Читать книгу Great Zimbabwe, Mashonaland, Rhodesia. An account of two years' examination work in 1902-4 on behalf of the government of Rhodesia онлайн

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But to-night will be the finest opportunity for the next twelve months of seeing the Elliptical Temple by moonlight. Sleep this hot, close night is impossible, especially with the sounds of noisy revelry proceeding simultaneously from all points of the compass. My native boy is disinclined to follow me to the temple, but after bargaining with him for an Isi-hle (present), he at last grudgingly consents. He mutters something about the place being bewitched, that there are many horrid things there, and alludes to the M’uali, the chief spirit of Makalanga awe and dread; but as within the two years’ residence at Zimbabwe I have only discovered two natives, and these elderly men, who would willingly go into any of the ruins, especially the temple, after darkness had settled down, I am not at all surprised at his reluctance to follow me there. However, he is mindful to take his stoutest knobkerries with him.

Looking back at the Acropolis Hill, and at its long line of precipice, one sees the ancient walls on the summit gleaming white in the moonlight, while the tall monoliths stand clear against the sky. In the passages on the hill one might almost expect on such a night to come face to face with Rider Haggard’s She at any corner, or to see her draped form issuing from one of the numerous caves which still pierce the cliffs. But we must turn our backs on the Acropolis Hill, and make for the Elliptical Temple, passing the little graveyard where the remains of Major Alan Wilson and his Shangani heroes rest in their granite tomb in the grove of euphorbia trees, whose branches cast black, sharp-cut shadows on the ground. Then across an open granite space, and up the long parallel passage on the east side of Ridge Ruins, out through its intricate southern entrance, and on to the level ground which runs up to the foot of the temple walls. The clumps of tall, old-world-looking aloes and euphorbia trees lining the walls of No. 1 Ruins on the left of our path appear strange even by daylight, but in the midnight radiance of the full moon they assume intensely weird and fantastic forms thoroughly in harmony with the outlines of the ancient buildings. The lonely grave of Thomas Bailey, an Australian gold prospector, lies close to the right-hand side of the path. He died in 1893 while searching for relics within the temple.