AID-EL-KEBIR
In the verandah of the Residence of Rabat I stood
looking out between posts festooned with gentian-blue
ipomeas at the first shimmer of light on black cypresses
and white tobacco-flowers, on the scattered roofs of
the new town, and the plain stretching away to the
Sultan’s palace above the sea.
We had been told, late the night before, that the
Sultan would allow Madame Lyautey, with the three
ladies of her party, to be present at the great religious
rite of the Aid-el-Kebir (the Sacrifice of the Sheep).
The honour was an unprecedented one, a favour probably
conceded only at the last moment: for as a rule
no women are admitted to these ceremonies. It
was an opportunity not to be missed, and all through
the short stifling night I had lain awake wondering
if I should be ready early enough. Presently
the motors assembled, and we set out with the French
officers in attendance on the Governor’s wife.
The Sultan’s palace, a large modern building
on the familiar Arab lines, lies in a treeless and
gardenless waste enclosed by high walls and close
above the blue Atlantic. We motored past the gates,
where the Sultan’s Black Guard was drawn up,
and out to the msalla,[A] a sort of common
adjacent to all the Sultan’s residences where
public ceremonies are usually performed. The
sun was already beating down on the great plain thronged
with horsemen and with the native population of Rabat
on mule-back and foot. Within an open space in
the centre of the crowd a canvas palissade dyed with
a bold black pattern surrounded the Sultan’s
tents. The Black Guard, in scarlet tunics and
white and green turbans, were drawn up on the edge
of the open space, keeping the spectators at a distance;
but under the guidance of our companions we penetrated
to the edge of the crowd.
[Footnote A: The msalla is used for the
performance of religious ceremonies when the crowd
is too great to be contained in the court of the mosque.]
The palissade was open on one side, and within it
we could see moving about among the snowy-robed officials
a group of men in straight narrow gowns of almond-green,
peach-blossom, lilac and pink; they were the Sultan’s
musicians, whose coloured dresses always flower out
conspicuously among the white draperies of all the
other court attendants.
In the tent nearest the opening, against a background
of embroidered hangings, a circle of majestic turbaned
old men squatted placidly on Rabat rugs. Presently
the circle broke up, there was an agitated coming
and going, and some one said: “The Sultan
has gone to the tent at the back of the enclosure
to kill the sheep.”
