distinctive redbrick premises it will later occupy on Kensington Gore. Baron von Müller has a map pinned to an easel and a small table to his left, which holds a number of interesting items, some instantly identifiable, others rather less so. We have just been listening to his opening preamble, and it’s a fair sample of his rather self-important, amplifying style. No doubt it comes with the territory, in every sense of the word.
His subject tonight is ‘A Scientific Journey through Africa’, and he is clearly going to take his time about it. Some twenty minutes later he is still “proceeding slowly across the immense steppes,” though there is no hint of impatience from most of his audience. But if the august members are increasingly intrigued by the identity and purpose of the tray of props, they are about to be enlightened. One by one, the Baron proceeds to hold up these prize samples of what the African continent offers to “the commercial, industrial, and intellectual people of Europe.” They are, to wit, and in order: a piece of gum Arabic (smooth, slightly clouded, amber-coloured, the size and texture of a bar of soap), a large ivory tooth (known—the Baron tells us—as a masheket , due to the fissure running through it, which he carefully points out), a jar of tamarind (small brown peanut-shaped pods), a sliver of ebony (cut thinly from unpolished trunk, with a light outer skin and a dark inner core), a handful of pressed senna leaves (dried now and faded), and—finally—two large ostrich feathers. The latter, at least, need no accompanying explanation; there is not a gentleman in the audience whose wife does not possess a fan or head-dress embellished with plumes just like these. But the table has not yielded up all its treasures yet, though it is some minutes more before we find out what the final item is doing there.
The Baron resumes: “At Melpess, in the vicinity of Lobehd, where I had spent some time for the purpose of collecting objects of natural history, I made in April 1848, the acquaintance of a man, from whom I wanted to buy several animals, who for the first time put me on the trace of the unicorn, or anasa , hitherto considered a fabulous animal. The man had often seen the animal living in the Chala and dead among the tribes. It is the size of a small donkey, has a thick body and thin bones, coarse hair, and tail like a boar. It has a long horn on its forehead, and lets it hang when alone, but erects it immediately on seeing an enemy, when it becomes stiff and hard.”
The Baron smoothes his moustache and looks up and down the rows of faces turned towards him. “Moreover,” he continues, and then pauses, prolonging his moment. “Moreover, I was able, at no inconsiderable expense, to obtain an example, and return with it from the darkest heart of Africa. Gentlemen, I present to you now the only authenticated example of a unicorn horn ever to be brought to these shores!”
He lifts the final item in his hands with a theatrical flourish, and stands there, awaiting the wonderment. He’s given this performance before, and this is always by far the most rewarding moment.
The horn in question is perhaps three feet long, not entirely straight, but almost so. Dark, highly burnished, and twisted in a thick spiral towards the base. There is no question that it does indeed look uncannily like the representations of unicorn horns that everyone present has known since boyhood, not least on the royal coat of arms. The room is silent for a moment, and then the murmuring starts. Quiet at first, but then louder, with here and there a word discernible.
“Good Lord.”
“Quite extraordinary.”
“Never seen the like.”
The noise continues for some moments more. And then—improbably—there is the sound of laughter. Loud, incredulous, and outrageous laughter. As you would expect, this is rather a rare occurrence for such a learned institution, and the members start moving cumbrously in their
His subject tonight is ‘A Scientific Journey through Africa’, and he is clearly going to take his time about it. Some twenty minutes later he is still “proceeding slowly across the immense steppes,” though there is no hint of impatience from most of his audience. But if the august members are increasingly intrigued by the identity and purpose of the tray of props, they are about to be enlightened. One by one, the Baron proceeds to hold up these prize samples of what the African continent offers to “the commercial, industrial, and intellectual people of Europe.” They are, to wit, and in order: a piece of gum Arabic (smooth, slightly clouded, amber-coloured, the size and texture of a bar of soap), a large ivory tooth (known—the Baron tells us—as a masheket , due to the fissure running through it, which he carefully points out), a jar of tamarind (small brown peanut-shaped pods), a sliver of ebony (cut thinly from unpolished trunk, with a light outer skin and a dark inner core), a handful of pressed senna leaves (dried now and faded), and—finally—two large ostrich feathers. The latter, at least, need no accompanying explanation; there is not a gentleman in the audience whose wife does not possess a fan or head-dress embellished with plumes just like these. But the table has not yielded up all its treasures yet, though it is some minutes more before we find out what the final item is doing there.
The Baron resumes: “At Melpess, in the vicinity of Lobehd, where I had spent some time for the purpose of collecting objects of natural history, I made in April 1848, the acquaintance of a man, from whom I wanted to buy several animals, who for the first time put me on the trace of the unicorn, or anasa , hitherto considered a fabulous animal. The man had often seen the animal living in the Chala and dead among the tribes. It is the size of a small donkey, has a thick body and thin bones, coarse hair, and tail like a boar. It has a long horn on its forehead, and lets it hang when alone, but erects it immediately on seeing an enemy, when it becomes stiff and hard.”
The Baron smoothes his moustache and looks up and down the rows of faces turned towards him. “Moreover,” he continues, and then pauses, prolonging his moment. “Moreover, I was able, at no inconsiderable expense, to obtain an example, and return with it from the darkest heart of Africa. Gentlemen, I present to you now the only authenticated example of a unicorn horn ever to be brought to these shores!”
He lifts the final item in his hands with a theatrical flourish, and stands there, awaiting the wonderment. He’s given this performance before, and this is always by far the most rewarding moment.
The horn in question is perhaps three feet long, not entirely straight, but almost so. Dark, highly burnished, and twisted in a thick spiral towards the base. There is no question that it does indeed look uncannily like the representations of unicorn horns that everyone present has known since boyhood, not least on the royal coat of arms. The room is silent for a moment, and then the murmuring starts. Quiet at first, but then louder, with here and there a word discernible.
“Good Lord.”
“Quite extraordinary.”
“Never seen the like.”
The noise continues for some moments more. And then—improbably—there is the sound of laughter. Loud, incredulous, and outrageous laughter. As you would expect, this is rather a rare occurrence for such a learned institution, and the members start moving cumbrously in their
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