S.L. Bensusan - Morocco

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[Illustration: A COURTYARD, MARRAKESH]

They have a short way with offenders in Moorish cities. I remember
seeing a man brought to the Kasbah of a northern town on a charge of using
false measures. The case was held proven by the khalifa; the culprit was
stripped to the waist, mounted on a lame donkey, and driven through the
streets, while two stalwart soldiers, armed with sticks, beat him until he
dropped to the ground. He was picked up more dead than alive, and thrown
into prison.

There are two sorts of market in Marrakesh--the open market outside the
walls, and the auction market in the Kaisariyah. The latter opens in the
afternoon, by which time every little boxlike shop is tenanted by its
proprietor. How he climbs into his place without upsetting his stores, and
how, arrived there, he can sit for hours without cramp, are questions I
have never been able to answer, though I have watched him scores of times.
He comes late in the day to his shop, lets down one of the covering flaps,
and takes his seat by the step inside it. The other flap has been raised
and is kept up by a stick. Seated comfortably, he looks with dispassionate
eye upon the gathering stream of life before him, and waits contentedly
until it shall please Allah the One to send custom. Sometimes he occupies
his time by reading in the Perspicuous Book; on rare occasions he will
leave his little nest and make dignified way to the shop of an adool or
scribe, who reads pious writings to a select company of devotees. In this
way the morning passes, and in the afternoon the mart becomes crowded,
country Moors riding right up to the entrance chains, and leaving their
mules in the charge of slaves who have accompanied them on foot. Town
buyers and country buyers, with a miscellaneous gathering of tribesmen
from far-off districts, fill the bazaar, and then the merchants hand
certain goods to dilals, as the auctioneers are called. The crowd divides
on either side of the bazaar, leaving a narrow lane down the centre, and
the dilals rush up and down with their wares,--linen, cotton and silk
goods, carpets, skins or brassware, native daggers and pistols, saddles
and saddle-cloths. The goods vary in every bazaar. The dilal announces the
last price offered; a man who wishes to buy must raise it, and, if none
will go better, he secures the bargain. A commission on all goods sold is
taken at the door of the market by the municipal authorities. I notice on
these afternoons the different aspects of the three classes represented in
the bazaar. Shopkeepers and the officials by the gate display no interest
at all in the proceedings: they might be miles from the scene, so far as
their attitude is a clue. The dilals, on the other hand, are in furious
earnest. They run up and down the narrow gangway proclaiming the last
price at the top of their voices, thrusting the goods eagerly into the
hands of possible purchasers, and always remembering the face and position
of the man who made the last bid. They have a small commission on the
price of everything sold, and assuredly they earn their wage. In contrast
with the attitudes of both shopkeepers and auctioneers, the general public
is inclined to regard the bazaar as a place of entertainment. Beggar lads,
whose scanty rags constitute their sole possession, chaff the excited
dilals, keeping carefully out of harm's way the while. Three-fourths of
the people present are there to idle the afternoon hours, with no
intention of making a purchase unless some unexpected bargain crosses
their path. I notice that the dilals secure several of these doubtful
purchasers by dint of fluent and eloquent appeals. When the last article
has been sold and the crowd is dispersing, merchants arise, praise Allah,
who in his wisdom sends good days and bad, step out of their shop, let
down one flap and raise the other, lock the two with a huge key and retire
to their homes.

I remember asking a Moor to explain why the Jews were so ill-treated and
despised all over Morocco. The worthy man explained that the Koran
declares that no True Believer might take Jew or Christian to be his
friend, that the Veracious Book also assures the Faithful that Jews will
be turned to pigs or monkeys for their unbelief, and that the
metamorphosis will be painful. "Moreover," said the True Believer, who did
not know that I was of the despised race, "do you not know that one of
these cursed people tried to seize the throne in the time of the great
Tafilatta?"

I pleaded ignorance.

"Do you not know the Feast of Scribes, that is held in Marrakesh and Fez?"
he asked.

Again I had to make confession that, though I had heard about the Feast, I
had never witnessed it.

"Only Allah is omniscient," he said by way of consolation. "Doubtless
there are some small matters known to Nazarenes and withheld from
us--strange though that may seem to the thoughtful.

"In the name of the Most Merciful--know that there was a ruler in Taza
before Mulai Ismail--Prince of the Faithful, he who overcame in the name
of God--reigned in the land. Now this ruler[24] had a Jew for wazeer. When
it pleased Allah to take the Sultan and set him in the pavilion of Mother
of Pearl appointed for him in Paradise, in the shadow of the Tuba tree,
this Jew hid his death from the people until he could seize the throne of
Taza for himself and ride out under the M'dhal.[25] Then Mulai Ismail
protested to the people, and the Tolba (scribes) arranged to remove the
reproach from the land. So they collected forty of their bravest men and
packed them in boxes--one man in a box. They put two boxes on a mule and
drove the twenty mules to the courtyard of the palace that the Jew had
taken for himself. The man in charge of the mules declared he had a
present for the Sultan, and the Unbeliever, whose grave was to be the
meeting-place of all the dogs of Taza, gave orders that the boxes should
be brought in and set before him. This was done, and the cursed Jew
prepared to gloat over rich treasure. But as each box was opened a talib
rose suddenly, a naked sword in his hand, and falling bravely upon the
unbelieving one, cut his body to pieces, while Shaitan hurried his soul to
the furnace that is seven times heated and shall never cool.

[Illustration: WELL IN MARRAKESH]

"Then the Father of the Faithful, the Ever Victorious," continued the True
Believer, "decreed that the tolba should have a festival. And every year
they meet in Marrakesh and Fez, and choose a talib who is to rule over
them. The post is put up to auction; he who bids highest is Sultan for a
week. He rides abroad on a fine horse or mule, under a M'dhal, as though
he were indeed My Lord Abd-el-Aziz himself. Black slaves on either side
brush away the flies with their white clothes, soldiers await to do his
bidding, he is permitted to make a request to the true Sultan, and our
Master has open ear and full hand for the tolba, who kept the Moghreb from
the Unbelievers, the inheritors of the Fire, against whom Sidna Mohammed
has turned his face."

I arrived in Marrakesh just too late to witness the reign of the talib,
but I heard that the successful candidate had paid thirty-two dollars for
the post--a trifle less than five pounds in our money, at the rate of
exchange then current. This money had been divided among the tolba. The
governor of Marrakesh had given the lucky king one hundred dollars in
cash, thirty sheep, twenty-five cones of sugar, forty jars of butter, and
several sacks of flour. This procedure is peculiar to the Southern
capital. In Fez the tolba kings collect taxes in person from every
householder.

The talib's petition to the Sultan had been framed on a very liberal
scale. He asked for a home in Saffi, exemption from taxes, and a place in
the custom-house. The Sultan had not responded to the petition when I left
the city; he was closely beleaguered in Fez, and Bu Hamara was occupying
Taza, the ancient city where the deed of the tolba had first instituted
the quaint custom. My informant said there was little doubt but that his
Shareefian majesty would grant all the requests, so the talib's investment
of thirty-two dollars must be deemed highly profitable. At the same time I
cannot find the story I was told confirmed by Moorish historians. No
record to which I have had access tells of a Jewish king of Taza, though
there was a Hebrew in high favour there in the time of Rasheed II. The
details of the story told me are, as the American scribe said, probably
attributable to Mr. Benjamin Trovato.

When the attractions of Kaisariyah palled, the markets beyond the walls
never failed to revive interest in the city's life. The Thursday market
outside the Bab al Khamees brought together a very wonderful crowd of men
and goods. All the city's trade in horses, camels, and cattle was done
here. The caravan traders bought or hired their camels, and there were
fine animals for sale with one fore and one hind leg hobbled, to keep them
from straying. The camels were always the most interesting beasts on view.
For the most part their attendants were Saharowi, who could control them
seemingly by voice or movement of the hand; but a camel needs no little
care, particularly at feeding time, when he is apt to turn spiteful if
precedence be given to an animal he does not like. They are marvellously
touchy and fastidious creatures--quite childlike in many of their
peculiarities.

[Illustration: A BAZAAR, MARRAKESH]

The desert caravan trade is not what it was since the French occupied
Timbuctoo and closed the oases of Tuat; but I saw some caravans arrive
from the interior--one of them from the sandy region where Mons. Lebaudy
has set up his kingdom. How happy men and beasts seemed to be. I never saw
camels looking so contented: the customary sneer had passed from their
faces--or accumulated dust had blotted it out. On the day when the market
is held in the open place beyond the Bab al Khamees, there is another big
gathering within the city walls by the Jamaa Effina. Here acrobats and
snake-charmers and story-tellers ply their trade, and never fail to find
an audience. The acrobats come from Tarudant and another large city of the
Sus that is not marked in the British War Office Map of Morocco dated
1889! Occasionally one of these clever tumblers finds his way to London,
and is seen at the music halls there.

I remember calling on one Hadj Abdullah when I was in the North, and to my
surprise he told me he spoke English, French, German, Spanish, Turkish,
Moghrebbin Arabic, and Shilha. "I know London well," he said; "I have an
engagement to bring my troupe of acrobats to the _Canterbury_ and the
_Oxford_. I am a member of a Masonic Lodge in Camberwell." Commonplace
enough all this, but when you have ridden out of town to a little Moorish
house on the hillside overlooking the Mediterranean, and are drinking
green tea flavoured with mint, on a diwan that must be used with crossed
legs, you hardly expect the discussion to be turned to London music-halls.

Snake-charmers make a strong appeal to the untutored Moorish crowd. Black
cobras and spotted leffa snakes from the Sus are used for the performance.
When the charmer allows the snakes to dart at him or even to bite, the
onlookers put their hands to their foreheads and praise Sidi ben Aissa, a
saint who lived in Mequinez when Mulai Ismail ruled, a pious magician
whose power stands even to-day between snake-charmers and sudden death.
The musician who accompanies the chief performer, and collects the _floos_
offered by spectators, works his companion into a condition of frenzy
until he does not seem to feel the teeth of the snakes; but as people who
should be well informed declare that the poison bags are always removed
before the snakes are used for exhibition, it is hard for the mere
Unbeliever to render to Sidi ben Aissa the exact amount of credit that may
be due to him.

[Illustration: A BRICKFIELD, MARRAKESH]

The story-teller, whose legends are to be found in the "Thousand Nights
and a Night," is generally a merry rogue with ready wit. His tales are
told with a wealth of detail that would place them upon the index
expurgatorius of the Western world, but men, women, and children crowd
round to hear them, and if his tale lacks the ingredients most desired
they do not hesitate to tell him so, whereupon he will respond at once to
his critics, and add love or war in accordance with their instructions.
One has heard of something like this in the serial market at home. His
reward is scanty, like that of his fellow-workers, the acrobat and the
snake charmer, but he has quite a professional manner, and stops at the
most exciting points in his narrative for his companion to make a tour of
the circle to collect fees. The quality of the adventures he retails is
settled always by the price paid for them.

It is a strange sight, and unpleasant to the European, who believes that
his morality, like his faith, is the only genuine article, to see young
girls with antimony on their eyelids and henna on their nails, listening
to stories that only the late Sir Richard Burton dared to render literally
into the English tongue. While these children are young and impressionable
they are allowed to run wild, but from the day when they become
self-conscious they are strictly secluded.

Throughout Marrakesh one notes a spirit of industry. If a man has work, he
seems to be happy and well content. Most traders are very courteous and
gentle in their dealings, and many have a sense of humour that cannot fail
to please. While in the city I ordered one or two lamps from a workman who
had a little shop in the Madinah. He asked for three days, and on the
evening of the third day I went to fetch them, in company with Salam. The
workman, who had made them himself, drew the lamps one by one from a dark
corner, and Salam, who has a hawk's eye, noticed that the glass of one was
slightly cracked.

"Have a care, O Father of Lamps," he said; "the Englishman will not take a
cracked glass."

"What is this," cried the Lamps' Father in great anger, "who sells cracked
lamps? If there is a flaw in one of mine, ask me for two dollars."

Salam held the lamp with cracked glass up against the light. "Two
dollars," he said briefly. The tradesman's face fell. He put his tongue
out and smote it with his open hand.

"Ah," he said mournfully, when he had admonished the unruly member, "who
can set a curb upon the tongue?"[26]

FOOTNOTES:

[24] Mulai Rashed II.

[25] The royal umbrella.

[26] Cf. James iii. 8. But for a mere matter of dates, one would imagine
that Luther detected the taint of Islam in James when he rejected his
Epistle.

THE SLAVE MARKET AT MARRAKESH

[Illustration: A MOSQUE, MARRAKESH]

CHAPTER VII

THE SLAVE MARKET AT MARRAKESH

As to your slaves, see that ye feed them with such food as ye eat
yourselves, and clothe them with the stuff ye wear. And if they commit
a fault which ye are not willing to forgive, then sell them, for they
are the servants of Allah, and are not to be tormented.

--_Mohammed's last Address._

In the bazaars of the brass-workers and dealers in cotton goods, in the
bazaars of the saddlers and of the leather-sellers,--in short, throughout
the Kaisariyah, where the most important trade of Marrakesh is carried
on,--the auctions of the afternoon are drawing to a close. The dilals have
carried goods to and fro in a narrow path between two lines of True
Believers, obtaining the best prices possible on behalf of the dignified
merchants, who sit gravely in their boxlike shops beyond the reach of
toil. No merchant seeks custom: he leaves the auctioneers to sell for him
on commission, while he sits at ease, a stranger to elation or
disappointment, in the knowledge that the success or failure of the day's
market is decreed. Many articles have changed hands, but there is now a
greater attraction for men with money outside the limited area of the
Kaisariyah, and I think the traffic here passes before its time.

The hour of the sunset prayer is approaching. The wealthier members of the
community leave many attractive bargains unpursued, and, heedless of the
dilals' frenzied cries, set out for the Sok el Abeed. Wool market in the
morning and afternoon, it becomes the slave market on three days of the
week, in the two hours that precede the setting of the sun and the closing
of the city gates; this is the rule that holds in Red Marrakesh.

I follow the business leaders through a very labyrinth of narrow, unpaved
streets, roofed here and there with frayed and tattered palmetto-leaves
that offer some protection, albeit a scanty one, against the blazing sun.
At one of the corners where the beggars congregate and call for alms in
the name of Mulai Abd el Kader Ijjilalli, I catch a glimpse of the great
Kutubia tower, with pigeons circling round its glittering dome, and then
the maze of streets, shutting out the view, claims me again. The path is
by way of shops containing every sort of merchandise known to Moors, and
of stalls of fruit and vegetables, grateful "as water-grass to herds in
the June days." Past a turning in the crowded thoroughfare, where many
Southern tribesmen are assembled, and heavily-laden camels compel
pedestrians to go warily, the gate of the slave market looms portentous.

A crowd of penniless idlers, to whom admittance is denied, clamours
outside the heavy door, while the city urchins fight for the privilege of
holding the mules of wealthy Moors, who are arriving in large numbers in
response to the report that the household of a great wazeer, recently
disgraced, will be offered for sale. One sees portly men of the city
wearing the blue cloth selhams that bespeak wealth, country Moors who
boast less costly garments, but ride mules of easy pace and heavy price,
and one or two high officials of the Dar el Makhzan. All classes of the
wealthy are arriving rapidly, for the sale will open in a quarter of an
hour.

The portals passed, unchallenged, the market stands revealed--an open
space of bare, dry ground, hemmed round with tapia walls, dust-coloured,
crumbling, ruinous. Something like an arcade stretches across the centre
of the ground from one side to the other of the market. Roofless now and
broken down, as is the outer wall itself, and the sheds, like cattle pens,
that are built all round, it was doubtless an imposing structure in days
of old. Behind the outer walls the town rises on every side. I see mules
and donkeys feeding, apparently on the ramparts, but really in a fandak
overlooking the market. The minaret of a mosque rises nobly beside the
mules' feeding-ground, and beyond there is the white tomb of a saint, with
swaying palm trees round it. Doubtless this zowia gives the Sok el Abeed a
sanctity that no procedure within its walls can besmirch; and, to be sure,
the laws of the saint's religion are not so much outraged here as in the
daily life of many places more sanctified by popular opinion.

On the ground, by the side of the human cattle pens, the wealthy patrons
of the market seat themselves at their ease, arrange their djellabas and
selhams in leisurely fashion, and begin to chat, as though the place were
the smoking-room of a club. Water-carriers--lean, half-naked men from the
Sus--sprinkle the thirsty ground, that the tramp of slaves and auctioneers
may not raise too much dust. Watching them as they go about their work,
with the apathy born of custom and experience, I have a sudden reminder of
the Spanish bull-ring, to which the slave market bears some remote
resemblance. The gathering of spectators, the watering of the ground, the
sense of excitement, all strengthen the impression. There are no bulls in
the _torils_, but there are slaves in the pens. It may be that the bulls
have the better time. Their sufferings in life are certainly brief, and
their careless days are very long drawn out. But I would not give the
impression that the spectators here are assembled for amusement, or that
my view of some of their proceedings would be comprehensible to them.
However I may feel, the other occupants of this place are here in the
ordinary course of business, and are certainly animated by no such fierce
passions as thrill through the air of a plaza de toros. I am in the East
but of the West, and "never the twain shall meet."

[Illustration: A WATER-SELLER, MARRAKESH]

Within their sheds the slaves are huddled together. They will not face the
light until the market opens. I catch a glimpse of bright colouring now
and again, as some woman or child moves in the dim recesses of the
retreats, but there is no suggestion of the number or quality of the
penned.

Two storks sail leisurely from their nest on the saint's tomb, and a
little company of white ospreys passes over the burning market-place with
such a wild, free flight, that the contrast between the birds and the
human beings forces itself upon me. Now, however, there is no time for
such thoughts; the crowd at the entrance parts to the right and left, to
admit twelve grave men wearing white turbans and spotless djellabas. They
are the dilals, in whose hands is the conduct of the sale.

Slowly and impressively these men advance in a line almost to the centre
of the slave market, within two or three yards of the arcade, where the
wealthy buyers sit expectant. Then the head auctioneer lifts up his voice,
and prays, with downcast eyes and outspread hands. He recites the glory of
Allah, the One, who made the heaven above and the earth beneath, the sea
and all that is therein; his brethren and the buyers say Amen. He thanks
Allah for his mercy to men in sending Mohammed the Prophet, who gave the
world the True Belief, and he curses Shaitan, who wages war against Allah
and his children. Then he calls upon Sidi bel Abbas, patron saint of
Marrakesh, friend of buyers and sellers, who praised Allah so assiduously
in days remote, and asks the saint to bless the market and all who buy and
sell therein, granting them prosperity and length of days. And to these
prayers, uttered with an intensity of devotion quite Mohammedan, all the
listeners say Amen. Only to Unbelievers like myself,--to men who have
never known, or knowing, have rejected Islam,--is there aught repellent in
the approaching business; and Unbelievers may well pass unnoticed. In life
the man who has the True Faith despises them; in death they become
children of the Fire. Is it not so set down?

Throughout this strange ceremony of prayer I seem to see the bull-ring
again, and in place of the dilals the cuadrillas of the Matadors coming
out to salute, before the alguazils open the gates of the toril and the
slaying begins. The dramatic intensity of either scene connects for me
this slave market in Marrakesh with the plaza de toros in the shadow of
the Giralda tower in Sevilla. Strange to remember now and here, that the
man who built the Kutubia tower for this thousand-year-old-city of Yusuf
ben Tachfin, gave the Giralda to Andalusia.

Prayers are over--the last Amen is said. The dilals separate, each one
going to the pens he presides over, and calling upon their tenants to come
forth. These selling men move with a dignity that is quite Eastern, and
speak in calm and impressive tones. They lack the frenzied energy of their
brethren who traffic in the bazaars.

[Illustration: ON THE ROAD TO THE SOK EL ABEED]

Obedient to the summons, the slaves face the light, the sheds yield up
their freight, and there are a few noisy moments, bewildering to the
novice, in which the auctioneers place their goods in line, rearrange
dresses, give children to the charge of adults, sort out men and women
according to their age and value, and prepare for the promenade. The
slaves will march round and round the circle of the buyers, led by the
auctioneers, who will proclaim the latest bid and hand over any one of
their charges to an intending purchaser, that he may make his examination
before raising the price. In the procession now forming for the first
parade, five, if not six, of the seven ages set out by the melancholy
Jaques are represented. There are men and women who can no longer walk
upright, however the dilal may insist; there are others of middle age,
with years of active service before them; there are young men full of
vigour and youth, fit for the fields, and young women, moving for once
unveiled yet unrebuked, who will pass at once to the hareem. And there are
children of every age, from babies who will be sold with their mothers to
girls and boys upon the threshold of manhood and womanhood. All are
dressed in bright colours and displayed to the best advantage, that the
hearts of bidders may be moved and their purses opened widely.

"It will be a fine sale," says my neighbour, a handsome middle-aged Moor
from one of the Atlas villages, who had chosen his place before I reached
the market. "There must be well nigh forty slaves, and this is good,
seeing that the Elevated Court is at Fez. It is because our Master--Allah
send him more victories!--has been pleased to 'visit' Sidi Abdeslam, and
send him to the prison of Mequinez. All the wealth he has extorted has
been taken away from him by our Master, and he will see no more light.
Twenty or more of these women are of his house."

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