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