Читать книгу Life in Morocco and Glimpses Beyond - Budgett Meakin - Страница 21

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"Seek the neighbour before the house, And the companion before the road."

Moorish Proverb.

Few countries afford a better insight into typical Mohammedan life, or boast a more primitive civilization, than Morocco, preserved as it has been so long from western contamination. The patriarchal system, rendered more or less familiar to us by our Bibles, still exists in the homes of its people, especially those of the country-side; but Moorish city life is no less interesting or instructive. If an Englishman's house is his castle, the Mohammedan's house is a prison—not for himself, but for his women. Here is the radical difference between their life and ours. No one who has not mixed intimately with the people as one of themselves, lodging in their houses and holding constant intercourse with them, can form an adequate idea of the lack of home feeling, even in the happiest families.

The moment you enter a town, however, the main facts are brought vividly before you on every hand. You pass along a narrow thoroughfare—maybe six, maybe sixteen feet in width—bounded by almost blank walls, in some towns whitewashed,[page 64] in others bare mud, in which are no windows, lest their inmates might see or be seen. Even above the roofs of the majority of two-storied houses (for very many in the East consist but of ground floor), the wall is continued to form a parapet round the terrace. If you meet a woman in the street, she is enveloped from head to ankle in close disguise, with only a peep-hole for one or both eyes, unless too ugly and withered for such precautions to be needful.

You arrive at the door of your friend's abode, a huge massive barrier painted brown or green—if not left entirely uncoloured—and studded all over with nails. A very prison entrance it appears, for the only other breaks in the wall above are slits for ventilation, all placed so high in the room as to be out of reach. In the warmer parts of the country you would see latticed boxes protruding from the walls—meshrabîyahs or drinking-places—shelves on which porous earthen jars may be placed to catch the slightest breeze, that the God-sent beverage to which Mohammedans are wisely restricted may be at all times cool. You are terrified, if a stranger, by the resonance of this great door, as you let the huge iron ring which serves as knocker fall on the miniature anvil beneath it. Presently your scattered thoughts are recalled by a chirping voice from within—

"Who's that?"

You recognize the tones as those of a tiny negress slave, mayhap a dozen years of age, and as you give your name you hear a patter of bare feet on the tiles within, but if you are a male, you are left standing out in the street. In a few[page 65] moments the latch of the inner door is sedately lifted, and with measured tread you hear the slippers of your friend advancing.

"Is that So-and-so?" he asks, pausing on the other side of the door.

"It is, my Lord."

"Welcome, then."

The heavy bolt is drawn, and the door swings on its hinges during a volley and counter-volley of inquiries, congratulations, and thanks to God, accompanied by the most graceful bows, the mutual touching and kissing of finger-tips, and the placing of hands on hearts. As these exercises slacken, your host advances to the inner door, and possibly disappears through it, closing it carefully behind him. You hear his stentorian voice commanding, "Amel trek!"—"Make way!"—and this is followed by a scuffle of feet which tells you he is being obeyed. Not a female form will be in sight by the time your host returns to lead you in by the hand with a thousand welcomes, entreating you to make yourself at home.

The passage is constructed with a double turn, so that you could not look, if you would, from the roadway into the courtyard which you now enter. If one of the better-class houses, the floor will be paved with marble or glazed mosaics, and in the centre will stand a bubbling fountain. Round the sides is a colonnade supporting the first-floor landing, reached by a narrow stairway in the corner. Above is the deep-blue sky, obscured, perhaps, by the grateful shade of fig or orange boughs, or a vine on a trellis, under which the people live. The walls, if not tiled, are whitewashed, and often[page 66] beautifully decorated in plaster mauresques. In the centre of three of the four sides are huge horseshoe-arched doorways, two of which will probably be closed by cotton curtains. These suffice to ensure the strictest privacy within, as no one would dream of approaching within a couple of yards of a room with the curtain down, till leave had been asked and obtained.

You are led into the remaining room, the guest-chamber, and the curtain over the entrance is lowered. You may not now venture to rise from your seat on the mattress facing the door till the women whom you hear emerging from their retreats have been admonished to withdraw again. The long, narrow apartment, some eight feet by twenty, in which you find yourself has a double bed at each end, for it is sleeping-room and sitting-room combined, as in Barbary no distinction is known between the two. However long you may remain, you see no female face but that of the cheery slave-girl, who kisses your hand so demurely as she enters with refreshments.

Thus the husband receives his friends—perforce all males unless he be "on the spree,"—in apartments from which all women-folk are banished. Likewise the ladies of the establishment hold their festive gatherings apart. Most Moors, however, are too strict to allow much visiting among their women, especially if they be wealthy and have a good complexion, when they are very closely confined, except when allowed to visit the bath at certain hours set apart for the fair sex, or on Fridays to lay myrtle branches on the tombs of saints and departed relatives. Most of the ladies'[page 67] calls are roof-to-roof visitations, and very nimble they are in getting over the low partition walls, even dragging a ladder up and down with them if there are high ones to be crossed. The reason is that the roofs, or rather terraces, are especially reserved for women-folk, and men are not even allowed to go up except to do repairs, when the neighbouring houses are duly warned; it is illegal to have a window overlooking another's roof. David's temptation doubtless arose from his exercise of a Royal exemption from this all-prevailing custom.

But for their exceedingly substantial build, the Moorish women in the streets might pass for ghosts, for with the exception of their red Morocco slippers, their costume is white—wool-white. A long and heavy blanket of coarse homespun effectually conceals all features but the eyes, which are touched up with antimony on the lids, and are sufficiently expressive. Sometimes a wide-brimmed straw hat is jauntily clapped on; but here ends the plate of Moorish out-door fashions. In-doors all is colour, light and glitter.

In matters of colour and flowing robes the men are not far behind, and they make up abroad for what they lack at home. No garment is more artistic, and no drapery more graceful, than that in which the wealthy Moor takes his daily airing, either on foot or on mule back. Beneath a gauze-like woollen toga—relic of ancient art—glimpses of luscious hue are caught—crimson and purple; deep greens and "afternoon sun colour" (the native name for a rich orange); salmons, and pale, clear blues. A dark-blue cloak, when it is cold, negligently but[page 68] gracefully thrown across the shoulders, or a blue-green prayer-carpet folded beneath the arm, helps to set off the whole.

Chez lui our friend of the flowing garments is a king, with slaves to wait upon him, wives to obey him, and servants to fear his wrath. But his everyday reception-room is the lobby of his stables, where he sits behind the door in rather shabby garments attending to business matters, unless he is a merchant or shopkeeper, when his store serves as office instead.

If all that the Teuton considers essential to home-life is really a sine quâ non, then Orientals have no home-life. That is our way of looking upon it, judging in the most natural way, by our own standards. The Eastern, from his point of view, forms an equally poor idea of the customs which familiarity has rendered most dear to us. It is as difficult for us to set aside prejudice and to consider his systems impartially, as for him to do so with regard to our peculiar style. There are but two criteria by which the various forms of civilization so far developed by man may be fairly judged. The first is the suitability of any given form to the surroundings and exterior conditions of life of the nation adopting it, and the second is the moral or social effect on the community at large.

Under the first head the unbiassed student of mankind will approve in the main of most systems adopted by peoples who have attained that artificiality which we call civilization. An exchange among Westerners of their time-honoured habits for those of the East would not be less beneficial or more incongruous than a corresponding exchange[page 69] on the part of orientals. Those who are ignorant of life towards the sunrise commonly suppose that they can confer no greater benefit upon the natives of these climes than chairs, top-hats, and so on. Hardly could they be more mistaken. The Easterner despises the man who cannot eat his dinner without a fork or other implement, and who cannot tuck his legs beneath him, infinitely more than ill-informed Westerners despise petticoated men and shrouded women. Under the second head, however, a very different issue is reached, and one which involves not only social, but religious life, and consequently the creed on which this last is based. It is in this that Moorish civilization fails.