THE LAST DAY IN THE CITY OF IDRIS
BY the time we were ready to move on from Fez to the coast section of Morocco we knew the town rather well; yet, before going, we wished to have one last general view of the city and its surrounding fields and orchards. Consequently we took a carriage and drove out along the road that encircles the city wall and from that on up into the hills through orchards and thickets of aloes and Berber figs.
As we wound out at one point from behind the protecting screen of trees, the town suddenly appeared below us, golden in the rays of the late afternoon sun and dotted with the red roofs of the numerous guard towers and the emerald spots of gardens and trees. In the low distance the city seemed unreal with nothing of its life visible and no sound coming from its streets. It appeared as an inanimate element in some bit of scenery, the fancy of a painter enchanted by the charm of the East. We remained silent and only gazed, listening to the whispers of centuries coming up to us from the minarets of Mulay Idris, Kairween and Bu Anania, from the crenelated walls and from the tombs of the Merinides.
As the way carried us on between pretty gardens and
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