onkings
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the commoner population (Rafamantanantsoa-Zafimahery 1966). The first re-
cord we have of a ruler actually being deposed was that of a monarch named
50. “Mamy ny zanaka: raha manaikitra ny nono, tsy maintsy akifika. . . . Aza omen-jaza
hotaizanay; aoka ho menabe io raha tianao; fa tany manana zina Alasora, ka izay
mivilivily eo miseho ny ratsy atao; ary aoka izahay mba tsy hitaiza intsony, fa maditra
anaka hianao, koa izahay vahoaka no voafitaka. ” The distinction here is between menakely (land granted by the king for the support of some lesser andriana) and
menabe (land that provided all its taxes and services directly to the king.) It was
commonplace to refer to these lesser lords both as “children” of the king, and as
“children nursed by” the population of their menakely.
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Rajakatsitakatrandriana (c. 1670–75), long remembered as the quintessence of
selfish, tyrannical irresponsibility. After five years in power, he was unseated at
the instigation of his father’s aged former chief councilor and astrologer, An-
driamampandry.51 There are several contradictory accounts of how the old man
managed to effect this. All agree that it began with his summoning a great
kabary, or assembly, to win popular consensus that the king must be removed,
where it was agreed that his younger brother be placed on the throne in his
stead. According to some accounts, Rajakatsitakatrandriana then simply col-
lapsed before the power of the elders’ imprecations; in others, he was tricked out
of the palace by divination (only to later make a failed attempt to find foreign
allies to recapture it); yet others imply an actual uprising, since Andriamam-
pandry is said to have set fire to the village of Andohalo just outside the royal
precinct in order to drive away the king’s most faithful followers (Callet 1908:
284–88; Julien 1909, I: 126–27; D. Rasamuel 2007: 218).
Andohalo was never rebuilt. Instead, the open space where the village once
stood became the site of the great kabary held between kings and people from
that point on. Later visitors describe it as “natural amphitheatre, in which some
eighty to one hundred thousand persons may conveniently assemble” (W. Ellis
1838, I: 103), and in the nineteenth century, it was the scene of gaudy royal
ritual and proclamations.
The Tantara claims it was King Andriamasinavalona (c. 1675–1710), the
ruler Andriamampandry placed on the throne after the rebellion, who first
made a systematic practice of consulting with the people before making impor-
tant decisions (Callet 1908: 386). Often these consultations seem to have been
mere formalities. At other times they involved serious negotiations between
well-balanced powers. It was at these kabary, as well, where hasina was pre-
sented, oaths and vows of loyalty were pronounced, and the kingdom as a whole
effectively created and re-created the kingdom, and thereby the king. Yet such
actions could only have meaning if all were also aware that the people could,
in the last instance, act otherwise. It was possible to withdraw one’s oaths. And
surely, the fact that all these oaths and consultations took place on the very site
51. As astrologer: Callet (1908: 31). Raombana (1980: 44–45) has him use divination as
a pretext for removing the king from the palace. Some contemporary scholars make
out Andriamampandry to be of noble descent, presumably because of his name, but
both the Tantara (Callet 1908: 284) and Raombana (1980: 41) clearly identify him
as hova.
THE PEOPLE AS NURSEMAIDS OF THE KING
301
of an earlier popular insurrection could only have constantly underlined the
possibility that such things could, in the last instance, happen again.
* * *
According to the tradition, Andriamasinavalona lived long and wisely, but in his
dotage made the unfortunate decision to divide his kingdom between his four
favorite sons. (Andriamampandry strove mightily but failed to dissuade him.)
The result was a chaotic descent into civil disorder. The histories refer to this as
the period of civil wars. They ended only after a prince of Ambohimanga—the
one who was eventually to call himself Andrianampoinimerina, roughly “the
desire of Imerina”—managed, through a skillful combination of brutal force
and delicate diplomacy, to patch together the various warring kingdoms into a
single, unified, state.
It is especially difficult to assess Andrianampoinimerina in retrospect, since
by the 1860s, when the histories were put down in writing, he had already be-
come something of a folk-hero, the paragon of the old wise king against whom
contemporary monarchs and their councilors could be judged. Earlier sources
present a much more ambivalent picture: of an enterprising monarch sincerely
dedicated to the prosperity of his subjects, but who was also responsible for the
deaths of thousands, both in calculated massacres, and in the constant submis-
sion of the populations of whole towns and villages to the poison ordeal, or
tangena (e.g., S. Ellis 2002). Even in the idealized accounts preserved by Callet,
he is constantly threatening to kill law-breakers and dissenters. And some later
sources preserve popular memories of the king that must have circulated among
his enemies of the time, as a brutal usurper, ally of foreign slave traders, and
murderer of innocents—memories still vividly alive—especially in andriana cir-
cles—long after his death.
Case 1: Andrianamboatsimarofy, an unstable king
In the stories collected in the mid-nineteenth century, Andrianampoinimerina
is always represented as the stern but principled monarch, the one true adult on
the throne. Since he is universally recognized as laying the foundations of the
later Merina state, historians usually focus on him as the paradigm for kingship;
but in fact, he seems to have tried to completely reinvent the institution. To get
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a sense of what early monarchs were like, it seems to me, it would be better to
focus on his chief rival, King Andrianamboatsimarofy, king of Antananarivo.
Tsimarofy, as he is sometimes cal ed, is regularly contrasted to Andrianam-
poinimerina as an almost comical figure, an impulsive blowhard given to every sort
of indulgence and vice. In the Tantara, his court is represented as a kind of mad-
house, its denizens constantly wasted on rum, cannabis, and opium. One typical
passage: “There was one palace attendant who was smoking marijuana, and when
high on marijuana chased a dog and fell into ditch, and for a while they didn’t
know if he would survive; but the king was not alarmed, neither did Tsimarofy
forbid it but just let him carry on preparing the stuff anyway” (Callet 1908: 761).52
Typically, such passages are followed by declarations by Andrianampoini-
merina that he would order the execution of anyone who indulged in such dan-
gerous pastimes.
For over a decade, Andrianampoinimerina and Tsimarofy fought a
see-sawing war over the control of the great city of Antananarivo, in which the
capital repeatedly fell to the usurper’s armies, only to be snatched back again
by th
e Manisotra—Tsimarofy’s most devoted troops. The Manisotra were (like
the Manendy, whom we’ve met already) a kind of military order or specialized
warrior caste. The sources often refer to both as “royal slaves.” In reality, they
were also a powerful descent group with their own ancestral towns and villages,
and a peculiar relation of privileged familiarity with the royal household. Not
only did the Manisotra lead and form the elite core of the king’s armies; they
alone were allowed to play with royal children.53 There are long passages in the
Tantara, many clearly meant for comic effect, purporting to record Tsimarofy’s
interactions with his protectors (ibid.: 964–69).
The first time the Manisotra drove Andrianampoinimerina out of the city
and recovered the capital, they brought their king to show him,
And the Manisotra took Tsimarofy to Antananarivo, and they said, “Did we lie
to you, Tsimarofy? Here is your land and your government; if you don’t care for
it, then give it to someone else.”
52. “Nisy tandapa nifoka rongony, ary dia mamo rongony ka manenjika alika, na hady aza
dia ianjera’ny, ka tsy mahalala ny ho faty, dia tsy matahotra andriana, ila hananika ny
rova; koa tsy no raran’ Andrianamboatsimarofy avela ny hiany hanao. ”
53. Domenichini and Domenichini-Ramiaramanana (1980) make a strong case that
the Manisotra, like the Manendy, traditionally have a ziva, or joking relation, with
the king (cf. Hébert 1958).
THE PEOPLE AS NURSEMAIDS OF THE KING
303
And Tsimarofy said: “I am happy, daddy Manisotra, I put my faith in you.
Yes! You truly did not deceive me, so I thank you for that. Because here is my son
Maromanompo, who dwells together with you and lives in the same house as you.
So I have absolute confidence in you that you should live with him.” (1908: 965)54
The Manisotra then inform him that they are returning to their own ancestral
lands of Ambohijoky, where they will be available in case the king should be
so careless as to lose his capital again. They also propose he send his (roughly
eight-year-old) son Maromanompo with them, “as he isn’t settled happily here,
he’ll enjoy Ambohijoky, and [your daughter] Ravao too wants to play with the
girls at Ambohijoky.” It’s not clear whether the king assents, but he does order
a great celebration, presumably replete with rum and other intoxicants, and tells
the Manisotra to bring their wives and children. The Manisotra women dance
and rejoice, but while they do so, they gently chide the king, urging him not to
fall asleep or become distracted once again.
After a few years, Andrianampoinimerina again seizes the capital, and
Tsimarofy is once more forced to appeal to his servants: “Come again, daddy
Manisotra, because Antananarivo is lost once more, and once more I don’t know
what to do.”55 The Manisotra representatives immediately ask him: Did not our
women tell him not to fall asleep on the job? A proper king doesn’t play games
but thinks about the government. Andrianampoinimerina only thinks about the
government. If you prefer to play games, perhaps we should turn the govern-
ment over to him and leave you to your games in peace.
Tsimarofy was roused up by this, and took up his shield and spear, fired off a
shot of his musket, and declared: “If you still love me, then I myself shall fight at
the head of my army. I will fight in the manner of the Sakalava, where the king
himself leads the army, because the people may be powerful, but if the king is
defeated then the people are defeated too.”
54. “Ary dia nentiny Manisotra Andrianamboatsimarofy nankany ao Antananarivo, ka hoy
Manisotra: ‘Mandaingia va izahay, Andrianamboatsimarofy? lndro ny tany nao sy ny
fanjaka’ nao, fa raha tsy tia· nao omeo ny olona.’ - Ary hoy Andrianamboatsimarofy:
‘ Faly aho, ray Manisotra, matoky aho. Hay·! Tsy mamitaka ahy tokoa hianareo, ka
misaotra anareo aho. Fa indro lahy Ramaromanompo, f ’iny miara-monina ami’ nareo
ary miara-mitoetra ami’ nareo.’”
55. “Alao indray i kiaky Manositra, fa lasa indray Antananarivo, koa tsy hitako indray izay
hatao ko.”
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“God forbid,” said the Manisotra, “And where exactly did you come up
with this ‘Sakalava manner of fighting,’ you with your bright ideas? You’ll just
hand the kingdom over to Andrianampoinimerina! Because that’s all you’ll ac-
complish with this ‘let’s do the Sakalava manner of fighting’ nonsense. It’s not
the ancestral way; the king is to be guarded. You think you’re going to lead the
army, boy? All you’re going to do is get yourself killed.”56
The Manisotra leaders noted that great though their love was for the king, they
were equally loyal to his ancestor, King Andriamasinavalona, who first granted
them their lands in Ambohijoky, to which they were now inclined to return.
When Tsimarofy persisted in his plan to personally lead his army into com-
bat, they finally turned to their sometime playmate, the little princess Ravao:
“Goodbye Ravao. Your father has abandoned you. Your daddy doesn’t want to
be king any more, . . . . so we must go home. Farewell!”
At this point Tsimarofy conceded: “I’m sorry, fathers, I will not con-
tinue in my foolishness. I put my faith in you. Do what you must to recover
Antananarivo.”57
* * *
Since all these stories are so clearly arranged to contrast the stern but efficient
king of the north with the silly, feckless, self-indulgent king of the south, one
might wonder how much of this is simply literary embellishment. But as a mat-
ter of fact there is good reason to believe the accounts are substantially cor-
rect. As it happens, a French slave-trader named Nicholas Mayeur personally
visited Tsimarofy’s court on at least two occasions, and has left us two different
56. “Taitra indray Andrianamboatsimarofy ka nandray ny ampinga sy ny lefona, dia nipoa-
basy tokana nanao hoe: ‘Raha mbola tia’nareo hiany aho, dia izaho no voalohan’ ady
hitari-dalana, hanao adi-ntSakalava ka ny andriana mpitari-dalana, dia mahery ny
vahoaka, ary raha resy ny andriana dia resy ny vahoaka.’ ‘Sanatria,’ hoy Manisotra, ‘Iza
no mahalala izay adi-ntSakalava ny ialahy, ialahy hanao hevitra: fanjakana atolotr’
ialahy an’ Andrianampoinimerina! k’ izany no anaovan’ ialahy hoe “aoka hanao adi-
ntSakalava.” Fa tsy fanao ndrazana izany, fa ny andriana no ambenana; ary ialahy kosa
no hitari- dalana? Ka hamono tena ialahy.’”
57. The Manisotra’s farewell: “Veloma ry Vao, fa lasa ray nao. Ray nao tsy tia fanjakana
. . . fa hody izahay ka dia hanao veloma. ” .. And the king’s reply: “Hivalo aho, ry kiaky,
fa tsy hanindroa intsony ny fahadalana, fa hanome toky anareo aho, hatao lahy izay
hahafaka an’ Antananarivo. ”
THE PEOPLE AS NURSEMAIDS OF THE KING
305
descriptions of it, written eight years apart (Mayeur [1777] 1913, [1793] 1913).
These accounts provide striking confirmation of some of the details of the ac-
count in the Tantara, while at the same time showing that Tsimarofy’s miscon-
duct at one point became so outrageous it
inspired an outright revolt.
Mayeur is, in fact, the first foreign observer to have left us any sort of de-
tailed eyewitness account of the Merina kingdom, which he called “the King-
dom of Ancove.”
While visiting the small highland kingdom of Ankay in the spring of 1777,
Mayeur was, by his own account, approached by a small delegation who ex-
plained to him that they were agents of Tsimarofy, and that the king would be
very interested in establishing direct commercial relations with French trad-
ers operating on the coast. Mayeur was, at first, hesitant. The king of Ankay
was clearly very hostile to the project, and Mayeur himself had not heard good
things about Ancove. When the head of the delegation asked why he came to
Ankay, rather than the much larger kingdom to the north:
I responded that this preference was only natural; that several times, caravans of
people from the coast had been pillaged by the subjects of his master; and this
was reason enough to strictly avoid his province.
“It is true,” he replied, “that in the past the Manisotra have committed
some excesses; because this class of men, who are slaves of the king, enjoy an
unlimited liberty during such time as the king is not of age to govern. But he has
now established order throughout his realm; I can assure you that foreigners will
now enjoy the same security among us as they would enjoy in their own homes.”
(Mayeur [1777] 1913: 155)58
The next morning one of Mayeur’s bearers took him aside and explained to
him in confidence that he recognized the man claiming to be Tsimarofy’s chief
envoy —he was not an envoy at all; he actually was Tsimarofy, who had traveled
incognito into his enemy’s kingdom, at great personal risk, in order to effect the
alliance. If nothing else, this impressed Mayeur of the man’s seriousness. When
the king admitted it was true, Mayeur agreed to set out together with him to
Ancove.
58. My translation from the French. Translations from either Malagasy or French are
mine unless otherwise indicated.
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ON KINGS
Along the way, the two men struck up a friendship. Mayeur ended up leav-
ing an enthusiastic account of his capital, Antananarivo, a city that rose like a