I remember
meeting two aged rabbis who were seated on stones by the roadside half a
mile from the city of Tiberias on the Sea of Galilee. They rose as I
approached, and said in Hebrew, "Blessed be he who cometh."
TO THE GATES OF MARRAKESH
[Illustration: THE R'KASS]
CHAPTER IV
TO THE GATES OF MARRAKESH
In hawthorn-time the heart grows bright,
The world is sweet in sound and sight,
Glad thoughts and birds take flower and flight,
The heather kindles toward the light,
The whin is frankincense and flame.
_The Tale of Balen._
If you would savour the true sense of Morocco, and enjoy glimpses of a
life that belongs properly to the era of Genesis, journey through Dukala,
Shiadma, or Haha in April. Rise early, fare simply, and travel far enough
to appreciate whatever offers for a camping-ground, though it be no more
than the grudging shadow of a wall at mid-day, or a n'zala not overclean,
when from north, south, east, and west the shepherd boys and girls are
herding their flocks along the homeward way. You will find the natives
kind and leisured enough to take interest in your progress, and, their
confidence gained, you shall gather, if you will, some knowledge of the
curious, alluring point of view that belongs to fatalists.
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