fs: it is a land of "traders," speculating, toiling, intriguing;
between its yellow adobe walls, and its whitewashed dazzling walls,
amidst its dense metallic semi-tropical vegetation, up and down its sandy
silent ways, they live and die. Its fountains are beautiful:
_Shrab-u-Schuf_ (Drink and admire) is inscribed on one of them. But it is
not by its architecture that Marrakesh stands and falls; rather by a
personality all its own--by its many ruined walls, by its deserted
streets, by the hot pulse of life throbbing imperiously through its
arteries crowded to suffocation with humanity, by its flaring African
sunlight, by the figures which can never be other than picturesque, by a
thousand impressions which can never die. And by reason of all this
Marrakesh is great.

Once upon a time it was impossible for an Englishman to see the Slave
Market. Owing partly to the radical hatred of Europeans, partly to the
suspicious and seclusive nature of the Moor, the presence of foreigners
in the sacred Slave Market was tabooed. Not that the Nazarene was "taken
up" or turned back if he showed his face inside the courtyard: on the
contrary, he was allowed to walk in, and apparently no eye was aware of
his presence. And yet in a few moments he would find himself alone. The
Slave Market had vanished, had melted away: a line of disappearing backs
was all which was to be seen. Supposing a Moor had connived at this
attempt on the part of a Nazarene to see slaves being sold, that Moor
disappeared, by order of the Sultan, and there was a funeral later on in
the day.

However, while we were in Marrakesh, less rigorous orders were in vogue.
Having come prepared to see the market disguised in native dress if
necessary, we found that we were able to go there without much
difficulty, and only escorted by one of the missionaries and a servant.
Though slaves are bought and sold through the length and breadth of
Morocco, it is not possible in any other city than Marrakesh for the
European to see or know much about it. In the coast towns the sales are
conducted privately. In Fez it is probable that they might be attended by
others than Moors; but at the time of writing I take it that no wise
European, if such should be there at all in these unquiet times, would
venture to put himself into a position likely to attract all the bullets
and knives in Fez in his direction.

Just at sunset--6.30, I think--the Slave Market in Marrakesh opens, and
we went