As usual the sale was prefaced by a prayer: hard bargaining, sharp practice, and much or little swindling, inseparable from horse-dealing, must all of it, first of all, be watered by prayer. Therefore the horsemen formed into a line; the central figure chanted some verses from the Korān; the rest held out their hands palms upwards, then joined in a sort of Amen, the instant afterwards sticking their spurs into their horses and dashing forward, charging in a line over the plain between two rows of spectators, and pulling the horses up on to their haunches at the end, red with spur-marks and white with foam. This was repeated two or three times, the short space in which the riders pulled up out of a full gallop being sometimes almost incredible; then a great circle was formed of would-be purchasers and onlookers, and the horses were ridden into the circle and then round and round to display themselves, each rider at the same time auctioning his own horse, yelling out the bids for it, as they rose, at the top of his voice. When the last bid was made, and he could get no more, the rider, after shouting the price, added that he "would not consult the absent one," meaning thereby that the owner of the horse, whether himself or not, would raise no objection to the animal's being sold for that price. Unless this sentence had been pronounced, the purchaser could not have been certain that the owner would not say afterwards he did not intend to sell for that sum. Most of the horses fetched from three pounds twelve to four pounds ten.
Mules were sold in the same way—the prayer, the parade round the circle, each rider seated almost on his mule's tail, urging him on, with hands and heels, to pace his best, the mule's nose up in the heavens. Some of them were splendid animals, which I would have given anything to have possessed—perfectly made, looking more intelligent than many humans, and full of pluck and staying power: these fetched rather more than double, what the best horse in the whole market sold for. But in criticising the horses, I speak of what I saw on this occasion: there may be, and no doubt are, fine arabs to be had in Southern Morocco—at least so I am told—but I came across only what may be called "a cart-horse stamp."
And yet they look very fine, these same sensible-looking beasts, with their great eyes, and flowing manes and tails, and proud carriage. There is something, too, eternally fascinating in the beautiful seat of an Arab on his horse—not of a fat sheikh or a rich basha or a thriving merchant, but that of the lean and wiry Arab horseman born and bred, who, as he thunders past at full gallop, puts himself into a dozen positions, is at home in them all, shoots behind him, above him, below him, without drawing rein, turning in any direction, while he makes the whole air ring with his wild cries. The Moorish saddle of course helps his grip; but beyond that, there is something cat-like in the lithe swing of his body, and it is that body's right and natural function to be upon a horse. The white turban, the flowing white garments, the gorgeously coloured saddle, the great silvered stirrups, are all part of the whole—and an attractive whole—born of the limitless desert, the great far-reaching sky, the pure wind: it is Arabian, that is all—and so much.
Meanwhile, camels were selling in another corner of the market, being made to lie down and rise and generally show themselves off: they were fetching from three pounds ten upwards. Cows, goats, and sheep were less interesting; but the throng of men which filled up the fair was, as ever, more than a study. Above and beyond all, stood out the wild inhabitants of the Atlas, and men from the Sus, wearing black camel's-hair jellabs with a great russet-red or saffron-yellow patch let into the backs of them. The origin of this striking "badge" is not known, but the jellabs themselves looked absolutely in keeping with the lawless ruffians, on whose shoulders they hung, and the wild blotch of bizarre colour was "just themselves."
Bay, is the colour which in a horse the Moor chooses first—the pearl of colours, sober and most hardy; while a light chestnut brings ill luck, though a dark chestnut is the colour of the wind, can "travel," and was Mohammed's favourite. A horse must have the colour of its saddle in harmony with itself—an apple-green saddle for a black horse, scarlet for a white, the whole beautifully worked and embossed in silk, and when on the horse's back, should be set, perhaps, upon as many as nine different coloured saddle-cloths, one on top of each other.
The Sultan's Garden.
Photo by A. Cavilla, Tangier.
Of all filthy quarters in the filthiest of cities, I think the Jewish Quarter in Marrakesh has a fair chance of ranking first,—outside it, rubbish, a manure-heap eighty feet high, which no one troubles to remove; inside the walls, black mud, feet deep, streets which are sewers, collections of dead dogs, rotting vegetables, refuse of all sorts; amongst it all, a dirty people, callous beyond belief as regards sanitation, with sore heads, sore eyes, matted rags. Not a butcher's shop which is not black with flies and "high" with rotten meat: flies lie upon every article of food.
And in the very vortex of this muck-heap—astounding to the traveller—are content to live wealthy Jews, happy to flourish all their lives shoulder to shoulder with unutterable squalor.