All the great dynasties, save one, have begun with saints or preachers. Fez and Morocco were built by followers of teachers who settled around their cells to listen to their words, and share in the repose that resulted, if not from the justice they administered, at least from the respect which they inspired. They died, as they had lived, teachers and preachers. On the son of the one—on the posthumous child of the other—the surviving gratitude of the people bestowed the title and authority of prince. The title of the present emperor is merely the designation of an officer of the law. That character alone should give to a man control over the multitude and authority over the monarch—make his house a sanctuary for the malefactor, and himself a guarantee of safety to a caravan, is a wonderful thing. Their religious establishment has served to repair wrongs and to avert calamities, and even at the present moment it mitigates rudeness and restrains power.
One of the tribes of necromancers seems to possess some secret which protects them against the bite of the most venomous serpent.[233] An exhibition of this kind I have failed to see, this not being the season of the year. They attribute diseases to the presence of evil spirits—they fear the evil eye, and against these the remedy is writing on pieces of paper and amulets, a practice derived from or connected with the writing by the Jews of portions of Scripture on paper, binding it on the foreheads and arms, and inserting them in holes in the door-posts. Anybody performs this service of writing on pieces of paper, and in the Dunus when I have refused to prescribe, or had nothing to give, the patient has been taken to the Scheik, who immediately furnished at once a prescription and dose with his reed. The learned in the art are from Suz—they are called Tolmas, and walk in secret, making an equal mystery of themselves and their necromancies; poor and wandering, and refusing remuneration. They generally exact a promise of secrecy before they exert their art.
By the account which I have heard, it is with them also the pen and scraps of paper, but their mode of using them is different. As they write they throw their prescriptions into a brazier, and go on thus increasing the power of the incantation—but into the brazier is first thrown incense. In the shops, incense, or plants, or leaves producing sweet odours, occupy a considerable amount of space. The Pharmacopolists exceed all conceivable proportion. The operation of their drugs upon the human body appears chiefly to be through the nose, and by means of the chafing-dish. The plants and gums are supposed to possess distinct qualities and virtues. Thus, in ancient Polytheism, different incense was offered to different divinities. Vervain had magical power for Greeks, Romans, and Druids; it has so still for cats. A plant is particularly mentioned—Cynospastes,[234]—by the smoke of which epilepsy was cured, and demons were expelled. The plant Barras, was similarly used by the Hebrews.[235] It is supposed, to be one of the Algæ, which contains prussic acid. Amongst the Jews, death was the penalty for compounding the incense that was used in the Temple. In the story of Balaam, we find incantations mixed with the worship of Jehovah.
The Tolmas are applied to in cases of disease; for the recovery of stolen goods; that they “may not be seen when burying their money; for gaining the affection of individuals, but chiefly for casting out devils.” The consulting party states his case; the Tolman writes, and throws the paper in the fire, and after a time tells him that the disorder will or will not be cured, and in what time and manner, or what he is to do—that the stolen property has been taken by a certain individual, or by a man of such a form and appearance—that at a certain time he will be moved by remorse to restore it—that in such a day or place he will be found selling it, &c. Stories of the casting out of devils take the place of our ghost stories;—I will give one as a specimen.
A party of Jews were amusing themselves in a garden near Tangier; one of them, a butcher, fell into a pond. When he was drawn out, he was in violent contortions—he had been seized by a spirit. A Tolma was sent for. Having cut a reed of the length a man could hold between the palms of his hands with his arms stretched out, he made it to be so held by one of the party; then addressing the devil, asked who he was. The devil, speaking by the mouth of the man in convulsions, answered, that he would tell him neither his name, nor that of his tribe, nor that of his father, nor that of his mother, but only that he was a Jew. The Tolma asked, why he had entered into this man? The devil answered, that he was at the bottom of the lake with his wife and children, and that the butcher had fallen in and killed one of his sons; and that now he would not leave him until he had taken his life. While this conversation was going on, the reed was shortened in the hands of the man who held it, and the Tolma declared that power was given to the spirit over the man. Incantations were vain, but he continued to write on paper, and to throw the scraps into the brazier; and as he did so, the reed shortened and shortened, and the man’s frenzy became wilder, and then his strength decayed, and suddenly the hands of the man who held the reed closed together, and, at the same moment, the possessed expired.
When the incantation is powerful enough to subdue the spirit, he implores liberty to be released, and to go into some other body, and then the enchanter will not suffer him until he has bound himself by an oath never to enter the same man again, nor to come near a certain place, and then asks him whether he chooses to go out by fire or water. A basin of the one and the other is accordingly brought, into one of which the spirit is supposed to plunge, and then the patient speaks in his own voice, and recovers as if from a trance.
The chaplain of Tangier, while it was held by the English, gives us the following narrative:—
“One of my soldiers, an Issówi, was seized with the devil: it took four men to hold him down, and prevent him jumping over the battlements. He then broke away from us, and throwing himself on the ground began tearing himself: I never saw anything so explanatory of the account in Scripture. The cure is as curious as the disease. They burn some benzoin under the nose of the patient, which quiets him for a time; but as soon as the fumes cease, he breaks out again, and lays hold of everything within his reach: in some cases he has been known to destroy children. This poor creature ate several pieces of paper, and bits of lime and dirt; but when the words ‘Sídí Benel Abbás, Sídí Abd-el-Kádir,’ &c., were pronounced, his hands, which had been firmly closed, were opened: his companions then called upon Abú to say the Fátihah, in which all joined, when he came to himself, although he appeared, and talked, like a child for some minutes; after which he quite recovered.”
FOOTNOTES:
[229] El que hoy vive en Tetuan es un hombre en el exterior modestissimo, muy mortificado en los ojos; humilde en las palabras, curitativo con los pobres y nunca permiti a sus manos el contacto physico de el dinero.—Mescon, Historial de Marrueccos, l. i. p. 25.