Thavánan the Tormentor.

Months had passed away since the disappearance of the gay Thavánan, once the favourite of the potent monarch of Shoa. Fallen in a single day from his high estate, and deprived of an eye before the scoffing multitude, the innocent victim to intrigue had departed alone and on foot through the gateway of the palace. A thousand cavaliers had that morning obeyed his least command, but not one attended him in the hour of adversity; and shunned as a thing accursed by the brutal mob, he wended his way in moody silence to his home in the green meadow of the Chaka. But the myrmidons of tyranny had outstripped his heavy footstep. Ashes alone proclaimed the site of his late flourishing abode, and a solitary goat, bleating amid the ruins, was all that remained of his once numerous possessions.

The king’s áferoch had been busy since early morn, and every thing had been swept with the besom of destruction. The flocks and the herds of the disgraced noble were now in the royal pastures, and his family and relatives, his serfs and drudges, in the household of the despotic monarch. Stunned by the fatal intelligence, Thavánan, followed only by the goat, withdrew unnoticed from the scene of desolation, and his very name was for a time forgotten in the land.

Towards the close of the year strange reports were circulated from the palace. Unseen hands abstracted the choicest viands—the clearest hydromel was drained ere it reached the expectant lip—and a thousand vagaries were played in the great hall of entertainment. The replenished horn was dashed untasted to the ground, and the delicate morsel transferred from the gaping mouth to the rushes which strewed the floor. The monarch himself was not exempt from the foul plague. His palate was daily cheated of some accustomed dainty; and once, to the horror of the assembled courtiers, a bloody tail was inserted as the royal jaws opened to essay a dish prepared in the seraglio—a loud laugh ringing meanwhile among the rafters of the banqueting-room, which struck upon the ear of the discomfited despot like the merry tones of his exiled favourite.

Priests were called in to the rescue—holy books were read, and consecrated water profusely sprinkled upon the walls, but all without the slightest effect. Doors were closed and double-locked, and guards were planted over every aperture, yet still the pest continued without any abatement. The palace was in a state of terror and confusion, and the life of the king became weary and burdensome.

Awful voices now sounded at night through the lone apartments, and apparitions haunted the imperial slumbers. The band of nocturnal singers was trebled, but the stout lungs of thirty hale priests, who surrounded the royal bed-chamber, and elevated their voices in psalm to a more frantic key than had ever before been heard in Shoa, failed to intimidate the goblin. Tossing on his couch, the restless monarch sunk weary to sleep, only to be jaded by spectres and evil dreams, in which the wronged Thavánan invariably appeared as the chief tormentor.

The nuisance continued without intermission, until, on the high festival of Easter, harassed and exhausted, the Negoos took his customary seat in the great hall of his ancestors. The groaning table was once again well filled. The holy feast had induced chiefs and nobles in some degree to overcome the fears which had latterly estranged them entirely from the banquet; but there was no joy in the depressed eye, no mirth or hilarity on the tongue of any guest, and a low whisper hardly disturbed the silence which reigned among the dismayed assembly.

The usual infernal sallies were on this day practised exclusively at the royal board, before which the uneasy monarch, occupying a high alcove, and surrounded by pages and men at arms, reclined in his wonted grandeur. Suddenly, another figure appeared at the table, resting one hand in a curiously wrought earthen vase, and extending the other high, in defiance towards the throne.

“The lost Thavánan!” shouted the crowd: “he has pawned his soul to the fiend”—and swords flashed from the scabbard, as men’s hearts were strengthened at the sight of danger in a tangible form. But high over the storm rose the voice of the despot:—“Back, minions, back! we will ourselves deal with the ingrate. Death—but a lingering death—shall be the portion of him who trifles with the pleasure of kings!”

It was indeed Thavánan who confronted the frown of majesty; but how changed from the mild and handsome favourite of former days! White as the feather of the Rása, his dishevelled hair floated over the bent shoulder, and stern revenge was graven in the deep furrows of his pallid cheek. His solitary eye gleamed with infernal expression, and bright with the cabalistic figures of magic lore, a golden fillet screened the mutilated orb. Retaining his disdainful position, he cast first a withering glance over the crowd, and then addressed the prince in words of scorn:—

“False monarch, repent in time, for the serpent will turn upon its destroyer. Proud descendant of the race of Solomon, the wit of thy illustrious ancestor is dull in comparison with the wisdom of the meanest disciple of Wárobal. I defy thy myrmidons and thyself!”

And uttering these words, Thavánan instantaneously disappeared from before the gaze of the astounded and crest-fallen court.

The waters of the mystic vase hissed and bubbled for a moment. A dark cloud of stifling steam shot aloft, and a thick crust of red ashes, which strewed the board, remained the sole memento of the unwelcome intrusion. Again the hearts of the vassals fell within them; and whilst a gloomy silence pervaded the hall, the triumphant song of the tormentor came ringing among the notes of wild music.

    “Far down in the depths of the azure blue,
    Away from the mists of the cold dull sky,
    Concealed from detested mortal view,
    Thavánan lives in liberty.”

The courage of the tyrant quailed before the dread powers which were in array against him, and resolved upon an act of tardy justice. Freedom was restored to the degraded and enslaved family, and the confiscated lands were returned threefold to the impoverished race. But the door of the royal harem was closed on the fair daughter of the house of Thavánan, and the wail of the captive maid still cried aloud for redress. Persecution, nevertheless, ceased for a time; and men breathed more freely as their hopes gained ground that the spirit of the avenger was appeased.

On the proclamation of the annual military expedition, the chiefs and nobles of Shoa thronged once more to the capital. Swarming around the black tents of their warrior leaders, multitudes were spread over hill and dale, and the Amhára host, in all its savage magnificence, had mustered o............