up enough fanatical enthusiasm to raise the quarter in Holy War, so that revolts, treason and unexpected armed attacks became the order of the day, until the foreign overlords were finally driven back to their ships. To this very day bards in the market-places throughout all Morocco sing the stories of this quarter, and those who would prepare magic talismans of great efficacy often mingle with the other weird ingredients some of the soil of Rbat, that earth which was drenched with the blood of its staunch mumeni, so loyal to Islam.
Today here in Rbat Berbers from the Abda, Beni Ait, Dukkala, Shiadma and other tribes no longer carry their long rifles and knives but, in place of these, unmartial staffs to prod the donkeys and camels which bear their products to the merchants of the town; the mokkhadems of the sects no longer occupy themselves with fanning the hate against the white invaders but only strive to extract more contributions from the natives arriving from the country, fooling them with vaunted miracles that occur near the tombs of the saints or selling them water from the Sidi Bu Zid spring, which, when added to ordinary water, gives a special whiteness to wool. Everything has changed, and with the change speculation and exploitation have reached even to the heart of Islam. It is sad but it is only in keeping with the times.
After passing through the crowded principal commercial street of the Medina, we came out upon a place facing a gate that pierced a thick wall. Le Glay stopped the car to explain:
"This is the prettiest spot in Safi and one, moreover, in which all its story and old customs are gathered."
