Two lepers were standing near the roadside begging. I gave them a few pieces of money. These wretched people live almost entirely upon alms. The Sultan gives them annually about seven thousand ducats, or about a thousand pounds sterling. I hear that their children prove sometimes quite free of the malady, but the curse is in their blood and they must remain in the Hara and intermarry with lepers. People of bad character, or those condemned for crime, often, I am told, escape to the Hara, and find concealment there by assuming the covering of the lepers and living with them, until perhaps they become lepers or their crimes are forgotten.
April 12. Received a letter from the Sultan, at half-past six this morning, to say that H.S.M. had appointed eight a.m. for the audience. I tumbled out of bed and gave my directions to prepare the presents and to have each box borne by a mule and the smaller cases on the heads of men—altogether eleven packages. Whilst I was yet dressing, the Kaid Madáni—General of the Sultan’s household troops—came to say that we were to mount and leave our dwelling at half-past seven. We were punctual to our time: I, leading the van, with the Kaid Madáni; St. Leger, Escazena and the Doctor immediately behind us. Having traversed various narrow streets and lanes, and passed under some half-dozen horse-shoe archways, we entered a large square in front of the Sultan’s palace, in ‘Ghásats E’Nil.’ The entrance to this palace, where the Sultan’s ladies are living, is through a gate called ‘Bab Khadár,’ or ‘the Green Gate.’ We left this gate and the forbidden fruit it led to, on our left. Before we had reached the opposite side of the square, messengers were running backwards and forwards, from the Uzir and Mul Meshwa (the Lord High Chamberlain) to the Kaid Madáni, telling us to halt, or to advance. After several halts, we came to the gate of Kubbats E’Suiera, or the ‘Picture Cupola.’ Here we dismounted, and leaving our animals and the presents at the door, entered again into another large yard or square, about a quarter of a mile in length and rather less in breadth. The sides were lined with soldiers, who presented arms to us in the Moorish fashion—i.e. shouldering them.
In front of the gateway of the palace, or rather kiosk, were placed three brass field-pieces (about eight pounders) and three dismounted iron guns (twenty-four pounders). Two soldiers, shouldering each a long pike, stood near the cannon facing the kiosk. Here we were again halted for a couple of minutes, when the Mul Meshwa beckoned us forward and, advancing at a very slow, respectful pace, we approached the Sherifian gate. The entrance to the kiosk was not what I should have expected, for it was on a small scale and poorly ornamented. In the hall sat several of the Sherifian secretaries and clerks. Here again we were made to pause before we were brought to the foot of a narrow winding staircase, which we ascended, preceded by the Mul Meshwa. On reaching the landing, where there was a gallery commanding a fine view of a vast garden on the one side and of the court through which we had passed on the other, I saw two figures standing in a doorway to our right. These persons were the Grand Uzir, Ben Dris, and the Minister, Sid Alarbi Mokta. The Mul Meshwa now stepped forward to the open doorway and made a low bow; I followed, and discovered the Sultan seated on an ordinary chair, near an open window. I then also made a low bow, and His Majesty said in a loud voice and with a kind manner, ‘Zid’ (approach)—the Mul Meshwa adding in a low voice, ‘our Lord says approach.’
The Mul Meshwa had now taken off his shoes, and, holding in my right hand the Queen’s letter of credence, I advanced a few paces and made another low bow. The Sultan repeated the word ‘Zid,’ so again bowing I approached within about five steps of where H.S.M. was seated and, placing myself immediately in front of him, as the Mul Meshwa intimated, repeated my respectful obeisance. The Mul Meshwa retired and I stood alone with the Sultan, who, looking very gracious and smiling, said, ‘You are welcome! The bonds of peace and friendship which have existed from ancient time between our ancestors and the ancestors of your sovereign still continue and shall endure. We hold your Queen and nation as the most friendly, above all sovereigns and nations, to our Royal person.
‘We knew your father; he was well inclined to us, proved a faithful servant of the two Governments, and we held him in favour as one of the chosen of the Empire. We have now become acquainted with you, and the friendship and good-will which we held towards your father shall be inherited by you. What is your first name?’
Bowing, I replied, and the Sultan resumed: ‘You are the bearer of a letter from your Queen.’ Then, calling Ben Dris, said to him, ‘Take the letter for me from the Consul; I shall read it and the answer shall be given, if it please God, at another time.’
Sid Ben Dris advanced barefoot, and, making a low bow, took the letter and retired to his post.
The Sultan, having paused in his speech, I made a suitable reply.
The Sultan then made a sign to the Mul Meshwa to advance and said to him, ‘Show the Consul my gardens, and take him wherever he wishes, so as to afford him amusement and pleasure.’
Before I quit this subject I must record the appearance and dress of Sultan Mulai Abderahman. He appeared a middle-sized man of some sixty years of age with a dark complexion, of a shade lighter than that of a mulatto, short black beard, arched eyebrows, large black eyes with a slight squint in one eye (but not so as to give an unpleasant expression), nose long and aquiline. He had a healthy appearance, and a very kind and benign expression of face. He was dressed in a white ‘haik’ which hid his under garments; over the ‘haik’ he wore a white ‘sulham,’ or burnous; on his head a high red cap and a white turban, and yellow slippers on his bare feet. There was no emblem of royalty near his person, nor any attendant except those outside the room.