In Morocco

In Short

This is a travelogue of a 1918 journey across Morocco, from Tangier to the High Atlas and Fez. It captures a fragile moment of transition when the country, long isolated by its own insular customs and the complications of colonial intrigue, is beginning to open to European influence. It is a work of keen architectural and social observation, valued today for its evocative, precise prose and its documentation of a landscape and society—palaces, harems, and mountain tribes—as they existed before the full "deluge" of twentieth-century tourism.

The Story

The journey begins in the autumn of 1918. Traveling by military motor—often a necessity of wartime logistics—the author departs from Tangier to cross the Rarb, aiming to reach the interior before the onset of the winter rains. The narrative quickly establishes the central tension of the trip: the fragility of the traveler’s hold on the "European Illusion" when faced with the vast, untamed reality of the Moroccan wilderness. A breakdown on a remote trail serves as an initiation into the "stern facts" of the region, where silence, heat, and distance dwarf human effort.

From this initial encounter with the desert, the movement flows into the cities—the "citied" spaces that represent the other half of the Moroccan character. The author visits the holy city of Moulay Idriss during a festival of the Hamadchas, where the stark white walls and the vibrant, sudden emergence of the town’s secluded women provide a sensory contrast to the "penitential" mud-colored landscape of the interior. She explores Fez, observing both its "New Fez" government buildings and the remnants of its ancient, decaying palaces. Throughout these explorations, the narrative probes the riddle of Moroccan history: the coexistence of exquisite, fragile artistry and a deep, systemic indifference to the preservation of the completed work.

As the route pushes south toward Marrakech, the tone shifts toward the grandeur of the Almohad legacy. The author marvels at the Agdal, an expanse of olive groves and reservoirs that stands as a testament to the aesthetic ambitions of past Sultans. She also investigates the Saadian tombs, finding in their delicate, refined ornamentation a "dream-like unreality" that defies the surrounding environment of neglect and decay.

Woven into these physical travels are detailed, often melancholic visits to domestic spaces—the harems of Rabat and Fez. Here, the author confronts the realities of a life defined by segregation, slave-service, and a lack of autonomy. She describes the women she meets as "cellar-grown flowers," living in a state of apathy and ignorance, their world a series of roof-tops and interior courts.

The arc of the narrative concludes with a reflection on the French Protectorate under General Lyautey. The author examines the complexities of colonial governance, praising the attempt to build a modern state while preserving native traditions. She ultimately leaves the reader with a sense of the "central riddle" of Morocco—a place of perpetual flux and immovable stability, still a people in the making, standing on the threshold of a modernity that promises order but threatens to wash away the singular, dusty, and brilliant character of the past.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins Limited by the rainy season and wartime travel restrictions, the author embarks on a rapid, motorized transit of the Moroccan landscape. A breakdown in the wilderness serves as a brutal introduction to the country's scale and the sudden, total absence of European comforts.

The cities of the interior The narrative moves to the white-washed streets of Moulay Idriss and the complex, labyrinthine alleys of Fez. The author balances her admiration for the refined Islamic architecture against the "squalid, indifferent life" of the surrounding cemeteries and bazaars.

The southern journey Driving through the red, level earth of the interior, the party reaches Marrakech. The focus turns to the Agdal’s serene water reservoirs and the intricate, hidden beauty of the Saadian mausoleums, highlighting the contrast between imperial ambition and subsequent decay.

The domestic landscape The author gains access to the private quarters of high-ranking households. She documents the lives of women in the Sultan’s palace and in private harems, observing the stifling, eventless existence imposed by traditional social structures.

The French experiment The final movement assesses the political and civil changes brought by the Protectorate. The author outlines the challenges of integrating native leadership into a modern administrative framework, concluding with a meditation on the country’s future potential.

The People

The central figures are the people the author encounters, serving as windows into a fading social structure. General Lyautey acts as the architect of the new order; he is portrayed as a figure of "endless patience" and "unusual combination of military and administrative talents," attempting to graft modern governance onto the existing, often archaic, tribal structures. In contrast, the Sultan appears as a figure of ritualistic, almost static power, "aloof and immovable," representing the traditional authority that the French are attempting to preserve even as they modernize its foundation.

The women of the harems are perhaps the most poignant figures in the book. Whether they are the "shy, hesitating" princess in the Sultan's court or the "melancholy" residents of a private home in Old Fez, they represent the human cost of a society built on the segregation of the sexes. They are defined by their confinement, moving from childhood to an adult life of "incessant espionage" and isolation. Finally, the Berbers are the background, the "mysterious irreducible indigenous race" that has, for centuries, absorbed the influences of invaders while remaining fundamentally apart, representing the "vast tormenting element of the dissident" that continues to challenge both the Sultan and the Protectorate.

In Its Own Voice

The heat is mortal at the moment.

The author describes the oppressive, stifling environment of the desert during a breakdown on the trail.

The "unimaginable touch of Time" gives Chella its peculiar charm: the aged fig-tree clamped in uptorn tiles and thrusting gouty arms between the arches; the garlanding of vines flung from column to column; the secret pool to which childless women are brought to bathe, and where the tree springing from a cleft of the steps is always hung with the bright bits of stuff which are the votive offerings of Africa.

Reflecting on the ruins of Chella, the author captures the intersection of natural overgrowth and human history.

Everywhere is the loud rush or the low crooning of water, and over every wall comes the scent of jasmine and rose.

This sensory observation highlights the contrast between the dusty exterior of Fez and the hidden, vibrant life within its private gardens.

What It's Really About

The book is an inquiry into the nature of civilization and the fragility of human memory. It asks why a culture capable of such profound "sensuous refinements" and "exquisite workmanship" also exhibits a "supine indifference" toward its own survival. It explores the tension between the nomad—who lives in a house as if it were a tent, unburdened by the accumulation of objects—and the modern impulse to build, preserve, and categorize. It is, at its core, a meditation on the cyclical rise and fall of empires, questioning whether the French Protectorate can truly offer a stable foundation for a people whose history is defined by the "perpetual flux" of waves of barbarism and sudden, brilliant sparks of cultural maturity.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the intersection of history, sociology, and travel will find this a masterful piece of prose. It is not a casual beach read; the author’s background as a novelist informs a sensibility that is as much interested in the "look in a pair of eyes" as it is in the broader geopolitical reality of 1918.

The book is honest about the limitations of the author’s vantage point. She acknowledges that her time was limited, her travel was facilitated by military support, and her observations were often filtered through the lens of a Westerner looking at a culture that was, at the time, being actively colonized. A modern reader will notice the period-typical attitudes toward the Berber tribes and the "orientalist" descriptions of the harems; these are not hidden, but are part of the historical document. What remains most striking is the author's clarity—her ability to strip away the "European Illusion" to see the "old grey Moslem reality" beneath. For anyone interested in the geography of the Atlas or the architecture of Fez, the book offers a snapshot of a world that was just about to vanish under the pressure of the coming century. It stays with you because it captures the precise, bitter-sweet moment when an ancient world realizes it cannot remain a secret forever.