Volume Three—Chapter Eighteen.

The People.

Ethiops, one of the twelve descendants of Cush, the son of Ham, said to have been begotten and buried at Axum, is regarded by the Abyssinians as their great progenitor. Shortly after the Flood, the grandson of Noah is believed to have advanced from the low country, then under the dominion of the sea and the marsh, until, after crossing a tract little fitted for the occupation of the shepherd, he ascended the highlands of Ethiopia, which afforded an inviting habitation to the parent stock, from which have emanated the different shoots of African population.

Like most other Abyssinian legends, this version is somewhat at variance with received history, which assigns to Arabia the original seat of the Cushites. The strange medley of colour and feature observable at the present day, does not, however, overturn the theory of origin. The habits of the people and the peculiarly varied climate of their country, together with the usual result of mingling intercourse with the fairer and more beautiful among the various hordes of slaves which have for ages streamed through the land from the ravaged interior, are in themselves fully sufficient to account for the diversity.

The connection with Arabia, commencing at a period the most remote, is known to have existed for many centuries. Armies from both nations respectively visited each other in wrath—merchants reciprocally sustained the intercourse. Later still, the family of the false Prophet found an asylum among the mountains of a country which, as a Christian state that was not overwhelmed by the resistless flood of Islamism, stands alone in the history of Eastern nations; and to the present day many peculiarities in the language, the laws, and the customs of both, continue to mark a common origin. Existing usages would also tend to confirm what was asserted in the days of Diodorus, that Egypt was originally colonised from Ethiopia, the very soil being brought down from the highlands by the floods of the Nile.

Caucasian features predominate amongst the Amhára, notwithstanding that the complexion passes through every shade, from an olive brown to the jet black of the Negro. An approximation to the thick lip and flattened nose is not unfrequently to be seen; but the length and silkiness of the hair invariably marks the wide difference that exists between the two races. The men are tall, robust, and well formed; and the women, although symmetrically made, are scarcely less masculine. They are rarely beautiful; and their attempts are indeed ingenious to render hideous the broad unmeaning expanse of countenance bestowed upon them by nature.

All savages esteem certain deformities to be perfection, and strive, by augmenting the wildness of their aspect, to enhance the beauty of their persons. Having first eradicated the eyebrows, the Amhára damsel paints a deep narrow curved line in their room with a strong permanent blue dye; thus imparting a look of vacancy and foolishness, which in the high-born dame is heightened by plastering the cheeks to the very eyes with a pigment of red ochre and fat. If not close shaven and encircled by a narrow greasy fillet of rag, the head is adorned with many minute rows of elaborate curls, which diverge from a common centre, and are besmeared with stale butter until the wig has assumed the appearance of an ordinary English beehive.

The costume consists of a wide sack chemise with full sleeves, confined round the waist by a narrow girdle, and surmounted by a long winding sheet thrown over the head, and descending to the heels—very coarse and strong, and, like Ruth’s veil, fully capable of containing six measures of wheat. Large black wooden studs in the lobe of the ear are on high days and holydays replaced by masses of silver or pewter, resembling a pile of hand-grenades, or the teething rattles employed in nurseries. Bracelets and anklets of the same metals, which, from their clumsiness, are aptly denominated “fetters,” are worn by those who can afford such extravagance. Blue and gold-coloured beads are ingeniously wrought into a necklace by the wealthier, who never appear without a bandoleer of potent amulets, terminating in a huge bell-rope tassel; and the lady of rank completes her toilet by dyeing her hands and feet red with the bulb called ensosela, securely plugging up the nostrils with lemon-peel or some aromatic herb, so that the end of the bouquet may dangle before the mouth.

From the king to the peasant the costume of the men consists of a large loose web of coarse cotton cloth, enveloping the entire person in graceful folds, but well-nigh incapacitating the wearer from exertion. Frequently disarranged, and falling ever and anon upon the ground, the troublesome garment must be constantly tucked up and folded anew about the shoulders, from which it is removed in deference to every passing superior. A cotton waistcloth of many yards in length is swathed about the loins, and a pair of very wide loose trousers, termed senáphil, hang barely to the knee.

The sword, the spear, and the buckler, are the national weapons, and the first is girded to the loins of every male subject in the kingdom, be his profession what it may. Barely two feet in length, and highly curved, it rather resembles a sickle than an implement of war. It serves equally at the banquet and in the field; but being firmly lashed to the right side, protrudes most incommodiously behind, and is not to be detached from the scabbard unless by much grunting and personal exertion. The serf still appears in the raw fleece of the sheep, which he shifts according to the vicissitudes of the weather,

            “With the unfashion’d fur
    Rough-clad, devoid of every finer art.
    And elegance of life;”

but during the journey or the foray, a cloak, composed of the prepared skin of the lion, the leopard, or the ocelot, is thrown over the shoulder of the better classes. Neither shoes nor sandals are ever employed. The despot and the wandering mendicant are alike bare-footed, and, unless by the clergy or the inmate of the monastery, no covering is worn over the head. A wooden skewer, displaying either a feather or a sprig of wild asparagus, is stuck in the hair of two-thirds of the nation, and the arm of every man of any note is encumbered either with an infinity of copper rings forming a gauntlet, with ponderous ivory armlets, or with a mass of silver which might serve as a shackle to a wild colt.

In the absence of a razor, the men scrupulously denude their cheeks and chin with a pair of very indifferent scissors—a mode of proceeding which serves greatly to enhance the dirty appearance of their unwashed faces. Water, not less than coffee and tobacco, being studiously avoided, as savouring too strongly of abhorred Islamism, the Christian contents himself with rubbing his eyes in the morning with the dry corner of his discoloured robe; but the greatest attention is paid to the management of the hair with which nature has so liberally supplied him, and many hours are daily expended in arranging the mop into various and quaint devices. At one time-worn hanging in long clustering ringlets over the cheeks and neck—at another, frizzed into round matted protuberances; to-day fancifully tricked and trimmed into small rows of minute curls like a counsellor’s peruke, and to-morrow boldly divided into four large lotus-leaved compartments.

During the period of mourning, which extends to one year, black or yellow garments, or the ordinary apparel steeped in mire, must be worn; and on the demise of a relative or friend, both sexes scarify the cheeks by tearing from below each temple a circular piece of skin about the size of a sixpence; to accomplish which, the nail of the little finger is purposely suffered to grow like an eagle’s talon. An ecclesiastical remonstrance to the throne, representing this practice to be in direct violation of the written law, “Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead,” long since obtained the promulgation of a royal edict directing its discontinuance; but it is still universally practised, and throughout the kingdom there is scarcely an individual to be seen, whether male or female, who has not at some period of life been thus horribly disfigured.

The máteb, a small encircling cord of deep blue silk, chosen in reference to the smiling sky above, is the badge of debased Christianity throughout the land, and those who accidentally appear in public without it are severely censured by their pastors. Like other Eastern nations, the Amhára have no family name. They soon ripen and grow old. Girls become mothers at the early age of twelve, and are decayed before the summer of life has well commenced.

It has been conjectured by Pliny, that the Orientals received their first hints in architecture from the swallow, and that, in imitation of the abode of the feathered instructor, their primeval essays were made in clay. Whence the Abyssinians obtained their ideas on the subject it were difficult to tell, but it is certain that they have made little progress whether in execution or in design. Their houses, constructed as in the earliest days, are still a mere framework of stakes sparingly bedaubed with a rude coating of mud. Here thieves can readily break through and steal; and of such a flimsy nature are the materials employed, that the morning sun often rises a witness to the truth of the scriptural metaphor, “He built his house upon the sand, and it was swept away by the rising flood.”

The windows, when any windows there be, are mere perforations in the wall, furnished with clumsy shutters, but unprovided with any transparent substance; and thus, if the ponderous door is closed against the searching fog, or the cutting wintry blast, all possibility of admitting light is precluded; whilst, excepting through the crevices in the plank, and the apertures of the cracked walls, there exists no exit for the smoke of the sunken wood fire, which thus fills the solitary apartment, blackens the low roof, and occasions frequent attacks of ophthalmia. Throughout, the most slovenly appearance pervades the dreary interior. Furniture is limited to a small wicker table, a bullock’s hide, and a rickety bedstead abounding in vermin; and whilst the universal objection to the use of water, whether as regards the person or the apparel of the inmates, enhances the gloomy vista of cobweb desolation, dirt and filth choke up the surrounding enclosure.

The absence of drains or sewers compels the population of the towns and villages to live in the miasma of decomposing matter and stagnant water. The comfort of space is never consulted—stables and outhouses are far beyond the notions of the proprietor; and in the absence of all tidiness or comfort in the arrangement of the yards, the unseemly dunghill, which in other countries is carried away to improve the soil, is here suffered to accumulate and rot before the entrance. Poisoning the atmosphere with its baneful exhalations, it is periodically swept away by the descending torrents to feed the rank weeds which fatten in the mire; but no attempt is to be seen at the small trim garden, or neat rustic porch, even in the lone farm-steadings which are scattered throughout the country. All alike present a dreary look of desertion. The poultry, and the mules, and the farm-stock, and the inhabitants, all reside under the same roof. Bare walls and slovenly thatch rise from a straggling wattle stockade, which environs the premises to preserve the inmates from the nocturnal attacks of the prowling hyena, and to impart the fullest idea of confinement and misery. Few trees break the monotony of the scene. No busy hum of glad labour is to be heard—no bustle or noise among the elders—no merry game or amusement among the children; and thus to the European visitor the whole appears strange, savage, and unnatural.

With doors allowing free ingress to every injurious current, with roofs admitting the tropical rain, and sunken floors covered with unwholesome damp, it is only surprising that many more of the people of Shoa are not martyrs to disease. It is now nine years since an epidemic called ougáret made its appearance at the capital, and, as might have been anticipated, spread with fearful virulence in the foul city. The iron drum of misfortune was heard by the credulous pealing over the land; and although a black bull was led through the streets, followed by the inhabitants carrying stones upon their heads in token of repentance, and the sacrifice of atonement was duly performed, one half of the whole population were speedily swept away. The monarch sought strict seclusion in the remote palace at Machal-wans, where he would see no person until the plague was stayed; and those who survived of his terror-stricken subjects fled for a season from a hill which was declared by the superstitious priesthood to have been blasted by a curse from heaven.