Puslapio vaizdai
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"Rich man," he called, "how much?" "Two duro."

"Give me four; thou art a friend.” Moving away, I said: "It is worth what I offered."

Hastily throwing it to Gelalli, his fingers wigwagged: "Hand over the money!"

The tunnel shops were dingy, and the brighter street of the courtly saddle-merchants, sitting before their gorgeous wares, was soon brought in striking contrast by a lane dotted with boys holding in each hand a long cord which ran taut to some garment in the hands of their masters, tailors, who plied their needles around the cords in some mysterious way. A number of Jews were scattered along the walls, having come from their ghetto,- Mellah,-which occupies about one quarter of the city.

The fresh air coming from an opening tempted us through. What color! A rainbow, broken flaming amid the dismal dye-shops; each brilliant color of the palette hung dripping in the sun at the doorways! Farther on the shifting water-carriers at the fountain turned aside as we continued the way past slimy, sunken tanvats, under the "Gate of the Tanners," and into the open country.

Arabs isolated near a saint's tomb. "Who are these spotted creatures?"

Riding close, he whispered, "Lepers!" Checking our speed as we swept through a gateway, we moved slowly, depressed and weary, through a street of dingy charcoal shops, between the city's vast stretches of, not earthquake-shattered, but rain-destroyed, walls. With indifference I watched an approaching soldier gesticulating wildly, until, pulling his foaming horse to his haunches before me, he cried: "Answer our lord! I have been as one mad looking for thee!"

A SKETCH PORTRAIT OF
THE ARTIST MADE
BY THE SULTAN

In high spirits we bolted across the plains, and with a splash and a whoop crossed the ditches, riding straight to the hills.

Is this muddy monochrome lying behind us the city of Morocco-these earthquakeshattered walls and unroofed houses? Can that ragged patch contain the wonderful palaces, or these wandering latticed lines yield the shifting kaleidoscope?

The color of the surrounding country is red, the city's encircling walls are red, and the buildings are red. Come away, Gelalli; distance does not lend enchantment.

"But the Kutubiyah tower?" ventures Gelalli. My eyes wandered from this one lofty structure in search of the pearl-topped Atlas Mountains; a vast descending wall of gray mist had blotted them out.

Dejectedly descending, I turned to Gelalli at the sight of many hideous-looking

WALKING perspiring and breathless to the throne, I looked confusedly at a miserable, gloomy monarch. I waited his pleasure, but the royal mind was heavy.

The depressing silence affected my nerves, and for relief I went to the piano and began an accompaniment to the singing of a strongly rhythmic American darky song. A bounding swirl of white, and the suddenly agitated Sultan cried, "Stop!" at my side.

asked excitedly.

"Whence this tune?" he

"It is of the free slaves of America." All kindled, he begged: "Repeat! repeat!"

Again I sang, only to be interrupted by the exclamation: "That sounds very like our own. Proceed!"

"Where," he continued in ever-growing excitement, "do your slaves come from?" I tried to make these things clear.

"How do they dress, and what is their work?" he hurriedly asked. That, too, I tried to explain.

RELATING PRINCIPALLY TO A NUMBER OF PALACE GATES

EACH day some time was spent in drawing, though his Majesty was tingling to quit the pencil for brush and color. I complained of the conflicting light under the kubbah, and feared a sudden descent from the throne, as, with head curved over his knees, the Sultan worked at the low table before him. After explaining in vain the

mysteries of a skylighted studio, I constructed a miniature of cardboard, which he looked upon, saying, "Build one."

What manner of man was he quietly to continue his drawing, well aware that an escaped lynx was prowling within the court? Or was it cowardice that caused me to feel two glaring eyes, and unceasingly hunch my back, to stay the spring, until a triumphant slave tossed the raging beast into its cage, and unobserved kissed his master's foot?

Soon the studio, being built against the palace wall, would afford a peaceful shelter.

I had paced off the dimensions of this studio to an admiring audience of masons. In fine flourish the master mason bared an arm, and placing his elbow upon the ground against the wall, slowly allowed his arm to descend, shouting, "Here 's one"; then he moved his arm along several more lengths. When it came to "Here's eight," a workman cried: "No, nine." A tumult of voices; then the master began afresh, and in due season had mastered the dimensions of the proposed studio, in arm'slengths, spans, and hands. Later the cry of the apprentice boys arose: "Uslanbihi" ("God will complete "), uttered just as a stone was laid or a nail was driven.

beast's head, cut the rope fastenings, and jumped upon a large box for safety. Upon one occasion, the maddened boar, instantly arising, discovered us within the inclosure; like a streak, he charged halfway through the fence. During the panic which ensued some one clambered up the tiled steps, seeking safety in the place of all places least secure-a throne! Thinking shortly that mingling with the

A MEMBER OF THE HOUSEHOLD SKETCHED BY THE SULTAN

"Uslanbihi!" cried a slave, running from the great gate opposite the kubbah. All tools were dropped, and all the workmen scampered to the outer world; for the Sultan was about to appear.

At all times flitting, half-wild boars roamed the palace grounds and dashed by outside the iron fence surrounding the kubbah. Before this fence, at times, lay a secured boar fresh from the wilds, and when the Sultan entered the kubbah from the great gate, the iron fence-gates were closed. A burly slave stood upon the

semi - domesticated herd had quieted the beast, we ventured out, the Sultan on a bicycle, which, although a diamond-frame, he rode in flowing robe and heelless slippers. At the mo

ment he turned for

the tent, the boar darted from his fellows and charged the royal rider. Just missing the rear wheel, a shower of stones dazed the tusker, while his Majesty reached the inclosure.

The wicked streak came on once more,

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and urged by the oncoming clatter, I ran for the kubbah, but the iron gates had been closed. Before me loomed the great gate-open. Sacred or not, my legs were speeding toward it; but my hands grasped a beam projecting from the unfinished. studio, and I pulled myself to the roof.

From this perch I saw a summoned court-member saunter from the outer gate. At once we cried an alarm; but he collected his wits, and a moment later had disappeared through the great gate, the boar at his heels.

Fairly tumbling from the roof, I hurried with the Sultan, slaves, and all, into the great gate, and turning sharply along the wall, we rushed through another opening. There before us, in the center of a manypillared unfinished patio, in a deep, dry fountain basin, stood the bristling boar, while at its edge, shaking his fist, stood the strategic Briton, for he it was. Close at his back was another gateway in another wall.

Later, as I often heard and saw the portals of this gate mysteriously swing by invisible hands at the command, "Hal!" ("Open!"), and as mysteriously close after the slow-striding Sultan, the thought came to me: "How many gates does he pass through before arriving in the heart of the palace?"

Secretiveness, the dominant character of the Moors, is well expressed in the building of their palaces; they hide their treasures well in a perfect maze of passages, doors, and open gateways screened by blank walls, just as their women cloak their charms from the curious.

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Called one evening, I joined his Majesty at the newly found gate. Near by stood a cinematograph expert, surrounded by his paraphernalia. A slave whispered to me: Thou art about to enter." The bolts creaked when the command rang out, and, preceding the burdened slaves through a double-turned passage to a cemented walk lying between two far-reaching walls, we passed along. Now and then, as the echoing talk waned, the peaceful murmur of running water arose.

I breathed deep. Ah, how deliciously cool it was! Here a fountain stood recessed in the wall; yonder was another. The light of our little guiding star, imprisoned in a huge fretted frame of glass, flitted on and on; and finally, through the inevitable maze, we came to a room sliced in two by a white screen, while the walls were likewise bare and white.

A COPY BY THE SULTAN OF A SKETCH BY THE ARTIST

A COPY BY THE SULTAN OF A SKETCH BY THE ARTIST

The Sultan left, while we prepared the machine. Presently the shuffling of slippered feet was heard, and from the gloom seven powerful eunuchs emerged, who arranged themselves as a barrier along our side of the screen, where, amid a softer patter, we faintly distinguished the rustling of women's garments, and a very audible titter of suppressed excitement. Presently all was quiet.

"Is all in readiness?" called the Sultan's voice.

"Yes, my lord," I answered, being there as interpreter.

At the sound of Arabic with an American twang, there arose a volley of joyous giggles. Aha! Mulai Abd-ul-Aziz, thou art sitting in the midst of thy treasures!

What a treat to those peas in the pod! The world opened to them by whirring a film and a lens, that they might see, without leaving the pod, that all was not green. Now they beheld the great cities of the world, vast armies, monster vessels, all moving; why, even the latest creations in bonnets passed before them. They saw with amazement their own lord ride into the plaza under his umbrella; they saw his soldiers crowding through the city gates. "There you are, our lord!" they cried in chorus, as his pictures moved before them.

A perpetual grin, save when the light sputtered, on the face of each eunuch was repeated by a fair face which appeared frequently between the wall and the screen; I gazed enraptured, until I saw its shaven head. By and by the owner emerged; he proved to be a companionable lad of about ten, the Sultan's youngest and favorite brother, Sidi Mohammed. The show had pitched him into a boy's paradise, and he wanted to know everything in a moment.

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The Sultan's mother, who has since died, was also there. She was a Turkish woman, and was largely responsible for his longing. after modern ideas. She lived at the palace with three other sons, who led the different

to bid us good night, which is more than I would do if I were Sultan.

Matrimony is as serious a matter to him as it is to his people, and to them it is much more enigmatical than with us, as to cavalcades when the court journeyed. One, accept a bride in a palanquin is too much

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"Why dost not have a wife sent from America? Thy life is a lonely one."

"I do not know just whom to select," I replied, assuming that the several million fair Americans would be overjoyed at my choice.

"Dost expect to see and choose her thyself?" he asked, astonished.

"Why, to be sure; perhaps daily for two or three years before deciding." I spoke further of having heard of men known to salute their sweethearts on the lips before marriage.

"Oh, Mulai Idris!" he interrupted, calling upon his guardian saint.

"Pardon, I do not mean that it is a national custom," I explained, "although it does seem to be gaining in favor. Still, with all these advantages, we regard matrimony as very much of a lottery."

"Adjäib!" he exclaimed. "Do the wives ever wear the breeches?" or words to that effect.

I answered that, being single, I was forced to believe, from what my married friends said, that in America only one's neighbor's wife was so attired.

He laughed heartily, and said: "Thou and I are single; it is better thus." What! the Sultan single? It staggered

me.

Then this is why he appeared lighthearted and jovial; he had only the more trivial cares of a monarch.

PAINTING WITH THE SULTAN

THE Completed studio was a favorite haunt of his Majesty, and my aim was to keep him from color until he understood something of drawing light and shade. Sometimes while working, drawing a slave, a burst of royal laughter brought me from my work, to discover that the Sultan had exaggerated some peculiarity of his model by distending the nostrils or making huge

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