The pillars of Hercules

by David Urquhart

This morning Mustafa Ducaly sent me, by his man Selam, a “Dollond,” and a ladder, telling me to run to Hassan to see the Baïram, which was to be held on the downs to the south of the city, without the Caïd’s permission, and a guard was enjoined not to cross the threshold. Authorities and soldiers had all deserted the city. Selam sallied out in search of some one who should pass for a guard, and found a soldier belonging to Tangier who was familiar with Europeans. After passing the gate, I found myself for the first time at liberty to roam, and could not resist the temptation; so, instead of turning to the left towards the tower, we turned through the gardens to the right, hoping to get through the second wall, or to see the Baïram from it. We made for a huge gate, but on reaching it found it barred. The wall was about forty feet high, and in good repair: there were no staircases. All chance of getting a glimpse of the ceremony was now lost, and we rambled along through the gardens; but the ignorance of our elected guards, strangers, like ourselves, as to what was or was not taboo, was worse than the severity of our regular keepers. They were at every turn, doubting, fearing, warning, objecting. Our course was like that of a vessel feeling her way over sand-banks: one moment it was “starboard,” the next “hard-a-port.” “There it is bad,” would our pilot exclaim, and ever and anon we were laid all aback, with the “breakers ahead” of “Saint’s Tomb.” We worked on till we came to a gate in the wall facing the east, and issuing forth, beheld another city. This could be no other than the Shallah, of which we had heard so often, and from which spring-water was daily brought. Neither Christian nor Jew is allowed so much as to approach it. Profiting by the occasion, I hastened on before my companions’ fears could rally, or their remonstrances be urged.

The gate, or rather barbican (for the Moorish word is required to convey the Moorish thing), is peculiarly constructed and ornamented. The arch is the horse-shoe, pointed like the Gothic. The vivid colours and stuccos which elsewhere adorn the interiors here, as of Babylon and Ecbatana, are displayed outside;—the style is quaint and rich.

This city was in ruins before those buildings arose, which are considered the models of that style: the date of its fall is that of the erection of Westminster Hall,—itself the work of a pupil of the Saracens. The walls of the present city of Rabat, which signifies camp, stand on the lines of the camp of Jacob when he was besieging it.

Whilst I was making a sketch of the gate, the Moors came up beseeching me on their account not to enter; they proposed to go in and report: they soon came out, exclaiming, “Holy Place;” “Saints’ Tombs.” I cut the matter short by passing the portal and ascending a stair that led to the top of the gate. The prospect thence was enchanting: the ground broke away immediately in front as we looked eastward, the masses of red ruin cresting the heights on both sides, and running down to the river. Beyond spread the plain of emerald green, with the river meandering through it, and the landscape closed with long waves of sandhills of olive green on their summits and red and yellow on their broken faces. I saw not a soul, and was making myself merry with the fears of our conductors, when the alarm was sounded by the dogs, and presently two old men rushed at us, frantic with rage;—fortunately they had no arms.

Of our Moors, one only retained the faculty of speech. He endeavoured to explain that I had the Sultan’s permission, on which one of the old men (the other had gone to raise the hue and cry) became wilder than before. He would shoot the Sultan; the Sultan dared not give an order there, nor enter the place except with bare feet. The soldier threw his cap on the ground, knelt down, and jumped up; tried to kiss his head, his hands, his feet, his clothes. I left them so engaged, quietly returning towards Rabat. At the gate Selam overtook me, calling out, “Run, run! wild man gone for gun.” We had a fair start, but I could not condescend to hurry beyond a steady pace: Selam relieved himself by mumbling dismal sounds close to my ear, in his broken English: “You bring me and other Moors into trouble; I do your bidding instead of master’s and Sultan’s, and be at Baïram in my new clothes. I be shot outside like a dog, or flogged inside like a Jew.” At every moment we expected to meet a crowd returning, for the old fanatic, on reaching the town, could raise the people upon us in an instant. However, the distance was soon traversed, and before he hove in sight we had reached the gate. It was locked! We then hastened along the wall to the right, expecting to get in by the next gate—there was none! We came to the steep edge of the river, and there we were completely hemmed in. At that moment, our pursuers, now consisting of several armed men, came in sight; when a boat with soldiers and horses shoved up close in shore, to drop down the current to Salee.

Our Moors hailed them; they pushed in; we scrambled down, and leaping on board, shoved off, and were out of hail—or at least speaking distance—before our pursuers reached the bank. They durst not fire, and there being no other boat, they ran back to get in by the Baïram-gate, so as to intercept us before we could be re-shipped back from Salee. In the meantime, we espied a boat belonging to a Portuguese schooner: we hailed it, got on board of it, and were speedily landed and housed at the consulate. The soldier made off to Salee, vowing never to set eyes on Rabat again, and Selam, enjoining profound secrecy, hastened to his master, whom he found with the Caïd. Scarcely had he told his story when the people from Shallah appeared. Fortunately, everybody was busy with his own affairs, and the Caïd succeeded in appeasing all; but this evening there has been great excitement in the city, and I am told that I shall have to be conveyed privately out of Rabat. However, like the Russian expedition of 1833 to the Bosphorus, to the satisfaction of having got into, I have to add that of having got out of, Shallah.

What an extraordinary thing to see a people thus ignorant, and yet thus devoted to the vestiges of their antiquity: sanctifying spots untenanted for scores of generations—taking the shoes from off their feet when they press them, and ready to sacrifice to the manes of the departed the stranger who disturbs their long repose!

The Baïram has passed off most happily: the day was splendid; the gathering and the presents satisfactory to the Emperor. He condescended to tell the people of Rabat that they were wholly forgiven; that the choice they had made, proved them to be wise and just in all their ways; that he had not ratified their choice because they had made it, but because it was the best that could be made; and that, though young in years, their Caïd was old in wisdom. The Sultan has also released a former governor of Salee, and sent a pardon to a son of the late Sultan, his uncle, who has been four years in irons at Mequinez. The disgrace yesterday of Hamuda has proved a golden opportunity for him. The firing of his regiment with two pieces, was quicker than that of the other with their ten. The Sultan went up to him and complimented him, saying, “God prosper you;” upon which all the grandees did the same. Mustafa has also come in for his share of good things. Eight field-pieces which he had offered as a present, were refused as such, in these words; “I want you to become fat and not lean, because you are my friend, and now I make you the head and master of the merchants of Morocco.” The ladies of the harem have not, however, been equally scrupulous, and have made no difficulty in receiving the keepsakes he has brought them from Europe, consisting, among other things, of dresses of brocade at twenty guineas a yard.

The afternoon was spent in receiving visitors, among whom was the admiral of Salee in a gorgeous Algerine costume. He is also captain of the port and pilot, and the representative of the first family of the empire, Muley Idris, its first founder, who is also one of the chief living saints. Four of this family are bound to compliment the Emperor on the Baïram; they had come for that purpose, carrying with them the offerings of the capital. Two of these accompanied the saint, and presented the strongest contrast that could be imagined with the fanatics from whose balls and daggers we had just before escaped. They were affable, curious, facile, and lively: they had never seen the sea before, and admired it like children. They explained their visit by saying they wanted to know what a Christian was like, never having seen one. When I told them about Leo Africanus and El Edressi, the geographers who on the fall of the dynasty had taken refuge in Sicily, where his history was written, they were exceedingly delighted. They invited me to Fez; and when I spoke of the difficulties of a Christian going there, they declared they would answer for me with their heads. They spend to-morrow in attendance on the Sultan; the day following they are to repeat their visit here.

I must not omit another important personage, no less than the Sultan’s buffoon: this, indeed, is the third visit I have received from him, and each time he has carried away two or three bottles under his girdle, besides one in his sack. He has a good voice, and a wonderful stock of strange songs, and is an admirable mimic. I have heard him mingle together the muezzin chant, from the minaret, with the cries of a European vessel getting under weigh. He is a compound of the zany, mimic, minion, bard, and bacchanal.