Lords of the Atlas by Maxwell Gavin;

Author:Maxwell, Gavin; [Gavin Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 1139883
Publisher: Eland Publishing
Published: 2012-04-10T04:00:00+00:00

T’hami journeyed often to Europe, always with a gigantic retinue and a portion of his harem, and gradually created what came to be known as ‘the Glaoua tribe on the Oued Seine’ – that is to say a strong and clannish body of metropolitan French supporters who regarded him as little less than a god.

He was extremely easily offended, and it sometimes called for great dexterity to avoid this, as in the case of the American visitor who offered him a fifty dollar bill as a souvenir. The incident had begun by the American remarking, during the course of dinner, that the United States held sixty-five per cent of the world’s gold reserves, but that the country was not the richest in the world, on account of her export difficulties. ‘If you have too much gold,’ began T’hami, ‘you could perhaps …’ He was interrupted by a representative of the Residency, M. Tranchant de Lunel, who explained that America’s gold reserves were not currency, but a sort of guarantee of the value of her bank notes. To illustrate this the American produced a fifty dollar bill and handed it to T’hami for inspection. T’hami examined it with interest and passed it back. The American waved it away, saying, ‘Keep it – I’ve got plenty more where that came from.’ T’hami’s face clouded with anger, and he held the note as though it were burning his fingers. M. Tranchant de Lunel came brilliantly to the rescue. Snatching the offending piece of paper from T’hami’s hand, he tore it across twice so as to leave intact only the portrait of President Wilson. This he handed back to T’hami, saying, ‘The American gentleman did not want to leave Your Excellency’s table without presenting you as a souvenir a portrait of one of his country’s greatest men!’

Not all the visiting French were favourably impressed by the fantastic pomp of his palaces; it was, after all, little more than a century since they had overthrown their own monarchy and condemned the splendours of Versailles. Madame Barthou, the aged mother of the French Minister for War, expressed her disapproval with a pungent sarcasm that must have wounded T’hami deeply. In those early years of the French Protectorate the greater number of important administrative posts were held by the military, and Madame Barthou was therefore treated with especial consideration by all the authorities, who had received instructions from France to make her visit to Morocco a memorable one. Her short stay in Marrakesh was therefore naturally to include a banquet given in her honour by the Pasha of Marrakesh at his palace. The guests, largely made up of high-ranking French officers and their wives, assembled in one of the huge and magnificent reception rooms, all of them paying court to the old lady, who, though obviously tired, insisted on remaining standing and was no more talkative than bare courtesy demanded. The Glaoui greeted each of his guests, and awaited some signal from Madame Barthou that the meal might begin.

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