AS WOMEN LIVE AND MEN DINE IN MAGHREB
THE following morning I was wakened very early and told that a man was awaiting me on the terrace. Dressing hurriedly, I went below to find a grave, sedate Arab, who greeted me eloquently in French and ended his formal salutation with an inquiry as to whether I would consent to visit with him the pantheon of the Saadite dynasty, which he described as the most romantic spot in Marrakesh and a memorial of ancient times that would make a deep impression upon me. Of course, I readily assented and, after taking coffee with my unusual guest, went with him into the town.
On our way my new friend told me much of Marrakesh and of the tribes living in the High Atlas. As Abu Abd es-Selam el-Magiri proved to be a learned man of deep reading, I profited much by this chance acquaintance and listened with rapt interest to his statement that Marrakesh possesses a soul that has come down through many lives, that she has collected here many diverse beliefs and creeds from far-away Senegal and northern Africa and that every stone, every rampart whispers infinite tales to those whose ears are attuned. The spirits of masters and
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