A murmur passed through the people, and turning to the west, I could see a great cloud of dust appearing above one of the low elevations in the plain.
The morning was lovely; the sun, although scarcely risen, was hot, while a not unpicturesque, though by no means pleasant, addition to the scene was the fine cloud of dust that hung over everything. Soon one was able to distinguish the tops of the gold and coloured banners that preceded the Sultan’s procession, and still nearer the white draped figures of the women, mounted upon mules. Some eighty of these there were, and as their mules were hurried along by the soldier guard, every one, soldier and sightseer, turned away their heads, as etiquette demands. Two women, covered, except for the eyes, in soft white draperies, preceded the rest, and it was easy to guess who they were,—the Circassian mother of the young Sultan and his newly married wife.
Then came the artillery on the back of mules, followed by a troop of bodyguards, handsomely dressed and mounted. After them the band, mounted and discoursing music as they rode. Then again a forest of banners, of every hue and colour, of cloth, velvet, and silk, of gold embroidery and gold brocade,—the sacred flags of the great saints and Shereefs of Morocco.
Behind these rode the Sultan Mulai Abdul Aziz, mounted upon a dark roan horse with cream mane and tail, seated upon a saddle of apple-green and gold embroidery, while over his head, borne by a mounted soldier, waved the umbrella of crimson and gold. He was dressed in white, a fine long bernus hanging lightly over his haik of soft silk and wool. A cord of white silk bound round his head held these two garments in place over his turban.
Mulai Abdul Aziz appeared nervous but dignified. Immovable as a statue, one could not help noticing that his eyes wandered here and there amongst the crowd, as though fearing some attempt upon his life; but even to a greater extent than this was his anxiety apparent in his mouth, for his lips wore a pout, with him a sure sign of excitement. Close at the young Sultan’s elbow rode Bu Ahmed, the Grand Vizier, while following him came a crowd of officials and soldiers.
All rode quickly, stopping every now and again to receive some deputation, or when the crowd caused a block, and the spear-bearers and foot-guard that surrounded the royal horse had often to run. At the gate of the city a long delay occurred, and the crowd pressed on every side, for the entrance is small, and the artillery-mules, in their hurry to push through, had completely blocked the road. I was mounted on an Arab horse and saddle, and dressed in native costume, so that my appearance attracted no attention on the part of the natives, and in the crowd I found myself within a very short distance of the Sultan, whence I was able to obtain an excellent view not only of his face, but of his every feature. Dust-strewn and sunburnt with his summer journey, he looked darker than he really is, for his colour is little more than that of a southern European. The eyes, surrounded with heavy black lashes, are dark. No signs of beard or moustache are traceable on his lip or chin, and altogether he possesses the face of a nice-looking boy, wanting only in vivacity and expression.
Once in the city, the procession broke up, and accompanied only by a trusty band of guards, his Majesty rode to the tomb of his ancestor, Mulai Idris II., the patron saint of Fez, where he took the oath of the Sultanate; and a few minutes later the great gates of the white palace closed upon Mulai Abdul Aziz, Sultan of Morocco.
Mr. W. B. HARRIS’S ROUTES
between
MOROCCO and TAFILET.
