It is the constant practice in Abyssinia to beset the king’s doors and windows within his hearing, and there, from early morning to night, to cry for justice as loud as possible in a distressed and complaining tone, and in all the different languages they are master of, in order to their being admitted to have their supposed grievances heard. In a country so ill governed as Abyssinia is, and so perpetually involved in war, it may be easily supposed there is no want of people who have real injuries and violence to complain of: but if it were not so, this is so much the constant usage, that when it happens (as in the midst of the rainy season) that few people can approach the capital or stand without in such bad weather, a set of vagrants are provided, maintained, and paid, whose sole business it is to cry and lament, as if they had been really very much injured and oppressed; and this, they tell you, is for the king’s honour, that he may not be lonely, by the palace being too quiet. This, of all their absurd customs, was the most grievous and troublesome to Mr. Bruce. Sometimes, while Mr. Bruce was busy in his room in the rainy season, there would be four or five hundred people, who all at once would begin, some roaring and crying, as if they were in pain, others demanding justice, as if they were that moment suffering, or if in the instant to be put to death; and some groaning and sobbing as if just expiring; and this horrid symphony was so artfully performed, that no ear could distinguish but that it proceeded from real distress. Mr. Bruce was often so surprised as to send the soldiers at the door to bring in one of them, thinking him come from the country, to examine who had injured him: many a time he was a servant of his own, or some other equally known; or, if he was a stranger, upon asking him what misfortune had befallen him he would answer very composedly, nothing was the matter with him; that he had been sleeping all day with the horses; that hearing from the soldiers at the door that Mr. Bruce was retired to his apartment he and his companions had come to cry and make a noise under his window, to do him honour before the people, for fear he should be melancholy by being too quiet when alone, and therefore hoped that he would order them drink that they might continue with a little more spirit.
In the course of his Abyssinian journeyings, the traveller just mentioned had occasion to pass through a place called Arendi, which was governed by a female named Sittina, or the Lady. Our traveller waited on this high and mighty personage. Upon entering the house, a black slave laid hold of him by the hand, and placed him in a passage, at the end of which were two opposite doors. Mr. Bruce did not well know the reason of this; but staid only a few minutes, when he heard one of the doors at the end of the passage open, and Sittina appeared magnificently dressed, with a kind of round cap of solid gold upon the crown of her head, all beaten very thin, and hung round with sequins; with a variety of gold chains, solitaires, and necklaces of the same metal, about her neck. Her hair was plaited in ten or twelve small divisions like tails, which hung down below her waist; and over her was thrown a common cotton white garment. She had a purple silk stole, or scarf, hung very gracefully upon her back, brought again round her waist, without covering her shoulders or arms. Upon her wrists she had two bracelets like handcuffs, about half an inch thick, and two gold manacles of the same at her feet, full an inch in diameter, the most disagreeable and awkward part of her dress. Mr. Bruce expected she would have hurried through with some affectation of surprise. On the contrary, she stopped in the middle of the passage, saying, in a very grave manner, “Kifhalec,—how are you?” Mr. Bruce thought this was an opportunity of kissing her hand, which he did, without her shewing any sort of reluctance. “Allow me as a physician, Madam,” said Mr. Bruce, “to say one word.” She bowed with her head, and said, “Go in at that door, and I will hear you.” The slave appeared, and carried him through a door at the bottom of a passage into a room, while her mistress vanished in at another door at the top, and there was the screen he had seen the day before, and the lady behind it. She was a woman scarcely forty, taller than the middle size, had a very round plump face, her mouth rather large, very red lips, the finest teeth and eyes he had seen; but at the top of her nose, and between her eyebrows, she had a small speck made of antimony, four-cornered, and of the size of the smallest patches formerly worn by ladies of fashion; another rather longer upon the top of her nose, and one in the middle of her chin.
“Tell me what you would say to me as a physician.” “It was, madam, but in consequence of your discourse yesterday. That heavy gold cap with which you press your hair will certainly be the cause of a great part of it falling off.” “I believe so; but I should catch cold, I am so accustomed to it, if I was to leave it off. Are you a man of name and family in your own country?” “Of both, madam.” “Are the women handsome there?” “The handsomest in the world, madam; but they are so good, and so excellent in all other respects, that nobody thinks at all of their beauty, nor do they value themselves upon it.” “And do they allow you to kiss their hands?” “I understand you, madam, though you have mistaken me. There is no familiarity in kissing hands; it is a mark of homage and distant respect paid in my country to our sovereigns, and to none earthly besides.” “O yes! but the kings.” “Yes, and the queens too, always on the knee, madam. On her part, it is a mark of gracious condescension, in favour of rank, merit, and honourable behaviour; it is a reward for dangerous and difficult services, above all other compensation.” “But do you know that no man ever kissed my hand but you?” “It is impossible I should know that, nor is it material. Of this I am confident, it was meant respectfully, cannot hurt you, and should not offend you.” “It certainly has done neither,” replied Her Majesty—and so ended her first lesson on the etiquette of civilized life.
On another occasion, while in the neighbourhood of Seenaar, our traveller waited on the king; and about eight o’clock came a servant from the palace, telling Mr. Bruce that then was the time to “bring his present.” He sorted the separate articles with all the speed he could, and went directly to the palace. The king was sitting in a large apartment, as far as he could guess, at some distance from the former. He was naked, but had several clothes lying upon his knee, and about him, and a servant was rubbing him over with very stinking butter or grease, with which his hair was dropping as if wet with water. Large as the room was, it could be smelled through the whole of it. The king asked Mr. Bruce if he ever greased himself as he did? Mr. Bruce said, very seldom, but fancied it would be very expensive. He then told him that it was elephant’s grease, which made people strong, and preserved the skin very smooth. Our traveller said he thought it very proper, but could not bear the smell of it, though his skin should turn as rough as an elephant’s for the want of it. The king replied, that if Mr. Bruce had used it, his hair would not have turned so red as it was, and that it would all become white presently, when that redness came off. “You may see,” continued he, “the Arabs driven in here by the Daveina, and all their cattle taken from them, because they have no longer any grease for their hair. The sun first turns it red, and then perfectly white; and you will know them in the street by their hair being the colour of yours. As for the smell, you will see that cured presently.”
After having rubbed him abundantly with grease, the servants brought him a pretty large horn, and in it something scented, about the consistence of honey. It was plain that civet was a great part of the composition. The king went out at the door, Mr. Bruce supposes into another room, and there two men deluged him with pitchers of cold water. He then returned, and a slave anointed him with this sweet ointment; after which he sat down as completely dressed, being just going to his woman’s apartment where he was to sup. Mr. Bruce told him, he wondered why he did not use rose-water as in Abyssinia, Arabia, and Cairo. He said he had it often from Cairo, when the merchants arrived; but as it was now long since they came, his people could not make more, for the rose would not grow in his country, though the women made something like it of lemon-flower.
Making a skip from Abyssinia to Madagascar we there find the “Royal state” a ludicrous blending of gingerbread splendour and magnificent muddle. By-the-by, things may have reformed here by this time, as the queen of whom this description treats is lately dead: let us hope that this is the case. Our business, however, is to recite the evidence of our witnesses—the witness in this case being the courageous and truthful Ida Pfieffer.
“Towards four o’clock our bearers carried us to the palace. Over the door is fixed a great gilt eagle with extended wings. According to the rule here laid down by etiquette we stepped over the threshold first with the right foot, and observed the same ceremony on coming to a second gate leading to a great court-yard in front of the palace. Here we saw the queen sitting on a balcony on the first storey, and were directed to stand in a row in the court-yard opposite to her. Under the balcony stood some soldiers, who went through sundry evolutions, concluding with a very comic point of drill which consisted in suddenly poking up the right foot as though suddenly stung by a tarantula.
“The queen was wrapped, according to the custom of the country, in a wide silk simbu and wore on her head a big golden crown. Though she sat in the shade a very large crimson umbrella was held up over head; this being, it appears, a point of regal state.
“The queen is of rather dark complexion, and sturdily built, and although already seventy-five years of age she is, to the misfortune of her poor country, still hale and of active mind. At one time she is said to have been a great drunkard, but she has given up that fatal propensity some years ago.
“To the right of the queen stood her son Prince Rakoto, and on the left her adopted son Prince Ramboasalama; behind her sat and stood sundry nephews and nieces and other relatives, male and female, and several grandees of the empire.