know him, however, for a statesman, after the Moorish fashion—­a keen if resigned observer of the tragic-comedy of his country’s politics, and a pious man withal, who had visited Mecca in the month that is called Shawall, and had cast stones on the hill of Arafat, as the custom is among True Believers.  Some years had passed since our first meeting, when I was the bearer of a letter of introduction written by a high official in the intricate Arabic character.  It began:  “Praise be to God!  The blessing of Allah on our Lord Mohammed, and his peace upon Friends and Followers.”  Irrelevant perhaps all this, but the letter had opened the portals of his house to me, and had let loose for my benefit thoughts not lightly to be expressed.

Now we sat side by side on cushions in his patio, partly shaded by a rose tree that climbed over trellis-work and rioted in bud and blossom.  We drank green tea flavoured with mint from tiny glasses that were floridly embossed in gilt.  Beyond the patio there was a glimpse of garden ablaze with colour; we could hear slaves singing by the great Persian water-wheel, and the cooing of doves from the shaded heart of trees that screened a granary.

“Since Mulai el Hasan died,” said the Hadj quietly, “since that Prince of Believers went to his Pavilion in Paradise, set among rivers in an orchard of never-failing fruit, as is explained in the Most Perspicuous Book,[27] troubles have swept over this land, even as El Jerad, the locust, comes upon it before the west wind has risen to blow him out to sea.”

He mused awhile, as though the music of the garden pleased him.

“Even before the time of my Lord el Hasan,” he went on, “there had been troubles enough.  I can remember the war with Spain, though I was but a boy.  My father was among those who fell at Wad Ras on the way to Tanjah of the Nazarenes.  But then your country would not permit these Spanish dogs to steal our land, and even lent the money to satisfy and keep them away.  This was a kindly deed, and Mulai Mohammed, our Victorious Master, opened his heart to your Bashador[28] and took him to his innermost councils.  And I can remember that great Bashador of yours when he came to this city and was received in the square by the Augdal gardens.  Our Master the Sultan came before him on a white horse[29] to speak gracious words under the M’dhal, that shades the ruling House.

“A strong man was our Master the Sultan, and he listened carefully to all your Bashador said, still knowing in his heart that this country is not as the land of the Nazarenes, and could not be made like it in haste.  His wazeers feared change, the Ulema[30] opposed it so far as they dared, and that you know is very far, and nothing could be done rapidly after the fashion of the West.  My Lord understood this well.

“Then that King of the Age and Prince of True Believers fulfilled his destiny and died, and my Lord el Hasan, who was in the South, reigned in his stead.[31] And the troubles that now cover the land began to grow and spread.”