The “Pro Rex of Efát” in tribulation.
Although we had found small reason to be flattered with our first reception in the kingdom of Shoa, at the hands of a Christian ruler who had sought alliance with Great Britain, it was nevertheless matter of notoriety that no previous visitors had, under any circumstances, been treated with one-hundredth part of the same courtesy and condescension, or had experienced such unequivocal marks of confidence and favour. Formed on the most liberal scale, and supplied with all that was likely to add to its weight in such a country, the embassy was almost from the outset admitted to terms of perfect equality with the haughty despot, yet numberless diplomatic troubles were still interposed by the general ignorance of the many, and by the envy and jealousy of a few. No veil had been thrown over the deep-rooted enmity of the bigoted and powerful priesthood, who, to serve their own sinister purposes, cunningly contrived to construe the costly gifts of the British Government into tribute to the illustrious descendant of the house of Solomon; but the assertion carried its own refutation. In a weak moment Comus Unquies, “the king’s strong monk,” so far forgot the dignity due to his station, as to barter his bishop’s staff to the heretic Gyptzis for a pair of Birmingham scissors! European medicines had rescued three thousand patients from the jaws of death; and improved intercourse with the monarch finally dispelled the jealousy created in a suspicious breast by the treasonable designs imputed to the foreign visitors, who were found to have brought no king or queen in a box, and to entertain designs neither upon the sceptre nor upon the church of Ethiopia.
The opposition of inimical functionaries dressed in fleeting authority, exposed us to a train of persecutions, trifling perhaps in themselves, but amounting in the aggregate to more than martyrdom. Few of the commands issued were obeyed so much in the spirit as to the letter. Eshee, or Basanye (i.e. “Very well.”), although doubtless signifying assent, did not always bring compliance with even the most trifling application for assistance. The king was too polished to say “No,” when he had inwardly resolved to do nothing; and an uneducated despot, who has never known any law but his own absolute will, and who lives for himself alone; who considers and claims as his property every thing in the country over which he wields the arbitrary sceptre, and whose only idea of wealth, power, and happiness, is centred in individual existence, can so ill understand the wants of others, that His Majesty’s offences towards his guests, founded in Oriental suspicion, might rather be termed sins of omission than of commission.
Covetous, and eager for novelties, Sáhela Selássie never fails to wish for every thing that comes under his observation, but, like a child with a new toy, soon weary of looking at the bauble, though still vain of its possession, he casts it aside to be hoarded in the mouldy vaults of some distant magazine. The savage is the same under every possible form, and in every grade and position—the one stealing what he covets, whilst another, seeking plausible pretexts, obtains possession through low cunning and stratagem. Among such a nation of beggars as the people of Southern Abyssinia, it was not always easy to satisfy the rapacity of fastidious extortioners. All wanted “pleasing things”—many demanded dollars to defray the cost of slaves that they had purchased, but for whom they could not pay; and for months after my arrival, requisitions for our own private property were unceasing on the part also of the monarch.
Neither compulsory measures nor direct applications were ever employed; but the means resorted to were not the less certain of success. With that duplicity and want of candour which ever marks uncivilised man, he was wont to send underhand communications, or meanly to depute his emissaries to reveal his desires and his intentions in a manner which, in so despotic a land, could leave no doubt of authenticity; and an offer of the article coveted being forthwith made, His Majesty hesitated not, in the presence of his agents, to deny all cognisance of the transaction, or to swear by the saints that he never sought the property tendered for his acceptance. Persuasion would not induce him to receive it at once, and thus to terminate the matter; but no sooner had it been removed from his sight, than his creatures were again at work with even greater activity than before; and rude taunts of breach of promise, with not-to-be-mistaken hints, veiled under the cloak of friendship, were certain to instigate a second and a third offer, which invariably elicited an avowal of the disinclination entertained to “receive the property of his children,” but uniformly ended in his accepting it “as a free gift from the heart,” acknowledged in all gratitude by the benediction—“God restore it to thee, my son! May the Lord glorify and reward thee!”
Chief of all the sycophants who bask in the favour of the monarch, may be ranked Wulásma Mohammad, who, in finesse, plausibility, and the manifold specious devices that are employed to cover total want of sincerity, can find no equal in the kingdom of Shoa. Lavish in professions of friendship, he never suffered to escape an opportunity of gratifying his inwardly-cherished animosity. Presents were frequently exchanged—the sugarcane and the bunch of green gram, which are the symbols of hearts knit together in the bonds of unity, arrived with the same regularity as the week, coupled, of course, with a description of some “pleasing thing” that was not to be found in Góncho. The lemon, denoting by its aromatic fragrance the beauties of permanent amity, was ever sure to follow the receipt of the desired article.
Professions daily grew more profuse, and complimentary inquiries, which constitute the very essence of friendship, waxed more and more frequent; but although the regard entertained “amounted even to heaven and earth,” and although every aid and assistance was volunteered, no packet of letters ever arrived to the address of the Gyptzis, neither did any courier ever depart for the sea-coast without being subjected to a tedious detention on the frontier at the hands of the despotic state-gaoler.
On the first of these occasions, the king, before sending the packet to the Residency, had taken the trouble of breaking the seal of every individual cover with his own royal fingers; and a protest having been entered against a procedure so utterly foreign to European ideas of propriety. His Majesty inquired, with well-feigned simplicity, “Of what use should my children’s letters be to me, who understand not their language?” Remonstrances were in like manner made to the Abogáz touching his interference in such manners; but as the crafty old fox screened himself behind total ignorance of the value attached to written documents, and volunteered better behaviour, the subject was set at rest.
But although letters were now thoroughly understood to be held in higher estimation even than fine gold from Guráguê, the evil, far from being abated, became greater and greater, until at last it was no longer to be borne. Promises made, were made only to be broken; and a serious complaint was at last carried to the throne at Angollála, representing that another packet had been secreted during an entire fortnight in the fortified vaults of Góncho. After stoutly denying all knowledge of it, until convicted by incontrovertible evidence, and then declaring it to be deposited, for safety-sake, in the custody of his brother Jhália, who was absent on the frontier, the Wulásma was commanded to set out forthwith upon the quest, and to return at his peril empty-handed. “Our friendship has ceased for ever,” muttered the burly caitiff betwixt his closed teeth as he descended the ladder—“for through your means the king hath become wroth with his servant.” “Let his friendship go into the sea,” quoth His Majesty, who had overheard this appalling announcement—“Is not he an accursed Moslem? Look only to me. Have I not always told you that my people are bad? Ye have travelled far into a strange land, and are to Sáhela Selássie even as his own children. Ye have no relative but me.”
The escape of the rebel Medóko had formerly led to the suspension of the Abogáz from rank and office for a period of two years, during which he danced attendance upon the monarch with shoulders bared, as is the wont of the disgraced noble. His troubles had now returned. “My ancestors owed a debt of gratitude to Mohammad’s father,” continued His Majesty, after a pause, “and I would fain overlook his faults; but this insolence is no longer to be borne. I have removed the drunkard from office, confiscated his goods and chattels, and by the death of Woosen Suggud, I swear, that unless you intercede, there can be no hope of his restoration to favour.”
Down came the ex-Wulásma in a furious passion, boiling with old hydromel, and flushed with his rapid ride:—“How should I know that you wanted these vile letters?” he exclaimed, throwing the packet scornfully upon the ground—“I have done nothing. What offence have I committed, that I am thus to suffer through your means?—There is a proverb, that ‘the dog of the house is faithful to its master, whereas he who cometh from beyond is worse than a hyena.’”
But a week had wrought a wonderful change in the sentiments of the humbled grandee, whose beeves were indeed grazing in the royal pastures, whilst his jars of old mead reposed in the royal cellars. He at whose sullen nod the subjects of Efát quailed, and whose presence was as an incubus to the state-prisoners in Góncho, had been, at the representation of a foreigner, stripped of wealth and power, and, in accordance with the usage of the country, was now fain to wait during a succession of days upon those whom he had injured. Seating himself at the door of the tent in sackcloth and ashes, he sent in two friends, who came, according to the custom of the country, to serve as mediators. “Behold, I am reduced to the condition of a beggar,” was his abject message, “and have no support but in your intercession. My children are deprived of their bread, and they starve through the faults of their father.”
The Commander-in-chief of the Body-Guard was spokesman on behalf of the caitiff. He brought me, as a mamálacha, a huge Sanga horn, filled to the brim with the liquor that he loved, and ushered himself in with his customary string of complimentary enquiries, “Endiet aderachoon? Ejegoon dahenaderachoon? Dahena sanabatachoon? Dahena karamoon? Ejegoon dahena natchoon?” “How have you passed the night? Have you rested very well? Have you been quite well since our last interview? How have you spent the rainy season? Are you in perfect health?”
“Half the people of Hábesh,” he resumed, in his husky voice, when each of these points had been satisfactorily disposed of—“have ears like a hill, and they cannot hear—the residue are liars. Furthermore, one-half are thieves and drunkards, and the remainder are cowards.” There was no refuting the arguments adduced in support of this position, and his eloquence proved quite irresistible. A solemn oath was therefore administered upon the Korán, by which the suppliant, who united in his own person all the attributes embraced in this able classification, became pledged never again to interfere with messengers bearing letters to or from the low country. His pardon was finally obtained; and he was once more invested with the silver sword of office: nor is it easy to determine whether the disgrace or the restoration of the fat frontier functionary created the greater sensation throughout the realm.
“What can you expect from that besotted old man?” inquired Ayto Melkoo, who had been a silent spectator of all that passed, and who hated both the Abogáz and his mediator with equal intensity. “Did you never hear that the Negoos was once displeased with me, and that I passed a few months beneath the grates at Góncho; and furthermore, that when the royal order came to set me at large, the State-Gaoler was drunk, and never thought again of his prisoner for a full fortnight? Sáhela Selássie ye moot! May the king die if it be not so!—the infidel may swear as long as he pleases, ay, and take his sacred book to witness; but how can you suppose that he will ever be able to think of these letters of yours?”