Volume Two—Chapter Thirty One.

The Palace at Ankóber.

The entire slope of the palace eminence is studded with thatched magazines and out-houses; and these, shame to the Christian monarch, form the scene of the daily labours of three thousand slaves. In one quarter are to be seen groups of busy females, engaged in the manufacture of beer and hydromel. Flat cakes of teff and wheat are preparing by the hundred under the next roof, and from the dark recesses of the building arises the plaintive ditty of those who grind the corn by the sweat of their brow. Here cauldrons of red pepper soup yield up their potent steam; and in the adjacent compartment, long twisted strips of old cotton rag are being dipped in bees’ wax. Throughout the female establishment the bloated and cross-grained eunuch presides; and his unsparing rod admonishes his giggling charges that they are not there to gaze at the passing stranger.

In the sunny verandah of the wardrobe, tailors and curriers are achieving all manner of curious amulets and devices—the offspring of a savage brain. Blacksmiths are banging away at the anvil under the eaves of the banqueting hall. Turbaned priests, seated in the porch, armed with a party-coloured cow’s tail, indolently drive away the flies from volumes which are elevated on a rack before their ancient eyes, and detail the miracles of the saints. Under one shed, notaries are diligently committing to parchment elaborate inventories of tribute received. Sacred books are being bound in a second. In a crowded corner painters are perpetrating on the illuminated page atrocious daubs of our first father carrying spear and buckler in the Garden of Eden; and in the long shadow thrown by the slaughterhouse, whence a stream of blood is ever flowing across the road, carpenters are destroying bad wood in a clumsy attempt to fashion a gun stock with a farrier’s rasp, for the reception of an old honeycombed barrel which promises to burst upon the very first discharge.

Governors and nobles, with shields and silver swords, are seated above. Clamourous paupers, itinerant monks, and applicants for justice, fill the lower courts. The open Aráda before the great-gate is choked with idlers, gossips, and immoveable beggars, who, from the rising up to the going down of the sun, maintain one incessant howl of importunity. Oxen and asses, goats and sheep, have established their head-quarters in every filthy avenue. Newly-picked bones and bullocks’ skulls strew the rugged descent; and on the last terrace, surrounded by stagnant mire, behold Ayto Wolda Hana himself, seated in magisterial dignity, arranging the affairs of the nation. Hundreds tremble at his uncompromising nod; and appellant and respondent, accuser and accused, alike bared to the girdle, bend in cringing submission, as in a cracked and querulous voice the despotic legislator delivers his arbitrary fiat.

During the absence of the Negoos on military expeditions, the most inquisitorial espionage is exercised over the actions of every foreigner, and the strictest police established, to insure the safety of the almost deserted capital. Every avenue is vigilantly guarded, and no stranger allowed to enter the town without permission of the viceroy. Children only are suffered to leave the houses after dark; and watchmen, patrolling in all directions, apprehend every adult who may be found abroad during the night.

But Ankóber was now thronged to overflowing. Brawls disturbed the streets, and, during the early hours of each evening, drunken parties were to be seen streaming home from the royal banquet, shouting the war chorus, and not unfrequently preceded by one of the court buffoons, engaged in the performance of the most absurd follies, antics, and grimaces. Day and night the invocations of a host of mendicants arose from every lane and alley, and the importunity to which we were exposed on the part of the wealthy had attained the point beyond which it was scarcely possible to advance. Each ruffian who had destroyed an infant considered that he possessed an undeniable right to be “decorated from head to foot, and completely ornamented.” Villains, streaming with rancid butter, entered the Residency, and desired that the “Gyptzis’s bead shop might be opened, as they had brought salt to purchase a necklace;” whilst the king’s three fiddlers, who had each slain a foe during the foray, appearing with the vaunting green saréti, attuned their voices and their squeaking instruments to the detail of their prowess, and demanded the merited reward. “The gun is the medicine for the cowardly Pagan who ascends a tree,” was the maxim of many who aspired to the possession of one of these weapons; and for hours together men stood before the door with cocks and hens and loaves of bread, to establish their claim to the possession of “pleasing things.”

With the design of aiding his fast-swelling collection of natural history. Dr Roth had offered rewards to all who chose to contribute, and the king’s pages were kept well supplied with ammunition for the destruction of birds; but the unconquerable love of sticking a feather in the hair almost invariably spoiled the specimen. A bat, firmly wedged between the prongs of a split cane, was one day brought by a boy, who extended the prize at arm’s length: “I’ve caught him at last,” he exclaimed with exultation—“It is the Devil, who had got into the monastery of Aferbeine; I’ve caught the rascal; min abát?” “what is his father?”

After this strong invective, which is indiscriminately applied also as occasion demands, to man, beast, and every inanimate thing, the youth was not a little surprised to perceive the naturalist quietly extricate the much-dreaded animal with his fingers. A party of females, who carried pitchers of water at their backs, had halted in the road, and looking over the hedge, were silent spectators of the proceeding. “Erág, erág,” they exclaimed with one accord, placing their hands before their months as they ran horror-stricken from the spot—“O wai Gypt,” “Alas, Egyptians! far be such things from us!”

On the festival of Michael the Archangel, whose church immediately adjoins the palace, the monarch received the holy sacrament in the middle of the night, and returned thanks for his victory, a chair having previously been obtained from the Residency to obviate the fatigue stated to have resulted from former orisons. The holy ark, which had brought success to his arms, was again placed under the silver canopy, and thrice carried in solemn procession around the sacred edifice, under a salute of musketry and ordnance. Large offerings were as usual made to it, alms distributed among the poor, a new cloth given to each of the king’s slaves, and a feast prepared for every inhabitant of Ankóber. Rejoicings, which had continued throughout the city since the triumphal entry, were this day renewed with increased energy, even girls and young children whooping war-songs in celebration of the safe return of the warriors from battle.

But the voice of lamentation succeeded to the strains of joy. An eclipse had suddenly inumbrated the moon, and as the black shadow was perceived stealing rapidly onwards, and casting a mysterious gloom over the face of nature, late so bright, the exulting Christians were seized with the direst consternation. The sound of the drum was hushed, and the wild chorus was heard no more. Believing the orb to be dead, and that her demise prognosticated war, pestilence, and famine, the entire town and suburbs became a scene of panic, tumult, and uproar, whilst women and men, priests and laity, collecting together in the streets and in the churches, cried aloud upon the “Saviour of the world to take pity on them—to screen them from the wrath of God—and to cover them with a veil of mercy, for the sake of Mary, the mother of our Lord.”

The pagan Galla, of whom there are many in Ankóber, lifting up their voices, joined in the general petition, and, from not comprehending the Amháric tongue, placed upon it the most absurd construction. During the whole period of the moon’s obscuration, the wailing continued without intermission; and when the planet, emerging, sailed again through the firmament in all her wonted brilliancy, a universal shout of joy burst from the lips of the savages, in the firm belief that the prayers and sobs of the multitude had prevailed, and awakened her from the sleep of death.

His Majesty had been previously apprised of the precise hour and minute at which the obscuration was to commence and terminate, and his incredulity in the first instance was followed by equally unfeigned surprise at the powers of divination displayed. “Eclipses are bad omens,” said the king, when their causes had been explained. “Was Subagádis not slain on the appearance of one, and did another not bring defeat to Ras Ali?” The chief smith was, nevertheless, instructed to make himself thoroughly acquainted with the use of logarithmic tables, and of “the instruments that read the heavens;” and the royal attention was temporarily diverted from the study of medicine to the contemplation of the celestial bodies.

In Shoa, the silver sword is the emblem of rank and authority, and it is girded on the loins of none but those who enjoy an exalted place in the sovereign’s favour. The forfeiture of government and the loss of the cumbrous badge go hand in hand, and many are the weary hours of attendance indispensable towards the restoration of either. On no foreigner who had yet visited the Christian land had this mark of distinction been conferred, but the despot now suddenly resolved that the fluted tulip scabbard should adorn his English guests. “You bring the stars upon earth, and foretell coming events,” said His Majesty, as he presented these tokens of favour and confidence—“you are my children; you possess strong medicine. You must wear these swords in assurance of my permanent love, that your name may be great in the eyes of all my people.”