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they reported, and he would wait for me no longer.

While changing my dress, the secretary of the Amin appeared, breathless, exclaiming :

"God forbid that one should be so slow when the Sultan calls!"

Explaining that I wished to appear at my best before the Commander of the Faithful, I finished my toilet and issued forth into the now crowded streets, a dozen soldiers afoot clearing the way before me, running, thrusting men and donkeys to right and left, and crying: "Make room for the Sultan's master."

Again arriving at the inner portal, the soldiers having remained at the outer gate, I was at once admitted to a large walled inclosure or court, where I was again met by the pleasant-faced Moor, who, pushing open the portals of the gate and beckoning me to follow, suddenly jumped back with an exclamation, dragging me with him. At that moment, amid the rapid clattering of hoofs, a wild boar bolted through the gateway. Once more we ventured forth, only to return hastily at the sound of approaching danger.

Other beasts continued to scamper through singly, at spaced intervals, much the same as boys playing leap-frog. The Minister of War (for my guide was none other) shook his cloak and yelled at a few remaining inside, while he led the way toward a great gate, the only one through a long, otherwise unbroken, wall to our left. Opposite this, on our right, I beheld an immense tent. Instead of entering the gate, which I thought was about to admit me to the realization of those glorious dreams of Oriental splendor, my guide turned into the tent, of which the entire front facing the gate was open, and together we approached what appeared to be the figure of an idol seated at the farther end. The knees, upon which the elbows rested, allowing the hands to hang between, were thrown wide apart, and the entire image, save face and hands, was enveloped in a loose white garment. Presently one hand disappeared among the cushions to emerge a moment later with a watch.

The Minister of War hurried forward and took his place at the right side of the Sultan !

All my expectations had been centered on the great gate opposite, and I had come

LXVI.-3

into the royal presence so unexpectedly that I had forgotten to remove a battered and weather-beaten cap. The next moment I stood, head uncovered, at the foot of the throne, if such it might be called. Five steps of varicolored tile led from the tiled floor upon which I stood to the divan which formed the royal seat.

The Minister of War stood at the right of the Sultan; upon his left was a far more brilliantly arrayed personage. Although his costume was that of a true believer, his boots and spurs were beyond question of the rank infidel variety. I therefore judged him to be there in the capacity of interpreter.

In previously rehearsing this scene, I had always introduced myself by a well-studied sentence in Arabic, but the situation now seemed to call for an American speech. So, after bowing low, I said in a loud voice: "My lord, I have come."

He of the boots quickly put a hand to his mustache to conceal a smile. He proved to be an Englishman, and doubtless wished to add: “And you 're a sight."

Instead, he good-naturedly translated my words to the Sultan. As for the latter, I was surprised to notice in his looks and manner something that bespoke a feeling of awe. He was evidently awe-struck in the presence of a master.'

66

"Art thou able to make pictures by hand?"

As, in the light of a better knowledge of the man and his environment, I now recall this first meeting, which was the beginning of many months of more or less intimate association, it does not seem strange that he should be so affected.

All his life Mulai Abd-ul-Aziz had been shut up, virtually a prisoner in his palace, kept there by the old Grand Vizir, who ruled the country and the young Sultan with an iron hand and a knowing mind. That is, he knew how to keep the Sultan safe from rebels. Among slaves and attendants the young man spent his years in ignorance of the world, his mother and brothers his only companions, the Koran his only book. Upon the death of the old man, the young Sultan took the reins of government into his own hands, and calling the great men of the state before him, asked each of them to tell him what he knew of the great world outside of his dominions. The first one came and humbled himself to the dust, but could tell him

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This was very discouraging to the young man. Ambitious and eager to learn, none of his ministers could give him the least inkling of what he was so anxious to be taught. Nor were they at all willing that any foreigner should come to enlighten him.

At last one of their number, not quite so narrow in his views, introduced at court two Europeans, at that time connected with the government in some official capacity. Instead of coming before his Majesty trembling with fear, they spoke in answer to all questions with great freedom and ease. This pleased him exceedingly, and he had them come every day. So his education began.

They brought him illustrated papers and magazines, and whatever of interest he saw

and electrical appliances; of photography, and he had cameras and photographic supplies brought by the case.

Then they told him of pictures made by hand, and he forthwith sent an agent to procure him a painter-a master. And I stood up, cap in hand, at his Majesty's service.

"Art thou able to make pictures by hand?"

I had left some of my pictures, together with drawing-materials, in case I should want them, in charge of servants at the outer gate. These were now sent for.

Looking at the pictures, the Sultan marveled much that a man should be able to reproduce men, animals, and houses without the aid of some sort of machine.

"Draw me a man," was his next request.

This was a command, and I discerned a doubt as to my having done the pictures. Arranging my easel, and taking charcoal and paper, I prepared to draw what was to be literally my "masterpiece"; for I knew that I should be expected in a few moments to demonstrate my claim to the title with which I had been heralded.

In full view of the audience I proceeded to draw the head of an American Indian. I told my royal listener, in the short space of time and as best I could, with the assistance of my man Mohammed, who acted as interpreter, the story of the noble red man.

The situation was not wholly amusing, although the humor of it all appealed to me. It must be remembered that hitherto my acquaintance with mikados, shahs, and sultans had been chiefly through the comic opera, and it was hard to realize that my royal critic could take himself quite seriously and expect others to take him so.

I was in the midst of my work when the Amin, who had been sent for, arrived, and I was astonished to see the nervousness and fear in the presence of the Sultan of one evidently so influential at court. After prostrating himself until his forehead touched the ground, my genial host of the morning arose, and pointing to me, said:

"Yes, our lord, this is the master."

Abject in his humiliation before the Sultan, he now turned to me, and in an overbearing manner picked up one of my drawings and asked me if I had made it. I answered that I had. He then commanded me to draw one like it for the Sultan.

I was determined to recognize none but the Sultan himself as my superior here, so I paid no attention to him and quietly resumed my work.

I had introduced myself to the Sultan in English merely on the impulse of the moment, and not caring to trust myself to my rather limited knowledge of Arabic, had spoken thereafter through an interpreter; but I knew more of the native tongue than my royal listener gave me credit for, and I readily understood his praise of my work. With the Amin disposed of, I felt that I was indeed master of the situation, if not of my art.

Having finished my Indian, a rapid sketch, the Sultan took paper and pencil, and laughing heartily the while (we were

getting acquainted), began reproducing, and in a very short time made, for one who had never before touched pencil to paper, a very fair copy of my drawing. I complimented him upon this. "No, no," he replied; "but by and by, God willing, I shall be able to do as you do. Now I am only a beginner."

He asked me how long it would take him to learn to draw and paint as I did. As he had shown some talent, I thought it well to encourage him, and said that, with hard study, God willing, he might hope to do so in a few years.

This seemed rather to disappoint him; but with the words, "To-morrow at ten," I was dismissed for the day.

THE soldier who had brought me from Mazagan now realized that I had actually penetrated sacred quarters, and taking his cue from the court soldiers, hurled the faithful from before my horse and guided me home.

While at the palace a droning chant, which often came to an abrupt stop, ascended from all directions, finally resolving itself, to my mind, into a religious rite. Now, while dismounting, there arose from my own garden the same abrupt tune. Hastening to see the weird ceremony, I beheld instead several men standing in a box on a low wall, who began a chant with the raising of heavy knobbed clubs, and brought them down with a thud, crying at the same time the name of Allah. By filling a wooden frame with earth and ramming it solid, these swarthy songsters construct their mud walls. But the summer sun dries; violent winds blow; rain means torrents; so these house-walls are thinly coated with cement, which prevents their blowing away like chaff or oozing into huge mud pies.

Pushed in the elbow of the walls lay my one-storied, L-shaped house of four windowless rooms. The rooms did not communicate, but opened into the garden. It was unpleasant when at times food became rain-soaked as it was carried from the kitchen to my room, at the door of which all eating, reading, and writing had to be done.

The largest of the heavy cedar doors, being unwieldy, was pierced and fitted with a smaller one, hung on hook-shaped nails. The rooms were long and narrow,

as is common, and conformed with the shape of their brilliant rugs.

The singing on the wall ceased. "A royal summons must be answered at once," said the bashaw, entering. Pushing his expansive beard close to my ear, he whispered: "Good luck to thee, the first foreigner who has ever lived in the city's stronghold." Then he presented with sonorous gutturals my future soldier. "Throw him into the water, he comes out dry," the sportive bashaw said, and guffawed loudly, while the warrior bowed

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"The same we burn in the fire-pot?" he inquired, with widening eyes. "Very like it."

"Adjäib!" ("Wondrous!") he exclaimed.

Again he spoke: "Canst make a likeness of one standing before thee?"

Drawn by Arthur Schneider

"Yea, my lord." By the expectant settling into an easy position on the throne I divined a silent command, and made ready, when, in evident confusion, he hastily said, "Picture the doctor."

Oh, why was I

not a dime-museum artist!

The doctor looked worried;

posing is tiresome. "Wouldst allow the doctor a seat in thy presence?" I asked.

"At thy pleasure," the Sultan graciously replied.

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Amid much questioning, I produced a passable likeness, sprayed the "medicine" with a shrill fizz, and passed it to the throne, where royal fingers streaked through, but did not remove, the charcoal.

THE GREAT GATE OF THE PALACE, MOROCCO CITY

Before ten the following morning the envious eyes of the ever-present crouching beings, powerful chiefs who were silently waiting at the second gate, perhaps to be deposed or thrown into prison, glared maliciously as the impenetrable portals swung noisily to admit an unbeliever. Passing the cages of wild animals, crossing an open court, and finally interrupting the wrestling slave guards, I pierced the last barrier containing the royal tent, and again entered the presence of the youthful Sultan, while a few feet from me stood a vicious mountain goat.

"Saith my lord, peace," said the Minister of War. I bowed.

"Why," said his Majesty, in wonder, "has thy friend gone?" The besmudged drawing of the Indian was held aloft.

"It was done in charcoal," I answered, "and should have been fixed."

Again he wonderingly said, “Adjäib!”

At once I was ordered to paint the portrait of the Minister of War, and as a search in the palace grounds revealed no suitable light, a secluded balcony of his house, which adjoined, was chosen, where, sitting on the floor and using the fingers of the right hand as both knife and fork, he ate of the huge dishes of joint and fowl placed at his feet by slave boys, pausing occasionally to pose for a few moments. Soon a voice from below called, "Answer our lord!" At once a slave poured water over his fingers from a hammered brass

kettle, another followed with a towel, and the minister sped to court.

Hastily summoned from home immediately after the third sitting, I entered the kubbah to hear whispering from the throne, hidden by the freshly painted canvas which had been carried from the minister's house by a slave.

"How dost thou do this?" asked his Majesty. "And why but one eye?"

Suddenly a spot on the shaven pate of a slave now standing at the great gate opposite proclaimed itself.

Pointing to him, I said vexedly: "Yon slave, in carrying, besmudged his eye."

A burst of royal hilarity, quickly swelled by the minister, proved that, for the moment, the joke was of more consequence than the picture. While explaining my treatment of this painting, the Sultan's eager looks at a billiard-table being put into position betrayed a love of new toys. The dust-covered piano stood isolated, like a black tombstone.

AN INTERRUPTED RIDE THROUGH
THE CITY

My servant, returning from the city, burst into my room that evening, exclaiming: "I think this the largest city in the world; the great clusters of shops and markets are an hour from here."

"Have the animals ready to-morrow," I said.

Winding through the serpentine streets of the Kasbah and passing the buff-colored mosque, with its tower of interwoven blue traceries, we continued across the barracks, along the beggar-lined walls, and coming out at a large open space edged with masses of heaped-up oranges, — gold in the morning sun, -we found ourselves in a market-place. Moving slowly before the tents of the barbers and blood-letters, between mounds of binding straw, and joining the horde, we pushed our way, jolting and jarring, amid the sharp warning cries, Balaak! Balaak! (“Make way! Make way!") through the dumpy gate. Behold a colossal kaleidoscope!

The noisy throng, submerged in the darkness of a low, tunnel-like street, dodged and darted in confusion and obscurity, while through the small openings of a latticed straw roof innumerable brilliant spots of sunlight pierced their way, striking the

indefinite moving mass, and appearing in the gloom like myriads of flitting meteors entangled in a network of gold.

With the warning cry, Balaak! spurring and checking, we were soon in the midst of the swarm of arrogant, howling balaakers and loudly protesting balaakees, where a halt means to be buffeted about like a ship without a rudder.

"Canst not hear? Balaak!" shouts one, showing his teeth.

"Look thou before thee!" replies the other, crowding aside.

"Thou from the mountains art—” "Move along!" a shopman yells excitedly. "Go to the market-place to talk!" "Open! Make way!" A heavily laden mule, with the assistance of terrific screaming, opens a path through which that unrelenting juggernaut, the leading camel of a caravan, with slow-swinging head and resolute tread, thrusts himself. Woe to him who comes in contact with those widereaching bales!

We squirmed along, sniffing the streaked and rancid butter, for we were now among the busy shops where the tradesmen cluster together in their various pursuits. Here are the booths of fresh-smelling greens; there, the foul, dingy meat-stalls; beyond, lines of rude clay pottery, and everywhere the acrid odor of perspiring humanity.

Gelalli, shouting and warning, was a writhing pilot, while the constant flinging of his head right and left, in looking after my safety, caused the long silken tassel surmounting his peaked soldier's fez to dance distractedly. Soon turning into the less crowded street of sooty copper-workers, we caught glimpses of knife-grinders perched high, turning their stones with furious knee-action. Then we came to the leather districts, where are the varicolored slippers, the fancy belts, the bags made of wonderful Filali leather, or the cushions the designs of which are skinned off by a knife.

"Look at the beauty!"

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