[page 138]
"Gentleman without reading, dog without scent."
Moorish Proverb.
The story-teller is,par excellence, the prince of Moorish performers. Even to the stranger unacquainted with the language the sight of the Arab bard and his attentive audience on some erstwhile bustling market at the ebbing day is full of interest—to the student of human nature a continual attraction. After a long trudge from home, commenced before dawn, and a weary haggling over the most worthless of "coppers" during the heat of the day, the poor folk are quite ready for a quiet resting-time, with something to distract their minds and fill them with thoughts for the homeward way. Here have been fanned and fed the great religious and political movements which from time to time have convulsed the Empire, and here the pulse of the nation throbs. In the cities men lead a different life, and though the townsfolk appreciate tales as well as any, it is on these market-places that the wandering troubadour gathers the largest crowds.
Like public performers everywhere, a story-teller of note always goes about with regular assistants, who act as summoners to his entertainment, and as chorus to his songs. They consist[page 139]usually of a player on the native fiddle, another who keeps time on a tambourine, and a third who beats a kind of earthenware drum with his fingers. Less pretentious "professors" are content with themselves manipulating a round or square tambourine or a two-stringed fiddle, and to many this style has a peculiar charm of its own. Each pause, however slight, is marked by two or three sharp beats on the tightly stretched skin, or twangs with a palmetto leaf plectrum, loud or soft, according to the subject of the discourse at that point. The dress of this class—the one most frequently met with—is usually of the plainest, if not of the scantiest; a tattered brown jelláb (a hooded woollen cloak) and a camel's-hair cord round the tanned and shaven skull are the garments which strike the eye. Waving bare arms and sinewy legs, with a wild, keen-featured face, lit up by flashing eyes, complete the picture.
This is the man from whom to learn of love and fighting, of beautiful women and hairbreadth escapes, the whole on the model of the "Thousand Nights and a Night," of which versions more or less recognizable may now and again be heard from his lips. Commencing with plenty of tambourine, and a few suggestive hints of what is to follow, he gathers around him a motley audience, the first comers squatting in a circle, and later arrivals standing behind. Gradually their excitement is aroused, and as their interest grows, the realistic semi-acting and the earnest mien of the performer rivet every eye upon him. Suddenly his wild gesticulations cease at the entrancing point. One step more for liberty, one blow, and the charming[page 140]prize would be in the possession of her adorer. Now is the time to "cash up." With a pious reference to "our lord Mohammed—the prayer of God be on him, and peace,"—and an invocation of a local patron saint or other equally revered defunct, an appeal is made to the pockets of the Faithful "for the sake of Mulai Abd el Káder"—"Lord Slave-of-the-Able." Arousing as from a trance, the eager listeners instinctively commence to feel in their pockets for the balance from the day's bargaining; and as every blessing from the legion of saints who would fill the Mohammedan calendar if there were one is invoked on the cheerful giver, one by one throws down his hard-earned coppers—one or two—and as if realizing what he has parted with, turns away with a long-drawn breath to untether his beasts, and set off home.
But exciting as are these acknowledged fictions, specimens are so familiar to most readers from the pages of the collection referred to that much more interest will be felt in an attempt to reproduce one of a higher type, pseudo-historical, and alleged to be true. Such narratives exhibit much of native character, and shades of thought unencountered save in daily intercourse with the people. Let us, therefore, seize the opportunity of a visit from a notedraconteurand reputed poet to hear his story. Tame, indeed, would be the result of an endeavour to transfer to black and white the animated tones and gestures of the narrator, which the imagination of the reader must supply.
GROUP AROUND PERFORMERS, MARRÁKESH.Photograph by A. Lennox, Esq.GROUP AROUND PERFORMERS, MARRÁKESH.
The initial "voluntary" by the "orchestra" has ended; every eye is directed towards the central figure, this time arrayed in ample turban, white[page 141]jelláb and yellow slippers, with a face betokening a lucrative profession. After a moment's silence he commences the history of—
"The thrones of the Nazarenes were once in number sixty, but the star of the Prophet of God—the prayer of God be on him, and peace—was in the ascendant, and the religion of Resignation [Islám] was everywhere victorious. Many of the occupiers of those thrones had either submitted to the Lieutenant ['Caliph'] of our Lord, and become Muslimeen, or had been vanquished by force of arms. The others were terrified, and a general assembly was convoked to see what was to be done. As the rulers saw they were helpless against the decree of God, they called for their monks to advise them. The result of the conference was that it was decided to invite the Resigned Ones (Muslimeen) to a discussion on their religious differences, on the understanding that whichever was victorious should be thenceforth supreme.
"The Leader of the Faithful having summoned his wise men, their opinion was asked. 'O victorious of God,' they with one voice replied, 'since God, the High and Blessed, is our King, what have we to fear? Having on our side the truth revealed in the "Book to be Read" [the Korán] by the hand of the Messenger of God—the prayer of God be on him, and peace—wemustprevail. Let us willingly accept their proposal.' An early day was accordingly fixed for the decisive contest, and each party marshalled its forces. At the appointed time they met, a great crowd on either side, and it was asked which should begin. Knowing that victory was on his side, the Lieutenant of the Prophet—the prayer[page 142]of God be on him, and peace—replied, 'Since ye have desired this meeting, open ye the discussion.'
"Then the chief of the Nazarene kings made answer, 'But we are here so many gathered together, that if we commence to dispute all round we shall not finish by the Judgement Day. Let each party therefore choose its wisest man, and let the two debate before us, the remainder judging the result.'
"'Well hast thou spoken,' said the Leader of the Faithful; 'be it even so.' Then the learned among the Resigned selected our lord Abd el Káder of Baghdad,*a man renowned the world over for piety and for the depth of his learning. Now a prayer [Fátihah] for Mulai Abd el Káder!"
Here the speaker, extending his open palms side by side before him, as if to receive a blessing thereon, is copied by the by-standers.†"In the name of God, the Pitying, the Pitiful!" All draw their hands down their faces, and, if they boast beards, end by stroking them out.
"Then the polytheists‡likewise chose their man, one held among them in the highest esteem, well read and wise, a monk of monks. Between these two, then, the controversy commenced. As already agreed, the Nazarene was the first to question:
"'How far is it from the Earth to the first heaven?'
"'Five hundred years.'
"'And thence to the second heaven?'
"'Five hundred years.'
"'Thence to the third?'
[page 143]
"'Five hundred years.'
"'Thence to the fourth?'
"'Five hundred years.'
"'Thence to the fifth?'
"'Five hundred years.'
"'Thence to the sixth?'
"'Five hundred years.'
"'Thence to the seventh?'
"'Five hundred years.'
"'And from Mekka to Jerusalem?'
"'Forty days.'
"'Add up the whole.'
"'Three thousand, five hundred years, and forty days.'
"'In his famous ride on El Borak [Lightning] where did Mohammed go?'
"'From the Sacred Temple [of Mekka] to the Further Temple [of Jerusalem], and from the Holy House [Jerusalem] to the seventh heaven, and the presence of God.'§
"'How long did this take?'
"'The tenth of one night.'
"'Did he find his bed still warm on his return?'
"'Yes.'
"'Dost thou think such a thing possible; to travel three thousand five hundred years and back, and find one's bed still warm on returning?'
"'Canst thou play chess?' then asked Mulai Abd el Káder.
"'Of course I can,' said the monk, surprised.
"'Then, wilt thou play with me?'
"'Certainly not,' replied the monk, indignantly. 'Dost thou think me a fool, to come here to discuss the science of religion, and to be put off with a game of chess?'
[page 144]
"'Then thou acknowledgest thyself beaten; thou hast said thou couldst play chess, yet thou darest not measure thy skill at it with me. Thy refusal proves thy lie.'
"'Nay, then, since thou takest it that way, I will consent to a match, but under protest.'
"So the board was brought, and the players seated themselves. Move, move, move, went the pieces; kings and queens, elephants, rooks, and knights, with the soldiers everywhere. One by one they disappeared, as the fight grew fast and furious. But Mulai Abd el Káder had another object in view than the routing of his antagonist at a game of chess. By the exercise of his superhuman power he transported the monk to 'the empty third' [of the world], while his image remained before him at the board, to all appearances still absorbed in the contest.
"Meanwhile the monk could not tell where he was, but being oppressed with a sense of severe thirst, rose from where he sat, and made for a rising ground near by, whence he hoped to be able to descry some signs of vegetation, which should denote the presence of water. Giddy and tired out, he approached the top, when what was his joy to see a city surrounded by palms but a short way off! With a cry of delight he quickened his steps and approached the gate. As he did so, a party of seven men in gorgeous apparel of wool and silk came out of the gate, each with a staff in his hand.
"On meeting him they offered him the salutation of the Faithful, but he did not return it. 'Who mayestthoube,' they asked, 'who dost not wish peace to the Resigned?' [Muslimeen]. 'My Lords,' he made answer, 'I am a monk of the Nazarenes, I merely seek water to quench my thirst.'
"'But he who comes here must resign himself [to Mohammedanism] or suffer the consequences.[page 145]Testify that 'There is no god but God, and Mohammed is His Messenger!' 'Never,' he replied; and immediately they threw him on the ground and flogged him with their staves till he cried for mercy. 'Stop!' he implored. 'I will testify.' No sooner had he done so than they ceased their blows, and raising him up gave him water to drink. Then, tearing his monkish robe to shreds, each deprived himself of a garment to dress him becomingly. Having re-entered the city they repaired to the judge.
"'My Lord,' they said, 'we bring before thee a brother Resigned, once a monk of the monks, now a follower of the Prophet, our lord—the prayer of God be on him, and peace. We pray thee to accept his testimony and record it in due form.'
"'Welcome to thee; testify!' exclaimed the kádi, turning to the convert. Then, holding up his forefinger, the quondam monk witnessed to the truth of the Unity [of God]. 'Call for a barber!' cried the kádi; and a barber was brought. Seven Believers of repute stood round while the deed was done, and the convert rose a circumcised Muslim—blessed be God.
"Then came forward a notable man of that town, pious, worthy, and rich, respected of all, who said, addressing the kádi: 'My Lord—may God bless thy days,—thou knowest, all these worthy ones know, who and what I am. In the interests of religion and to the honour of God, I ask leave to adopt this brother newly resigned. What is mine shall be his to share with my own sons, and the care I bestow on them and their education shall be bestowed equally on him. God is witness.' 'Well said; so be it,' replied the learned judge; 'henceforth he is a member of thy family.'
"So to the hospitable roof of this pious one[page 146]went the convert. A tutor was obtained for him, and he commenced to taste the riches of the wisdom of the Arab. Day after day he sat and studied, toiling faithfully, till teacher after teacher had to be procured, as he exhausted the stores of each in succession. So he read: first the Book 'To be Read' [the Korán], till he could repeat it faultlessly, then the works of the poets, Kálûn, el Mikki, el Bisri, and Sîdi Hamzah; then the 'Lesser' and 'Greater Ten.'||Then he commenced at Sîdi íbnu Ashîr, following on through the Ajrûmiyah,#and the Alfîyah,**to the commentaries of Sîdi Khalîl, of the Sheïkh el Bokhári, and of Ibnu Asîm, till there was nothing left to learn.
"Thus he continued growing in wisdom and honour, the first year, the second year, the third year, even to the twentieth year, till no one could compete with him. Then the Judge of Judges of that country died, and a successor was sought for, but all allowed that no one's claims equalled those of the erstwhile monk. So he was summoned to fill the post, but was disqualified as unmarried. When they inquired if he was willing to do his duty in this respect, and he replied that he was, the father of the most beautiful girl in the city bestowed her on him, and that she might not be portionless, the chief men of the place vied one with another in heaping riches upon him. So he became Judge of Judges, rich, happy, revered.
"And there was born unto him one son, then a second son, and even a third son. And there was born unto him a daughter, then a second daughter, and even a third daughter. So he prospered and increased. And to his sons were born sons, one, two, three, and four, and daughters withal. And his[page 147]daughters were given in marriage to the elders of that country, and with them it was likewise.
"Now there came a day, a great feast day, when all his descendants came before him with their compliments and offerings, some small, some great, each receiving tenfold in return, garments of fine spun wool and silk, and other articles of value.
"When the ceremony was over he went outside the town to walk alone, and approached the spot whence he had first descried what had so long since been his home. As he sat again upon that well-remembered spot, and glanced back at the many years which had elapsed since last he was there, a party of the Faithful drew near. He offered the customary salute of 'Peace be on you,' but they simply stared in return. Presently one of them brusquely asked what he was doing there, and he explained who he was. But they laughed incredulously, and then he noticed that once again he was clad in robe and cowl, with a cord round his waist. They taunted him as a liar, but he re-affirmed his statements, and related his history. He counted up the years since he had resigned himself, telling of his children and children's children.
"'Wouldst thou know them if you sawst them?' asked the strangers. 'Indeed I would,' was the reply, 'but they would know me first.'
"'And you are really circumcised? We'll see!' was their next exclamation. Just then a caravan appeared, wending its way across the plain, and the travellers hailed it. As he looked up at the shout, he saw Mulai Abd el Káder still sitting opposite him at the chess-board, reminding him that it was his move. He had been recounting his experiences for the last half century to Mulai Abd el Káder himself, and to the wise ones of both creeds who surrounded them!
[page 148]
"Indeed it was too true, and he had to acknowledge that the events of a life-time had been crowded into a period undefinably minute, by the God-sent power of my lord Slave-of-the-Able [Mulai Abd el Káder].
"Now, where is the good man and true who reveres the name of this holy one? Who will say a prayer to Mulai Abd el Káder?" Here the narrator extends his palms as before, and all follow him in the motion of drawing them down his face. "In the name of the Pitying and Pitiful! Now another!" The performance is repeated.
"Who is willing to yield himself wholly and entirely to Mulai Abd el Káder? Who will dedicate himself from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head? Another prayer!" Another repetition of the performance.
"Now let those devoted men earn the effectual prayers of that holy one by offering their silver in his name. Nothing less than a peseta††will do. That's right," as one of the bystanders throws down the coin specified.
"Now let us implore the blessing of God and Mulai Abd el Káder on the head of this liberal Believer." The palm performance is once more gone through. The earnestness with which he does it this time induces more to follow suit, and blessings on them also are besought in the same fashion.
"Now, my friends, which among you will do business with the palms of all these faithful ones? Pay a peseta and buy the prayers of them all. Now then, deal them out, and purchase happiness."
So the appeal goes wearisomely on. As no more pesetas are seen to be forthcoming, a shift[page 149]is made with reals—nominally 2½d.pieces—the story-teller asking those who cannot afford more to make up first one dollar and then another, turning naïvely to his assistant to ask if they haven't obtained enough yet, as though it were all for them. As they reply that more is needed, he redoubles his appeals and prayers, threading his way in and out among the crowd, making direct for each well-dressed individual with a confidence which renders flight or refusal a shame. Meanwhile the "orchestra" has struck up, and only pauses when the "professor" returns to the centre of the circle to call on all present to unite in prayers for the givers. A few coppers which have been tossed to his feet are distributed scornfully amongst half a dozen beggars, in various stages of filthy wretchedness and deformity, who have collected on the ground at one side.
Here a water-carrier makes his appearance, with his goat-skin "bottle" and tinkling bell—a swarthy Soudanese in most tattered garb. The players and many listeners having been duly refreshed for the veriest trifle, the performance continues. A prayer is even said for the solitary European among the crowd, on his being successfully solicited for his quota, and another for his father at the request of some of the crowd, who style him the "Friend of the Moors."
At last a resort is made to coppers, and when the story-teller condescendingly consents to receive even such trifles in return for prayers, from those who cannot afford more, quite a pattering shower falls at his feet, which is supplemented by a further hand-to-hand collection. In all, between four and[page 150]five dollars must have been received—not a bad remuneration for an hour's work! Already the ring has been thinning; now there is a general uprising, and in a few moments the scene is completely changed, the entertainer lost among the entertained, for the sun has disappeared below yon hill, and in a few moments night will fall.
*So called because buried near that city. For an account of his life, and view of his mausoleum, see "The Moors," pp. 337-339.
†"The hands are raised in order to catch a blessing in them, and are afterwards drawn over the face to transfer it to every part of the body."—Hughes, "Dictionary of Islám."
‡A term applied by Mohammedans to Christians on account of a mistaken conception of the doctrine of the Trinity.
§This was the occasion on which Mohammed visited the seven heavens under the care of Gabriel, riding on an ass so restive that he had to be bribed with a promise of Paradise.
||Grammarians and commentators of the Korán.
#A preliminary work on rhetoric.
**The "Thousand Verses" of grammar.
††About eightpence, a labourer's daily wage in Tangier.
[page 151]
"Whom a snake has bitten starts from a rope."
Moorish Proverb.
Descriptions of this art remembered in a book for boys read years before had prepared me for the most wonderful scenes, and when I first watched the performance with snakes which delights the Moors I was disappointed. Yet often as I might look on, there was nothing else to see, save in the faces and gestures of the crowd, who with child-like simplicity followed every step as though for the first time. These have for me a never-ending fascination. Thus it is that the familiar sounds of rapid and spasmodic beating on a tambourine, which tell that the charmer is collecting an audience, still prove an irresistible attraction for me as well. The ring in which I find myself is just a reproduction of that surrounding the story-teller of yester-e'en, but where his musicians sat there is a wilder group, more striking still in their appearance.
This time, also, the instruments are of another class, two or three of the plainest sheep-skin tambourines with two gut strings across the centre under the parchment, which gives them a peculiar twanging sound; and a couple of reeds, mere canes pierced with holes, each provided with a mouthpiece[page 152]made of half an inch of flattened reed. Nothing is needed to add to the discord as all three are vigorously plied with cheek and palm.
The principal actor has an appearance of studied weirdness as he gesticulates wildly and calls on God to protect him against the venom of his pets. Contrary to the general custom of the country, he has let his black hair grow till it streams over his shoulders in matted locks. His garb is of the simplest, a dirty white shirt over drawers of similar hue completing his outfit.
Selecting a convenient stone as a seat, notebook in hand, I make up my mind to see the thing through. The "music" having continued five or ten minutes with the desired result of attracting a circle of passers-by, the actual performance is now to commence. On the ground in the centre lies a spare tambourine, and on one side are the two cloth-covered bottle-shaped baskets containing the snakes.
The chief charmer now advances, commencing to step round the ring with occasional beats on his tambourine, rolling his eyes and looking demented. Presently, having reached a climax of rapid beating and pacing, he suddenly stops in the centre with an extra "bang!"
"Now, every man who believes in our lord Mohammed ben Aïsa,*say with me a Fátihah."
Each of the onlookers extending his palms side by side before his face, they repeat the prayer in a sing-song voice, and as it concludes with a loud "Ameen," the charmer gives an agonized cry, as though deeply wrought upon. "Ah Rijál el[page 153]Blád" ("Oh Saints of the Town!"), he shouts, as he recommences his tambourining, this time even with increased vigour, beating the ground with his feet, and working his body up and down in a most extraordinary manner. The two others are also playing, and the noise is deafening. The chief figure appears to be raving mad; his starting eyes, his lithe and supple figure, and his streaming hair, give him the air of one possessed. His face is a study, a combination of fierceness and madness, yet of good-nature.
At last he sinks down exhausted, but after a moment rises and advances to the centre of the circle, picking up a tambourine.
"Now, Sîdi Aïsa"—turning to one of the musicians, whom he motions to cease their din—"what do you think happens to the man who puts a coin in there? Why, the holy saint, our lord Mohammed ben Aïsa, puts a ring round him like that," drawing a ring round a stone on the ground. "Is it not so?"
"It is, Ameen," from Sidi Aïsa.
"And what happens to him in the day time?"
"He is in the hands of God, and his people too."
"And in the night time?"
"He is in the hands of God, and his people too."
"And when at home?"
"He is in the hands of God, and his people too."
"And when abroad?"
"He is in the hands of God, and his people too."
[page 154]
At this a copper coin is thrown into the ring, and the charmer replies, "Now he who is master of sea and land, my lord Abd el Káder el Jîláni,†bless the giver of that coin! Now, for the love of God and of His blessed prophet, I offer a prayer for that generous one." Here the operation of passing their hands down their faces is performed by all.
"Now, there's another,"—as a coin falls—"and from a child, too! God bless thee now, my son. May my lord Ben Aïsa, my lord Abd es-Slám, and my lord Abd el Káder, protect and keep thee!"
Then, as more coppers fall, similar blessings are invoked upon the donors, interspersed with catechising of the musicians with a view to making known the advantages to be reaped by giving something. At last, as nothing more seems to be forthcoming, the performance proper is proceeded with, and the charmer commences to dance on one leg, to a terrible din from the tambourines. Then he pauses, and summons a little boy from the audience, seating him in the midst, adjuring him to behave himself, to do as he is bid, and to have faith in "our lord Ben Aïsa." Then, seating himself behind the boy, he places his lips against his skull, and blows repeatedly, coming round to the front to look at the lad, to see if he is sufficiently affected, and returning to puff again. Finally he bites off a piece of the boy's cloak, and chews it. Now he wets his finger in his mouth, and after putting it into the dust makes lines across his legs and arms, all the time calling on his patron saint; next holding the piece of cloth in his hands and walking round the ring for all to see it.
[page 155]
"Come hither," he says to a bystander; "search my mouth and see if there be anything there."
The search is conducted as a farmer would examine a horse's mouth, with the result that it is declared empty.
"Now I call on the prophet to witness that there is no deception," as he once more restores the piece of cloth to his mouth, and pokes his fingers into his neck, drawing them now up his face.
"Enough!"
The voices of the musicians, who have for the latter part of the time been giving forth a drawling chorus, cease, but the din of the tambourines continues, while the performer dances wildly, till he stops before the lad on the ground, and takes from his mouth first one date and then another, which the lad is told to eat, and does so, the on-lookers fully convinced that they were transformed from the rag.
Now it is the turn of one of the musicians to come forward, his place being taken by the retiring performer, after he has made another collection in the manner already described.
"He who believes in God and in the power of our lord Mohammed ben Aïsa, say with me a Fátihah," cries the new man, extending his palms turned upwards before him to receive the blessings he asks, and then brings one of the snake-baskets forward, plunging his hand into its sack-like mouth, and sharply drawing it out a time or two, as if afraid of being bitten.
Finally he pulls the head of one of the reptiles through, and leaves it there, darting out its fangs, while he snatches up and wildly beats the tambourine[page 156]by his side. He now seizes the snake by the neck, and pulls it right out, the people starting back as it coils round in the ring, or uncoils and makes a plunge towards someone. Now he pulls out another, and hangs it round his neck, saying, "I take refuge with the saint who was dead and is alive, with our lord Mohammed son of Aïsa, and with the most holy Abd el Káder el Jîláni, king of land and sea. Now, let every one who believes bear witness with me and say a Fátihah!"
"Say a Fátihah!" echoes one of the still noisy musicians, by way of chorus.
"Now may our lord Abd el Káder see the man who makes a contribution with his eyes."
Chorus:"With his eyes!"
"And may his heart find rest, and our lord Abd er-Rahmán protect him!"
Chorus:"Protect him!"
"Now, I call you to witness, I bargain with our lord Abd el Káder for a forfeit!"
Chorus:"For a forfeit!"
A copper is thrown into the ring, and as he picks it up and hands it to the musician, the performer exclaims—
"Take this, see, and at the last day may the giver of it see our lord Abd el Káder before him!"
Chorus:"Before him!"
"May he ever be blessed, whether present or absent!"
Chorus:"Present or absent!"
"Who wishes to have a good conscience and a clean heart? Oh, ye beloved of the Lord! See, take from that dear one" (who has thrown down a copper).
[page 157]
The contributions now apparently sufficing for the present, the performance proceeds, but the crowd having edged a little too close, it is first necessary to increase the space in the centre by swinging one of the reptiles round by the tail, whereat all start back.
"Ah! you may well be afraid!" exclaims the charmer. "Their fangs mean death, if you only knew it, but for the mercies of my lord, the son of Aïsa."
"Ameen!" responds the chorus.
Hereupon he proceeds to direct the head of the snake to his mouth, and caressingly invites it to enter. Darting from side to side, it finally makes a plunge down his throat, whereon the strangers shudder, and thehabituéslook with triumphant awe. Wildly he spins on one foot that all may see, still holding the creature by the neck with one hand, and by the tail with the other. At length, having allowed the greater part of its length to disappear in this uncanny manner, he proceeds to withdraw it, the head emerging with the sound of a cork from a bottle. The sight has not been pleasant, but the audience, transfixed, gives a sigh of relief as the tambourines strike up again, and the reed chimes in deafeningly.
"Who says they are harmless? Who says their fangs are extracted?" challenges the performer. "Look here!"
The seemingly angry snake has now fastened on his arm, and is permitted to draw blood, as though in reward for its recent treatment.
"Is any incredulous here? Shall I try it on thee?"
[page 158]
The individual addressed, a poverty-stricken youth whose place was doubtless required for some more promising customer behind, flees in terror, as the gaping jaws approach him. One and another having been similarly dismissed from points of vantage, and a redistribution of front seats effected, the incredulous are once more tauntingly addressed and challenged. This time the challenge is accepted by a foreigner, who hands in a chicken held by its wings.
"So? Blessed be God! Its doom is sealed if it comes within reach of the snake. See here!"
All eagerly press forward, many rising to their feet, and it is difficult to see over their shoulders the next gruesome act. The reptile, held by the neck in the performer's right hand, is shown the chicken in the other, and annoyed by having it poked in its face, too frightened to perceive what is happening. In a moment the fangs are shot out, and a wound inflicted in the exposed part under the wing. Blood appears, and the bird is thrown down, being held in place by the performer's foot till in a few minutes its struggles cease. Then, picking the victim up, he holds it aloft by one wing to show its condition, and exultingly calls for a Fátihah.
It is enough: my patience is exhausted, and I rise to make off with stiff knees, content at last with what I have seen and heard of the "charming" of snakes in Morocco.
*For the history of this man and his snake-charming followers see "The Moors," p. 331.
†The surname of the Baghdád saint.
A MOROCCO FANDAK (CARAVANSARAI).Cavilla, Photo., Tangier.A MOROCCO FANDAK (CARAVANSARAI).
[page 159]
"A little from a friend is much."
Moorish Proverb.
To the passer-by, least of all to the European, there is nothing in its external appearance to recommend old Hashmi'scafé. From the street, indeed, it is hardly visible, for it lies within the threshold of a caravansarai or fandak, in which beasts are tethered, goods accumulated and travellers housed, and of which the general appearance is that of a neglected farm-yard. Round an open court a colonnade supports the balcony by which rooms on the upper story are approached, a narrow staircase in the corner leading right up to the terraced roof. In the daytime the sole occupants of the rooms are women whose partners for the time being have securely locked them in before going to work.
Beside the lofty archway forming the gate of this strange hostelry, is Hashmi's stall, at which green tea or a sweet, pea-soupy preparation of coffee may be had at all hours of the day, but thecaféproper, gloomy by daylight, lies through the door behind. Here, of an evening, the candles lit, his regular customers gather with tiny pipes, indulging in flowing talk. Each has before him his harmless glass, as he squats or reclines on the[page 160]rush-matted floor. Nothing of importance occurs in the city but is within a little made known here with as much certainty as if the proprietor subscribed to an evening paper. Any man who has something fresh to tell, who can interest or amuse the company, and by his frequent visits give the house a name, is always welcome, and will find a glass awaiting him whenever he chooses to come.
Old Hashmi knows his business, and if the evening that I was there may be taken as a sample, he deserves success. That night he was in the best of humours. His house was full and trade brisk. Fattah, a negro, was keeping the house merry, so in view of coming demands, he brewed a fresh pot of real "Mekkan." The surroundings were grimy, and outside the rain came down in torrents: but that was a decided advantage, since it not only drove men indoors, but helped to keep them there. Mesaôd, the one-eyed, had finished an elaborate tuning of his two-stringed banjo, his ginbri—a home-made instrument—and was proceeding to arrive at a convenient pitch of voice for his song. With a strong nasal accent he commenced reciting the loves of Si Marzak and his fair Azîzah: how he addressed her in the fondest of language, and how she replied by caresses. When he came to the chorus they all chimed in, for the most part to their own tune and time, as they rocked to and fro, some clapping, some beating their thighs, and all applauding at the end.
The whole ballad would not bear translation—for English ears,—and the scanty portion which may be given has lost its rhythm and cadence by the change, for Arabic is very soft and beautiful[page 161]to those who understand it. The time has come when Azîzah, having quarrelled with Si Marzak in a fit of perhaps too well-founded jealousy, desires to "make it up again," and thus addresses her beloved—
"Oh, how I have followed thy attractiveness,And halted between give and take!Oh, how I'd from evil have protected theeBy my advice, hadst thou but heeded it!Yet to-day taste, O my master,Of the love that thou hast taught to me!"Oh, how I have longed for the pleasure of thy visits,And poured out bitter tears for thee;Until at last the sad truth dawned on meThat of thy choice thou didst put me aside!Yet to-day taste, O my master,Of the love that thou hast taught to me!"Thou wast sweeter than honey to me,But thou hast become more bitter than gall.Is it thus thou beginnest the world?Beware lest thou make me thy foe!Yet to-day taste, O my master,Of the love that thou hast taught to me!"I have hitherto been but a name to thee,And thou took'st to thy bosom a snake,But to-day I perceive thou'st a fancy for me:O God, I will not be deceived!Yes, to-day taste, O my master,Of the love that thou hast taught to me!"Thou know'st my complaint and my only cure:Why, then, wilt thou heal me not?Thou canst do so to-day, O my master,And save me from all further woe.Yes, to-day taste, O my master,Of the love that thou hast taught to me!"
"Oh, how I have followed thy attractiveness,And halted between give and take!Oh, how I'd from evil have protected theeBy my advice, hadst thou but heeded it!Yet to-day taste, O my master,Of the love that thou hast taught to me!
"Oh, how I have followed thy attractiveness,
And halted between give and take!
Oh, how I'd from evil have protected thee
By my advice, hadst thou but heeded it!
Yet to-day taste, O my master,
Of the love that thou hast taught to me!
"Oh, how I have longed for the pleasure of thy visits,And poured out bitter tears for thee;Until at last the sad truth dawned on meThat of thy choice thou didst put me aside!Yet to-day taste, O my master,Of the love that thou hast taught to me!
"Oh, how I have longed for the pleasure of thy visits,
And poured out bitter tears for thee;
Until at last the sad truth dawned on me
That of thy choice thou didst put me aside!
Yet to-day taste, O my master,
Of the love that thou hast taught to me!
"Thou wast sweeter than honey to me,But thou hast become more bitter than gall.Is it thus thou beginnest the world?Beware lest thou make me thy foe!Yet to-day taste, O my master,Of the love that thou hast taught to me!
"Thou wast sweeter than honey to me,
But thou hast become more bitter than gall.
Is it thus thou beginnest the world?
Beware lest thou make me thy foe!
Yet to-day taste, O my master,
Of the love that thou hast taught to me!
"I have hitherto been but a name to thee,And thou took'st to thy bosom a snake,But to-day I perceive thou'st a fancy for me:O God, I will not be deceived!Yes, to-day taste, O my master,Of the love that thou hast taught to me!
"I have hitherto been but a name to thee,
And thou took'st to thy bosom a snake,
But to-day I perceive thou'st a fancy for me:
O God, I will not be deceived!
Yes, to-day taste, O my master,
Of the love that thou hast taught to me!
"Thou know'st my complaint and my only cure:Why, then, wilt thou heal me not?Thou canst do so to-day, O my master,And save me from all further woe.Yes, to-day taste, O my master,Of the love that thou hast taught to me!"
"Thou know'st my complaint and my only cure:
Why, then, wilt thou heal me not?
Thou canst do so to-day, O my master,
And save me from all further woe.
Yes, to-day taste, O my master,
Of the love that thou hast taught to me!"
To which the hard-pressed swain replies—
"Of a truth thine eyes have bewitched me,For Death itself is in fear of them:And thine eyebrows, like two logs of wood,Have battered me each in its turn.So if thou sayest die, I'll die;And for God shall my sacrifice be![page 162]"I have neither yet died nor abandoned hope,Though slumber at night I ne'er know.With the staff of deliverance still afar off,So that all the world knows of my woe.And if thou sayest die, I'll die,But for God shall my sacrifice be!"
"Of a truth thine eyes have bewitched me,For Death itself is in fear of them:And thine eyebrows, like two logs of wood,Have battered me each in its turn.So if thou sayest die, I'll die;And for God shall my sacrifice be!
"Of a truth thine eyes have bewitched me,
For Death itself is in fear of them:
And thine eyebrows, like two logs of wood,
Have battered me each in its turn.
So if thou sayest die, I'll die;
And for God shall my sacrifice be!
"I have neither yet died nor abandoned hope,Though slumber at night I ne'er know.With the staff of deliverance still afar off,So that all the world knows of my woe.And if thou sayest die, I'll die,But for God shall my sacrifice be!"
"I have neither yet died nor abandoned hope,
Though slumber at night I ne'er know.
With the staff of deliverance still afar off,
So that all the world knows of my woe.
And if thou sayest die, I'll die,
But for God shall my sacrifice be!"
While the singing was proceeding Sáïd and Drees had been indulging in a game of draughts, and as it ceased their voices could be heard in eager play. "Call thyself a Mallem (master). There, thy father was bewitched by a hyena; there, and there again!" shouted Sáïd, as he swept a first, a second and a third of his opponent's pieces from the board.
But Drees was equal with him in another move.
"So, verily, thou art my master! Let us, then, praise God for thy wisdom: thou art like indeed unto him who verily shot the fox, but who killed his own cow with the second shot! See, thus I teach thee to boast before thy betters: ha, I laugh at thee, I ride the donkey on thy head. I shave that beard of thine!" he ejaculated, taking one piece after another from his adversary, as the result of an incautious move. The board had the appearance of a well-kicked footstool, and the "men"—called "dogs" in Barbary—were more like baseless chess pawns. The play was as unlike that of Europeans as possible; the moves from "room" to "room" were of lightning swiftness, and accompanied by a running fire of slang ejaculations, chiefly sarcastic, but, on the whole, enlivened with a vein of playful humour not to be Englished politely. Just as the onlookers would become interested in the progress of one or the other,[page 163]a too rapid advance by either would result in an incomprehensible wholesale clearing of the board by his opponent's sleeve. Yet without a stop the pieces would be replaced in order, and a new game commenced, the vanquished too proud to acknowledge that he did not quite see how the victor had won.
Then Fattah, whosefortewas mimicry, attracted the attention of the company by a representation of a fat wazeer at prayers. Amid roars of laughter he succeeded in rising to his feet with the help of those beside him, who had still to lend occasional support, as his knees threatened to give way under his apparently ponderous carcase. Before and behind, his shirt was well stuffed with cushions, and the sides were not forgotten. His cheeks were puffed out to the utmost, and his eyes rolled superbly. At last the moment came for him to go on his knees, when he had to be let gently down by those near him, but his efforts to bow his head, now top-heavy with a couple of shirts for a turban, were most ludicrous, as he fell on one side in apparently vain endeavours. The spectators roared with laughter till the tears coursed down their cheeks; but that black and solemn face remained unmoved, and at the end of the prescribed motions the pseudo-great man apparently fell into slumber as heavy as himself, and snored in a style that a prize pig might have envied.
"Áfuk! Áfuk!" the deafening bravos resounded, for Fattah had excelled himself, and was amply rewarded by the collection which followed.
A tale was next demanded from a jovial man of Fez, who, nothing loth, began at once—