Chapter XVII

Departure from Mequinez—Volubilis and Zarhún—Mulai Ismael and
the devil—Quintus Cæcilius Domitianus—Description of
ruins—Horse-stealers—Hondius his map—Ptolemy—Failure to enter Mulai
Edris—Fate of impostor—Arab tents—Dangerous route—Berbers and Jews.

_Camp, near Volubilis, 12th May 1880._

We left Mequinez by a gate on the north side of the town, and rode through a quantity of arable and waste land, which seems to form almost an entire circle round the place, and was possibly a suburb of the city in former days, being enclosed, like the town, by a high wall. About a mile from the town we crossed by a bridge a deep but dry watercourse, and four miles on forded a river, and continued our march along its right bank. Another and smaller one we crossed about half-way here, after which we climbed up a steep hill, a spur of the Zarhún range, from the other side of which we saw our camp, and a little beyond it the magnificent remains of what is now generally admitted to be the ancient Roman town of Volubilis. About a couple of miles to the east of these, and prettily situated in a sort of angle between two hills, is the sacred town of Zarhún, or Mulai Edris, where the original saint of that name, father of the founder of Fez, is buried, and to whose shrine all Sultans of Morocco, before their coronation, must come and pay their vows. The latter part of the road is strewn, at long and irregular intervals, with enormous blocks of the gray limestone of which the ruins are built. How they can have been taken from the place at all without the aid of machinery to lift, and wheeled vehicles to transport them, it is difficult to say. They are said to have been removed in the time of Mulai Ismael (seventeenth century), whose taste for building could never be satisfied, and who boasted he would make a road from Mequinez to Marocco “on which a blind man could find his way,” _i.e._ by feeling it along the wall. This charitable work was cut short by the monarch’s demise. He is said by his enemies to have employed the devil to carry the stones, but having had some misunderstanding with the Evil One regarding the compact, his Sharífian Majesty was carried off by his Satanic brother before his time. Our camp had been pitched on the left back of the Wad el Khúman—Tissot calls it the Faraom—across which I rode, and then walked up through a sort of prickly scrub to the ruins, where I found Lawless and White, who had preceded the column, at work with the camera. About twenty of the villagers who followed us round appeared much interested in our proceedings, and one of them took us to a large stone lying on the ground in a slanting position, with a long inscription on it, which we transcribed as well as we could. This must be the one overlooked by Windhus in 1721, but copied by Leared and Tissot a few years ago, and which is incontestably proved to be the epitaph of Cæcilius Domitianus, decurion of Volubilis. There is a big longitudinal crack or rather gap in it, which made it hard to decipher many of the words. Distinct remains of houses and walls are to be seen all over the rising ground on which the town must have stood, and on a level plateau at the top are the ruins of two buildings, one of them especially of a considerable size. Of the smaller of the two there remains a fine triumphal arch, and contiguous to it a massive square keep or outwork, with immensely thick walls. In one of its faces there is a small doorway so singularly out of keeping with the rest of the building as to suggest the work of a later age; but the fact of the stones being neatly cut to fit the bend of the arch is against that theory, as such work would have been beyond the skill of the Goths and Arabs who succeeded the Libyans here. A little to the east of this is the larger building, of which the two arches, standing east and west, are in good preservation, though the centre stone which supports one of them is considerably displaced. It measured about forty yards by thirty, the superstructure over the arches and a part of the south wall which remains intact being about 40 feet high. The blocks of stone used in the building are well cut, massive, and rectangular, and, lying about, are fragments of round pillars over eight feet in length. The stones used in the south wall are so fashioned as, when placed one above the other, to give the appearance of a split column applied to and supporting the wall. In 1721 this ruin is described as “good part of the front of a large square building 140 feet long and about 60 high,”[77] of which part of the four corners was still standing. It is interesting to notice what have been the ravages of time since then, for none of the corners are standing, and the walls are certainly not, if they ever were, sixty feet high. It probably received a severe shake in 1755 from the earthquake which affected Mequinez so severely.

The inhabitants of Mulai Edris, or Zarhún, the adjacent town, are all descendants of the Prophet; and in the afternoon two of them obtained access to the camp on pretence of bringing a young fawn as a present to Miss Hay. At 9 P.M. there was a great uproar among the swarms of guards supplied by the town, and it appeared these two men had been caught trying to steal our horses. They were securely bound, and handed over to old Kaïd Ali, who commands the escort. After this the chief men of the town pitched a tent close to us, from whence they sallied out periodically to visit the sentries. Taking a stroll before turning in at night, I passed by it and was loudly challenged, “Skôn hada” (Who is this?), while guns were ominously handled till they made out who I was.

On revisiting the ruins this morning I was shown another and smaller tombstone, almost hidden in the coarse vegetation which covers all the hill. I copied its inscription[78] on a bit of paper as accurately as I could, much to the amusement of the men who had pointed it out, and who seemed quite pleased at the interest shown in the ruins, of which they are very proud. The concluding words, _Filio piissimo pos._, were as clear as if cut yesterday—an effect attributable, probably, to the climate, which is, however, not so indulgent in regard to Moorish workmanship. Several writers have treated of the _questio vexata_, whether these ruins are those of Volubilis or no, and to their arguments, which are most of them more worthy of notice than mine, there is little to add. Ancient historians speak of it as a flourishing town, and if one could trust to the distances given by the writer of the “Antonini Itinerarium,” there is no question but that Volubilis and modern Fez are identical. He says Volubilis is “Mill. pass. xvi.” from Aquæ Dacicæ, which is rather under the distance of Fez from the hot sulphur springs of Ain Sí Yúsuf, or, as Tissot calls them, Ain el Kibrit, and which are certainly synonymous with the above. Leo Africanus—a great authority on all affairs Morescan—gives little or no assistance in solving the problem, and concludes his arguments by the incontestable theory that “by the Latine letters which are graven on the walls I am rather of opinion that the Romans built this towne.” He also mentions a town in this neighbourhood called Gualili, in which was the tomb of the saint Idris, and that some distance from it were the ruins of “Cassar Pharaon.” The name of Gualili seems now unknown, but in “Hondius his map of Fez” (1600) I find a town “Gualila” just about in the position of the modern Zarhún, or Mulai Edris. To the _east_ of this town is placed Pharaonis Palatium, which is clearly wrong, as the ruins are and always must have been to the west of it. The name of Kasr Fara’ún tells us nothing, as there are fifty other ruins in Egypt and elsewhere to which the natives have given this appellation; and it is improbable that the Pharaohs are responsible for anything so far west as this. Considering what must have been the scale of the original buildings, and the almost superhuman labour involved in their construction, it is strange that the classical writers at the commencement of the Christian era, who treat of these parts, should not have given us more certain information about this most conspicuous and, except Shella, most westerly monument of the great Roman Empire.

Ptolemy, from whose writings savants have extracted many geographical facts about Marocco, tells us that Volubilis was on the Subur, four miles from Tocolosida, and on the road from thence to Tangier. Now, though there are some Roman remains three or four miles south of Kasr Fara’ún, which might do duty for Tocolosida, the Subur (Sebú) does not pass within fifteen or twenty miles of either place; so his testimony, generally so useful, fails us in this instance. Speaking under correction, I am of opinion that the large tombstone in memory of a citizen of the place ought to go far towards proving its position; while the imposing aspect of the grand old ruins—nobler in their decay than the newest palace in this land of mud and concrete—combined with the admirably chosen site, show that an important town must once have stood here; the weight of evidence seems, therefore, in favour of its having been Volubilis.

Whilst “meditating amidst decay,” and wondering if it would be possible to get nearer to the sacred town of Mulai Edris—about two miles off—into which no Christian has ever penetrated, a benign-looking old gentleman rode up on his mule, and to him I explained in rather faltering Arabic my wishes. He seemed to make no objection, so I went on, accompanied by Haynes, and followed by our mounted soldier, who had expressed his unmistakable horror at our intentions. Looking round presently we saw our smiling old friend had disappeared, and only the soldier, muttering and sulky, remained. A little way on we came on two men who were loading their guns and took no notice of us: but when within about three-quarters of a mile from the gate we were met by five or six men, all armed, who barred the road and insisted on our turning back. From the soldier we got no assistance, and the excitement and clamour of the others prevented our getting in a word edgeways, which was of less importance, as it would certainly not have been understood. We therefore turned our backs on the holy city, after I had taken a good look at it through my glasses, and Haynes had made a hurried sketch. The town, which is on a slope, is small, but compact, containing, I should say, from 1500 to 2000 inhabitants. A massive-looking building is on the south side, and the centre seems laid out in gardens; to the north, and extending outside the wall, is an edifice with a large mosque attached, possibly containing the tomb, which is said to be very beautiful, and ornamented with marble columns from Volubilis. Above us, on our left hand, was an olive grove reaching to the city walls, and below us, to our right, were gardens and orange groves along the banks of the stream. On either side and at the back of the town rose the dark hills of the Zarhún range, shutting out the country beyond. If I am not mistaken in my geography, there must be a short cut from here across the hills to the more hospitable and less bigoted town of Beni Aamer, which we visited a month ago.

A curious story connected with the shrine of Mulai Edris was told me to-day. It seems that some years ago a claimant to the throne of Marocco, who gave himself out as a Saint and the Elected of God, caused a considerable stir in the north-west portion of the empire, several large tribes having become his adherents. Marching south he came to Ben Aouda—a place we camped at on our road to Fez—and, in an engagement with some troops the Sultan had sent against him, slew the father of the present kaïd. Going on to Habassi, the father of our friend there temporised with him, giving him a horse and showing him other attentions. He was now at the head of a considerable force, and came here to pay his vows at the shrine, as is customary, before being proclaimed as Sultan. He had hitherto got the best of the troops sent to oppose him, and having risked his person on every occasion, and never having received a scratch, his followers fully believed in his sanctity. The two Sharífs here in charge of the tomb, when they heard who was coming, debated together, saying,—“If he is a holy man, as he declares, and the Elect of God, our knives while he is praying at the shrine will have no effect on him; otherwise he is an impostor, and an enemy to our Lord and grand Sharíf.” Consequently, when he came to prostrate himself in their presence at the tomb, one of them, plunging his knife into him, literally disembowelled him; so he died, and the Sultan, thus rid of a very troublesome foe, handsomely rewarded the holy man who had wrought him this deliverance.

_Camp, Sídi Adab, Friday, 14th May 1880._

Though there would have been no possibility of effecting an entry into Mulai Edris, we were all sorry to have had so short a time in the neighbourhood, for we resumed our march towards Rabât after the usual night’s halt. The high and gently undulating plateau above Volubilis is about on a level with the town of Mequinez thirteen miles to the south-west, and for miles round was literally carpeted with wild flowers, whose varied colours, and the partiality with which each species confined itself to certain ground, gave to the landscape a brilliant and most unique appearance. Dark blue, yellow, and red were represented by iris, marigold, and poppy, all of the brightest hues, which covered the country in artificial-looking patches of about an acre in size; while farther on, the delicate blue tint of whole hills and valleys clothed with convolvulus and borage made a pleasant object for the eye to rest upon.

Riding a little distance from the track I came on an Arab dúar, which had just been shifted from its original position, about thirty yards off. It was circular in form, with a strong prickly hedge built up round it, the chief’s tent being by itself in the centre of the ring. I have noticed that in neighbourhoods infested by robbers, as is the case here, they always adopt this plan for the sake of protection, while in peaceful districts the tents are dotted about anyhow. They had not quite completed their move—an operation which takes place at certain periods to get rid of the parasites which at last become too active for even these thick-skinned Bedouin to endure. The tents are always of an oval shape, in keeping to which pattern they are very conservative, for Shaw, writing in 1732, alludes to their oblong form, like a ship’s bottom turned upside down. This simile, however, the talented writer has borrowed from an earlier author than himself.[79] From the dúar I mentioned a man came running out, and showed me his arm, which had apparently sustained a compound fracture, the bone protruding beyond the skin, and which was roughly bound up in a sort of wicker splint. I explained by signs that I could do nothing, but told him, in what I flatter myself was comprehensible Arabic, that he would find a doctor in the Bashador’s camp at Kariya el Abd-er-rahman Shlíah, where we remained that night. He followed me some distance, but I am sorry to say never turned up in camp, and is probably cursing me now for not curing him, all Christians—so they think—being skilled in medicine and surgery. From the end of the high table-land, along which our road for the first ten miles took us, there was a magnificent view of our old friend the Plain of the Sebú, which lay stretched out before us in a northerly and westerly direction, and which we met, after descending the hillside, at a point about three miles from the gorge by which we quitted it on our way to Fez a month ago. Here we were to have found our luncheon-tent, but the “boy Hamído” in charge had been led astray; and had it not been for Kaïd Ali providing us with rugs to sit on, Moorish tea, and some excellent mutton, which we were not ashamed to eat with our fingers, we should have fared badly. The olive grove we halted in was cool and shady, and a supply of oranges and milk brought by some villagers formed an excellent dessert, making us forget our loss, and take a less keen pleasure than we otherwise should have done in the kaïd’s assurance of vengeance to be wreaked on the soldier who led Hamído wrong. A river, the Wad el Rdem, flowed past this olive grove, and we followed its course the remainder of that, and part of the following day. At night there were very few guards round the camp, and a beggar, or saint, roamed among the tents all night, calling on the Deity by every attribute applied to Him, and they are many, in the Arabic language. I walked round the village before dinner. Its inhabitants seemed friendly, especially the gentler sex, a number of whom ran out in great excitement to look at us. One was exceedingly pretty, but more modest than her elders—and ugliers.

From Zarhún (Volubilis) to Rabât there is a short cut through the country inhabited by the Zemmúr tribe—a lawless set, who are at present, as indeed they usually are, in a state of rebellion against the Sultan. By this route, which would have taken about three days, we had been anxious to come; but the authorities at Fez, being afraid of what might happen, declined to sanction it. Consequently, our first march out of Volubilis was due north, and in the opposite direction to Rabât; but after leaving Shlíah, we turned westward, fording, in the course of a wearisome twenty-three-mile march, the Wad el Rdem and the Wad el Beht, either of which would, I should say, be impassable in the rainy season. The plain through which we passed was wholly waste; no crop of any sort but thistles, of which there was an abundant supply. At the borders of Sherarda and Beni Hassan we were met by a kaïd of the latter province, his son, and six attendants, who rode with us to the banks of the Wad el Beht, where his district ended. He was a dark, rather ill-looking man, of few words; his son, a lively youth of sixteen, was well mounted, and had a handsome saddle and koumia,[80] of which he seemed very proud. One of his men, with whom, through the interpreter, I got into conversation, asked how I liked Moorish saddles, and remarked on the _strength_ of my bit—an ordinary pelham. _His_ horse’s mouth was, as usual, full of blood from the severity of the one he was using, and with which I hope he will himself be ridden hereafter. We had luncheon under the biggest palm-tree I have yet seen, which sheltered us all. It was on the banks of the Wad el Beht, which we forded afterwards. The river there was swift and muddy, with high banks. The soldiers told us it “disappears into a hole” some way farther on, and this turned out to be so far true, that the river never does reach the sea, but loses itself in a big swamp, through the outskirts of which we passed with difficulty later on. If it only persevered a little longer, it might discharge itself into the Sebú, which runs near the marsh in question. During the great drought of 1878 the Wad el Beht dried up altogether—a thing which had never happened before; the cattle died, and the people, after much suffering, fled to the hills, where they were well received and kindly entreated by the Jebelis. In fact, these wild men of the mountains seem to possess some remnant of ancient chivalry, and though much given to robbery and murder, seldom if ever violate a safe-conduct given to any one who penetrates into their fastnesses. I am told, too, that even the unfortunate Jews, weary of persecution by the Moors, find an asylum here, and this is confirmed by the statement of a French writer, who says that among the mountains are to be found “certaines tribus Juives intimement mêlées aux Berbères, dont elles portent le costume, partageant toutes leurs habitudes, _guerrières_ même.” I think, however, his concluding clause must be accepted with caution, as, from what I have seen, the Israelites of Marocco are not imbued with that warlike spirit which once animated their ancestors.

A few miles on this side of the Beht we were met by an escort of fifty Beni Hassan, and at our camp here (Sídi Adab) by seventy more. Their get-up is not so gaudy as that of their countrymen who escorted us through the eastern part of the province _en route_ to Fez; but their powder-play was as reckless, and their appearance wilder and more unkempt. As they closed in behind us, and the parties of seven or eight who trotted ahead came thundering back with loud yells, discharging their guns almost into our faces, I could not help thinking I should fight shy of their society if I ever travelled back this way “on private affairs” without the sheltering standard of Marocco, and the odour of sanctity which even here attaches to the person of an Envoy.

Since getting once more into the plains, the beauty of the flora is less conspicuous, all the Beni Hassan country being covered with squills, whose onion-like root the people pound up with water, using the fibre for making the covering of their tents when goats’ and camels’ hair is not available.

The country we have been travelling through for the last three days is by far the most disturbed and dangerous we have yet visited, and at night the noise of the guards, sitting in a continuous circle and singing their monotonous songs close to our tents, was more than we could stand. We all, therefore, tendered a vote of thanks to Lawless, who, his patience being exhausted first, sallied out from his tent at 3 A.M., and with a volley of abuse and a crack of his hunting whip, sent the offending villagers to the winds. At 8 A.M. we emerged from our tents on to the almost trackless plain, the rain falling so that we could not see a hundred yards in advance, while behind us rose a dense, black bank of clouds. Some of us tried for bustard, but only put up the smaller kind, which were very wild, and out of sight in a moment. The people in the dúars we passed were a most ill-looking lot, though as strongly built and hardy as were their ancestors of Beni “Chessen,” of whose territory Leo writes, “Incolas habet validissimos.”[81] Their only recommendation to us is that they are sworn enemies of the Zemmúr, from whom Kaïd Ali seems apprehensive of an attack.