ably
engineered military roads, and in a few minutes our motor had climbed
to the point from which the great dynasty of artist-Sultans dreamed of
looking down forever on their capital.

Nothing endures in Islam, except what human inertia has left standing
and its own solidity has preserved from the elements. Or rather, nothing
remains intact, and nothing wholly perishes, but the architecture, like
all else, lingers on half-ruined and half-unchanged. The Merinid tombs,
however, are only hollow shells and broken walls, grown part of the
brown cliff they cling to. No one thinks of them save as an added touch
of picturesqueness where all is picturesque: they survive as the best
point from which to look down at Fez.

There it lies, outspread in golden light, roofs, terraces, and towers
sliding over the plain's edge in a rush dammed here and there by
barriers of cypress and ilex, but growing more precipitous as the ravine
of the Fez narrows downward with the fall of the river. It is as though
some powerful enchanter, after decreeing that the city should be hurled
into the depths, had been moved by its beauty, and with a wave of his
wand held it suspended above destruction.

At first the eye takes in only this impression of a great city over a
green abyss, then the complex scene begins to define itself. All around
are the outer lines of ramparts, walls beyond walls, their crenellations
climbing the heights, their angle fortresses dominating the precipices.
Almost on a level with us lies the upper city, the aristocratic Fez
Eldjid of painted palaces and gardens, then, as the houses close in and
descend more abruptly, terraces, minarets, domes, and long reed-thatched
roofs of the bazaars, all gather around the green-tiled tomb of Moulay
Idriss and the tower of the Almohad mosque of El Kairouiyin, which
adjoin each other in the depths of Fez, and form its central sanctuary.

From the Merinid hill we had noticed a long facade among the cypresses
and fruit-trees of Eldjid. This was Bou-Jeloud, the old summer-palace of
the Sultan's harem, now the house of the Resident-General, where
lodgings had been prepared for us.

The road descended again, crossing the Oued Fez by one of the fine old
single-arch bridges that mark the architectural link between Morocco
and Spain. We skirted high walls, wayside pools, and dripping
mill-wheels; then one of the city gates engulfed us, and we were in the
waste spaces of intramural Fez, formerl