One Day in Morocco, c. 1870
WE made an early start for Zeggota, inspired by the thought that on that day we should
behold the mountains of Fez in the distance. There was an autumnal freshness in the air,
and a light mist obscured the surrounding country. A crowd of Arabs wrapped in their
cloaks formed two wings at the entrance to the camp. The soldiers of the escort were
huddled together in a close chilly group behind us, and the children of the neighboring duars gazed out with sleepy eyes from behind the tents and hedges. Erelong, however, all
this changed, the sun came out, spectators crowded around us, the horsemen scattered in
all directions, the air resounded with shouts and the rapid reports of firearms, and
everything became suddenly bright, animated, full of life and color, while the autumnal
cold was succeeded, as is always the case in that climate, by the burning heat of summer.
Among my notes of that morning I find one which says laconically: "Grasshoppers,
sample of Selam's eloquence." I remember, in fact, to have noticed a field some
distance off that seemed to be in motion, an effect produced by an enormous number of
green grasshoppers coming towards us in leaps. Selam, who happened to be riding beside me
just then, gave me an admirably picturesque description of the incursions of those
terrible insects, which I remember word for word; but how can I possibly render the effect
of his gestures, his expression and the tones of his voice, which really told more than
the words themselves. "It is frightful, Signor; they come from over there,"
pointing to the south, "like a black cloud; the noise is heard from afar. They come,
they come, and at their head their sultan, the Sultan Jeraad, who leads them on; they
cover the roads, the fields, houses, dears, forests. The cloud grows; larger and larger,
on, on, on, gnawing and consuming; over rivers, over ditches, over walls, through fire;
the grass is destroyed, the flowers, the leaves, the fruit, the grain, the bark of the
trees; on and on, no one can stop them, not flaming tribes, not the Sultan with his army,
not all the people of Morocco assembled together. Heaps of dead grasshoppers. Forward go
the living. Do ten die? A hundred are born. Do a hundred die? A thousand are born. Such
sights at Tangier! streets covered, gardens covered, seashore covered, sea covered,
everything green, everything in motion; living, dead, decayed, offensive; a plague, a
pestilence, a curse from God!"
And this is really so. The fetid odor arising from myriads of dead grasshoppers
sometimes produces a contagious form of fever; and, to cite one instance, the terrible
plague which in 1799 fairly depopulated both the towns and country of Bombay broke out
just after one of their visitations. When the advance guard of the invading army appears
the Arabs go forward to meet it, in parties of four or five hundred, with sticks, clubs,
and firebrands, but only succeed in forcing the enemy to deviate somewhat from its course;
and it occasionally happens that when one tribe drives them back thus from their own into
the district of a neighboring tribe, the grasshopper war is converted into a civil war.
The only thing that frees the country from this curse is a favorable wind; this blows them
into the sea, where they drown and are swept up on the beach for days afterwards in great
heaps. When the favorable wind still delays, the only possible consolation left the
inhabitants is to eat their enemies; this they do before they have laid their eggs,
boiling them and adding a seasoning of salt, pepper, and vinegar. They taste a little like
seacrabs, and as many as four hundred can be eaten in a single day.
About two miles from camp we overtook that part of the caravan which was bearing Victor
Emmanuel's presents to Fez. White camels were harnessed together, two by two, in tandem
fashion, by long poles attached to either side of the saddle, from which swung the cases;
they were in charge of some Arabs on foot and some mounted soldiers, and at their head was
a wagon drawn by two oxen, the only wagon we had seen in Morocco! It had been especially
made at El Araish upon the model, I should say, of the first vehicle that ever appeared on
the earth's surface; squat, heavy, ill-formed, with wheels composed of solid blocks of
wood, and the most curious and absurd-looking harness that could possibly be imagined. But
to the inhabitants of the duars, most of whom had in all probability never seen a
wheeled vehicle before, it was a marvel. They ran to behold it from all directions,
pointed it out to each other, followed behind and walked in front of it with visible
excitement. Even our mules, unaccustomed to the sight of such objects, showed great
reluctance to pass it, some planting themselves stubbornly on their fore feet and others
wheeling completely around. Selam himself regarded it with a certain complacency, as
though saying, "That was made in our country"; and this was excusable, seeing
that in all Morocco there are very likely no more wagons than pianos, which, if the
estimate of a French consul is correct, would reduce the number to about a dozen. There
seems, indeed, to be a certain antipathy to vehicles of every kind. The Tangier
authorities, for example, forbade Prince Frederick, of Hesse-Darrnstadt, when he was there
in 1839, to ride out in a carriage. The Prince wrote to the Sultan offering to have the
principal streets paved at his own expense, provided the permission refused by the
authorities were granted him. "I will grant it most willingly," replied the
Sultan, "but upon one condition---that the carriage shall have no wheels, since as
Protector of the Faithful I cannot permit my subjects to be exposed to the risk of being
run over by a Christian." Whereupon the Prince, to turn the whole thing into
ridicule, took him at his word, and there are people in Tangier now who remember seeing
him going about the town in a carriage without wheels, suspended between two mules!
At last we reached that blessed hill for which for three days past the caravan had been
looking with such longing impatience. After making a tedious ascent we passed through a
narrow gorge called in Arabic, Ben Tinca, which we were obliged to take single file, and
came out above a charming valley, flowery and solitary, into which the caravan descended
in festive style, filling the air with shouts and burst of song. At the foot of the valley
we came upon another body of soldiers belonging to the military colonies, come to relieve
the first. There were a hundred of them, very old and very young, dark, long-haired, some
of them mounted on enormous horses with housings of unusual splendor. Their kaid,
Abou ben-Gileli, was a sturdy old man of severe aspect and curt manner, of whom, and of
his soldiers, one might have said as Don Abbondio did of the anonymous leader and the
assassins: "I can well understand that to control such faces as these nothing less is
needed than such a face as that." Without so much as a glance at the fields of
ripening wheat and barley that lined the road on either side, the soldiers urged their
horses forward, and scattering in all directions on a full gallop, began the powder play,
five and ten firing at a time into the air, wheeling to left and right, turning about in
their saddles in every conceivable manner, and yelling all the while like demons. One of
them whirled his gun around with such rapidity that it could hardly be seen; another, as
he flew by, shouted in a tremendous voice, "Here comes the thunderbolt!" a
third, whose horse had swerved a in little, came within a hair's breadth of landing in our
midst and throwing us all to the ground with our heels in the air. At a certain point the
ambassador and captain, accompanied by Hamed-ben-Kasen and a few soldiers, separated from
the rest of the caravan and went off to make the ascent of a mountain a few miles away,
while we continued our route. A few minutes later an incident occurred which I am not
likely ever to forget.
A half-naked Arab boy, about sixteen or eighteen years old, came towards us, driving
two recalcitrant oxen, by the aid of a heavy stick. The kaid, Abou-ben Gileli,
stopped his horse and called him. We learned afterwards that the oxen were to have been
attached to the wagon which we had passed not long before, and that they were several
hours behind time. The unfortunate boy approached trembling, and stood before the kaid,
who put some question to him I did not understand.
The lad stammered a reply and went white as death. "Fifty lashes," said the
kaid curtly, turning to his men. Three powerful fellows at once leaped from their horses,
and the poor wretch without waiting for them to lay hold of him, without uttering a single
word, or so much as raising his eyes to the countenance of his judge, threw himself flat
on his face, as the custom is, with arms and legs extended. All of this had transpired in
an instant; but the stick had not been lifted in the air before the commander and some of
the others, dashing into the midst of the group, had made the kaid understand that they
could not think of permitting such a brutal punishment to be inflicted. Abou-ben-Gileli
inclined his head and the boy arose, pale, with convulsed features, gazing alternately at
his deliverers and the kaid with an expression of mingled fear and astonishment.
"Go," said the interpreter, "you are free." "Ah!" he cried
with an intonation that cannot be conveyed, and quick as lightning, disappeared. We
proceeded on our way, but I must say that, although I have seen a man killed, I have never
experienced such feelings of profound horror as when I beheld that half-naked boy
stretched out on the ground to receive his fifty lashes; and after the horror of the thing
my blood began to boil, and I denounced the kaid, the sultan, Morocco and its inhumanity
in the most violent terms. It is, however, undoubtedly better to wait for second thoughts.
"But how about ourselves?" I presently reflected. "How many years is it
since we abolished whipping? And how many since it was abolished in Austria? and in
Prussia? and throughout the rest of Europe?" These thoughts had the effect of
somewhat curbing my righteous indignation, and I was left with only a strong feeling of
bitterness. If any one cares to know how whipping is conducted in Morocco, suffice it to
say that when the operation is completed it sometimes happens that the victim is carried
to the cemetery.
During the remainder of the ride to Zeggota the caravan passed over a succession of
hills and valleys, the road running between fields of wheat and barley and bright green
pasture, bordered with aloes, Indian figs, wild olives, dwarf oaks, ivy, strawberry trees,
myrtles, and flowering shrubs. Not a tent was in sight, not a living soul to be seen. The
country was as luxuriant, silent, and deserted as an enchanted garden. Once on reaching
the top of a certain hill we descried the blue summits of the Fez Mountains, which,
however, immediately disappeared again as though they had merely raised their heads a
moment to see us pass. In the hottest part of the day we arrived at Zeggota. This was one
of the most exquisite spots we saw throughout the entire trip. The camp was pitched on the
mountain-side, in a great rocky cavity, shaped like an amphitheater, and worn by the
successive passage back and forth of man and beast into innumerable paths, one above the
other, whose more or less regular lines had the effect of graduated seats, and as a matter
of fact these tiers were at that very moment crowded with Arabs, who sat on the ground in
semicircles, like spectators in some actual amphitheater. Below us lay a wide,
basin-shaped plain, whose cultivated fields made it look like a huge checker-board, with
squares of green, yellow, white, red, and purple silk and velvet. Looking through
field-glasses we could see on the more distant hills here a row of tents, there a kubba half-hidden among the aloes; in one place a camel, beyond it an Arab lying on the ground,
a herd of cattle, a group of women; sluggish, infrequent signs of life, that made one feel
more forcibly than their entire absence would have done the profound peacefulness of the
scene. Above all this loveliness a white, blazing, blinding sky, forcing one to bow his
head and half-close his eyes.
But it is not so much the beauties of nature that make Zeggota an undying memory with
me as a certain experiment I made there with kiff.
Kiff, let me say for the benefit of those who are unfamiliar with it, is the
leaf of a sort of hemp called hashish, celebrated throughout the East for its
narcotic qualities. It is much used in Morocco, and it may generally be taken for granted
that those Arabs and Moors, so frequently to be seen in the towns, gazing at the
passers-by with dull, unseeing eyes, or dragging themselves along like persons stunned by
a blow on the head, are victims of this pernicious plant. Most people smoke the kiff, mixed
with a little tobacco, in tiny clay pipes, or it may be eaten in a form of confectionery,
called madjun, made of butter, honey, nuts, musk, and cloves. The effects are very
peculiar. Dr. Miguerez, who had tried it, had often told me of his experiences,
recounting, among other things, how he was seized with an irresistible desire to laugh,
and how he seemed to be lifted off the ground, so that in passing through a doorway, about
twice his own height, he had bent his head for fear of striking it against the lintel. All
of this so aroused my curiosity that I several times begged him to give me a little piece
of madjun, just enough to make me see and feel some of these curious things without
absolutely losing control of myself. The worthy doctor at first excused himself, saying
that it would be better to make the experiment at Fez, where we would be more conveniently
situated, but on my persisting he at length, a little unwillingly, handed me at Zeggota a
plate on which lay the much-desired sweetmeat. We were seated at table: if I mistake not,
both Ussi and Biseo took a little at the same time, but of its effect on them I have no
recollection. The madjun was like a bit of paste, violet-colored and smelling like
pomatum. For about half an hour, from the soup, that is, to the fruit, I felt nothing at
all, and began to chaff the doctor about his fears, but he only smiled and said,
"Wait, wait." And sure enough, as the fruit was put on the table the first
symptoms of intoxication did begin to manifest themselves. At first they took the form of
great hilarity and rapid talking; then I began to laugh heartily at everything I or anyone
else said; every word that was uttered seemed to me the most exquisite witticism. I
laughed at the servants, at the looks of my companions, at my chair as it tilted over, at
the designs on the china, at the shapes of certain bottles, at the color of the cheese I
was eating, until all at once, becoming conscious that I no longer had command of myself,
I endeavored to think of something serious in order to regain my self-control. Remembering
the boy who was to have been whipped that morning, I felt the greatest interest in him. I
would have liked to take him back with me to Italy, to have him educated, to give him a
career. I loved him like a son. And the kaid, Abou-ben-Gileli, poor old man. Kaid-Abou-ben
Gileli? Why, I loved him too, like a father. And the soldiers of the escort! They were all
good fellows, ready to defend us, to risk their lives in our behalf. I loved them like
brothers. And then the Algerians! I loved them as well. "Why not?" I thought.
They are of the same race as the Moroccans, and after all, what race is that? Are we not
all brothers, made after one pattern? We should love one another. I love people, and I am
happy, and I threw one arm around the doctor's neck, whereupon he burst out laughing. From
this cheerful mood I fell all at once into a state of profound melancholy. All the people
whom I had ever offended rose up before me. I recalled every pang I had caused those who
loved me; was oppressed by feelings of remorse and unavailing regret; voices seemed to
whisper in my ear in accents of affectionate reproach. I repented, begged for pardon;
furtively brushed away the great tear which I felt trembling in the corner of one eye.
Then a succession of strange, disconnected memories began to course wildly through my
brain; long-forgotten friends of my childhood; certain words of a dialect I had not spoken
for twenty years; women's faces; my old regiment; William the Silent; Paris; the editor
Barbera; a beaver hat that I had worn as a child; the Acropolis at Athens; my bill at an
inn in Seville; a thousand queer fancies. I have a vague recollection of seeing the
company look at me smilingly. From time to time I would close my eyes and reopen them
without knowing whether I had been asleep or no, whether minutes or hours had elapsed in
the interval. Then a clear idea came into my head at last, and I began to speak.
"Once," I said, "I went to..." Where was it I went? Who went? It
had all escaped me. Thoughts sparkled for an instant and expired like fireflies---crowded,
mixed, confused. At one moment I saw Ussi with his head elongated, like the reflection in
a bad mirror; the vice-consul with a face two feet wide; and the others tapered off,
swelled out, contorted, like extravagant caricatures, making grimaces at me that were
inexpressibly comic; and I laughed and wagged my head, and dozed, and thought that they
were all crazy; that we were in another world; that nothing I saw was real; that I was not
very well; that I did not know where I was; that it was getting strangely dark and
silent---When I came to myself I was lying on my own bed in our tent, with the doctor
seated beside me, holding a lighted candle and regarding me attentively.
"There," said he, smiling, "it is over, but this must be the first and last
time."
Source:
From: Eva March Tappan, ed., The World's Story: A History of the World in Story,
Song and Art, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1914), Vol. III: Egypt, Africa, and Arabia,
pp. 323-333.
Scanned by Jerome S. Arkenberg, Cal. State Fullerton.
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© Paul Halsall, November 1998
