V. The Liquidation of the Sultanate

THE year 1912 saw the end of the independence of Morocco, and though there must always be present a regret when something very old and picturesque disappears, yet, on the whole, the end of its independence was a matter for congratulation.

Built up originally on the foundation of the religious prestige of its rulers — for the Sultans of Morocco were descendants of the Prophet — the rotten old edifice had stood for many years in a state of imminent collapse. Only its isolation, and the exclusiveness and fanaticism of its people, had postponed its earlier disintegration, and for a long time, in the throes of mortal disease, Morocco had kept up a semblance of life. A young and spendthrift Sultan, Mulai Abdul Aziz, had wasted the revenues of the country and emptied its Treasuries — for the greater part on the most useless purchases of European origin. His reign had been the epoch of the commis voyageurs, when caravans converged upon Fez from all the seaports, bearing cages of wild beasts, and the most astounding assortment of every imaginable and unpractical object of luxury and bad taste. It was the time of fireworks and barrel-organs, of fantastic uniforms and beds made of looking-glass, of cameras and parrots from the Amazons. This expenditure, his association with Europeans, and the weakness with which he administered his Government, gave rise to a rebellion. His half-brother, Mulai Hafid, proclaimed himself Sultan in the southern capital.

The war between the two Sultans was tedious and uninteresting. The principal object of both seemed to be how to avoid an encounter, and they contented themselves by issuing edicts of mutual excommunication, and, in order to obtain money, by pillaging the tribes, regardless of their political opinions. When either Sultan had funds he had also soldiers; failing resources, the armies alternately dwindled away almost to the point of disappearance. In fact, both were dependent for troops on deserters from each other's forces.

In 1908 Mulai Abdul Aziz left Fez for the scene of the rebellion, and marching slowly by a very devious course, so as to avoid any possible encounter with the enemy, he set out for the south. Meanwhile Mulai Hafid, equally pluckily, set out to conquer the north — also, and for the same reason, by a very devious route. In all probability each would have successfully reached the other's capital without a hitch, if Mulai Abdul Aziz's army, when only a short distance from its goal, Marrakesh, had not suddenly pillaged the Imperial camp, driven the Sultan to seek refuge, after a long and dangerous journey, on the coast, and declared for his rival. A few months later he abdicated in favour of Mulai Hafid, who, with only a few followers, for his army had likewise deserted him, had meanwhile arrived in Fez with little more than the proverbial half-crown in his pocket.

Fez accepted him as Sultan, on the distinct condition that the city was to be exempted from all taxation. This His Majesty solemnly promised — and he kept his promise for a few weeks, until, in fact, he was strong enough to break it — and then he collected taxes, legal and illegal, with gusto never before experienced.

His ability to act thus was owing to his having meanwhile collected a little army. Naturally the Treasury was empty, and no tribesmen presented themselves as desiring to take military service, as no pay was forthcoming. The situation was precarious. Without troops Mulai Hafid could do nothing, not even collect the taxes he had promised to forgo; and without the taxes he couldn't live. At all costs he must have an army.

So one morning the public criers announced in the streets and market-places that the Sultan was on a certain day giving a great feast at the palace to the adepts of the sect of the " Gennaoua." Now the confraternity of the " Gennaoua " is very popular in Morocco, though — limited almost entirely to the Southerners, who are largely of negro extraction, and form a class by themselves of labourers and water-carriers — it is looked upon as unorthodox by the more educated Moors. The

Sultan even hinted that he himself had leanings towards their particular doctrine.

On the day in question the " Gennaoua," washed and in their best clothes, flocked to the palace, and entered its great walled courts, surrounded by frowning towers. With every sign of holidaymaking and joy, they manifested their pleasure at the honour of being invited to the Sultan's religious-garden-party — and sought refreshments. Alas! there were none — nothing but high walls and closed gates — and the next day a sad but resigned army was being drilled on the palace parade-ground.

Mulai Hafid was not the man to restore the dying Morocco back to health. Tribes revolted; he himself adopted barbarous methods, and the condition of Morocco became worse than before. In the early months of 1912 the Sultan was besieged by the tribes in Fez. He appealed to the French, already installed at Casablanca on the Atlantic coast. An expedition was hurriedly despatched to the capital, which was relieved, and a few weeks later the Treaty of the French Protectorate was signed, to be followed immediately by a massacre of French officers and civilians in Fez. Mulai Hafid' s position became impossible, both in the eyes of France and of his own people, and he decided to abdicate. The Court moved to Rabat, on the coast, and there the final scenes of Moroccan independence took place. They consisted in the most rapacious bargaining on the part of the Sultan, in order to obtain the best possible terms for himself.

Before leaving Fez he had already begun to secure his future comfort in life. He had informed all the royal ladies of his palace — and they were legion — the widows of former Sultans and a host of female relations — that they must all accompany him to Rabat. He gave them stringent orders as to their luggage. All their jewels and valuables were to be packed in small cases, then" clothes and less costly belongings in trunks. They strictly followed these injunctions, but on the day of the Sultan's departure the ladies and the trunks were left behind. They are still in Fez: the jewels, there is reason to believe, are in Europe. Mulai Hafid always prided himself on his business qualities.

The last weeks of his reign were one continual period of wrangling with the French authorities. He was still Sultan and therefore dangerous, and the question of his successor had not been settled, so he yet held some trump cards, which he played successfully. Even when everything was arranged, and the letters for the proclamation of his younger half-brother, Mulai Youssef, the reigning Sultan, had been despatched to the interior, Mulai Hafid changed his mind. On reconsideration, he stated, he thought he wouldn't abdicate or leave the country, as had been decided. He had already obtained the most generous terms from the French Government, but the situation was desperate. Instructions had already been circulated in the interior to proclaim the new Sovereign, and the reigning one refused to abdicate! Then Mulai

Hafid said that possibly he might be persuaded again to change his mind. He was; but it cost another £40^000, which was given him in a cheque as he left the quay at Rabat for the French cruiser that was to take him on a visit to France. In exchange, he handed to the French Resident-General the final document of his abdication. The mutual confidence between these two personages was such that for a spell they stood each holding an end of the two documents, and each afraid to let go of his lest the other paper should not be delivered.

The night before the signing of his official abdication Mulai Hafid destroyed the sacred emblems of the Sultanate of Morocco — for he realised that he was the last independent Sovereign of that country, and was determined that with its independence these historical emblems should disappear too. He burnt the crimson parasol which on occasions of State had been borne over his head. The palanquin he hewed in pieces and consigned also to the flames, together with the two cases in which certain holy books were carried. The books themselves he spared. The family jewels he took with him.

From Rabat, Mulai Hafid proceeded to France, where, as the guest of the French Government, and travelling in semi-state, he made a protracted tour. At the conclusion of this journey he returned to Tangier, where his immediate family and retainers— in all about 160 persons — had meanwhile arrived. The old Kasbah (castle) was placed at

His Majesty's disposal, and there he took up his residence.

Almost immediately after his arrival at Tangier began the discussion of the terms of his abdication, for only its more general lines had been settled at Rabat, and in a very sTTort time the ex-Sultan's relations with the French were seriously embroiled. Mulai Hafid did not apparently regret having abdicated. He knew that his continued presence on the throne in the actual circumstances was out of the question. What he did regret was that he had not made better terms for himself, and he still hoped to be able to extort more money and more properties. Thus the negotiations were being carried on by him in a spirit of grasping meanness, that rendered any solution impossible. At the beginning of his reign, only four years before, he had shown signs of an elevated and patriotic spirit, and really intended to do his best to maintain the independence of the country. But he had quickly realised how impossible his self-set task was. He became unscrupulous, neurasthenic, and cruel. He made enemies on every side — amongst his own people by his barbarities and his extortions, and amongst the Europeans by his cynicism and intransigence.

So it came about that in a very short time after his arrival in Tangier his relations with the French authorities were strained to breaking-point. It was at this moment, when everything seemed almost hopeless, that the writer was asked, independently by both sides, to intervene in the interests of peace.

This invitation to intervene came about as follows. There had been a terrible scene between the ex-Sultan and the French authority charged with the negotiations, and Mulai Hafid had used language so unparliamentary that any further meeting was out of the question.

Early one morning the writer received the visit of a French official, who implored him to become the medium of the conversations and proposals, paying him the compliment of saying that he seemed to be the only person who had any influence over the ex-Sultan, whose conduct was bitterly resented in high quarters.

Scarcely had this person disappeared when the ex-Sultan himself arrived. His nerves appeared to have completely given way, and he was in a state of the deepest depression. Throwing himself upon a sofa, and in tears, he poured out all his woes, real and pretended, attacking the French with a vehemence that was as violent as it was unjust. " You," he said to the writer, " seem to be the only person who has any influence upon these villains. Will you continue the negotiations? " Under the circumstances there was nothing to do but to accept.

An hour later the conversations had recommenced. The ex-Sultan spent the whole day at the writer's villa, and could scarcely be persuaded to eat or drink. During the writer's absence at the French Legation, Mulai Hafid took his departure— and that was not all he took, for he carried away with him ths^choicest specimens of the writer's Arabic manuscripts. Being of a literary disposition, the temptation of the illuminated books was too great. The writer never saw them again, but it is only fair to state that His Majesty sent a present in exchange the same evening — a, gold and enamelled dagger.

During the following weeks the principal points of the negotiations were successfully solved — the question of the pension, funds for the construction of a palace in xangief, the retention of certain large properties in the interior, and the future of the ex-Sultan's wives and children.

Then came the question of the debts, about which there ensued a long and acrimonious discussion. It had been accepted on principle that all debts that had been incurred directly, and in certain cases indirectly, in the interests of the State, should be considered as Governmental debts, and be paidj^ the French Protectorate Government, while all private debts should be settled out of the ex-Sultan's private fortune.

Now this distinction of debts was rendered extremely difficult by the systems under which Morocco had been governed. The Sultan of Morocco was always an absolute monarch, and, as such, the revenues of the country were his. There had never been any distinction between public funds and private funds — all belonged to the Sultan. As a rule, the expenses of the State, as well as the palace upkeep, were paid by bills drawn upon the custom-houses of the coast. It was therefore no easy task to arrive at an agreement as to what were State and what private debts, so inextricably mixed had they been in the past.

There was, for instance, a bill for a fine marble staircase, ordered in Italy for the palace at Fez. The French authorities argued that this very expensive staircase was merely a piece of wild extravagance on the part of Mulai Hafid, and that accordingly he ought to pay for it. The ex-Sultan, on the contrary, insisted that the palace was the property of the State — he had argued just the other way when he had been called upon to explain why he had brought away with him certain valuable fixtures — and that any additions and improvements he had made to it were all to the advantage and interests of the State. It was, he said, his successor and not he himself who would benefit by the marble staircase. The Protectorate Government allowed the justice of this argument and paid the bill.

The sequel to this incident is worth the telling. A few months later, when the ex-Sultan was signing a contract for the construction of his new palace at Tangier, he eliminated one of the several marble staircases marked in the plan. He had, he said, a very superior marble stair which would do admirably in its place. The writer ventured to ask if it was the same one about which there had been so much discussion. " It is," replied Mulai Hafid. " You see, it had not yet left Italy, so I telegraphed and had it delivered here instead of being sent to Fez."

A still more complicated claim was for some hundreds of yards of very expensive and very fine crimson cloth. Naturally the Protectorate authorities scheduled this amongst the private debts. The Sultan protested. The cloth, he said, had been purchased for Governmental purposes — in fact, for the trousers of the Imperial kitchen-maids — for there are several hundred slave-women employed in preparing the palace food. The Protectorate Government refused to be responsible for this debt. The ex-Sultan drew up an historical treatise to prove that Imperial kitchen-maids were part and parcel of the State, and passed, like the palace itself, from Sultan to Sultan. The principle was accepted, but the debt was disallowed, on the ground that these good ladies did not require such expensive stuff for their nether garments. A cotton material, they argued, would have equally well served the purpose. The Sultan's reply was unanswerable and crushing. " In Europe," he said, " it may be the custom for the Imperial kitchen-maids to wear cotton trousers, but in Morocco we have more appreciation of the dignity of their position."

There was nothing more to be said. The debt was paid by the Protectorate Government.

The long discussions which the writer, practically unaided, had to maintain with the Sultan were not always facilitated by the surroundings in which they took place. There were no regular business hours for these conversations or for the examination of the voluminous documents which they often necessitated, and which were always in the wildest disorder, but which none the less required a careful perusal. Whenever and wherever His Majesty felt inclined he would burst out with his grievances, and as at all costs he had to be kept apart from the French authorities, the whole storm used often to fall on the writer's head. At times the ex-Sultan, struck by a brilliant idea how to escape the payment of some small sum, would arrive at my villa at dawn — at others I was hastily summoned to the palace at midnight. The debts were discussed and argued over in every possible situation, and any one present, native or European, high authority or slave, was dragged into the discussion. There were two aged ladies whose opinion was constantly asked. One was an old black slave nurse, the other a Berber woman, quite white, who was the Sultan's soothsayer and fortune-teller. Her advice was always good and to the point, and she never hesitated to tell the ex-Sultan that he was acting foolishly when occasion required, and she rendered distinct services toward the unravelling of these complicated questions.

Sometimes it was when seated on mattresses and rugs in a garden, surrounded by his slaves, that Mulai Hafid would argue that all debts were State debts, and that private property never had legally existed, and that individual responsibility — especially for debts — was contrary to the highest principles of divine nature. He discoursed with

MULAI HAFID. great facility and great literary ability. He had a classical Arabic quotation at hand — often most skilfully misquoted — to prove his every argument. He could persuade others quickly, and himself at once. Leaning slightly forward, swathed in his soft white robes, he would speak slowly and with great distinctness and charm, with an accompanying slow movement of his right hand — and then in the middle of it all his attention would be attracted by his elephants or his llamas or a group of cranes that would come wandering out of the shrubberies, and turn his thoughts and his conversation into new channels.

While the two elephants were being brought from Fez to Tangier at the time of the abdication, one of them escaped on the road, and being an unknown beast to the villagers of the countryside, it met with many adventures. Wherever it appeared arose panic and consternation, and the whole male population turned out with such weapons as they could lay their hand on to drive away this terrible and unknown beast. The country population, however, possessed little but very primitive firearms, whose range was short, and whose bullets dropped harmlessly off the sides and back of the huge pachyderm, thereby increasing the panic. The elephant, luxuriating in the spring crops, grazed undisturbed, while from as near as they dared to approach the outraged proprietors poured volleys against its unheeding bulk. But one day it found itself on the road again, and came rolling along into Tangier none the worse, but remarkably spotted all over with the marks of the spent bullets.

It was during one of these long discussions of claims that news was brought to the Sultan that one of these elephants was lying down in its stable and was unable to rise. This information, of course, put an end to all business, and we set out at once to see what had happened. Sure enough, the female elephant was lying on her side, every now and then struggling but vainly to get up.

After everybody present had given an opinion, and every effort had been made to put the poor creature on her legs — from twisting her tail to lighting a lucifer match under her hind-legs, which failed, of course, even to singe the skin — Mulai Hafid arrived at the conclusion that only by the aid of a crane could the elephant be raised.

A heavy beam was found, and made fast to ropes hung from the roof. Two other ropes were passed under the elephant's recumbent body, one just behind her front-legs, the other just in front of her hind ones, a manoeuvre that entailed considerable labour.

When everything was ready the slaves began to haul. With cries and shouts of mutual encouragement they managed to raise the elephant till she was swinging suspended in the air, and then set to work to lower her gently on her feet. In this they would no doubt have been successful had not the forward one of the two ropes slipped back, with the result that the unfortunate pachyderm, suspended now only from aft, stood on her head, and remained hung up in this posture until she was lowered to earth once more, this time with her face to the wall in a more impossible position than ever. But in spite of all the difficulties, after much shouting, swearing, and a good deal of real hard work, she was restored to a standing posture.

There were many occasions when our conversations were in less pleasant places than the gardens. There was a room, for instance, in a hideous villa that Mulai Hafid had bought as it stood, and greatly admired, that seemed haunted by the microbe of irritability. Not only was its decoration appalling, but it was full of a host of objects which the ex-Sultan had brought from Fez, amongst them innumerable musical-boxes, clocks of every shape and form — he evidently particularly fancied a kind made in the shape of a locomotive engine in coloured metals, the wheels of which all turned round at the hours, half-hours, and quarters, and mechanical toys. Everything, or nearly everything, was broken, and an Italian watchmaker was employed in trying to sort out the wheels, bells, and other internal arrangements of this damaged collection of rubbish. It was in this room that he had set up his workshop, and nothing pleased Mulai Hafid more than to sit and watch him.

Now it was not unseldom the writer's duty to break to the exSultan the news that the French authorities refused to pay such and such a debt.

With all oriental autocrats it is best to break bad news gently, for they are usually wanting in self-restraint, and are not accustomed to blunt facts. Often it required considerable time and a neatly-expressed argument, couched in Arabic at once diplomatic and literary, to carry out the task successfully and escape an access of temper. I would begin with a little discourse on the origin of revenues, the ex-Sultan would listen attentively, and then just as the moment arrived to bring generalities into line with actual facts, the Italian watchmaker would meet with an unexpected success. Clocks would begin to strike and chime, or a musical-box, old and wheezy, to play, or an almost featherless stuffed canary in a cage would utter piercing notes in a voice that moth and rust had terribly corrupted — or from near the Italian's chair some groaning mechanical toy would crawl its unnatural course over the carpet, eventually to turn over on its back and apparently expire in a whizz of unoiled wheels. The ex-Sultan's attention would stray. There was an end of business, and it generally led to the ordering of a meal to be served to every one — at any hour and on any excuse — at which the watchmaker, who might have only just finished a repast, was the guest of honour, and was forced to eat incredible quantities of very rich, but very excellent, food. And what was left of the royal repast was handed out of the windows and served to the slaves and gardeners.

Perhaps the most difficult claim to settle was that of the Sultan's Spanish (ientist, for not only ' was it extremely complicated, but it also became almost international. It might naturally be supposed that the dentist's bill was for professional services; but no — it was for a live lion. In the early days of his reign the Sultan had engaged the dentist at a regular stipend, and he had become a permanent member of His Majesty's household. For a time he was kept busy patching up the mouths of the Court, but the task was at length accomplished, and the ladies' teeth glistened with gold. The dentist remained unemployed.

Now there is no possible reason in the world why dentists shouldn't be employed to buy lions.,• It is not, of course, usual, and so sounds incongruous. In Morocco, views as to the limitations of professions are much less restricted than with us. In Mulai Abdul Aziz's time, a very few years ago, one of the duties of the Scotch Court-piper was to feed the kangaroos, the professional photographer made scones, a high military authority supplied the Sultan's ladies with under-linen, and the gardener from Kew was entrusted with the very difficult task of teaching macaw parrots to swear. And so it was not surprising that the dentist became a buyer of lions.

In the first flush of his success at the beginning of his reign, Mulai Hafid was setting himself up as an orthodox Sovereign by Divine Right, and this necessitated a menagerie. It is one of the attributes of royalty which has almost disappeared, except in the East, though at one time universal. It is perhaps fortunate. The hurried entrance of an excited rhinoceros amongst the guests at a garden party at Windsor Castle would prove embarrassing, and so, to a lesser degree, would be the presence of a hyena at the evening service at St George's Chapel; but at Morocco similar incidents would have attracted little or no attention. The father of Mulai Hafid, Mulai Hassen, allowed his tame leopards to roam about his reception-rooms; but his son, more timid by nature, confined the leopards in cages, and replaced them in his drawing-room by guinea-pigs. The effect lost in majesty, but the afternoon callers were less nervous.

So the dentist was sent to Hamburg to buy wild beasts from Hagenbeck. But he erred. He should have returned with the menagerie and shared its glory. He delayed, and when he arrived in Fez a few months later the novelty and glamour of the wild beasts was passed, and the reception that he and the belated unpaid-for lion — the last of a series of lions — met with was by no means enthusiastic. Mulai Hafid had discovered that the upkeep of so many sheep-eating beasts was expensive, as the tribes, on the eve of revolt, refused to supply the sheep, and insultingly demanded payment.

So far the claim presented no insurmountable difficulties, but there were complications; for the Sultan, immensely attracted by the mechanism of the dentist's operating - chair, had some time previously ordered from the dentist, and paid for, a throne to be constructed on the same mechanical principles. This throne had never been supplied, so there was a counter-claim. The Sultan stated that he had paid for the lion; or if he hadn't, then it was a State debt, for which he was not responsible, and demanded the delivery of his mechanical throne. The question was still under discussion when the term of the dentist's contract expired, and the ex-Sultan notified him that it would not be renewed. But the dentist held a trump card, for the ex-Sultan had lodged him, rent free, in a little villa situated on one of His Majesty's Tangier properties. The dentist refused to quit, and the Spanish authorities upheld him, for by the capitulations each Power protects the interests of its respective subjects. A body of slaves were sent to eject him. They found the villa barricaded, and were met with pistol-shots. The complications were becoming serious, and international in character. The Sultan, the French authorities, the Spanish dentist, the black slaves, the writer, a British subject, and the German lion threatened to cause annoyance to the Governments of Europe if recourse was made to firearms. I made an impassioned appeal for conciliation on every one's part. After much delay and no little difficulty, an interview was arranged between the ex-Sultan and the dentist, at which as mediator I was to be present. Each was st ' >usly coached in the part he was to play: the dentist's pj-ainjive appeals to the generosity of the exSovereign were carefully rehearsed, as were also the Sovereign's " gracious reply," while the writer's little speech on the blessing of brotherly love was a gem of the first quality.

Mulai Hafid was seated on a divan studiously reading a book when the dentist entered and made his obeisance, but this obeisance — polite but intentionally curtailed — did not meet with His Majesty's approval. Instead of, as arranged, smilingly acknowledging the dentist's salutation, the exSultan continued reading half aloud in a singsong drawl.

A long period ensued, broken by one of the suite, who said, " My lord the King, the dentist is here."

Without raising his eyes from his book the exSultan asked in the softest of voices —

" Has he^brought my mechanical throne? " fNow that wasn't on the programme at all! There was to have been no mention of such distressing objects as dentist-chair-thrones or lions. There was to have been purely and simply a reconciliation: a sum of money promised to the dentist if he would quit the villa, and a general abandonment of claim and counter-claim. But alas! before any one could intervene the dentist shouted out —

" Pay me for my lion! "

And then the fat was in the fire. For some moments the atmosphere boiled with vituperative allusions to lions and dentist-thrones, until, while the writer restrained the infuriated potentate, the dentist was, struggling and shouting, removed from the presence-chamber.

By dint of great persuasion the writer eventually brought about a settlement. The Sultan did not get his throne, nor did he pay for the lion, which the Protectorate Government took over, not having been informed that it had meanwhile died. The dentist received a sum of money in payment of all his claims. The writer, whose solution it was, got the thanks of none of them, all three parties concerned expressing themselves as distinctly dissatisfied with the settlement arrived at.