Chapter XII (1)

"Indeed, Lotis, you must give me more hope than that; you must not bid me despair."

The words were spoken somewhat louder than was intended. They were heard by one who was passing by. The speaker was Magas; the passer-by was Chione. Magas was lamenting over the account he had heard of Chione's continued resistance to grace. Chione applied to the words another meaning; she ascribed them to a passion felt for Lotis, and her heart burned with rage and jealousy.

"Magas was then returned to Athens. What was he doing?" She set spies on his steps. He was often at the bishop's house, often in the Christian assembly; but also often had interviews with Lotis. This fact, which might have been easily explained by the occupation of Lotis, who supplied copies of books, and kept various accounts for the church, was otherwise interpreted by the misled woman, and she resolved on the destruction of Lotis. {263} If she could not regain the love of Magas, at least she would not have a rival. She had influence in the city. Nero's persecution, though but little felt in the colonies, could be brought to bear. Lotis should not live to triumph over her by a Christian marriage. The idea was insupportable.

Up to this point, Chione had kept herself unfettered from human ties since Magas had departed. She had loved Magas, and though many had made her offers of marriage, she could not resolve to accept them. Magas was alike elegant and profound. Who was worthy to succeed him? Athenian after Athenian paid court to her; gay, witty, and attractive to all, Chione accepted none. This was a matter of great wonder in so licentious a city as Athens.

But a greater wonder still was to ensue. A new Roman praetor arrived. A rude barbarian he seemed to the fashionables of Athens: certainly he was not distinguished for refinement, for learning, or for elegance; but it was soon observed that Chione held him enthralled, and, what was more remarkable, that she seemed to favor him.

How it happened, people could hardly tell, but a different spirit seemed animating Athens. The Christians, from being despised were becoming feared, and at length hated. When Nero's edict had been first made known, it made little impression; but gradually a voice was found, to proclaim that there were Christians in Athens practising magic to the detriment of all good citizens.

A few poor slaves were seized and brought before the praetor; they were ruthlessly condemned on acknowledging themselves Christians. People were startled, but poor slaves have few friends, and the matter blew over. Suddenly the praetor grows more religious, decrees foreign to the usual spirit of Athenian government are enacted; a test is instituted, and several free citizens of Athens have to abide the scrutiny; executions follow, and Chione's reputation suffers, for it is currently reported that it is she who instigates the inquiry and persecutes the new sect.

The Roman praetor evidently takes counsel of her. But there comes one concerning whom even he hesitates; a young lady, daughter of a philosopher, one beloved for her private virtues, is brought before the judge. "Sacrifice to the genius of the emperor." "I cannot." "Why not?" "I am a Christian." How often have the words been repeated; they are so simple, yet so fraught with consequence; how many perished under that simple interrogatory! Lotis undergoes it; she is remanded; the praetor seeks to release her; he is sick of his office when it hits upon the young, the innocent, the lovely; the outside interests him, he cannot see the soul. Faith, ever young, has sustained many an aged slave, wrinkled with age; has adorned many a worker embrowned and toil-worn, bearing marks on his frame that his life has not been spent in uselessness; but these excited only a passing interest, if any--they were common people (would that the toiling saints were more common!) they went to their doom, by fire or by the headsman, unmarked by men and unpitied, though Heaven assumed their souls with hymns of joy, dressed them in white garments, crowned them with brilliants, endowed them with perpetual youth and with beauty that never will fade. But here comes a lady. The praetor understands that she has slaves to wait upon her, every luxury attends her; she may lead a life of indolence, if she pleases. These are the exterior signs, the signs that awaken commiseration. The praetor hesitates. {264} Chione does not hesitate. The prisoner is not only a Christian, she is a member of a conspiracy just laid open to Chione's apprehension. She has lived in the city longer than the praetor, she knows its dangers. This Lotis is a dangerous person, she is a personal enemy to Chione; she must die; nay, Chione names the manner of her death; she is to die by fire. The praetor, infatuated by his passion for the guilty woman who prescribes to him the sentence he is to pronounce, submits, gently hinting that he looks for his reward. "Reward!" says Chione to herself, "is not a smile from me reward enough for a barbarian like him?" And in her egotism, she really believes she is speaking the simple truth.

The sentence is pronounced; horror seizes the city; to-morrow the flames are to consume the conspirators, who are many in number; and Lotis is among them; there is no escape.

The ancient bishop contrives, however, to visit his condemned flock, bearing consolation, courage, and, above all, the blessed sacrament, with him. To each and all he addressed himself according to their needs; if he, too, staid a little longer with Lotis than with the others, it arose out of a previous conversation, and because he wished to promote a holy work.

"My daughter, do you know who has stirred up this accusation against you?"

"I rather guess than know it, father. What have I done to draw down Chione's hatred?"

"She is jealous of Magas in your regard. She cannot appreciate the depth of Christian devotedness; she can understand selfish aims alone."

"Poor Chione!"

"Do you, from your heart, forgive her?"

"I have not thought about forgiveness; I pity her too much."

"Do you remember the conversation we had years ago?"

"About laying down my life for her? Father, I do."

"Are you willing to do so now?"

"If I thought it would save her soul, I am more than willing."

"Pray for her, then, my daughter."

......

'Twas a wild shriek that rang through the streets that morning, as Magas arrived just in time to see the procession set forth, to recognize Lotis, to hear Chione's name as the one who had procured her condemnation. "Stop, stop!" he had cried to the Roman soldiery; "stop! It is all a mistake; stop! In a few minutes it will be rectified. Stop for a short time, in the name of all that is holy!" Had Magas donned his patrician's dress and scattered largess, as in times of yore, his words would have been heeded; a few minutes would have been granted. Even now, his air, his manner, his authoritative gestures occasioned a slight pause; but his weather-stained appearance caused him to be considered as a plebeian, and the pause was not long. He flew rather than ran to Chione's abode. "Come," said he, "it seems you are omnipotent in Athens; come and prevent a murder." He dragged her with him to the praetor's house, but the great man was absent. A bright flame lit up the sky! "My God, if we are too late!" he cried. Almost carrying Chione in his arms, Magas hurried through the streets, till they came to a place set apart for the execution. It was already commenced; singing hymns of glory to God, one soul after another departed homeward. Magas paused opposite to Lotis; she made a sign of recognition. Magas turned to Chione. "Are you a devil," he shrieked, "that you have dared to do this?" "Forgive her, Magas, as I forgive her," said the dying Lotis. "Farewell, Chione! Friends we were in youth, and we shall yet meet in heaven." Lotis was gone.

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"Meet in heaven! meet in heaven! meet in heaven! I and Lotis meet in heaven! meet in heaven! Magas, tell me, Magas, can it be?"

The brain of Magas was on fire with excitement, and he held a murderess in his arms; but he was a Christian priest, and he answered solemnly:

"God is merciful; Christ died for sinners. Do penance; it may be yet."

Conclusion.

Very many years have passed away, and if the dignity of person is considered, a more solemn martyrdom than the last we have commemorated is to take place. The venerable bishop and his companions, some priests, some laymen, are to lay their heads upon the block--among them Magas. A woman veiled, bearing but few remains of beauty or of youth, was also there; but not a prisoner; she was there to kneel at the bishop's feet, to pray for his blessing. That morning, for the first time for long, long years, had that woman knelt within a Christian church--had received the adorable sacrament of the body and blood of our Lord, after years of penance heroically, _lovingly_ performed at the entrance to the building. That morning she had been absolved, that morning communicated. Ere he went to his home in heaven, the venerable bishop, who had sustained the fainting and often faltering soul through so many years of expiation, had thought fit to pronounce her purified, to command that she should again take her place among the faithful. She came to thank him; to accompany him--him and Magas! Consoled, the procession moved along. Chione--such was the name of the penitent--knelt as the victims knelt. The bishop, ere he surrendered himself, gave his blessing to all the assembly. Magas preceded him to the block. When the axe fell, the woman fell also. Magas and Chione stood together before the judgment-seat of God.

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Translated From Le Correspondant.

Abyssinia And King Theodore.

By Antoine D'Abbadie.

A Spanish bull having accidentally strayed on a railroad, which spoiled the beauty of his beloved country, met a locomotive. The king of the pasture-lands, fired with anger at the violation of his right, and listening only to the voice of his courage, lowered his head and butted with his horns so accustomed to victory against the mail-clad invader of his verdant fields. This battle is an image of that which is going to take place between England and Theodore, King of the Kings of Ethiopia. It is plain that it is not Theodore who represents the locomotive.

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Before explaining the true motives of the costly English expedition to Abyssinia, it may be well to look at the physical and moral condition of the country which is to be the scene of conflict, and where I passed more than ten years of my youth.

The whole extent of territory from Suez and Aquabah to the Strait of Mandeb, or _affliction_, along the shores of the Red Sea, is barren and desolate. The small, scattered towns in this region owe their existence to commercial travelling; and even in the most favored portions of the land it takes a two or three days' journey from the salt water into the interior, before meeting cultivated fields.

The only deep bay in the south of the Red Sea is that of Adulis, which the natives designate by the "Gulf of Velvet," perhaps on account of the smoothness of its waters, sheltered by the palisades which guard it on the eastern side. The English, who are fond of baptizing territories before conquering them, have called this part of the sea, "The bay of Annesley." This name is said to be that of the family of Lord Valentia, who, little versed in geography, imagined that he had discovered in 1809 those celebrated districts anciently frequented by Egyptian merchants in the time of the Ptolemies. The island of Desa, formed by a row of schistous hills, shelters the entrance to the bay of Adulis, which we call by this name in memory of that flourishing city of Adulis, which stood by its waves up to the sixth century of our era. The natives still show the site of that Grecian city, and inform the traveller that it was swallowed up by an earthquake. Of its past greatness, there remain but a small number of carved capitals in the lava of the environs, and some sculptured marbles which seem to display the Byzantine style. Near these ruins is the large village of Zullah, which contained, in 1840, two hundred and fourteen cabins, and a population of about one thousand souls. It is from Zullah that the shortest route lies to the plains and highlands of Ethiopia, or, as the English call it, Abyssinia.

Except during January and February, when the weather is still warm, Zullah suffers from the frightful heat which pervades the whole of that stretch of low land called Samhar, which lies along the sea. Wishing to take a bath during the summer, I could not, by reason of the seeming excessive coldness of the water. But placing a thermometer in it, I found the temperature 36 degrees, while in the shade the air was at 48 degrees. I found it at 65 degrees in the between-decks of a French steamer; and when evening brings a refreshing breeze to cool this burning atmosphere, one is tempted to say with a Frenchman after having escaped during the bloody "reign of terror:" "I have done a great deal, for I have managed to live."

Travellers at this season start at midnight, and traverse, on their way into Ethiopia, a plain as barren as desolation itself. Sometimes they encounter the _Karif_, an atmospheric column of a red brick color, which appears on the horizon like a living phantom. This column seems to increase in volume as it approaches, the air that drives it along roaring like a whirlwind. Man and beast are obliged to turn their backs to it, and it covers them with a dry, black cloud, as with a mantle of horror. In a few minutes the _Karif_ passes away; and men are glad to be out of its hideous gloom, even though it be but to wander again through that intense but quiet heat which broods over the Samhar. Sometimes, also, the _Harur_, which the Arabs call the _Simoom_ or _paison_, surprises the traveller. {267} This wind comes without any previous sign of warning, belching out burning death like a furnace. The patient camel then puts his head on the ground, rejoiced to find relief even in the relative freshness of the scorching earth; the strongest of the natives succumb; and such is the sudden and complete prostration of human strength during the simoom, that in the open country I have been unable to hold up a small thermometer, to learn at least the temperature of this strange wind, which science has as yet failed to explain. This Harur lasted five minutes. They say that men and beasts die if it lasts a quarter of an hour.

After crossing those desert plains, the traveller finds the country gradually assume an undulating character. A stream is met. Mountains rise up before him, and deep, verdant valleys extend among them.

I often visited those valleys with, the vain hope of seeing a phenomenon very rare in Europe. During the summer season caravans repose or march in perfect safety under a serene sky, when suddenly the practised ear of a native hears a strange noise in the distance, rapidly increasing in loudness. He cries out, "The torrent!" and climbs breathlessly up the nearest height. In less than half a minute after, the whole valley disappears under a broad and deep stream, which carries with it trees, pieces of rock, and even wild beasts. Rising in an instant, those torrents vanish in a day, and leave no trace of their passage, save ruins of all sorts, and pools of stagnant water in the indentations of the soil. The general nakedness of the mountains explains these strange phenomena. From the bottom of the funnel in which the traveller stands when he is in one of those valleys, he cannot see the small clouds which let fall their liquid burdens with an abundance unknown out of the tropical climates. There is very little loam, and still less of roots of trees to absorb this sudden rain; so that it rolls from rock to rock, as on a roof, rushes through every little valley, and mingles in one common river, as frightful as it is transitory. One day, as I arrived just too late to behold it in all its grandeur, I found a solitary individual, who, with a stupefied look, regarded the still humid earth. "God save you," said I, "what news have you? Where are your arms? Can a man like you remain without lance or buckler?" "May you live long and well!" he replied. "The torrent has carried away my lance, my buckler, my ass, my camel, and my whole substance, my wife and my children. Woe is me! Woe is me!" I then turned to my guide and asked him: "Does thy brother speak truly?" "Doubtless," answered he, "and if the torrent came at this moment, unless we were warned of its approach by the small noise of which I have spoken, it is not the most swift-footed, but the most lucky, who would be saved." Then turning toward the son of his tribe--"May God console thee, my brother!" We all repeated this pious wish, and continued our route, without being able to give anything to this wretched man, for we had neither victuals nor money; and from the summit of the neighboring hills we could hear him repeating for a long time, "Woe is me! Woe is me!"

For more than two centuries the civilization and native wealth of Ethiopia have been concentrated around Lake Tana. Just on its shores stands Quarata, the largest city of oriental Africa--proud of its sanctuary and its twelve thousand inhabitants. A little further on is Aringo, the Versailles of the dusky kings. {268} Near it is Dabra Tabor, the capital, or rather the camp of the last chiefs, as well as of the actual sovereign; and finally, on a spur of mountain which projects to the south, appears Gondar--the famous Gondar, which I have seen, still powerful, although reduced to eight thousand inhabitants, only a fourth of its former population. Of all the faults of King Theodore, that which the Ethiopians will be least ready to forgive is his having systematically burned the city of Gondar. Of seventeen churches, only two have escaped this cool and useless cruelty of the despot.

The Ethiopians are a people of very mixed origin. Languages, institutions, usages, and prejudices, even the shades of color and the formations of the human body, are placed in strange juxtaposition with one another. Except the Somal, who afford instances of tall stature, the Ethiopians are of medium height, have thick lips, white and well-formed teeth, and are of slender frame. Their hair is curly; but straight hair, though rare, is sometimes seen. The Semites have often the aquiline nose of the Europeans. As to the color of the skin, all degrees, from the copper color of the Neapolitan to the jet black of the negro, are found. This latter color is often allied to European features. There is an unconscious and natural grace in all the movements and actions of the Ethiopians. Our sculptors might study their gestures and drapery with profit.

On the coast, to the north of Zullah, live the Tigre, whose language, traditions, and customs entitle them to be considered among the descendants of Sem, like the Hebrews and Arabs. The same must be said of the Tigray, who inhabit the neighboring plateau, and speak a kindred idiom to that of the Tigre. The Amaras, more lively, more intelligent, and more civilized, live in the interior, and use a language of Semitic origin, yet modified by associations with the sons of Cham. This is the language used by most European travellers, for it is commonly employed by the merchant, by the learned, and in diplomacy. The Giiz, or Ethiopian, closely connected with the Tigre, is the dead language, the Latin of those distant countries. It is used in quotations, in philosophical and religious discussions, and sometimes to conceal the sense of a conversation from the vulgar. From Tujurrah to the environs of Zullah, a common language, entirely different from those which we have mentioned, unites all the fractions of the Afar nation, often called Dankalis, but improperly, for the Dankalas, the Adali, etc., are only tribes of the Afar. The Sahos, who are the most numerous among the inhabitants of Zullah, and extend along all the slopes of the neighboring plain, consider themselves as strangers to the Afar, and speak a distinct but affiliated dialect. Another idiom much more important by the number of the nations who use it, has also the same origin as the Afar tongue. We mean the Ylmorma used by the Oromos, whose name in war is Gallei or Galla, and who, by reason of their conquests, have extended their sway from the Afar country as far as to the still unknown regions of interior Africa. Called Gallas by all the Christians of Ethiopia, the Oromos threaten, by their proximity, the stronghold of Magdala, where the English prisoners have been awaiting for four years the arrival of their avenging countrymen.

A serious calculation of the population of any African nation has never been made. As to the centres of population, a fatigued and disgusted traveller, looking at them from a distance and but for a moment, might state the census of such or such a city to be ten thousand souls. {269} An optimist, on the contrary, might gravely affirm that at least thirty thousand should be admitted as the correct number. It is, in fact, almost impossible to form a proper estimate of the population of Ethiopia. Considering its extent of territory, I should say there are three or four millions in it, though if some other traveller were to maintain that it contains six or eight millions I could not refute his opinion, owing to the fact that I do not know the proportion between the inhabited and the desert portions of the country.

II.

The Jews were formerly numerous in Abyssinia. There are not eighty thousand of them left now, and they are gradually disappearing under the influence of the powerful civilization of the Amara.

The origin of the Ethiopian Jews probably dates from the time of the prophet Jeremias, when commerce was carried on between Alexandria and Aksum. At a later period, similar facilities brought to Ethiopia the first Christian missionaries. This happened in the beginning of the fourth century, when the inhabitants of Gaul, or France, were still plunged in the darkness of paganism. The truth, however, progressed slowly in Abyssinia; for the local Judaism, though notably separated from that of the Hebrews, preserved its political power during five or six hundred years, notwithstanding the wonderful efforts of native missionaries, whose feasts and martyrdoms are still celebrated in the country. Even up to the 14th century there were pagans in it; and there are, very probably, some there still.

After the Mussulman invasion of the fifteenth century, Islamism filtered through Egyptian society. The Christianity of the country became corrupt, and we can liken it to nothing better now than to those lepers who abound in this part of Africa, whose bodies are at first attacked in their extremities, and fall away piecemeal. In the same way, her Christianity perished on the frontiers of Ethiopia. Twenty years before our arrival among the Tigre, they were Christians, or rather they lived in the recollection of their faith; but without baptism or sacrifice, and guided in their prayers by the descendants of their last priests. They became Mussulmans under our eyes, with the exception of their principal chief, who said, with a touching and proud respect for ancient usages, that "a king ought to die in the faith of his fathers." One becomes irritated on reflecting that two or three fervent missionaries could have, at the beginning of this century, rolled back the tide of advancing Mohammedanism, by evangelizing or rather reviving that ancient Christianity whose history goes back as far as St. Athanasius, and which we have seen expire after ages of agony.

If we study Christianity in the centre of Ethiopia, we find a somewhat confused schism, but of all schisms the one least removed from Catholic orthodoxy. The only dogmatic points which we regret in this schism are the _one_ procession of the Holy Ghost, which has been condemned among us only at a late period, and the belief in only _one_ nature in Jesus Christ, which is publicly professed by the African schools. But the term in the Abyssinian vernacular which we translate by _nature_, has such a vague and obscure signification that, if the word could be destroyed, the schism would no longer exist. {270} It must be remembered that the Ethiopians do not understand the art of defining; and when I restricted this ambiguous term according to our method, they understood the dogma exactly as we, and congratulated themselves on being, without knowing it, attached to the same faith as Rome, that seat of St. Peter which always commands their respect.

What particularly distinguish their Christianity from ours, are vicious or irregular practices. Like many of the Eastern Christians, they allow the marriage of the clergy; but in the abbeys, where there are professors, they allow no priest to say Mass who is not a celibatarian by vow. "Among you," said an Ethiopian who had visited Europe, "the important practice is to go to church." "And among you," I answered, "the one thing necessary is to prolong your fastings." One is tempted to say that the active people of the West, and the slow and repose-loving nations of the East, have made the principal merit of a Christian to consist in _those pious exercises which cost the least trouble_.

It is impossible to leave this subject without saying a word about the Dabtara, or secular clerics. They were organized by a king who found himself, like many of his royal brethren in Europe, very much embarrassed by those mixed questions, in which the spiritual power seems to invade the domain of the temporal. To keep the balance, between them, he created an intermediary body, called the Dabtara. This order is filled from all classes of society; and it possesses the usufruct of all the churches. It alone takes charge of the temporal affairs of the church, and frequently its members act as parish priests, which is a purely temporal office in Abyssinia. The Dabtara hire by the month, rebuke or dismiss the priest who says Mass. Their essential function consists in singing in choir. This duty requires a certain education. In Europe the music of our church hymns may be changed, the words remaining unaltered. The contrary is the case among the Ethiopians. Their music is traditional and sacramental, and in every well-ordered church, the rhymed words of every hymn are specially composed for every festival. The twelve Dabtara of every church display their piety, wisdom, and especially their wit in these productions. They use hymns learnedly ambiguous, to criticise the bishop, to give a lesson to the head of the monks, and even political hints to the sovereign. By recalling an act of some personage of the Old Testament, they find occasion to criticise the government of the city, to praise some Maecenas who is expected to be present at the service, or even, if necessary, to satisfy a personal grudge. When a Dabtara advances into the choir to whisper into the ear of the principal chanter the hymn which has just been written by the Dabtara, and which the singer must know by heart, the other Dabtaras surround the composer, examine the sense of the rhyme, and no matter what may be the result of their investigation, they always congratulate the happy author. Sometimes it is discovered that the hymn has not been made by a member of the order, but by some young candidate in distress, who, for a measure of meal, often sells to the wealthy the fresh inspirations of his genius.

After the teacher of plain-chant, the most important professor is he who teaches grammar, the roots of the sacred language, its dictionary, and particularly the art of composing hymns. {271} After the lesson, the pupils spread over the lawn before the church, repeat the precepts just heard from their professor, and essay to make rhymes or compose hymns, which they afterward recite to him in order to obtain the benefit of his criticism. As in our middle ages, these scholars ask alms and live in misery; often they are the only servants of their preceptors. Lively and frolicsome, like our collegians, they play many tricks on their fellow-students, but never on their teacher, whom they love and almost worship. Having once chanced at Gondar to describe how my college-fellows in France had eaten the dinner of their professor, and left a sermon on fasting and patience on his plate, I was met with such a torrent of invective, that I never ventured on a repetition of the scandal.

In Abyssinia, education is essentially public and gratuitous. As all explanations must be made in the vernacular, which I spoke but poorly in the beginning, I was obliged to have recourse to a private tutor, and when I wished to recompense him for his trouble, I was answered that science should not be sold like any other vile merchandise, and that the honor of the teaching body required knowledge to be transmitted gratuitously, just as it had been acquired. The Ethiopian students are generally very diligent. If they play truant, their parents bring them into the church where the school is being held, and tie their feet together with an iron chain. Sometimes this disciplinary measure is ordered by the professor, and pupils are often seen who, distrusting themselves, ask for those chains, which are not considered symbols of dishonor. They are rarely worn by the higher scholars.

The university course of the Ethiopians is composed of four branches, which might be compared to the four faculties of our own. A fifth branch, devoted to astronomy and replete with traditional ideas, has not been cultivated for some time past. I knew the last professor of this science, who had only one pupil. The other classes are occupied with the study of the New Testament, the fathers of the church, civil and canon law, and the Old Testament. This last requires an effort of memory of which few Europeans are capable; for I have never heard but of one man in the West who knew the whole Bible by heart. No one can be a teacher in Ethiopia without knowing by heart the text of the book he is to explain, the variations of four or five manuscripts, and especially the ingenious commentary, sometimes even learned, but always traditional and purely oral, on the text. The degree of bachelor is unknown in that country; that of doctor is given to the student who is chosen by his professor as capable of explaining in the evening to his comrades the lessons given in class in the morning. In the case of a doubt of his capacity, the teacher is consulted, and his affirmation is considered a sufficient diploma. Great attention and much perseverance are required to make this system of unmethodical education profitable. An aged professor informed me that he had learned to read in three years. He spent two years afterward in learning the liturgical chant, and five years in studying grammar and in composing hymns. He learned how to comment on the New Testament in seven years; and spent fifteen years on the Old Testament, for the strain on his memory was very great.

I have dwelt somewhat on the Ethiopian colleges because M. Blanc, one of the English prisoners of Magdala, says expressly in his narration: "The Abyssinians have no literature; their Christianity is only a name; their conversational power is very limited." {272} To this testimony, altogether negative, I oppose the statement first made, and which I could prove and extend farther. I will merely add that in Gojjam, as well as at Gondar and elsewhere, I have held disputes with native. Christians, on religious, philosophical, and other scientific subjects, and found them as well informed as if they had been brought up in Paris or at London.

With rare exceptions, the regular clergy alone has preserved its virtues and its _prestige_. The secular priests have lost a great part of their importance by the singular institution of the Dabtara. Yet the Ethiopians, jealous of their political independence, and capable of preserving it by the natural influence of their traditional customs, wish to keep religious authority powerful and undivided. To avoid schisms, and as several bishops can consecrate others, they recognize only one, who must be of white race and a stranger to the country. He has always been consecrated by the schismatical patriarch of Alexandria; but, since the last consecration, I was assured that the Abyssinians would make application elsewhere for the future. The title of their bishop is abun. The last abun or aboona was Salama, who having only a semi-canonical appointment, and besides being addicted to all kinds of vice, had very little influence over the inferior clergy or the people. Suspected by the professors and hated by the Dabtara, he planted more thorns than blessings in the hearts of his subjects. A Copt by birth, he at first frequented the English Protestant school at Cairo, and carried afterward to the convent where he made his vows such doctrines of disobedience and incredulous opinions, that the Patriarch of Alexandria thought it would be wise to exile him to Ethiopia as abun, though he was under the canonical age. In fact, the abun was more anxious for money than for the faith. He received the 36,000 francs, which are usually given as a present at the investiture of the Abyssinian bishop; and the patriarch thus delivered up distant Ethiopia, too much despised by the Copts, to the vices and vague doctrines of Salama. This ornament of the episcopacy had no sooner arrived in his diocese, than he devoted himself to commerce, especially to the traffic in slaves, which is most profitable. His vices were such that our pen cannot describe them. He told me himself that by mistake he had ordained priest a boy only ten years old, and laughed heartily at the trick played on him in his case. Having learned from Monseigneur de Jacobis the cases which annul an ordination, I told them to the professors of canon law. They kept silence in public; and when I pushed them with questions, they all gave me this answer: "Your objections are true; only, in the name of God, do not scatter them among the Dabtara. Except the Masses said by old priests ordained by the preceding abun, there are none valid, and there is no holy sacrifice in Ethiopia; but the ignorance and strong faith of the faithful will suffice before God for their salvation." Abun Salama, busied with intrigues, in which he thought himself very skilful, was nevertheless, only the tool of the princes, who attached him to them in order to help their political combinations. It was he who consecrated King Theodore, who, after frequently insulting his consecrator, finally cast him into prison, where he lately died.

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III.

No matter what the English prisoners may say to the contrary, the Ethiopian soldiers are very brave, and fight fiercely if they are well commanded. As in Europe during the middle ages, the flower of their army is composed of cavalry. The battle is begun by the fusiliers, who shoot well; but their importance had not yet been comprehended by the native chiefs in my time. Soon the charge is sounded, the cavalry rushes to the conflict, the victory is quickly won, and the infantry, badly furnished with blunt sabres, lances, and bucklers, hardly does anything but make prisoners. Every soldier keeps all the spoils of those he may vanquish, except the guns and blood-horses, which by right belong to the general. During this latter phase of the victory, the commander-in-chief, deserted by his eager soldiers, is left almost unattended. In speaking with Ethiopian officers, I often mentioned to them, but always in vain, how important it is to have a body-guard for the commander. The first victory of Kasa, now King Theodore, attracted attention to this necessity afterward. Let us say a word here about the mother of this chief, since she is involuntarily one of the remote causes of the English expedition. This good old woman once did me a great service, and in 1848, notwithstanding the recent elevation of her son to royalty, she was still so polite as to rise at my approach. She was then courted as a power behind the throne. But a short time previously, she was the despised mother of Kasa, an obscure rebel, living in misery, and reprobated by all. His poor mother, in her old age, joined a religious order, and put on the little white bonnet which is its distinctive sign. But she was penniless. The convents had been robbed, and every one shunned the mother of a rebel. She was finally compelled to turn vendor of _koso_, a drug which the Ethiopians take six times a year, to kill the tape-worm, with which most of the inhabitants are afflicted.

Kasa, the rebel of Quara, grew more powerful day by day, and the proud Manan grew angry. Manan was the mother of Ali, the most powerful prince of Central Ethiopia, and the real mayoress of the palace of that _fainékant_ king who ruled at Gondar, only within the precincts of his dwelling. Manan, desiring to be called _ytege_, or queen, an exclusive title in that country, caused the nominal king to be dethroned by her son, and placed her husband, _Yohannis_, or John, in his stead. This prince was an estimable man, and honored me with his friendship.

In 1847, war was waged against the rebel Kasa. The soldiers of Manan insulted their adversary. One gasconading cavalier exclaimed, at a review: "Manan, my great queen, depend on my valor, for I shall lead before you in chains this fellow; this son of a vendor of _koso!_" But Kasa won the battle, and chained the boaster in a hut, where, after a fast of twenty-four hours, he received the following message from Kasa, delivered verbally by a waggish page: "How hast thou passed the night, my brother? How hast thou passed the day? May God deliver thee from thy chains! May the Lord grant thee a little patience! Be sad with me, for yesterday mamma remained at market all day, and could not sell a single dose of _koso_. I have therefore no money to buy bread for thee or for me. May God grant thee patience, my brother! May God break thy chains! It is Kasa who sends thee this message." The next day the officer received the same message. On the third day the irony of the conqueror was slightly changed. {274} After the usual salutations, the page joyfully informed the captive that "Mamma had succeeded in selling a dose of _koso_, and bought a loaf, which Kasa sends him."

A few days after, I heard these details at Gondar. The news-mongers praised the mockery; but they only half-smiled, for the flower of society had fallen into misfortune. Then they regretted the good king Yohannis, and suspected the still undeveloped wickedness of the character of Kasa, the adventurous rebel of Quara. I saw Kasa, or Theodore, frequently at Gondar in 1848. He was dressed as a simple soldier, and had nothing, either in his features or language, which presaged his high destiny. He loved to speak of fire-arms. He was about twenty-eight years old; his face rather black than red; his figure slim; and his agility seemed to arise less from his muscular power than from that of his will. His forehead is high and almost convex; his nose slightly aquiline, a frequent characteristic of the pure-blooded Amaras. His beard, like theirs, is sparse, and his thin lips betray rather an Arabian than an Ethiopian origin. Kasa conquered all his competitors, became King of Ethiopia, and was consecrated by the abun, taking the name of Theodore, to verify an old prophecy current among the Jews and Christians, that a king of this name should rule over the ancient empire of Aksum. But the Ethiopians, like all people of mountainous regions, tenacious of their independence, and accustomed to liberty, did not yield at once to an upstart usurper, who owed his success less to ability and valor than to good luck.

In the beginning of his reign he acted with much clemency, owing, it is said, to the happy influence exercised over him by his first wife. When she died, he caused her body to be embalmed, according to the custom of the Ethiopian princes of the race of Solomon. Her coffin was carried after Theodore everywhere he marched. A special tent was erected in the camp for her remains, and the conqueror of Ethiopia was often seen entering it to meditate on his past happiness, and ask of God, as it was said, prudence and wisdom for the future. It is at this time that he had real thoughts, though always eccentric, of a good government. Civil divorce, and the consequent confusion of marriage, are the plague-spot of Abyssinian society. They uproot the foundations of the family, and are opposed to all ideas of order and stability. Without understanding that a radical change in society cannot be effected by a mere proclamation, Theodore decreed the obligation of regular marriages, and the abolition of divorce. An able statesman would have sought to destroy gradually, abuses of such long standing. Another of his decrees did him equal honor, and might have succeeded better, for he revived the old law of the Ethiopians against the slave-trade.

But the heart of man is fickle. Prince Wibe, falling into the hands of the conqueror, recommended his daughter to the Dabtara and monks of Darasge, his favorite abbey, where he had his family burial vault. One day the faithful guardians of the spot saw a band of soldiers rushing toward them. They thought it was Tissu, a recent rebel. They immediately concealed the sacred vessels, and for safety shut up the daughter of Wibe in the vault. Their surprise was great when they found it was Theodore himself, who was, according to custom, marching over his kingdom in quest of insurgents. {275} He wanted to see everything; and when they refused to open the cavern for him, maintaining that a tomb prepared for Wibe, who was still a chained captive, could have no interest for his conqueror, Theodore suspected some plot, and caused the stone of the sepulchre to be removed. His surprise was great when, instead of a coffin, he beheld a beautiful girl, bathed in tears, and in the attitude of prayer. Theodore forgot his first love. He set Wibe at liberty, and married his daughter. This union was not happy. The _ytege_, or queen, having interceded to save the life of a rebel whom she had known at the court of her father, Theodore refused at first her request, and becoming angry, finally struck her. In order to humiliate her the more, he made a common camp follower his concubine. From this moment his decree on Christian marriage became a dead letter, and the slave-trade was renewed. Men must have stronger virtue than that of King Theodore, that their good thoughts may bear full fruit.

IV.

Let us here give some account of the English missions in Ethiopia; for they have helped to bring about and inflame the war now pending. M. Gobat, a Swiss Protestant, went as far as Gondar about forty years ago, and acquired a knowledge of the language of the country. After his return to Europe, he published a book of such seeming good faith, that it deceived me at first, as it must have deceived the English projectors of the missions. Charity obliges me to write that M. Gobat, in giving an account of his sermons to the people, has rather described what he desired to say and the answers he would like to hear, than what he actually said or heard. Without citing other witnesses of this fact, that of an educated Dabtara will suffice, who was ignorant of the existence of the Protestant missions. "Samuel Gobat," said he, "was a prepossessing person, who deceived one at first. I, who followed him, can affirm that he was really an unbeliever, or that he pretended to be so. He proposed frightful doubts and objections in matters affecting the Christian religion, but under the form of hypotheses. He always began his strange assertions by an _if_. Could he express them boldly? If he had, you know that in Gondar, at least, he would not have been allowed to continue, and he would have been denied a residence in our city."

The missionary societies in England did not know this condition of the Ethiopian mind, and influenced by the specious arguments of M. Gobat, they sent him a re-enforcement of three ministers, whom he left to return to Europe. They preached much more honestly and openly than he in Adwa and Tigray, where they were established. They were expelled in 1838, fifteen days before my arrival in the country. Two of them then went to Suria, from which they were also driven. With a perseverance worthy of a better cause, they returned again to Tigray, and again to Suria. Always exiled, they had at last the prudence, in 1855, to make no further attempt at evangelizing the country.

Seventeen years before this last date I met at Cairo a young Lazarist priest, whom I persuaded to accompany me into Ethiopia, to found a Catholic mission. He preceded me, went to Adwa about eight days before the first expulsion of the Protestant missionaries; and as my project seemed to him sensible, requiring only time and patience to realize it, I brought letters from him to Europe in 1838. {276} His holiness, Gregory XVI., favored our attempt, and sent two missionaries to Ethiopia under the charge of Monseigneur de Jacobis, who soon became known all through that region by the name of Abuna Ya'igob. In spite of some imprudence, inevitable, perhaps, in a country where there are such strange contrasts, he succeeded beyond my most sanguine hopes, and when I left the country in 1849, there were twelve thousand Catholics in it, and many of the priests were natives. Last year an English account gives the number as sixty thousand; for the influence of true doctrines could not fail to be extended among a people so intelligent as are the Abyssinians. Monseigneur de Jacobis helped much to obtain this result, by his unchangeable mildness, and by that personal influence which is always exercised by a priest devoted to incessant prayer.

The fate of the Protestant missions was different. The ministers, instead of attributing their want of success to themselves, have blamed the Catholics as the movers of their expulsion from Ethiopia. Even the English Consul Plowden in his official report says that Theodore, after perusing the history of the Jesuits in Abyssinia, decided to allow no Catholic priest to teach in his states. The English are fond of decrying the memory of the Jesuits who taught in Ethiopia up to 1630. It is, however, very singular that I never heard of this history, and that the most learned anti-Catholic professors at Gondar never mentioned it to me in our controversies. On the contrary, they spoke of Peter Paez and his co-laborers with admiration mingled with regret, and quoted touching legends concerning them. A little further on in his account, Plowden, who seems ignorant of the fact that sermons are unknown in Ethiopia, adds that Theodore prohibited all preaching contrary to the Copt Church. We cannot expect that an English soldier, more or less Protestant, should comprehend fully religious questions; but although he was a mere soldier, he ought to have known that Theodore was attached to one of the three national sects, and had forbidden all other creeds, and condemned Catholics as well as Protestants.

It was in consequence of this decree that Monseigneur de Jacobis was compelled to leave Gondar in 1855. This pious bishop went to Musawwa, and there continued to govern his mission, which has been left almost undisturbed by the natives for almost thirty years. The chief proselytes of Gondar retired also to the shores of the Red Sea, and the Protestant ministers, always on the watch, imagined they had at length found a good opportunity to teach in the capital. They went thither under the guidance of M. Krapf, who, in default of other qualities, has at least uncommon activity and persistence, but which have been so far sterile of results. At their first expulsion in 1838, the four Protestant missionaries left but _one proselyte in the whole of Ethiopia_. This was a quondam pilgrim. He was going to Jerusalem with an Ethiopian priest, who, falling short of money, sold his companion into bondage. M. Gobat having ransomed him, had no difficulty in inspiring him with hatred of the priests, and of all their doctrines. We can only regard this single convert as an apostate induced to desert his faith by resentment and a spirit of revenge. Another young and intelligent Ethiopian, after studying for years in the Protestant schools of Europe, when asked, answered me frankly that the numerous dissensions in religion witnessed by him among Protestants, had destroyed all religious belief in his mind. {277} Religious England always believing, though erroneously, ought to be startled by the consideration that her missionaries, real mercenaries as they are, only succeed in propagating doubt and incredulity instead of spreading the gospel.

M. Gobat, who was somewhat of a diplomatist, in writing to King Theodore, did not state his object to be the foundation of a Protestant mission. He merely announced that skilful mechanics, desiring to improve the physical condition of the country, wished to settle in it. King Theodore, who was desirous of obtaining blacksmiths, gunners, and engineers, to make cannon and mortars, and build bridges and roads, gave his consent. M. Gobat hinted that the workmen wanted the free exercise of their religion. Theodore referred the matter to the abun, who, knowing the tricks of his old teachers, bluntly told Mr. Sterne, one of the missionaries, who spoke of his intention to convert the Talasa, or native Jews, as the sole object of his coming to Gondar, "This mission to the Jews is only a pretext to plot against the faith of the Christians." Pretending not to take the hint, Mr. Sterne repeated his assertion, and the king consented to receive the English mechanics, who were to be the instruments in the hands of the pious missionaries in "evangelizing" the barbarous Ethiopians. But on the testimony of Mr. Sterne himself, and that of other Protestants, the scheme was a complete failure. Many of the "mechanics," or "pious laymen," became as immoral as any of the natives. Besides, in violation of their solemn promise made to the abun, the missionaries distributed, as Plowden informs us, "hundreds of Bibles, and taught the great truths of salvation to many pagans and Christians." We extract these facts from the work of the Rev. Mr. Badger, considered a most trustworthy witness in official circles in England. [Footnote 54] After a short stay at Gondar, Mr. Sterne went to London, was made bishop, and published a wordy volume containing but one fact worth noticing, namely, the intrinsic proof that the author was ignorant of the most ordinary customs of Ethiopia. By an imprudence which has cost him dear, Mr. Sterne related the story of the vender of _koso_ in his book. A former student of the English missionaries informed Theodore of the fact, and the Protestants had reason to feel bitterly that a man's friends often prove to be his greatest enemies.

[Footnote 54: _The Story of the British Captives in
Abyssinia_, 1863, 1864. By the Rev. George Percy Badger.]

V.