Meknes and the Mad, Mad Moulay (Ismail)

From Fes we took a short 2 hour hop southeast to our second Imperial City, Meknes. To be quite honest, I expected a tad more from a city dubbed the Moroccan Versailles. Quite what I had expected I don’t know, but, from first impressions, it didn’t strike me as a bright, shining star of Moroccan urbanity.

Maybe I needed to spend more time unearthing its delights; maybe the gems were just too well hidden – exceedingly well hidden, in fact, as there seemed little to impress. Undeniably, the main plaza was as pleasant as the Ancient City’s Gateway was impressive, but beyond this it came across as being a touch mediocre. I’m not afraid to admit that I felt a little let down as, for the most part, the place seemed a little deflated and void of spirit. Mind you, we would all do well to remember that this is coming from a chap who, when looking out onto the Grand Canyon for the first time, remarked “Oh. I thought it would have been…well…a little bigger, that’s all…”

As far as interest value goes, the unremarkable, diet coke-like character of the present day city seems a far cry from its historical splendour. If we are to believe anything from the colourful and fascinating accounts of bygone times in this former Capital of Morocco, then we could assume that it must have been an extremely exciting place to be – especially during one particular period around the 1700s. But if these captivating narratives really are unvarnished and verifiable, then it’s highly likely that Meknes wouldn’t have appeared top of the list entitled “Places I’d like to live”. At a guess, it would have been just below ‘Anywhere in Djibouti’, and just above ‘Inside Johnny Wilkinson’s jockstrap’. And for that there is good reason, namely Mulai Ismail, the Sultan of Morocco in that particular era.

All things considered, the Moulay Ismail – or Ismail the bloodthirsty as he was sometimes referred to – was not the most kind and caring of individuals. He stood as much chance of being likened to Mother Theresa as Gordon Brown does of being the next Playmate of the Year. He really didn’t seem like the kind of fella that you would particularly want to be around. Ever. In short, the Sultan was as cruel as he was unpredictable.

One account in particular – taken from A Journey to Mequinez, by John Windus – reveals much about Mulai Ismail’’s volatile disposition.

“About 8 or 9 his trembling court assemble, which consists of his great officers, the alcaydes, blacks, whites, tawnies and his favourite Jews, all barefooted; if he is in good humour, which is well known by his very looks and motions; and sometimes the colour of the habit that he wears, yellow being observed to be his killing colour; from all of which they calculate whether they may hope to live twenty-four hours longer.”

Just imagine being a member of his entourage. Imagine the interminable uncertainty, the perpetual and well-founded fear that each day may be your last, and imagine having to remember to put the key under the mat – every day. What a Job. It almost rivals being Victoria Beckham’s coffee partner.

A little later on, the author goes on to describe the Moulay Ismail’s trips out of town, and with it comes yet another illustration of just how iniquitous the Ruler could be.

“…sometimes when he goes out of town, which is not above once in two or three months, he will be attended by fifteen or twenty thousand blacks on horseback, with whom he now and then diverts himself at the lance.” He continues “…His other travelling utensils are two or three guns, a sword or two, and two lances, because one broke once while he was murdering; his boys carry short Brazil sticks, knotted cords for whipping, a change of clothes to shift when bloody, and a hatchet, two of which he took in a Portuguese ship, and the first time they were bought to him, killed a man without any provocation, to try if they were good.”

Just imagine testing one like that in Home Depot. “…Bing Bong – Call for a member of staff with mop and bucket to aisle 6, please…”

Despite this account being so unthinkably macabre, I couldn’t put the book down. I think the one singular characteristic that softened the blow (excuse the pun) was possibly the fact that, because it was so incredibly gruesome, it gave the impression of being a work of pure fiction. And to think this really happened, and in a time not so distant from the present day, and so relatively close to home, well, it’s almost beyond belief.

I could continue. In fact, I shall. There are numerous other accounts describing the Moulay’s bloodthirsty ways, including how one day he ordered his soldiers to throw some Christians from the high wall on which they were working at the time, thus breaking their arms and legs, simply because they did not maintain synchronicity in their strokes as he passed (now there’s a tough boss). Yet rarely did he murder his closest carers – his tawny nurses – he would simply beat them “in the cruellest manner imaginable, to try if they were hard” – 40 to 50 at a time, no less. What a charitable kind of guy. But it wasn’t all flowers and rainbows for the nurses, as one account tells how he did murdered two such carers for “hiding pieces of bread”. Well, I guess they had it coming then, didn’t they?

It all seemed a crazy, crazy world back then, that’s for sure. But back to the present day. I still feel like we must be missing a trick somewhere along the line, for many people, many Moroccans in fact, hold the Imperial City of Meknes in somewhat high regard. Over the coming days I shall explore more and, of course, read more about this city – maybe that way, even if we can’t find the delights by foot, a deeper delve into its history might put us on the money. And, as ever, I’ll keep you posted.