Tafilet

by Walter Harris

There are several fine mosques in the Marakesh, one surpassing all the others in its magnificent minaret, which may be said to be almost the sole existing example in the whole country of the remarkable existence. This

The Kutubía in Marakesh.

mosque and minaret are known as the “Kutubía,” or “Mosque of the Library,” from its having contained at one period a vast collection of manuscripts. The tower, built of squared stone, is 280 feet in height, and is surmounted by a smaller minaret, which again is capped with a dome. On the summit of this dome are three gold globes, one above the other and decreasing in size. On the summit of the lower tower is a parapet of Moorish design. The whole building is of a dull red colour, and the niches of the windows and the centres of its faces are carved in a very pure style of Arabic design. Originally tilework filled most of these niches, but a great quantity of this has fallen away, though a broad band of green and black encircles the whole immediately below the parapet. Just as in the two sister towers,—the Ghiralda of Seville and the Hassan tower at Rabat, the latter uncompleted,—a sloping incline takes the place of steps within, on account of this forming an easier ascent for the beasts of burden that carried the stones during its construction. The architect of all three of these towers is said to have been a certain Fabir, who worked in the employ of the Sultan El Mansur, in whose reign the Kutubía was completed. The mosque beneath, though covering an enormous extent of ground, is in by no means just proportion to the great minaret, being built of brick, and white-washed, while the roof is tiled. Below the flooring is said to exist a great cistern excavated by the Sultan El Mansur. The pillars supporting the roof of this mosque are all of marble, and the courts are paved in the same stone and coloured tiles.

From whatever point Marakesh is looked at, the great tower of the Kutubía is the first object to catch the eye, and it forms an excellent landmark in steering one’s way over the bewildering plain that surrounds the city on all sides. I was told when crossing the Glawi Pass, on the fourth day after leaving Marakesh for Tafilet, that from a point near the road this great work, the sole reminder of the genius of the old-day Moors, was visible.

Although the largest mosque, and possessing the handsomest minaret, the Kutubía seems much deserted as a place of worship, possibly from its being somewhat removed from the more inhabited portions of the city. Two shrines have annexed all the veneration of the townspeople and the surrounding tribes,—those of Sid bel Abbas, the patron saint of the city, and Mulai Abdul Aziz. A pretty story is told about the first, which, though common amongst the Moors, I have never seen quoted. Sid bel Abbas arrived outside the walls of the town, a beggar in rags; but although his poverty was apparent, he had a great reputation for sanctity. Before entering he sent to the Shereefs living within to ask their permission to be allowed to reside in the city, a course that much perturbed the said saints; for up to that moment they possessed the monopoly of the business—in Morocco a most lucrative one—of demanding and receiving alms on account of their descent from the Prophet. Wishing, however, to avoid an abrupt refusal, they resorted to delay, during which Sid bel Abbas took up his residence on the summit of a rocky barren hill—Jibel Glissa—which rises amongst the palm-groves to the west of the walls, and on which a little mosque to-day commemorates the event. At length, seeing that some answer must be sent, the Shereefs filled a bowl to the brim with water and sent it out to him. The bowl represented the city and the water themselves, and the bowl was full, which said pretty plainly, “Business already overstocked—much rather you wouldn’t come.” However, they gave him an opportunity of getting over their device, for the message they sent was couched in more poetical language. “If you can add,” they said, “to a bowl of water already full, enter.” Thereupon the saint plucked a rose and held it in the sun until its stalk thirsted for moisture, when he gently laid it in the bowl. The water displaced was drunk up by the thirsty flower. In this manner he sent the bowl back—but with no answer. When, however, the Shereefs saw that he had succeeded, and also paid such a pretty compliment to himself as to liken them to the water and himself to the rose, they withdrew all opposition, and the saint entered the city, and, judging from the reverence paid to his bones, must have entirely monopolised the business.

The “Zauia” of Sid bel Abbas forms a sort of almshouses, and food and money are distributed there to the poor. An entire quarter of the city—the extreme north-west—belongs to the zauia, and it owns enormous tracts of palm-groves and agricultural land in the surrounding plain. These possessions have been offerings from the faithful, or bequests at death, and in some cases purchases made with the constant flow of money that pours into the coffers of the mosque.

Another almost equally holy spot is the shrine of Mulai Abdul Aziz, which lies either in or just on the borders of the “Medina” quarter. A very handsome building covers the tomb, like that of the rival saint, gorgeously decorated, and full of lamps and candlesticks of precious metals. But of all the treasures stored in these sanctuaries, clocks are the most numerous. When this invention began to penetrate into Morocco—that is to say, in comparatively late years—they were naturally looked upon as the most valuable and wonderful things, and a fashion promptly set in to bestow them upon the ashes of the dead saints. Every one who could afford it gave a clock, and often in talking of local saints I have heard Moors say, “Ah! he was a saint indeed, God’s mercy upon him; and there are four clocks in his tomb!” It is said that the burial-place of Mulai Idris at Fez presents a bewildering scene of clocks, great and small, half going, and all wrong. I myself have had opportunities of visiting one or two tombs in Morocco, and have listened, bewildered, to the ticking of fifty or sixty of these much-reverenced presents. Most seem to be tall “grandfather” clocks, made in England, and dating from about the end of the last century. Some are remarkably fine, with silver dials, showing the quarters of the moon, &c. Even to-day the natives adore the great, loud, ticking horrors manufactured for the native market in Algeria—monstrosities of gaudy decoration and painted wood—and no good house is considered complete without one or more. I have dined in houses at Fez where there have been six or seven in one room.

THE SÔK JUMMA-EL-FANAR, THE PRINCIPAL PLACE IN MOROCCO CITY.