There was a set piece of an enormous elephant, and the show concluded with a waterfall of fire in a new shade of pink, just discovered, and accordingly of elevated price. It was certainly very beautiful, but it was very useless and very dear. One afternoon the Sultan informed me that there would be a display that night in the palace grounds, but that it was for the " palace " — that was to say, the ladies — and no men would be invited ; but if I went up on to the roof of the house in which I was living, I should no doubt be able to witness something of it. I watched the beautiful rockets of every colour rise in their streaks of fire into the wonderful sapphire blue of the sky of the southern night, to burst with their thousand stars, filling the whole scene of the flat house-tops of the old city with the pale glow of greens and pinks and yellows. In the " Jumma el-Fenaa " — the open place that lies in the centre of the city — the crowds stood and watched the rockets as they rose over the high walls of the palace half a mile away. The next day the Sultan asked me what I had thought of the display. I spoke of its beauty, and hinted at its waste. I mentioned the crowd in the square. " What did the people say ? " asked the Sultan. " I didn't hear much," I replied ; " but on several occasions some one would cry out, ' There goes another thousand dollars of our money.' 3 Mulai Abdul Aziz had expected to hear his own praises sung for having presented the brilliant spectacle to the people of his city, and my answer surprised him. It was, however, not without effect, or perhaps he was growing tired of coloured fires, for there was a great diminution in these displays, although the professional exhibitor remained for some time later at the palace. Throughout the many months that I spent at the Moorish Court, I always felt that a catastrophe must eventually happen. The Sultan was evidently being led upon the road to ruin, and near him as I was, all my efforts to persuade him of the fact were in vain. On more than one occasion, particularly towards the end of 1902, I implored him, in language which he smilingly told me no one had ever ventured to address to him before, to pull himself up in time. He was kind, thanked me for being so outspoken, and continued his pro-European proclivities and his extravagances. Had he at that time dismissed the greater number of his European employees, leaving only his doctor, an engineer or two, and any one who had been in his father's employ, and ceased spending his money, the whole future of Morocco might have been changed. His afternoons in Marrakesh were given up to play. More than once, always accompanied by Menebhi, the Minister of War, and some of his European employees, we rode in the immense wilderness of gardens of the Agdal Palace. At the edge of a great square tank we would dismount, and sometimes went for a row in one of the various boats that he kept there. On one occasion His Majesty and his Minister rowed — very badly indeed— while I, the only other occupant of the boat, steered. The Sultan, who rowed bow, caught several crabs, and splashed poor Menebhi all over. The Minister of War rowed about one hundred short strokes to the minute, whilst the Sultan, struggling with his oars, rowed about ten extremely long ones. But both were hugely delighted with the performance, and our spirits were of the highest. " We are both boatmen, and you are the passenger. We are crossing a Moorish ferry," cried the Sultan. Entering into the Sultan's little joke, I replied " that they were the worst ferrymen I had ever seen, and that on landing I should complain to the authorities of their incapacity." " Oh, you will, will you ? " replied Mulai Abdul Aziz. " Then all I can say is, we won't put you ashore until you pay us." " Then I'll stop here." " All right," replied the Sultan ; and he promptly began to splash me with all his might and main, though poor Menebhi was getting as wet as I was. " Will you pay ? " asked His Majesty. " Willingly," I laughed. " How much ? " " Half a peseta each " (about 4d.), answered the Sultan, and they duly pocketed their fee. It was the first time in my life I had tipped a Sultan and a Minister of War. In the autumn of 1902 I was invited to accompany the royal progress to the northern capital, Fez. The Sultan's departure from Marrakesh, where he had now been in residence for some six years, had been expected earlier in the autumn ; but constant delays occurred, and although the imperial tents had been for some time pitched outside the city gates, it was not until late in November that a start was made. Early one morning, surrounded by all the characteristic pomp pertaining to the Sultanate of Morocco, Mulai Abdul Aziz left his palace in the southern capital for the first camp of his northward march. There is no necessity to describe day by day the Sultan's progress. The etiquette and formalities of each were almost identical, though the scene was an ever- varying one, changing with the nature of the country traversed. An account of one day, picked out at hazard, will be sufficient to give an idea of the whole. Long before daylight the great camp was astir, and when, soon after 3 A.M., the morning gun was fired, a number of tents had already been struck, horses saddled, and mules and camels packed for the march. In the moonlight and early dawn the scene was one of great beauty — an indistinct medley of white tents, here silvery in the moonlight, there ruddy with the glow of camp-fires, whose tall red columns of smoke rose pillar-like into the still air. In and about the tents passed the shadowy forms of men and animals. As if by magic the scene was ever changing, as tent after tent silently fell to the ground, until with the first glow of dawn there remained of the great encampment only the canvas- walled enclosure containing the Sultan's tents, and a plain covered with horsemen and thousands upon thousands of baggage mules and camels. Already the cavalry were massed near the Sultan's enclosure, the horsemen forming an open square, in the centre of which, surrounded by the Ministers of State, lay a crimson-curtained palanquin with its couch of turquoise blue. From the entrance of the Sultan's tents to the square of cavalry a double line was formed by white-robed, red-capped officials, awaiting His Majesty. A bugle sounds clear in the still atmosphere, and a moment later a great cry rends the air. There is a beating of drums and a sound of trumpets, as a solitary white figure, erect and dignified, walks slowly through the bowing lines of officials, enters the square of horsemen, and seats himself upon the blue divan. Again arises the cry of welcome, as, bending forward, the tribes greet their Sultan with the salutation, " May God prolong the life of our Lord." The sun has risen now, his first rays falling upon the gold-orbed banners, heavy with brocades and silks that wave high above the heads of the cavalry ; then upon the wild horsemen themselves, their saddles of brilliant reds and greens, half- hidden in the heavy folds of their long white garments, and the scene becomes one of indescribable beauty. One by one the Sultan's tents are struck, and the great canvas-walled enclosure vanishes under the hands of hundreds of skilled tent-pitchers. Sometimes His Majesty gives an audience to an official, a local governor of a tribe, who, barefoot, approaches the Sultan, falls upon his knees, and three times touches the ground with his forehead, remaining crouched before his lord and master during the few seconds that such audiences last. Again a bugle ; and through the line of horsemen run dusky soldiers leading saddled horses, trotting them past the Sultan that he may choose upon the back of which he will perform the day's march. With a slight motion of his hand the choice is made, and the honoured steed is led up to the palanquin. Sometimes it is a white, saddled and trapped in turquoise blue ; sometimes a grey, decked in rose- coloured silks ; sometimes a black, his head half hidden in primrose-yellow tassels. As the Sultan mounts, the scene becomes for a few minutes one of wild confusion. The banner- bearers, the spear-bearers, the cavalry, the scarlet- and-blue mounted infantry, the high officials on their saddle-mules, the artillery, even the Sultan himself, seems hopelessly mixed in a struggling crowd. It is only for a very little while, and then from the medley emerges the royal procession, forming into order as it proceeds. The vanguard is formed of an escort of cavalry, headed by the standard-bearers, carrying flags of every hue and colour, the poles topped with glittering balls. Next come the artillery, the guns carried upon the backs of mules, and after them a troop of mounted infantry. Two mounted men, carrying long slender spears, precede the led horses, five or six of which, trapped in rich silks, always form a feature of the procession. Riding alone is the Grand Master of the Ceremonies, a dark man of fine presence, wand of office in hand. Then, after a space of some forty yards, the Sultan, a solitary white figure on horseback. At his side run negroes, waving long white scarves to keep the dust and the flies off his holy person. Immediately behind His Majesty rides a soldier, bearing aloft, so as to shade the Sultan from the rays of the sun, the Imperial parasol of crimson and gold. The red palanquin, borne by sturdy mules, follows, and behind it a long wide line of standard-bearers, the banners rich in gold thread and brocaded silks, and the poles of one and all crowned with gilded orbs. Immediately behind the flags ride the viziers and great officers of State, followed by a rabble of smaller officials and soldiery, of black slaves and tribesmen from all over Morocco. There are no roads, and the procession of men and animals spreads widely out over the plains and undulating hills. Often as far as the eye can reach one can trace the great migration stretching from horizon to horizon, a rainbow of colour upon the green plains. Sometimes to cross a valley the procession narrows in, to spread out again in the open country beyond, till the whole land is dotted with horsemen and mules, and slow-gaited lumbering camels. Now and again a tribal governor, with his escort of horsemen, comes to sahite his sovereign. Drawn up in a long line they await the Sultan's approach. At his approach the governor dismounts from his horse and prostrates himself before his lord, to rise again at a signal from His Majesty. Bending low, he approaches and kisses the Sultan's stirrup, then mounts again, and with a hoarse cry of welcome the tribesmen dig their spurs into the flanks of their barbs and gallop pell-mell hither and thither, now singly, now in line, firing their guns the while, until the horses are brought to a sudden standstill in a cloud of smoke and dust. These tribesmen are not the only people who come from afar to greet the Sultan on his march. There are beggars and representatives of all the dervish sects, from cymbal-beating negroes from the Sudan to the Hamacha of Meknes, who cut open their heads with hatchets. There are snake- charmers and acrobats, and men with performing apes ; little deputations of country Jews and Jewesses ; groups of white-robed scholars from local mosques, bearing white flags ; veiled Arab women, uttering shrill trembling cries of welcome, and offering bowls of milk ; lepers with their faces swathed and wearing great straw hats, bearing bowls of wood to collect alms in, for none may touch them — a thousand scenes of human life, with all its pleasures and all its tragedies. On the sixth day's march one of the largest rivers in Morocco, the Oum er-Rebia, had to be forded. Fortunately the autumn rains had not yet fallen, and the river presented no great obstacle to the passage of so large a caravan. Almost the first to ride across was the Sultan, his horse surrounded by negroes on foot, while a line of expert swimmers were held in readiness, linked hand in hand, stretched from bank to bank. For over three hours the procession steadily waded through, and though many a mule fell and many a man and pack were soaked, no serious accidents occurred. It was a scene of wild confusion as the horsemen and laden animals climbed down the steep bank to the water's edge and entered the swiftly-flowing river ; but in the end all got across in safety, and great were the rejoicings and many the congratulations that night in camp, for it is seldom that a Sultan and his vast following have crossed the Oum er-Rebia without paying a toll in human lives. Usually a ride about four hours brings the Sultan to his next camping-ground. A quarter of an hour before reaching the selected spot the bands commence to play, and the tribesmen, the cavalry, and mounted infantry gallop ahead, forming into two lines, between which His Majesty rides into a square of horsemen drawn up in the same formation as that of the early morning. The crimson palanquin is quickly unharnessed, the blue divan arranged, and Mulai Abdul Aziz seats himself in solitary state to await the pitching of his encampment. No tent might be raised in the camp until the gilded globe which surmounts the Sultan's principal tent is in position ; but it required only a very short time for the skilled tent-pitchers to pitch the great mass of canvas crowned with its glittering orb. It is a signal to the rest of the camp, and almost as if growing from the ground arose the white canvas town. There was no confusion, no noise. Every one knew the right position to pitch in, and the whole system worked without a hitch. Probably the Moors are alone in the pitching of these great camps ; it seems a hereditary trait in their characters. Sultan after Sultan, ever since the Empire of Morocco first came under the dominion of the Arabs, had travelled in exactly the same manner as that in which Mulai Abdul Aziz was making the journey from Marrakesh to Rabat. In no detail had it changed. The very shape and decoration of the tents had never varied, and to such an extent had conservatism been maintained, the Sultan told the writer, that, so far from travelling with all the luxury that one could imagine, he was forbidden by the unwritten laws of tradition to cover the floor of his State tent, except for three small carpets. The rest of the floor-space must consist of the soil of the country, and this, on the day which His Majesty narrated the fact, was perhaps four inches deep in almost liquid black mud. Outside his tent he may lay down straw or matting, or any covering he may please, but within there must be nothing. The Sultan's principal tent once up, the tent- pitchers turned their attention to the remainder of his camp, consisting of some half-dozen large marquees, the whole — an acre perhaps of ground — being enclosed with a nine-feet wall of white canvas, decorated in patterns of dark blue. This private encampment of His Majesty formed the centre of the camp, which stretched away on all sides, often for nearly half a mile in every direction. At the outer extremity were pitched the tents of the infantry, so close to one another that entrance and exit to the camp was only possible at certain intervals, where spaces were left for the purpose. The greatest interest naturally attached to the immediate surroundings of the Sultan's tents. No one but his ladies and their female slaves might enter the walled enclosure, with the exception of one small portion of it divided off from the rest, retained for unofficial audiences. His Majesty transacted all his affairs of State outside the enclosure, in a tent of scarlet and green cloth, pitched at the end of a large open square, and visible from a considerable distance. Here before the eyes of the public His Majesty received his Ministers, attended to his correspondence, and sealed official documents. Near this tent, known as the " Si wan," were two large marquees, one used as a mosque, the other the office of the viziers. In this quarter, too, were the offices of the other Ministers of State and high officials. Behind these were the private encampments of the more important personages, often consisting of several very large tents leading to one another by covered passages of canvas. Directly opposite, on the farther side of the Sultan's enclosure, were the royal stables, where a quantity of fine barbs were tethered, their number constantly being added to by the presents brought to His Majesty by the tribal governors. As soon as his tents were ready, the Sultan remounted his horse, and amidst the playing of bands and the shouts of the tribesmen, rode into the seclusion of his private camp. It was generally not long after His Majesty's disappearance from view that a long line of white-robed and veiled women, mounted upon mules, passed silently amongst the tents and entered the royal precincts. As they filed through the camp every man turned his head away from the mysterious white procession. Usually the whole camp was pitched by midday, and not long after that hour the neighbourhood of the Government quarters became astir with life. The white-robed viziers sought their offices, while soldiers kept order amongst the throng of people that were always crowding near the tent doors awaiting audiences with the Ministers of State. Only the " Siwan " was deserted, but not for long. A bugle sounds. There is a hurrying to and fro of officials and soldiers, and again the cry, " God prolong the life of our Lord," is heard, and the solitary white figure, round whom all this great camp revolves, is seen slowly entering under the shadow of the tent of scarlet and green. His Majesty usually gave some two or three hours a day to the consideration of affairs of State, though, on the occasions on which the great caravan did not travel and no journey was made, a considerably longer period was put aside for public business. Meanwhile, in another quarter of the camp, provisions and fodder were being distributed to the vast concourse of people who follow His Majesty upon these royal progresses. Yet, in spite of the fact that some thirty thousand persons and probably twenty thousand horses and mules had to be fed, the commissariat worked without a hitch, and food and fodder were supplied in an incredibly short period of time to all those who had a right to receive it. The local tribes alone were dependent upon their own resources, and, with this exception, the Sultan feeds the whole camp. Up till the time of this journey of Mulai Abdul Aziz the march of a Sultan through a district was sufficient to bring ruin upon the people, so extortionate were the demands made upon them. But he would have none of this, and most of the provisioning was paid for, not by local taxation, but from the Imperial Treasury, and His Majesty showed throughout solicitude for the welfare of his subjects. He allowed them to approach him, and listened attentively to their complaints against the local officials. At sunset gunfire, His Majesty prayed, and retired to his tents for the night, though almost every evening he gave unofficial audiences to his friends in the divided-off portion of his private encampment reserved for this purpose. As night fell the camp became dotted with the little lights of lanterns, often gaily decorated with coloured glass, while here and there a camp-fire showed up ruddily amongst the tents. Now and again could be heard the tinkling of stringed instruments and the soft murmur of a singer, who seemed afraid to raise his voice in the stillness that pervades everything,— a stillness only broken now and again by an order to the guards and sentries — of whom 400, shoulder to shoulder, encircled the Sultan's enclosure — or by the long-drawn accents of the mueddin as he called the Faithful to prayer. The " last post " — and as the note of the bugle dies away, a wonderful silence fell upon the moon- lit camp.