The pillars of Hercules

November 30.

A Heaven of pale blue is reflected in the Atlantic; there is not a speck above nor a breath below; there is nothing that tells of Atlas or of Africa—no cloud-capped and snow-clad peaks overshadowing the ocean, or pillaring the sky. The land is low and tame; but on nearing it along the water’s edge, a fast-set fence of breakers appears, which would crush in an instant the Baron Renfrew, or Ptolemy Philopator’s fifty-decker: in memory of such incidents, no doubt, Antæus honoured Neptune with a temple of human heads. These horrid fangs, now covered with foam and now left bare, might well suggest the idea of a dragon-guarded land. Calm as it is, at a distance of three or four miles from the shore we hear the surf like distant thunder: the spray, on the rolling in of every wave, shoots up as if a succession of mines were fired by a train. In this merciless fence the gaps are few and far between, hard to find, and, when found, harder still to enter by. Along the distance we have run, there are but three openings where small craft might find refuge, but then only when such refuge is not wanted; that is to say, with calm weather, a leading wind, a tranquil sea, and a full tide. A vessel caught in a westerly gale would have a lee-shore (and what a lee-shore!) stretching in a right line for five or six hundred miles, without a promontory behind which to shelter, or a port for which to make, and (towards the south) with a current incessantly setting upon the breakers.

It would seem strange that there should be this surf, not only with a perfect calm, but with a glass-like sea. There was, however, where we lay, a slight heaving of the water; and these heaves, as they bore landwards, became, within a mile of the coast, billows, and then dashed upon it with the extremest fury, as if the Atlantic, in contact with Africa, required not the aid of wind, but shook it with the spontaneous heaves of its majestic breast. We lay for hours with the same marks on—as if we had been a rock. The tide rises and falls upon the shore, but does not run along the land. The Atlantic merely heaves up and down, but shifts not its place. It is met in front by a straight line; and the tidal currents of the coast of Europe are stopped at the great indraught of the Straits of Gibraltar; so that to the southward there extends a region of some hundred miles of dead water. Hence the violence of the action of the waves upon the shore. With our indented and slanting coasts, there is always a current running in front of the land, which serves as a breakwater against the effects of the rise and fall of the tide: here there is no such protection. In like manner may be explained the incessant disturbance of the Bay of Biscay: the horns break the tides along the shore, and the Atlantic surges in upon the congested waters. Below Rabat a current begins to be sensible; it runs south. At Mogadore it reaches the speed of three knots an hour. There are combined to produce it, the sweep of the back eddy of the Atlantic, and the nightly gales which blow from the sea into the interior of Africa to supply the rarification of the Great Desert. This nightly indraught begins only at the province of Sus; to the north the ordinary land and sea winds prevail. In these latitudes it is calm at sun-rise and sun-set. The breeze freshens by night from the land, by day from the sea—the former breathing a gentle gale, the second reaching to a top-gallant breeze.

The sand is not blown up from the sea, as some have supposed, nor down from the Desert. In travelling over it, you would suppose that you were crossing a rocky country.

On the coast its structure is exposed, and there it appears to be a bank of sand, with a coast of stone. Worn by the waves, the unsupported rock comes tumbling down, and the fragments often sticking on the edge form the breakwater. The “conformably overlying” rock, is an induration of the sand by oxide of iron; sand, newly exposed, immediately begins to crust.

This bank must have been left by the waters of the deluge, escaping westward, charged with the sand of the interior. This idea was first suggested to me by the deposits on both sides of the rock of Gibraltar. The sand blocks up to its very roofs a cavern which opens to the eastward.

Thus have been estranged the land and the water, and the approach to each is closed from the other. Such is the defence of Morocco on the ocean side: its iron-bound coast on the Mediterranean is scarcely a less formidable bulwark. To the east, and to the south, it is encircled by deserts and wildernesses. I had subsequently the satisfaction to find that this fence of rocks had not failed to fix the attention of the ancients. An old author, quoted by Suidas, says, that “rocks, to which the name Harmata,[198] was given, were strewed along the shore by Hercules to defend it from the approach of wild beasts.” The beasts are ships, to which the names of animals were given—from the figure-heads this fertile source of mythological personation has given us Pegasus, the Ram of Phryxus, the Bull of Europa.

December 1st. We are still off our port ranging up and down, and unable to enter, although we have the most beautiful weather and the calmest sea! We cannot enter without a leading wind, that is, from the west, and if it blows from the west, we must run one hundred and fifty miles for shelter. A Portuguese on board, familiar with the coast, calls the ports of Barbary “excommunicated.” Last year a schooner was detained seven months before it could get away, and then had to sail with only half its cargo.

We have viewed at our leisure the city of Salee and Rabat, and their environs. It is a strange place and country. The land is a series of long, gentle, bare, sweeping drives, at the edge cut out into cliffs and cones as if with a pastry cutter. About three miles north of Salee we descried, through the mists of spray, a magnificent palace. It changed to a gaunt ruin. A little further on there is a kubbe, or saint’s tomb, surmounted by a dome, like the tombs of Judæa and India. Next comes the point of Salee, and over it flutters the red flag of the “Rovers.” Gardens surround the town, and a few palm trees are seen among them. Between Salee and Rabat the river enters the sea over the bar. Rabat is imposing with its fortresses. The great tower stands on elevated ground at the bottom of the harbour. Rabat was built at the close of the twelfth century to facilitate—though the Moors were in possession of Ceuta and all the northern coast—the best expedition then directed against Spain. Across this bar was launched a large part of those hordes which followed Jacob Almanzor, and of that expedition under his successor, of half a million of men, which have immortalised the Navas de Tolosa.

The Moorish empire then extended in Africa above a thousand miles from east to west; and five hundred and fifty, in its broadest part, from north to south. It included also one half of Spain, and menaced the remainder. It embellished Africa as well as Seville and Cordova, with some of the noblest structures that any age has produced. It caused arts and science to flourish amidst the ravages of war. Rabat outshone the “court” of Morocco,—merchants gathered to share in its commerce, and professors to teach in its schools.

A Roman-like aqueduct still strides along the plain, and from the tower, raised to supply the want of mountains, the fleets of foes, or the convoys of friends, could be descried for twenty leagues at sea. This meteor capital of the “west” was seen, and then vanished. It was laid low in the wars of the Almohadis and the Benemerines.

Further to the south, there are long lines of low white walls connected with a small building, where the Sultan was residing. In the rear there was a large encampment of cavalry in a square, as if it had been a Roman legion. We calculated their force at ten thousand.

The last intelligence we had received before sailing from Gibraltar, was that an insurrection had broken out at Morocco, and another on the borders of Algiers, in favour of Abd-el-Kadir. The French steamer, that was recently here, came to press an answer from the unfortunate monarch to an ultimatum from the French government, giving him the option of war with France or Abd-el-Kadir.

It was painful to reflect how much the fortunes of Europe, and the internal condition and ultimate government of France, were dependent upon the weakness or caprice of the descendants of the “Rovers of Salee.” For a step involving the entrance of French troops into Morocco, by changing the position of Algeria into a basis of operation against Africa, would have similarly changed France in respect to Europe. It would have subjugated the policy of the metropolis to the conduct of the colony. It was no object of the cabinet of the Tuilleries to drive the Sultan into a false and untenable position at home, or to compromise him with France. The Government of Algiers had got the management of the negotiation, and had this purpose. My trip had reference to this matter, and was not uninvited by the Moorish Government, otherwise I should not have risked presenting myself at so unfrequented an entrance to this inhospitable land. Adverse winds, however, detained me in the Gut, whilst steam carried the French—that is, the Algerine—emissary to his destination. Nothing could be more tantalizing than thus to hover above the country, and in sight of its assembled multitudes, in utter ignorance of what was passing, and with the contingency before my eyes of being even yet unable to set foot on it.

In pursuance of the importance of the resolves of the Council Chamber of this African state, I reverted to the circumstances of the last war, and the great struggle of England and France, of which another African state, at the other extremity of the Mediterranean, had been the first cause and the original field; and the question naturally arose, “Was it possible that Napoleon,—who, after an attempt on, and a failure in Egypt, planned the conquest of Spain,—should have neglected a country identified with the language, manners, and institutions of the one, and available for the injury or the protection of the other?” The opinion of Lord Nelson as to the importance to England of the friendship of the Moor, proves that Morocco was a piece in the great European game, and one which even his antagonists understood. But Napoleon’s moves were beyond their reach. His game was lost by his own faults; their merit (I speak not of mere battles, or even of campaigns) consisted only in turning to account the incidents of his fortunes.

The siege of Gibraltar was promised by him to the Spaniards, when the French troops crossed the Pyrenees; and such a measure would have powerfully contributed to the success of his project. Gibraltar, in that case, would have been the point of the operations of the war. But this course could scarcely be taken without some chance of success, and that depended entirely on the dispositions of Morocco. Napoleon having foregone all the political advantages to be secured by this siege, it may not be too much to assume, that he made the mistake in respect to Morocco which he did in respect to Spain, and perceived that the Moors were beyond his power to secure, or his reach to coerce. At St. Helena he recognised the identity of the position, and the similarity of character of the two people.

I now recalled the incidents which, in early life, fixed my attention first upon such subjects. Sir Sydney Smith had taken the trouble to detail to me his plan for counteracting Napoleon’s invasion of Egypt. It was to occupy Morocco. He described it as a country of inexhaustible resources, once the granary of the world; it had lost nothing of its fertility, and contained vast accumulated treasures. The people had been long oppressed, and would gladly hail an invader. England with ten thousand men, might make herself mistress of it, and gain in it more than India, and save India by frustrating Napoleon in the rear. We had begun a great mistake, by driving the French out of Egypt. By Morocco we should have restored the balance in Europe, prevented a great war, and have joined France in introducing civilization and Christianity into Africa. Well do I recollect the perplexity into which I was thrown by these ideas: fortunately, it was not to a European that I had recourse to discriminate between right and wrong, but to an African—Hassam d’ Ghieo. He told me to make the case my own, and see what I should think of France invading England, because Russia had invaded Turkey.

He showed me, that if England had so involved herself, it would have been left open for France to establish herself in Egypt, and thence act against India; that England had triumphed in that war, because France had unjustly attacked other states, and England had espoused the just side.

Rabat, Dec. 2nd.—This morning the bar was comparatively quiet, and seemed passable; there was also a light wind from the westward. The day was lovely, the ledges of the rock and fortresses were crowded with Moors in their haïks squatting down, and they looked like rows of large gulls. A little after one P.M., it being high tide, a large row-boat appeared behind the bar; presently it came dancing over the surf. We had in company an English and a Portuguese schooner. The English took the lead; we followed. It was like going into action, and in presence of an audience: every horizontal piece of rock, wall, and ground, was covered with the strange squatting figures assembled to witness our prowess, or mischance. There was great outcry and confusion, and we might have thought there was more noise than danger, had our two companions fared as well as ourselves. They both got on shore inside, but the wind falling, and the tide ebbing, they were cleared of their cargoes, and got off at full tide during the night.

The English consular agent came off to give us pratique. It was the first time he had performed his functions as quarantine master. His commission was not from the Moorish Government, but from the consular body at Tangier. After receiving in his hand the health patent, he hastily transferred it to a pair of kitchen tongs, prepared for its unexpected office by having the knobs painted red. On the shore we saw a new building, with arches, in process of erection: it was a custom-house.

Before the custom-house we found the governor of the town seated, and received from him a most courteous welcome. The consular agent kindly offered the shelter of his roof, the only one we could have got at Rabat; and a messenger from the minister soon after came to invite me to the royal abode.

This is the first Mussulman country in which I have had my baggage opened at a custom-house. I was too indignant to be present. I was told that the officer took care to show that it should be only a ceremony, for he sat at a distance, and was earnestly engaged in conversation when the packages were unloosed. I found, however, that designs had been formed upon my wardrobe. The Sultan had sent an emissary, Mustafa Ducaly, to France and England. On his return, amongst other surprising things, he had to tell that on landing in England, at the port of Southampton, duty had been charged on the clothes he wore. The minister, Ben Edris, intimated to him that he might now make reprisals. The travelled Moor proceeded, by way of revanche, to be far too accurate and amusing on the subjects of English hotel hospitality, strict morality, workhouse benevolence, and waiter manners, than I liked at such a moment to commend, or had disposition to listen to.

Dec. 3rd.—I spent the morning on the top of the consul’s house, from which there is a good view of the town, and the ruins of the Alcazaba on the one side, and the great town on the other: the river ran in front—beyond it, the long white lines of the walls of the terrible Salee, between which and the river the governor of El Garb had his encampment in the form of the letter Q.

I received a visit on the roof from the father of Mustafa Ducaly, who was a striking likeness of Sir Francis Palgrave, and as active and merry. Every Arab is a living record.

A guard having been procured, we walked through the town, which was thronged. We met, however, with no incivility. Our guards were careful in keeping us out of the way of the troops encamped in the neighbourhood. I returned from the excursion filled with two objects; the gate of the Alcazaba, and the Caïd, or governor of the town.

This gate, or rather Barbican, is a massive structure of sand-stone. The outer front (at right angles to the inner) is built against: the inner stands in its beauty, neither disfigured nor concealed: it is covered with the richest of those figures with which we are familiar, under the name of Moresque, or Arabesque; not moulded in stucco, but carved in stone. All is in ruins, or utterly effaced and levelled, that this circuit of walls was raised to protect. From the platform commanding the entrance of the river, we obtained a perfect idea of the place; and after enjoying for a while the view landward, and the lashing of the sea upon the bar, we proceeded towards the encampments, which lay to the south, to visit the walls of the city. They might seem the ruins of some unheard-of Carthage, rather than of an upstart village on the extreme border of the world. Running in all directions, it is puzzling to make out what they exclude or what they enclose—they are now close—now far off—here intersecting a field—there skirting the horizon. They are of Tapia; some parts are forty feet in height, apparently of excessive thickness, and with square solid towers. At one place they resembled the land wall of Constantinople. The space between the first and second wall is filled with orange-groves or gardens; the produce of some of them is 3,000 dollars (600l.), which would be doubled if the bar were passable. On our way back we were stopped in one of the streets by some horsemen, galloping and discharging their muskets. A little farther on I came suddenly upon Sir F. Palgraves’ likeness, leading a laden ass: a servant was walking behind him doing nothing. The wealthiest disdain not to perform, like the patriarchs, the humblest offices; and I was told that the late governor might have been seen leading his own mules to water.

As we were passing through a narrow lane, the guard stopped and muttered, “El Caïd!” I looked, expecting to see the great man’s cortège, and it was some time before I distinguished the personage pacing along alone, wrapped in his haïk. The soldiers inclined, and saluted in a manner new to me. He stopped for a moment, uttered a few words, and passed on. It seemed as if I had met the proconsul of Mauritania Tangitana. The fasces only were wanting to the Roman toga and the Roman port. On returning home I made inquiry concerning him. The answer was, “He is a just man.” I asked, how then he came to be governor? the answer was, “He was appointed by the Town.” Supposing that my ears had deceived me, I repeated the question, and was answered a second time, “He was appointed by the Town.” The story is as follows:—

A REVOLUTION IN BARBARY.

The Caïd of Rabat, who had enjoyed his office for twelve years, was one day surprised by the entrance of a “deputation,” to tell him that the Town had despatched a messenger to the Sultan to solicit his (the Caïd’s) removal; and that until they received an answer, their civility could extend to no act of obedience. The Caïd retreated up stairs, put his head out of a little top window, and seeing “who and how many” there were, bowed to “public opinion.” The Caïd was deposed, and fined 40,000 dollars. It so happened that the new Caïd sent them, having been before at Salee, was better known than trusted; he, therefore, on his arrival, was informed by the people of Rabat, that they had already despatched to the Sultan an envoy and this message:—“We do not want a stranger to govern us, and particularly not this stranger; we have plenty of our own people who can govern better both for the Sultan and for us.” The complaisant Sultan on this revoked his second appointment, and authorised them to choose a Caïd for themselves. Their first choice fell on a rich merchant named Mike Brittel, who had taken the lead in the revolt: he declined, and recommended the present Caïd, who was thereupon chosen. This had happened within the last few weeks; and the election had been confirmed by the Sultan only since his arrival.

Inquiring as to the security of life and property, I was informed that at Rabat confiscation was not a penalty for treason. Here no real property can be held by the Sultan. At Tangier there is confiscation: the lands there are held of the Sultan, as he came into possession by the evacuation of the English. At Arzela and Mazagan, the Sultan is feudal superior, because these are conquered demesnes. This is our ancient law of treason, based on fealty and homage—as depending upon fief and benefice.

The following conversation occurred with my host:—

Q. Has there been any execution in Salee or Rabat since you have been here?

A. No.

Q. Have there been any assassinations?

A. Four years ago there was a man killed at Rabat.

Q. Why was the murderer not executed?

A. Because the Emperor’s answer was, that he had done well: he killed a man in his harem.

Q. Have there been, during these four years, any grave crimes, such as breaking into houses, robbery, &c.?

A. No; not that I have heard of.

Q. What then are the crimes which are committed?

A. Vegetables and such things are often stolen in the market. Jews are beaten going to Salee: they are required to give money; but then that is when the wandering tribes are encamped here.

Q. Then you enjoy security and tranquillity?

A. Yes.

Q. Are the rich persecuted by the Government because of their wealth?

A. Yes, but only when they are in the Government service.

Q. During these four years, how often have irregular contributions been raised in the town by the Government?

A. The only taxes are upon laden camels and merchandise.

Q. What are the exactions to which public servants are exposed?

A. They take everything from them.

Q. Does that often happen?

A. No, not very often.

Q. How many incidents of the kind do you recollect?

A. The late Caïd had been in office twelve years, and his father twelve before him. The Emperor then fixed his demand at 40,000 dollars. The Caïd said, he had not the money to pay. The present Caïd has shown that he had as much in houses and gardens in Rabat alone.

Q. Since he could neither impose contributions on the town, nor extort money from individuals, how did he accumulate wealth?

A. He was a very venal man, and you could do anything with him for four dollars.

Q. His profits then consisted in the corrupt administration of justice?

A. Yes.

Q. A Caïd in Rabat may then be guilty of corruption, but not of violence?

A. Of corruption and violence too.

He then related to me the following story:—

“Four months ago, the boy now cooking in the patio rushed in dressed as a Moor, and throwing his cap on the ground called out, “I am a Jew. I claim the protection of France and England.” Soldiers followed him, but I would not let them take him from under my roof. His father was a renegade. His property (3000 dollars) was placed, on his death, in the hands of an executor, who—the children under nine years of age being held to be of their father’s faith—forced him from his mother. Refusing to profess Islamism, the mother and the boy were confined apart, and she was beaten to induce her to influence her son. The boy at last did pronounce the words “La Illah,” &c.; his head was shaved; the Mussulman dress put on him, and he was about, as is the custom, to be paraded on horseback through the town, but he recanted. This is death by the Mussulman law. Those who were present describe the child’s acts and words as wonderful. He said to the Caïd, “Mahomet has not had power to convert me, and your acts make me hate his faith.” After this, he made his escape to the consulate, and the door has been besieged by persons seeking either to force, or to seduce him away. Frequently the governor sent me messages about him. On one of these occasions, the soldiers while sitting in the court, kept constantly calling to him by the name of “Abdallah,” which they had given him. For some time he took no notice, and returned no answer. At last he said, “Why do you call Abdallah? The boy with that name is dead. There is only here Meshod.”

At my request the boy was sent for: he seemed dogged and stupid, and made very light of his trials. It was with difficulty that I extracted from him a bare corroboration of the story. On being repeatedly urged by questions, he said he had answered the Caïd, “I won’t be a Mussulman; for your religion has no strength. I forgive you my money that I may be a Jew.” I said to him he ought to be very grateful to the Consul for having befriended him: his answer was, “I am thankful to God.”

This was one of the occasions on which the religious feelings of the people were liable to the extremest excitement. In no Mussulman country have the Jews been subjected, as in Europe, to processes for compelling conversion; but, on the other hand, to relapse after pronouncing the fatal words is a crime for which there is no forgiveness in the Law, and no power of mercy in the State. The whole case here rested upon the boy’s having uttered the profession of faith; yet in the official correspondence which I have perused, this fact is suppressed.

The persecution in this case arose from the guardian, who would have been remunerated for the management of the funds by one-third of the property, had the boy been a Mussulman; but, being a Jew, he could not inherit from his Mussulman father, and the whole of the property would go to the Sultan. The Caïd’s profit was out of the counter-bribery of the guardian and the mother. The circumstances becoming known, general indignation was aroused against the Caïd. Immediately afterward the application was made to the Sultan for his removal; and this was one of the charges preferred against him.

A parallel incident, which occurred five or six years ago, has been introduced and falsified on the Spanish stage. I repeat it as it was narrated to me by the Jew, who detailed it to the Spanish Dramatists:—

“A Jewish girl, the daughter of an ill-tempered mother, having been beaten and in great sorrow, one day ran into the adjoining Moorish house (at Tangiers the Jews have no separate quarters). The Moorish women were charmed with her beauty, spoke to her kindly, and advised her to be like them, and live with them, and she preferring them to her own people, repeated ‘La Illah,’ &c. The women thereupon went to the Caïd, and told him that a Jewish girl whose name was Skemish, and whose face was like her name (Sun), had come to them, and that God had enlightened her. The Caïd was glad, and sent for her. When she came, she said that the Moorish women had lied; but they having testified as before, she was shut in a prison with water only and black bread. The Caïd then, not knowing what to do, sent to tell the Sultan. Word came that she should be sent to Fez. The Caïd then sent for the father of the girl, and said, ‘You must pay me forty dollars for the expenses of your daughter’s journey.’ But he was poor, and could not pay the money; and he went lamenting through the streets, and so met the Spanish Consul, who gave him the forty dollars, and the girl was sent away with eight soldiers. A traveller overtook them on the way, and joining company with them inquired her story, and said she deserved death; but pitying her, he said he would converse with her; so they suffered him. This was no Moor, but a Jew and a neighbour, who had disguised himself as a Moor, in order to encourage her to remain steadfast and support her affliction. When they had come near the city, she was made to halt, and great honour was prepared for her. Four hundred young men, chosen from out of the servants of the Sultan, played before her the ‘powder game.’ Preceded by these, and followed by a great concourse of people, she was conducted to the palace. Next day the lady of the Harem came to her. She kissed her between the eyes; made her sit down by her side; told her maidens to bring rich clothes, and clothed her with them; and then taking her by the hand, they walked in the palace and the gardens, and the lady said, ‘All these things shall be yours, and you shall have a prince for a bridegroom.’ The Jewess answered to the lady, ‘What matters it to the bird whether its cage be of ivory or of reed, or whether it be hung in a palace or a hut?’ After several days, word was brought to her, that she must get ready and come to the Sultan. She came before the Sultan, and he called her, ‘My dear Skemish,’ and made her sit down beside him, and he was eating kusscousoo, and he said to her ”Eat.“ But she said, ‘I am a Jewess, and cannot eat kusscousoo prepared by your people.’ The Sultan said, ‘Islam is true.’ But she answered him boldly. Then three baskets were brought, one with embroidered clothes, in another precious stones, and in another pearls: ‘These,’ said he, ‘are the marriage gifts I had prepared for you, and you shall choose a bridegroom of the sons of the Caïd’s.’ But she answered him as before. He then became very angry, and said, ‘Now your blood shall run like water on the earth;’ and she answered, ‘I am ready to die.’ She was then given over to the Caïd to be judged according to the law as an apostate. The Caïd, when he found that his words did not persuade, nor his threats move her, assembled the rabbis and the elders of the Jews, and said to them, ‘If this maiden, once a Jewess, remain thus perverse, the Sultan will assuredly slay not her only, but every Jew in Fez. Advise then what you shall do.’ So the elders went to her in the prison, offering to absolve her of the sin, and telling her that it was better for one soul to perish than the whole people. She answered, ‘Every man must bear his own burden: the blood of all the people will not save me: I will not do this thing.’ And the Jews went out wondering. The Caïd then sent word, that on the next morning he would come with a crown of laurel (such was the word) in one hand, and the (paper, for her execution,) in the other. On the morrow, when the prison door was opened, she was kneeling on the ground, and remembering the words of the Sultan, she said, ‘Let my blood now run on the earth like water.’ So the Caïd was sorrowful, closed the door, and came again on the morrow, and found her kneeling in the same place, and again she repeated the same words; so it was appointed that she should die on the next market-day. And when the day came, four criers were sent forth to proclaim that a Jewish woman was to die, for she had reviled the prophet. When she was brought to the market-place, in the midst of a great concourse from the town and neighbouring country assembled for the market, she prayed to have a pair of trowsers; ‘lest,’ said she, ‘in the struggles of death, I should expose my nakedness; and some water, that I may wash and pray.’ Whilst she was washing and clothing herself, the executioner waved before her eyes a long knife, but she would not look on it, and having finished her prayer, she offered to him her neck; but he cut with the edge only, ‘for,’ said he, ‘when she sees the blood she will love life;’ but she called out ‘Your law commands you to kill, but not to torture me.’ And on that word he struck off her head and spat upon it.

“The Jews of Fez obtained the body on the payment of 3000 dollars, and gathering it up with the blood in a linen sheet, interred it with great lamentation, and they built over it a tomb like that of a saint, and those who are afflicted with disorders go to pray there, and are cured.”[199]

Compare with this, the story in Maccabees of the mother and seven sons, who suffered death rather than eat forbidden meat.