March 15th
Better night. Native Duchess’s insecticide v. helpful though nasty smell. Received invitation dine Palace tonight. Short notice but thought it best accept for us both. Sarah says nothing to wear unless trunk turns up.
It was the first time since Seth’s accession that European visitors had been entertained at the Palace. The Ministry of Modernization was called in early that morning to supervise the invitations and the menu.
‘It shall be an entirely Azanian party. I want the English ladies to see how refined we are. I was doubtful about asking Viscount Boaz. What do you think? Will he be sober? … and there is the question of food. I have been reading that now it is called Vitamins. I am having the menu printed like this. It is good, modern, European dinner, eh?’
Basil looked at the card. A month ago he might have suggested emendations. Today he was tired.
‘That’s fine, Seth, go ahead like that.’
‘You see,’ said the Emperor proudly, ‘already we Azanians can do much for ourselves. Soon we shall not need a Minister of Modernization. No, I do not mean that, Basil. Al ways you are my friend and adviser.’
So the menu for Seth’s first dinner party went to the Courier office to be printed and came back a packet of handsome gilt-edged cards, laced with silk ribbons in the Azanian colours and embossed with a gold crown.
‘It is so English,’ explained Seth. ‘From courtesy to your great Empire.’
MARCH 15TH
Imperial Banquet for Welcoming the English Cruelty to Animals
MENU OF FOODS
VITAMIN A
Tin Sardines
VITAMIN B
Roasted Beef
VITAMIN C
Small Roasted Sucking Porks
VITAMIN D
Hot Sheep and Onions
VITAMIN E
Spiced Turkey
VITAMIN F
Sweet Puddings
VITAMIN G
Coffee
VITAMIN H
Jam
At eight o’clock that evening Dame Mildred and Miss Tin arrived at the Palace for the banquet. The electric-light plant was working that evening and a string of coloured bulbs shone with Christmas welcome over the main doorway. A strip of bright linoleum had been spread on the steps and as the taxi drew up a dozen or so servants ran down to conduct the guests into the hall. They were in mixed attire; some in uniforms of a kind, tunic frogged with gold braid discarded or purloined in the past from the wardrobes of visiting diplomats; some in native costume of striped silk. As ‘the two ladies stepped from the car a platoon of Guards lounging on the Terrace alarmed them with a ragged volley of welcome..
There was a slight delay as the driver of the taxi refused to accept the new pound note which Dame Mildred tendered him in payment, but the captain of the Guard, hurrying up with a jingle of spurs, curtailed further discussion by putting the man under arrest and signified in a few graphic gestures his sorrow for the interruption and his intention of hanging the troublesome fellow without delay.
The chief saloon was brilliantly lighted and already well filled with the flower of Azanian native society. One of the first acts of the new reign had been an ordinance commanding the use of European evening dress. This evening was the first occasion for it to be worn and all round the room stood sombre but important figures completely fitted up by Mr Youkoumian with tail coats, white gloves, starched linen and enamelled studs; only in a few cases were shoes and socks lacking; the unaccustomed attire lent a certain dignified rigidity to their deportment. The ladies had for the most part allowed their choice to fix upon frocks of rather startling colour; aniline greens and violets with elaborations of ostrich feather and sequin. Viscountess Boaz wore a backless frock newly arrived from Cairo combined with the full weight of her ancestral jewellery; the Duchess of Mhomala carried on her woolly head a three-pound tiara of gold and garnets; Baroness Batulle exposed shoulders and back magnificently tattooed and cicatrized with arabesques.
Beside all this finery time guests of honour looked definitely dowdy as the Lord Chamberlain conducted them round the room and performed the introductions in French scarcely more comfortable than Dame Mildred’s own.
Two slaves circulated among them carrying trays of brandy. The English ladies refused. The Lord Chamberlain expressed his concern. Would they have preferred whisky; no doubt some could be produced? Or beer?
‘Mon bon homme,’ said Dame Mildred severely, ‘il vous faut comprendre que nous ne buvons rien de tout, jamais’; an announcement which considerably raised their prestige among the company; they were not much to look at, certainly, but at least they knew a thing or two which the Azanians did not. A useful sort of woman to take on a journey, reflected the Lord Chamberlain, and inquired with polite interest whether the horses and camels in their country were as conveniently endowed.
Further conversation was silenced by the arrival of the Emperor, who at this moment entered the hall from the far end and took his seat on the raised throne which had stood conspicuously on the dais throughout the preliminary presentations. Court etiquette was still in a formative stage. There was a moment of indecision during which the company stood in embarrassed silence waiting for a lead. Seth said something to his equerry, who now advanced down the room and led forward the guests of honour. They curtseyed and stood on one side, while the other guests filed past in strict precedence. Most of them bowed how in the Oriental manner, raising the hand to forehead and breast. The curtsey, however, had been closely observed and found several imitators among both sexes. One elderly peer, a stickler for old-world manners, prostrated himself fully and went through the mimic action of covering his head with dust. When all had saluted him in their various ways, Seth led the party in to dinner, fresh confusion over the places and some ill-natured elbowing; Dame Mildred and Miss Tin sat on either side of the Emperor; soon everyone was eating and drinking at a great pace.
March 15th (continued)
Dinner at Palace. Food v. nasty. Course after course different kinds of meat, overseasoned and swimming in grease. Tried to manage some of it from politeness. Sarah ate nothing. Emperor asked great number of questions, some of which I was unable to answer. How many suits of clothes had the King of England? Did he take his bath before or after his breakfast? Which was the more civilized? What was the best shop to buy an artesian well? etc. Sarah v. silent. Told Emperor about co-education and ‘free-discipline’. Showed great interest.
Dame Mildred’s neighbour on her other side was the punctilious man who had prostrated himself in the drawing-room — he see med engrossed in his eating. In point of fact he was rehearsing in his mind and steeling his nerve to enunciate some English conversation in which he had painfully schooled himself during that day; at last it came up suddenly.
“Ow many ox ‘ave you?’ he demanded, lifting up sideways from his plate a great bearded face, “ow many sons? ‘ow many daughters? ‘ow many brothers? ‘ow many sisters? My father is dead fighting.’
Dame Mildred turned to him a somewhat startled scrutiny. There were crumbs and scraps of food in various parts of his beard. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said..
But the old gentleman had shot his bolt; he felt that he had said all and more than all that good breeding required, and to tell the truth was more than a little taken aback by his own fluency. He gave her a nervous smile and resumed his dinner without again venturing to address her.
‘Which of the white ladies would you like to have?’
‘The fat one. But both are ugly.’
‘Yes. It must be very sad for the English gentlemen to marry English ladies.’
Presently, when the last vitamin had been guzzled, Viscount Boaz rose to propose the health of the guests of honour. His speech was greeted by loud applause and was then done into English by the Court Interpreter.
‘Your Majesty, Lords and Ladies. It is my privilege and delight this evening to welcome with open arms of brotherly love to our city Dame Mildred Porch and Miss Tin, t
wo ladies renowned throughout the famous country of Europe for their great cruelty to animals. We Azanians are a proud and ancient nation but we have much to learn from the white people of the West and North. We too, in our small way, are cruel to our animals’ — and here the Minister for the Interior digressed at some length to recount with hideous detail what he had himself once done with a woodman’s axe to a wild boar — ‘but it is to the great nations of the West and North, especially to their worthy representatives that are with us tonight, that we look as our natural leaders on the road of progress. Ladies and gentlemen, we must be Modern, we must be refined in our Cruelty to Animals. That is the message of the New Age brought to us by our guests this evening. May I, in conclusion, raise my glass and ask you to join with me in wishing them old age and prolonged fecundity.’
The toast was drunk and the company sat down. Boaz’s neighbours congratulated him on his speech. There seemed no need for a reply and, indeed, Dame Mildred, rarely at a loss for telling phrases, would on this occasion have been hard put to it to acknowledge the welcome in suitable terms. Seth appeared not to have heard either version of the speech. He sat inattentive, his mind occupied with remote speculation. Dame Mildred attempted two or three conversations.
‘A very kind meant speech, but lie seems to misunderstand our mission … It is so interesting to see your people in their own milieu. Do tell me who is who … Have they entirely abandoned native costume? …’
But she received only abstracted answers.
Finally she said, ‘I was so interested to learn about your Uncle Achon. ‘ The Emperor nodded. ‘I do hope they get him out of the monastery. Such a useless life, I always think, and so selfish. It makes people introspective to think all the time about their own souls, don’t you think? So sensible of that Earl of wherever it is to go and look for him.’
But Seth had not heard a word.
March 16th
Could not sleep late after party. Attempted to telephone legation. No reply. Attempted to see Mr Seal. Said he was too busy. No sign of Sarah’s trunk. She keeps borrowing my things. Tried to pin down Emperor last night, no result. Went for walk in town. V. crowded, no one working. Apparently some trouble about currency. Saw man strike camel, would have reported him but no policeman about. Begin to feel I am wasting my time here.
The Monastery of St Mark the Evangelist, though infected of late with the taint of heresy, was the centre of Azanian spiritual life. Here in remote times Nestorian missionaries from Mesopotamia had set up a church, and here, when the great Amurath proclaimed Christianity the official creed of the Empire, the old foundations had been unearthed and a native community installed. A well-substantiated tradition affirmed that the little river watering the estate was, in fact, the brook Kedron conveyed there subterraneously; its waters were in continual requisition for the relief of skin diseases and stubborn boils. Here too were preserved, among other relics of less certain authenticity, David’s stone prised out of the forehead of Goliath (a boulder of astonishing dimensions), a leaf from the Barren Fig Tree, the rib from which Eve had been created and a wooden cross which had fallen from heaven quite unexpectedly during Good Friday luncheon some years back. Architecturally, however, there was nothing very remarkable: no cloister or ambulatory, library, gallery, chapter house or groined refectory. A cluster of mud huts around a larger hut; a single stone building, the Church dedicated to St Mark by Amurath the Great. It could be descried from miles around, perched on a site of supreme beauty, a shelf of the great escarpment that overlooked the Wanda lowlands, and through it the brook Kedron, narrowed at this season to a single thread of silver, broke into innumerable iridescent cascades as it fell to join the sluggish Izol five thousand feet below. Great rocks of volcanic origin littered the fields. The hillside was full of unexplored caverns whence hyenas sallied out at night to exhume the corpses which it was a pious practice to transport from all over the empire to await the last trump on that holy ground.
The Earl of Ngumo had made good time. The road lay through the Sakuyu cattle country, high plains covered with brown slippery grass. At first the way led along the caravan route to the royal cities of the north; a clearly defined track well frequented. They exchanged greetings with mule trains coming into market and unusual bands of travellers, loping along on foot, drawn to the capital by the name of the great Gala and the magnetic excitement which all the last weeks had travelled on the ether, radiating in thrilling waves to bazaar, farm and jungle, gossiped about over camp fires, tapped out on hollow tree trunks in the swamplands, sniffed, as it were, on the breeze, sensed by subhuman faculties that something was afoot.
Later they diverged into open country; only the heaps of stones bridging the water-courses and an occasional wooden culvert told them they were still on the right road. On the first night they camped among shepherds. The simple men recognized a great nobleman and brought him their children to touch.
‘We hear of changes in the great city.’
‘There are changes.’
On the second night they reached a little town. The headman had been forewarned of their approach. He came out to meet them, prostrating himself and covering his head with dust,
‘Peace be upon your house.’
‘You come from the great city of changes. What is your purpose among my people?’
‘I wish well to your people. It is not suitable for the low to babble of what the high ones do.’
They slept in and around the headman’s hut; in the morning he brought them honey and eggs, a trussed chicken, dark beer in a jug and a basket of flat bread: they gave him salt in bars, and continued their journey.
The third night they slept in the open; there was a picket of royal Guards somewhere in that country. Late on the fourth day they reached the Monastery of St Mark the Evangelist.
A monk watching on the hilltop sighted them and fired a single musket shot into the still air; a troop of baboons scattered frightened into the rocks. In the church below the great bell was rung to summon the community. The Abbot under his yellow sunshade stood in the enclosure to greet them; he wore steel-rimmed spectacles. A little deacon beside him plied a horsehair fly whisk.
Obeisance and benediction. The Earl presented the Patriarch’s letter of commendation, which was slipped un-opened into the folds of the Abbot’s bosom, for it is not etiquette to show any immediate curiosity about such documents. Official reception in the twilit hut; the Earl seated on a chair hastily covered with carpet. The chief men of the monastery stood round the wall with folded hands. The Abbot opened the letter of introduction, spat and read it aloud amid grunts of approval; it was all preamble and titles of honour; no word of business. A visit to the shrine of the Barren Fig Tree; the Earl kissed the lintel of the door three times, laid his forehead against the steps of the sanctuary and made a present of a small bag of silver. Dinner in the Abbot’s lodging; it was one of the numerous fast days of the Nestorian Church; vegetable mashes in wooden bowls, one of bananas, one of beans, earthenware jugs and brown vessels of rough beer. Ponderous leave-takings for the night. The Earl’s tent meanwhile had been pitched in the open space within the enclosure; his men squatted on guard; they had made a fire; two or three monks joined them; soon they began singing, wholly secular words in monotonous cadence. Inside the tent a single small lamp with floating wick. The Earl squatted among his rugs waiting for the Abbot who, he knew, would come that night. Presently through the flap of the tent appeared the bulky white turban and straggling beard of the prelate. The two great men squatted opposite each other, on either side of the little lamp; outside the guards singing at the camp fire; beyond the stockade the hyenas and a hundred hunting sounds among the rocks. Grave courtesies:
‘Our little convent resounds with the fame of the great Earl … his prowess in battle and in bed … the thousand enemies slain by his hand … the lions he has speared … his countless progeny …
‘All my life I have counted the days wasted until I saluted the Abbot … his learning
and sanctity … his dauntless fidelity to the faith, his chastity … the austerities of his spiritual practices …’
Slowly by a multitude of delicately graded steps the conversation was led to a more practical level. Was there any particular object in the Earl’s visit, other than the infinite joy afforded to all by his presence?
What object could be more compelling than the universal ambition to pay respect to the Abbot and the glorious shrine of the Barren Fig Tree? But there was, as it so happened, a little matter, a thing scarcely worth a thought, which since he were here, the Earl might mention if it would not be tedious to his host.
Every word of the Earl’s was a jewel, valued beyond human computation; what was this little matter?
It was an old story … in the days of His Beatitude Gorgias of evil memory … a prisoner, brought to the convent; now an old man … One of whom only high ones might speak … supposing that this man were alive …
‘Oh, Earl, you speak of that towards which my lips and ears are sealed. There are things which are not suitable.’
‘Abbot, once there comes a time for everything when it must be spoken of.’
‘What should a simple monk know of these high affairs? But I have indeed heard it said that in the times of His Beatitude Gorgias of evil memory, there was such a prisoner.’
‘Does he still live?’
‘The monks of St Mark the Evangelist guard their treasures well.’
After this all-important admission they sat for some time in silence; then the Abbot rose and with ample formalities left his guest to sleep. Both parties felt that the discussion had progressed almost too quickly. There were decencies to be observed.