Volume Three—Chapter Forty One.

The Gothic Hall.

The models and plans of palaces that had been from time to time prepared by Captain Graham, had imparted to the royal mind a new architectural impulse; and after much deliberation with himself, he had finally come to the resolution of expending the timber requisite towards the erection of a chaste Gothic edifice. In the selection of the design. His Majesty displayed unlooked-for taste; for although as a penman his talents rank immeasurably in advance of the most accomplished of his scriveners, his skill as an artist had proved very circumscribed. It was nearly exhausted in the delineation of a nondescript bird, perched upon a tree-top, and did wuth difficulty extend to the one-legged fowler, gun in hand, who was conjectured to be planning its destruction. At the royal desire, I had frequently executed likenesses of the court favourites, and they were invariably acknowledged with much merriment; but, although repeatedly urged, no persuasion could induce the despot to sit for his own, from a firm belief in the old superstition, that whosoever should possess it, could afterwards deal with him as he listed.

“You are writing a book,” he remarked to me on one occasion, with a significant glance, as I was in the act of completing a full-length portrait of himself, which I had contrived to make unobserved from his blind side—“I know this to be the case, because I never inquire what you are doing that they do not tell me you are using a pen, or else painting pictures. This is a good thing, and it pleases me. You will speak favourably of myself; but you shall not insert my portrait, as you have done that of the Negoos of Zingero.” Such was the title with which His Christian Majesty was invariably pleased to dignify his heathen brother, Moselekatse, whose acquaintance he had made through the frontispiece to my “Wild Sports in Southern Africa.”

The Abyssinians have from time immemorial expended an entire tree in the reduction to suitable dimensions of every beam or plank employed in their primitive habitations; and it is not therefore surprising that Sáhela Selássie should have been equally delighted and astonished at the economy of time, labour, and material attending the use of the cross-cut saw. From age to age, and generation to generation, the Ethiopian plods on like his forefathers, without even a desire for improvement. Ignorance and indolence confine him to a narrow circle of observation from which he is afraid to move. Strong prejudices are arrayed against the introduction of novelties, and eternal reference is made to ancestral custom. But in a country where the absence of timber is so remarkable and inconvenient, the advantages extended by this novel implement of handicraft was altogether undeniable.

“You English are indeed a strange people,” quoth the monarch, after the first plank had been fashioned by the European escort. “I do not understand your stories of the road in your country that is dug below the waters of a river, nor of the carriages that gallop without horses; but you are a strong people, and employ wonderful inventions.”

Meanwhile the platform required for the new building advanced slowly to completion. The crowd of idle applicants for justice who daily convened before the tribunal of “the four chairs” were pressed into the service; and whenever His Majesty returned from an excursion in the meadow, the entire cortege might be seen carrying each a stone before his saddle in imitation of the royal example. Early one morning Graham received a message from the impatient despot to announce that the day being auspicious, he was desirous of seeing one post at least erected without delay. Greatly to his satisfaction the door-frames, which had previously been prepared by the carpenters of my escort, were simultaneously raised; and it being ascertained that the sub-conservator of forests had neglected to make the requisite supplies of timber, the delinquent was, with his wife and family, sentenced to vacate his habitation forthwith, and to bivouac sub divo during twenty days upon the Angollála meadow—a punishment not unfrequently inflicted for venial derelictions of duty, and attended during the more inclement seasons with no ordinary inconvenience.

But the endless succession of holydays, during which no work can be performed, interfered in a much greater degree with the completion of the rising structure—it being superstitiously imagined that any portion of a work erected on the festival of a saint, with the aid of edged tools, will infallibly entail a curse from above. No little delay arose also from the whims and caprices of His Majesty, who could never satisfy himself that the doors and windows occupied the proper places. On this subject his ideas wandered perpetually to the ruins of a certain palace on the banks of the Nile, which he had visited whilst hunting the wild buffalo—“It is overgrown with trees and bushes,” was his lucid description, “and it has two hundred windows, and four hundred pillars of stone, and none can tell whence it came.”

On lawful days, however, the soldiers continued to work as diligently as the quantities of hydromel would permit, with which they were supplied by the royal munificence; and at length the Gothic hall was complete. It had been amusing in the interim to watch the persevering industry of an unfortunate gun-man of the body-guard, who was constructing a hut immediately below the palace. Whensoever the vigilant eye of the church permitted, he would add to the frail wall of his circular dwelling a few layers of loose stone which, with his own single labour, he had collected in the meadow; but each morning’s dawn revealed to his sorrowing eyes some monstrous breach in the unstable fabric, which, like Penelope’s web, was never nearer to completion, and his patience being fairly exhausted, he finally gave up the task in despair.

The novel style of architecture introduced by the Gyptzis, so immeasurably superior in elegance, stability, and comfort, to anything before witnessed in Shoa, and combining all these recommendations with so limited an expenditure of material, afforded an undeniable contrast to the adjacent tottering pile upon vaults on which Demetrius the Albanian had expended three years of labour. Beyond the rude fabrics of the neighbouring states, where the more common manufactures have attained a somewhat higher cultivation, the palace of the king can boast of no embellishment saving the tawdry trappings which decorate the throne—gaudy tapestries of crimson velvet loaded with massive silver ornaments, but ill in keeping with the clumsy mud walls to which they are appended, and serving to render the latter still more incongruous by so striking a contrast. But the new apartments were elegantly furnished throughout, and with their couches, ottomans, carpets, chairs, tables, and curtains, had assumed an aspect heretofore unknown in Abyssinia. “I shall turn it into a chapel,” quoth His Majesty, accosting Abba Raguel, and patting the little dwarf familiarly upon the back—“What say you to that plan, my father?”

As a last finishing touch, we suspended in the centre hall a series of large coloured engravings, which the cathedral of Saint Michael might well have envied, for they represented the chase of the tiger in all its varied phases. The domestication of the elephant, and its employment in war, or in the pageant, had ever proved a stumbling-block to the king, who all his life had been content to reside in a house boasting neither windows nor chimneys, and who reigned not in the days when “the Negus, arrayed in the barbaric pomp of gold chains, collars, and bracelets, and surrounded by his nobles and musicians, gave audience to the ambassador of Justinian, seated in the open field upon a lofty chariot drawn by four elephants superbly caparisoned.” (Gibbon.) The grotesque appearance of the “hugest of beasts” in his hunting harness, struck the chord of a new idea. “I will have a number caught on the Robi,” he exclaimed, “that you may tame them, and that I too may ride upon an elephant before I die.” A favourite governor from a remote frontier province was standing meanwhile with his forefinger in his mouth gazing in mute amazement at the wonders before him. “This place is not suited for the occupation of man,” he at length exclaimed in a reverie of surprise, as the monarch ceased:—“this is a palace designed only for the residence of the Deity, and of Sáhela Selássie.”