At last a servant comes with a reply. On receiving it, Haj flies into a passion, and orders the caravan to follow him, and away we file through the crowded streets, Haj gesticulating wildly and shouting loud enough for all to hear that the Basha has attempted to extort money from the foreign visitors, who are great lords, whereas he is bound by instructions from the Minister at Tangier to lodge them at the expense of the city. And this is true; it is the policy of the government to provide gratis a house for foreign visitors to Fez. This policy is prompted not by a generous spirit of hospitality, but by a desire to control the movements of the strangers. It is feared that if the foreigner is permitted to pay rental for his house, he may in some way establish a vague right to occupy it longer than is consistent with the desires of the government. This might prove awkward and lead to complications. It is much simpler to make the foreigner a guest, who cannot refuse to move on when politely notified that his abode is needed for another visitor.
MYSTERY-PERVADED STREETS
In our case, however, the Basha has demanded payment for the house, and Haj, knowing well how to deal with this emergency, is leading us with ostentatious indignation toward the city gates, breathing as he rides loud threats that he will report our treatment to our friend, the Moorish Minister of Foreign Affairs, and declaring that we will, meantime, pitch our camp outside the walls, and hold the Governor responsible by any injury suffered at the hands of prowling robbers. His shrewd tactics prove effectual; for as we are passing through one of the pretty alleys of the Garden Region, we are overtaken by servants of the Governor. Repentant, he has sent them with the keys of a villa that he has assigned to us. We follow the Governor's retainers toward the heart of the aristocratic quarter, through a perplexing labyrinth of sun-flooded alleys, where the redundant vegetation of the silent, surrounding gardens overflows the sky-line, or bursts through cracks in the old masonry. We know not whither we are being led; we scarcely dare hope that we shall be permitted to abide in this delightful residential region, and we fear that some abandoned house will be made to serve us as a semi-prison. And soon it seems that our worst fears are to be realized, for although the caravan is halted in the garden region, it is in the dingiest and narrowest of its streets, before the lowest and the darkest of its doors.
THE SUNNY ALLEYS OF THE GARDEN REGION
When Pierre Loti came to Fez and saw for the first time the entrance to his house, he immediately exclaimed: "But this is not a human habitation! One might be pardoned for thinking it the entrance to a rabbit hutch; and even then they must be very poor rabbits to live in such a place."
"IN THE NARROWEST AND DINGIEST STREET"
