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Great men and notables withdraw behind the hangings that form a screen around the walls of the M'salla and sit squatting on their heels in philosophic expectation. Outside, the great press of humble believers grows denser and bigger with constant accessions. Those in front sit down; those behind them stand up. The more fortunate in the rear sit in their saddles, waiting quietly for hours.

At length a cannon roars below amid a cloud of smoke, and the horsemen and infantry of the Sultan's escort take position. The Sultan himself appears on horseback under a great red umbrella, followed by princes, viziers, and other high dignitaries. The procession winds up the ascent amid such cheering that the regular reports of the canon are hardly audible. The bright uniforms of the troops make carpetlike patterns in the midst of the surrounding mass of white jelabs, particolored burnooses, and heavy twisted turbans.

It is only seven o'clock in the morning, but already the sun shines with midday brilliance from the cloudless deep-blue heaven. When the procession reaches the M'salla it disbands in confusion. The Sultan and his suite. dismount and vanish behind the curtain, and the prayer of invocation begins. Moving in perfect unison, the entire multitude goes through the traditional graceful rhythmic ritual of the Mohammedan prayer. The Khatib addresses the Sultan. As soon as he is silent the spectators shout in mighty chorus: 'God bless our sovereign.' The Sultan emerges from the mihrab. The head of the butchers' guild leads in two sheep, which he holds down in turn upon the sacrificial stone, while the Khatib makes an incision in their throats. Two mules stand ready, upon which the head of the muleteers' guild places the victims. Thereupon the procession re-forms behind a white stand

ard from the shrine of Mulai Idris, and the bleeding victims are hastened off, one to the palace and the other to the Khatib's residence. It is a happy omen if they reach their destinations before they breathe their last breath. The moment the waiting assembly is informed that this has happened, it again raises a great shout, 'God bless our sovereign,' and pious Moslems congratulate each other saying, 'It will be a good year,' to which others answer, 'May Allah so grant.'

Meanwhile the Sultan and his suite have resumed their mounts, and a long, broad opening has been made through the crowd. The gay silken standards of the different corporations float on either side in the light morning breeze. The tribes mass in regular formation extending beyond the line of vision along the hillside. Some are on foot, some are mounted. They include Arabs from the plains and Berbers from the mountains, peasants and nomads, all clad in their best for their annual presentation to the Sultan.

A moment's pause, and the cortège surrounding His Majesty advances. A fanfare of trumpets sounds. The band of the Foot Guards strikes up a military march. Further on, the Sultan's orchestra, clad in long tunics of different colors, plays wailing native music. To the accompaniment of this discordant racket, the procession moves forward slowly a hundred yards or so. The infantry and ranks of attendants who precede the Sultan open and line up on either side, while the sovereign halts, sitting erect in his saddle under the great red umbrella with which a stalwart mounted attendant with some difficulty shades him from the

sun.

Thereupon the presentation of the tribes begins. It is a spectacle that carries a European mind back to an earlier age. Forty or fifty horsemen

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forming a squad two or three ranks deep advance with their cadis in their midst and pronounce the traditional formula of salutation: 'May Allah bless our lord.' Thereupon the master of ceremonies announces in a high voice the name of each tribe. As he does so, the mounted men bow forward three times until their foreheads touch their bridle collars. If the tribes are on foot, the men kneel and prostrate themselves until their foreheads touch the dust. All are magnificently dressed, and the horses wear sumptuous housings.

The Sultan, sitting impassive and motionless in his saddle, carries himself in his simple white garb with truly majestic dignity. As each new tribe is announced, he causes his horse to advance three paces, and all his suite does the same. Thus the presentation continues for hours, but the repetition of the same ceremonial does not tire one, on account of the diversity of garb, and bearing, and racial type, of the successive delegations. A majority of some of the tribes are white- for example, the people of Fez, most of whom are descendants of converted Jews. Others are rotund, round-visaged, dark-skinned men. The Sultan, whose tawny complexion is guaranty to all true believers that as a descendant of the Prophet no Israelite blood flows in his veins, is of the latter type. Still others are pure Berbers, with oval faces, clean-cut features, wiry vigorous bodies, black beards, and handsome eyes. Other tribes present unexpected mixtures of all these features; and some are typical Negroes, with flat noses, thick lips, retreating foreheads, and of huge physique.

All are warriors by predilection and farmers or shepherds by necessity. Some of the horsemen carry swung across their hips long Damascenebarreled Morocco muskets, which they fire and toss into the air during the wild

manœuvres that terminate the ceremony.

A cannon peals out again, the procession re-forms, and the crowd disperses. Trumpets, bugles, drums, and other musical instruments strike up, and a cloud of reddish dust envelops the surging multicolored throng.

The Aid el Kebir continues four days more as the Hedia. The tribes are received a second time by the Sultan, when they present him their hedia, or tribute. On each occasion the Sultan rides out of the palace enclosure in great pomp, and the ceremony is held in a great enclosed space outside the city. On these occasions a green umbrella is carried over the Sultan. The tribes arrive on foot without arms, followed by servants leading horses and mules carrying the presents. The same master of ceremonies announces them, the same formulas of salutation are exchanged, the same obeisances and prostrations are made, and the presents are taken to the palace. These often consisted of handsome horses, magnificent mules, costly carpets and other fabrics woven in the nomads' tents, embroidered cushions, and, sometimes, mysterious coffers that excited the intense curiosity of the spectators. A rumor runs through the crowd that the Mandoub of Tangier had brought four huge trunks filled, according to some, with heavy coins; according to others, with bank notes. It is also reported that the great cadis of the South have sent directly to the palace fabulous gifts worthy of Harun-al-Rashid.

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While the French authorities scrupulously keep away from the religious ceremonies and most of the other observances of those strictly native celebrations, advantage is taken of the presence of so many cadis at Fez to give them an official reception at Dar

Beida

the 'White House' where the nied by servants on foot or on horseback. Resident-General resides. In Morocco the mule is always the mount de luxe reserved for the master. The animals are lined up against the wall and facing the ranks of automobiles, whose glaring headlights blind them and make them restless.

The large ground-floor apartments of this building and the surrounding gardens are ablaze with colored electric lights. Expensive automobiles fill the square in front of the Residency. They are in charge of native chauffeurs who dress in Turkish fashion, for the burnoose and the turban interfere too much with their freedom of movement. As soon as the French had built good roads in Morocco, the landed aristocracy adopted the automobile; so now rich cadis and the wealthier merchants use this form of transportation almost exclusively. It is an interesting spectacle to watch these luxurious limousines roll up and disgorge their picturesque and exotic-looking passengers, whose turbans, covered with the hoods of their jelabs, and ample robes so fill the vehicles that it seems impossible that they could have held the number of people that alight from them.

Undoubtedly the nomadic tastes of the natives make them exceptionally ready to adopt new ways of traveling. No matter to what class he belongs, or whether he be rich or poor, the Moroccan is always on the road. Formerly he was on foot, on horseback, astride a mule, or seated on a camel; to-day he is very often in a motor-car. There is scarcely a village accessible to the highways that has not a garage, generally operated by an Italian or a Spaniard. Its sole vehicle is often a little Ford or Citroen touring car or truck in a state of the utmost dilapidation. Passengers are packed two deep into the affair, for they sit upon each other's knees. Thus the contraption rattles off, and by special grace of Allah - it can be naught else reaches its destination.

But all the White House guests tonight do not come by automobile; many arrive on muleback, accompa

Along the walks leading to the entrance and in the hallways squat servants waiting for the masters. Beyond is a marble courtyard with a fountain. Next come the reception rooms, at the entrance of which stand Marshal and Mme. Lyautey. The roomy apartments are furnished in half-Moroccan, half-European style. Long divans are ranged against the wall, comfortable easy-chairs and low Arab tables and French desks stand here and there. Everywhere are curious native works of art a veritable museum collection. On the right and left cadis sit facing each other. One handsome old fellow with a white beard has fallen to sleep in a deep leather-covered chair.

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The four great cadis of the South are present. They have been received individually by the Marshal during the day, and important official business has been transacted. The most powerful and the wealthiest of them, the Pasha of Marrakesh, is also the most modestly appareled. He wears a jelab of homespun woolen with black and gray stripes, woven in their tents by the women of his native tribe. I have met him before, and he greets me cordially, his proud, tawny Berber features lighting up with a pleasant smile. He tells me that he will not visit France this season, as is his custom every other year, on account of the fighting in the Rif; although he would much like to see how his race-horses, which he had sent over, perform on the track. Two of his sons are about to enter school at Paris.

As we converse I gaze through a lofty door opening upon a mosaic

paved colonnade into the terraced garden outside. Cadis are sitting seated about at different levels, according to the height of the article of furniture on which they have placed themselves, and, as the seats they occupy are completely concealed under their broad burnooses, the effect is rather odd. Still others promenade up and down under a long pergola. Waiters bustle hither and thither with trays of cool water and warm drinks. Servants crouch around a samovar near a fountain brewing nana, or tea flavored with peppermint. On a European sideboard stand pitchers of orangeade and lemonade.

I beckon a waiter to serve two pashas and a cadi with whom I am talking. But the cadi, who is from the country, merely glances at his glass and places it brusquely on the table without touching its contents, at the same time saying a few words in his native dialect. The pashas burst out laughing and make a remark, whereupon the cadi, laughing likewise, picks up his glass again and drains the contents.

'He thought it was wine,' the Pasha of Rabat explains.

When these native gentlemen depart, they bid their host and hostess adieu with a grace, a dignity, and a distinction not shared by the Europeans present. Moreover, our Western garb, either civil or military, appears stiff and scanty amid these surroundings. We look like marionettes, as if we had not quite finished dressing, in contrast with these amply and gracefully gowned natives.

But the latter do not appear to as good advantage clambering into their motor-cars, for, being tall and robust men, the feminine way in which they gather up their skirts looks rather awkward. Those who have come on muleback, however, spring lightly into their saddles with the dignity and grace of riders to the manner born. They have the poise and carriage of a warrior race. I can easily imagine them galloping at the head of their cavalry, brandishing in the air their long carbines with pearl-inlaid stocks and long Damascene barrels.

ECONOMIC READJUSTMENT1

BY PROFESSOR GUSTAV CASSEL

Ar the time when the gold standard was restored in Sweden, the purchasing power of money in that country was already approximately equivalent to that of gold; and it has continued to be so since then, subject to insignificant fluctuations. This is true, however, only when we measure purchasing power by the general price-level. A complete adjustment to the new currency standard has not occurred. The cost of living is somewhat higher than the general price-level, and average wages are decidedly higher-as say, 'overcompensated.' The result is that, although we have little unemployment, most business enterprises are not earning enough to keep them permanently solvent. We must seek the reason of this, however, not only in our past currency crises, but also in the imperfect accommodation of production to new technique and a new market situation.

as we

England is facing an identical problem of readjustment, with the difference that the solution there seems farther off and the dangers pending its solution are much more serious. To a certain extent England's embarrassments likewise are associated with her currency policy. A school of economists in Great Britian is inclined to attribute her difficulties exclusively to this cause, and to make the restoration of the gold standard solely responsible for her existing business depression and unemployment crisis. The most promi

1 From Taglische Rundschau (Berlin Stresemann-Party daily), February 18

nent champion of this theory is J. M. Keynes, who has given it wide publicity. Keynes's argument is that by restoring the gold standard England has artificially increased the value of the pound sterling without bringing about a corresponding reduction in wages and other production costs, and that for this reason Great Britain's ability to compete in the international market has been crippled so as to produce the present unemployment crisis.

In theory there is nothing against this hypothesis. It merely emphasizes the difficulties to be anticipated whenever we increase the value of a currency in international exchange. In case of countries like Denmark and Norway, which have taken a long time to get back on to a gold footing, I have foreseen and predicted this outcome for several years; and the experiences those countries went through this season have been exceedingly unfortunate. The restoration of the English pound to its old gold-value has naturally caused similar difficulties. Those difficulties must have been decidedly less than those of Norway and Denmark, however, for only a small percentage was added to the value of the pound sterling when Great Britain returned to gold. Furthermore, the general price-level in England quickly accommodated itself to a gold footing, and is at present appreciably lower than might reasonably have been feared. To be sure, the cost of living is still high, but not markedly higher than that of the United States. In August 1925 it stood at 173 in Great

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