touching the sensitive and, very often, the more disturbing features of the inner life. Often a single word or question, even though made through the unsatisfactory medium of an interpreter, may induce the other to unveil the more secret chambers of the soul, to indulge in an outburst of violent, elemental sincerity in some complaint, trouble, hate or hope; and then the dark and twisted things become clear and straight. After these many contacts a synthesis of impressions, of logical and sentimental deductions was built up.
In the initial study and understanding of the soul of Maghreb I was greatly helped by the knowledge of Islam which I had gained in Russia, Turkey, Turkestan, the Khirgiz steppes, Khorasan, Persia and even among the strange, mixed cult of the Prophet in China. After all, Islam is everywhere Islam, and the general trend of the thoughts of colored men has given it a greater uniformity in its static, than in its dynamic, expression. And it is these facts and experiences which give me the boldness to speak of the soul of North Africa.
What then was the last impression of this Fez which I have so often referred to as the heart and mind of Maghreb? The figure shifts as I reflect, for I look upon it as a great smithy, where steel is being wrought and shaped for a yet unknown use. Will this steel be turned out as plough and engine to co-operate with the men of Europe in the subjugation of Nature or will it be shaped into curved scimitars with which to fight the invader? Only Allah knows—Allah, who in the hidden tablets of the Book of Fate has written His final decrees.
But back on the mountainside that evening after the
