The Fool - Chapters 11-15

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Chapter 11

Chapter XI

Goodman Khacho's wife had died upon giving birth to Stephanie. Khacho had not taken another wife, although it was not customary for men in his village to remain widowers. In the management of the household Sara, the wife of the oldest son, assumed control, and she was famed throughout the village for her wise management and good sense. She often went to the old man for advice, and all the household accepted her decisions.

One day, when all the family were busy with their usual occupations, a servant-maid, who had been to the fountain for water whispered to her, "A Kurdish girl is asking for you outside."

"Tell her to come here," said Sara, "You see I am busy."

"She will not come in. She says she has a very important message," replied the maid.

Sara went out. The girl was standing near the gate. She was a tall, slender girl with a dark skin, but not unattractive in appearance.

"Let us go away, over to that tree. No one will disturb us there," begged the girl, pointing to the spot.

Sara, noticing the girl's bright eyes began to feel suspicious of her. Why should this wild creature wish to take her to a distant tree where no one would be likely to pass? What business had she with her? "Come in," urged Sara, taking her by the hand. "We will go into the house. If you do not wish others to hear you, our house has many secret spots."

The stranger accepted the invitation of the mistress of the house without protest. Sara led her to a spot in the garden shaded by willows.

They sat down near each other on the grass.

"Now tell me, my dear," she continued, clasping the girl's hand in a friendly way. "What have you to tell me?"

"Koorsit Hanum sent Chavo to you," began the girl. "You surely know Koorsit, don't you? She is Chavo's mistress. She doesn't beat Chavo, and she always gives her her old clothes saying, 'You may have these, Chavo, you are a good girl.' But who would call them old clothes? They are quite new, don't you see? The mistress gave them all to me. She wore them one day, and the next day they were old for her." And indeed the Kurdish girl was dressed quite neatly.

But Sara could not imagine what all this irrelevant talk had to do with the message to her. The girl spoke in the third person. Sara understood so much, that the girl's name was Chavo, and that she was the hand-maid of Koorsit Hanum, whom she knew to be the wife of Fattah Bey, the friend of the family. But why had the lady sent this half-witted maid to her? This puzzled her not a little. Sara allowed her to make known the purpose of her visit in her own fashion.

"So your name is Chavo? What a pretty name!" she said.

"My mother named me Chavahir, (a corruption of Jevahir, or Jewel) but my mistress calls me Chavo. She says Chavahir is too long."

"I will call you as your mistress does. Chavo, my daughter, what did your mistress say when she sent you to me?"

The girl was not to be trapped into giving a direct answer. Her brain seemed to be confused with too many ideas, and she didn't know which to utter first.

She replied, "Chavo's mistress quarreled with the master last night. Don't look at me like that. Chavo isn't a child. She is very smart. When the mistress quarreled with the master, Chavo was hidden behind the curtains and heard it all. Oh, how angry the mistress was. She tore her hair and rent her clothes. Alas those clothes! Even Chavo can't wear them."

Noting that the light-minded girl was very fond of fine clothing, Sara said: "Surely Chavo knows how to sew. She will mend them and then wear them."

"Sew? Don't I sew? See these fingers!" and she exhibited the fingers of her right hand. "Just see! How many times Chavo's mother pricked these fingers saying, 'May you perish if you do not learn how to sew!'

"I see you are a very smart girl; now tell me why the master quarreled with the lady."

"The master said: 'I must have a new wife.' Isn't that a sin? Who is there like Koorsit? And what is the use of a new wife?"

Little by little Sara was getting hold of the facts. "There is no one to compare with Koorsit," she replied. "But tell me Chavo what new wife does the master wish?"

"Chavo's mistress will die if the master brings home a new wife, and then Chavo won't live long," said the girl, her eyes filling with tears.

"Foolish child!" exclaimed Sara impatiently. "Tell me who it is he is going to bring."

"Ask why the mistress sent Chavo to you, and then Chavo will tell you whom he will bring."

"Very well, why did she send you, then?"

"They quarreled last night, and in the morning the mistress said, 'Chavo, go to the house of our godfather Khacho. Take my salutations to Sara; ask her how she is, and say--' oh, I forgot to ask how you are!"

"No matter. What else did the mistress say?"

"The mistress said, 'You will call Sara to a secret place.' That is why I called you to go out under that tree."

"Here also no one can hear us. What did the mistress say?"

"The mistress said, 'You must send Stephanie away quickly. If there is no one who can take her away from here,' said the mistress, 'I will furnish men to take her wherever you wish.' It was not yet morning when the mistress spoke these words. She said, 'Swear, Chavo, that you will keep all this in mind, and that you will tell no one else.' Chavo swore."

Afterwards the girl told Sara that the mistress would kill Chavo if she should let anyone else know about this, and she added, that she was very much afraid of the mistress for she might even kill her. She said she had seen her kill one of her servants, but why she had done so she did not say.

But poor Sara did not hear a word of all this. When she heard Stephanie's name spoken she was thunder-struck. She was terrified, and would have fallen to the ground unconscious if the girl's strong arm had not supported her. Although the simple girl could not understand the poor woman's agitation, still she felt that the news she had imparted was of a very serious nature, and she tried to comfort her.

"Sara must not worry. As long as Chavo's mistress lives she will not let the master carry off a girl from here,"

"What girl" cried Sara, coming to herself. "We have no grownup girl in our house."

"The master knows that Stephanie is a girl."

Just at that moment Stephanie came into the garden to feed his fawn. The sunshine fell upon the lad's beautiful face, and outlined his fine form.

Sara pointed toward him saying; "See there! that is Stephanie, look well. Is he a girl? Who has told the master such a lie?"

"One of your Kurdish servants, the wife of the shepherd Hilo, told the master. The mistress says she will have the wretch killed."

"HiIo's wife has lied. She stole things, and we sent her away; so she tells lies about us."

Sara saw that although Chavo was a simple girl she was not a fool by any means, and seeing her fidelity to her mistress, which is not uncommon among half savage servants, she thought it safe to send a message by her in return. So she told Chavo to return her compliments to her mistress and ask how she was, and thank her for her message. And also inform her mistress that her thinking Stephanie was a girl was a mistake; still since she wished to have Stephanie sent out of the country, her request should be complied with. Then she added that she wished very much to see the mistress herself, that they might talk these things over together, and she begged that the mistress would plan some means by which they might meet secretly. Having said all this, she asked; "Now my smart Chavo, can you tell your mistress all this without forgetting any of it?"

"Chavo has a quick mind; Chavo will not forget," the girl replied, and she repeated all that Sara had said, making only a few slips. These Sara corrected, and Chavo repeated the lesson once more. "Now Chavo says it just the way Sara says it," said the girl to herself. "On the way back Chavo will say Sara's words over and over so that she may not forget them."

"Others might hear you," Sara remarked.

"Chavo isn't so stupid; Chavo will say it to herself."

The girl now looked at the sun, and seeing that the day was quite far advanced, she rose to go, for she had a long distance to travel.

"Wait, Chavo, my good girl, let me bring you something," Sara begged, and left her alone. Just then Stephanie, who was still occupied with his fawn, seeing the girl standing alone, approached her.

"Are you going?" he asked.

"Do you see how late it is growing?" she replied, pointing to the sun.

"You came to our house, but they have given you nothing to eat," said Stephanie.

"Oh, Chavo forgot she was hungry. Chavo has eaten nothing today."

"I will bring you something to eat."

The Kurdish girl, charmed with the lad's kindness of heart, threw her arms around him and kissed him.

Stephanie ran to the house and brought butter and honey wrapped in thin "lavash", (large, thin wafers which look like wrapping paper).

"Now sit down and eat," he commanded.

"Chavo will eat on the way home."

Then Sara returned bringing a pretty red silk kerchief such as Kurdish women greatly admire. When Chavo saw it she forgot her good manners, and snatching it from Sara's hands, like a child, began to tie it around her head; and then as though looking into a glass, she turned first to Sara and then to Stephanie, asking, "Is Chavo pretty now?"

"Very pretty," they both replied.

"Then kiss Chavo."

Sara embraced her affectionately.

"You also, Stephanie," she commanded. Stephanie obeyed also.

"And now Chavo bids you farewell," she said, and so set out on her return to the Kurdish camp.

Chapter 12

Chapter XII

After sending Chavo away, Sara began to realize the full significance of the information imparted to her by the Kurdish girl. Stephanie was still standing near her and had no knowledge of the fate which threatened him. He laid his hand on Sara's shoulder and asked: "Why are Kurdish girls so foolish?"

"They are not foolish, my child," replied Sara, with motherly tenderness, "it is only because they are untaught, and have grown tip like the wild creatures upon the mountains."

"Like my fawn," added Stephanie, "for although I have cared for it all this time and have often taken it in my arms and petted it, still it does not love me, but runs away when I go near it."

While he was speaking Sara looked earnestly at the kind-hearted lad and her eyes filled with tears. She had never studied that delicate face before. She turned aside her head that the youth should not notice her tears.

But he was still curious about the Kurdish girl. "She said she was hungry, Sara, and had eaten nothing today. I gave her some wafers with butter and honey, and begged her to sit here and eat, but she took the food with her and went away eating as she went. Was she in great haste, Sara?"

"Yes, she was in haste; she has far to go."

"How far?"

"To the blue hills."

"How is she going to cross so many mountains, afoot, alone. with no companion? Isn't she afraid, Sara?"

"No, she is used to doing such things. What is a wolf's cub afraid of?"

Sara was called away and there was no more talk between them.

The poor woman passed the remainder of the day in great mental distress. She hardly knew what she was doing. Instead of taking up the article she wanted, she would take up another; instead of going where she intended, she found herself going somewhere else. She was constantly making mistakes. The hours passed in a fever of unrest.

When Stephanie's mother had died, Sara had taken the child and brought it up with her own. He was as dear to her as any of her own children. Now a sad fate threatened him. To whom and how should she reveal that the Kurdish servant had told her today? She was certain that if Stephanie's aged father should learn of the intention of the Bey he would be unable to bear the sorrow.

On the other hand Sara thought that concealment would be dangerous if not impossible. They must take measures in time to avert the threatened evil. But whom should she take into her confidence? These reflections disturbed her, and still she arrived at no decisive conclusion.

In the evening, on the return of her husband, Hairabed, he asked her what ailed her and whether she was ill.

"I have had a headache, but it is of no account," replied his wife, not wishing to startle him with a sudden announcement of the trouble.

"Put a little vinegar on your forehead," he suggested.

"I have tried everything."

Sara continued to try to lead up to the subject, little by little, when Hairabed gave her an opportunity to begin, by asking, "A Kurdish girl came here today, who was she?"

"She was the servant of Koorsit Hanum, Fattah Bey's wife."

"Every time that scoundrel or any of his people come here," exclaimed Hairabed, bitterly, "I always expect some evil to follow. Oh, when will the feet of those rascals cease to cross our threshold?"

"But we must consider all the harm they have done us so far as the blessing of God," replied Sara, with a significant look.

Hairabed turned pale at the idea these words conveyed, but before venturing to inquire further he tried to fortify himself by ejaculating piously: "All misfortunes are for the good of man; whatever sorrow God has sent must be borne in patience." Then he asked, "What is it? What has happened?"

Sara then told him what she had heard from the Kurdish girl.

On Hairabed's countenance were pictured every variety of emotion, horror, hatred, anger and grief, each in turn.

"I have been expecting this for a long time," he sighed, after hearing the whole story. "My poor father! He will die of grief when he hears it."

"That is what I have been thinking all day," returned Sara, "he will certainly die."

They sat in silence for a time. Each was thinking what to do.

"It will not be necessary to inform my father," Hairabed observed, finally.

But it will not be possible to keep it from your brothers," Sara replied.

"I will inform my brothers."

"Then in order to lose no time, inform them tonight," Sara urged. "Every moment is precious. Do quickly what must be done. Who knows what may happen."

Some of Hairabed's brothers were at home, but some had not yet returned from the fields. He rose and telling his wife not to mention the subject to anyone, went to consult his brothers.

Taking with him the brothers who were at home and going out to meet those who were just returning, he conducted them to a small grove near a mill where they would not easily be discovered or interrupted; for at home they might be disturbed, or their, father might come upon them in secret conclave.

When they were all seated on the ground, Hairabed informed them what his wife had heard. It is not difficult to imagine the impression which the news made upon the brothers. They seemed petrified with horror. It was as if a flock of sparrows, twittering and chirping in the branches of the trees, and filling the woods with their chatter, should see a hawk hovering near them, and suddenly every sound was hushed. This was how Fattah Bey's name and his wicked intentions affected the six brothers.

"Behold the worth of a Kurd's friendship!" exclaimed one of the brothers. "The Bey is our children's godfather, and yet he forgets that he has eaten our bread and our salt."

"What friendship can there be between the wolf and the lamb; or the fox and the hen?" cried Hairabed, passionately. "But we are worse off than sheep or hens. The sheep has horns, and sometimes fights against its foe; the hen uses beak and claw in self -defense; but we have nothing with which to protect ourselves. We are a disgrace to mankind; we are the scum of mankind; we should be purged away, destroyed, in order that mankind should not be contaminated by us." He spoke these words with such melancholy bitterness that his brothers were alarmed.

"What are we?" he continued in the same strain. "Industrious, hardworking plowmen, and we boast of it! But the ass, the ox, the horse and the buffalo are stronger than we and work harder. We are simply reasoning animals, and nothing more. We earn, they eat; we raise beautiful girls, they enjoy their love. Whatever is beautiful, whatever is good is not for us. Whatever is mean and worthless is left for us; we are not worthy of any good things!

"A few days ago I was talking with my father. He tried to persuade me that our condition is not as wretched as we think, and by way of proof he pointed to our visible wealth; but let a band of Kurds attack us and it will disappear in a twinkling of the eye.

"Now say to him, 'They are going to drag your dear child from your side; you shall see it with your own eyes, but you will not be able to utter a single protest!" Is this being well off ?

"Only an Armenian is able to be patient under such conditions--only the shameful, dishonorable Armenian! Come now, snatch a cub from the den of a tigress; she will tear you to pieces on the spot! The Kurd will do the same; but what do we do? Nothing!"

Hairabed's words so inflamed the hearts of some of his brothers that with one accord they resolved that they would resist; they would die rather than allow Stephanie to fall into the hands of the Kurds.

"There will be this comfort," said Abo, "that even though we do not save our sister we shall not see her disgraced but shall be at rest in our graves."

But some took a different view. "We shall all perish for the sake of a girl, and leave our children fatherless; what wisdom is there in doing that?" asked another brother, whose name was Ohan. "I wash my hands of this business. We have a sister, but if we had none it would be no great loss. Why should we lose our herds for her sake?"

Still another brother, regarding Stephanie's condition from a practical standpoint, began to defend Ohan's position saying: "I don't see any misfortune in this. In one respect it would be a good thing. When we have a brother-in-law line Fattah Bey, all the Armenians will be afraid to injure us. We have an example of this in neighbor Muggo. We don't dare to speak to him of our troubles, for he will report us to his Kurdish son-in-law, and some night the Kurds will come and kill us in our beds. Wouldn't it be fine to have such a brother-in-law?"

These words angered Abo. "Jesus Christ be my witness," he exclaimed, "you must be out of your head! What words you have spoken! An ass would not utter such foolishness. Are we to give our sister into the hands of a lawless unbeliever in order that Armenians should stand in awe of us? We want no such respect. They may pay us respect to our faces, but in his heart every Armenian will curse us. Who loves Muggo for having given his daughter to a Kurd? He is not loved; he is feared. But fear is another thing. Many are afraid of dogs and wolves."

One of the brothers, who had kept silent until now, began to oppose Abo, bringing forward his peculiar religious philosophy in defense. His arguments were that it is impossible to change God's plans; whatever is to be, will be; that God created the Kurd a Kurd, the Armenian an Armenian; He has given the Kurd weapons; the Armenian a spade; that neither can fill the place of the other; all these things are in God's hands; and he brought his arguments to a climax with the following example. The crow was desirous of having the plumage of the peacock; but who could give it to him ? God created the one in one way, and the other in another.

Abo answered: "You forget, brother, that the crow and the peacock are different birds; but the Kurd and the Armenian are both men. The Kurd was not born with weapons in his hand, but naked and weak, the same as the Armenian. Why should you throw all the responsibility upon God? Has He given weapons into the hands of the Kurd for the express purpose that he should come and massacre us; drag our daughters from their homes and carry them off? And has He made us the poor, cowardly wretches we are? God doesn't concern Himself with those things. He gives us minds that we may choose for ourselves. If you go and throw yourself into the river., God is not going to prevent you by main force; you simply destroy yourself."

Hairabed, the eldest brother, had listened to this dispute in silence. He felt grateful to Abo for the stand he took, but still he did not wish to offend his other brothers. "You see," he said ' earnestly, "here we are, six brethren, assembled, but we can come to no agreement. How much more difficult it is to unite a people or a nation! So long as we are as we are, so long will our condition remain as it is. They beat us; they snatch from our hands our wives, our daughters, our goods, our property, and we must needs submit to all these indignities and tortures, and like wretched beasts of burden we must work for enemies that they may live at their ease; while we give thanks to God that they at least spare our lives, and allow us to creep on the earth like the miserable worms we are!" Then Hairabed proposed that they remove Stephanie from home at least temporarily, to the monastery of St. John, until it should be possible to take her across the Russian frontier where she would be safe. But Ohan and Haggo did not agree to this even objecting that this also would be resisting the Bey's will. "By hiding our sister," said they, "we shall arouse the anger of the Bey, and he will revenge himself upon us." They approved only of letting things take their course, repeating that whatever God wills, will be; that man cannot obliterate the handwriting of God.

Some urged that their father be informed, that lie as the head of the family, decide what course to pursue. So the discussion dragged on, and still they arrived at no conclusions.

Suddenly, an owl hooted nearby. They shuddered. "Listen," said Ohan and Haggo. "The owl confirms our words. It will be bad for us to send Stephanie away from home."

Only Hairabed and Abo remained firm in their opinion. The conclave broke up in uncertainty.

Chapter 13

Chapter XIII

But what riddle was this? Stephanie first a boy, and then a girl! Let us explain the riddle. Its key is buried in a little tale.

In a quiet spot in Goodman Khacho's garden, sheltered on all sides by a cluster of trees, lies a lonely grave. No cross, no stone, no sign to mark it. It is a low mound slightly higher than the surrounding plot. Often in the stillness of the night the old man might be seen lying full-length beside the unpretentious mound, while he wept as though his heart would break. The other members of the family also would visit it occasionally and shed tears beside it.

Who lay buried there? Goodman Khacho once had a daughter named Sona. She strongly resembled Stephanie. When Sona reached her sixteenth year, many requests were made for her hand, not only because she was of a wealthy family, but especially because of her beauty. Her father found it very difficult to choose between the numerous suitors. But a sad event put an end to Sona's good prospects.

One day she went out into the fields to gather greens, but she never,, returned. Many inquiries were made concerning her. Some said she was drowned in the river; some that she had been devoured by wild beasts; some that the witches had stolen her; and some that the Kurds had carried her off.

They searched far and wide, and looked everywhere, but to no avail and they were unable to obtain any information whatever concerning the lost girl, even though her father promised a liberal reward to anyone who should bring proofs of her whereabouts.

Several weeks passed. Then one day a Kurd appeared at Khacho's gate leading a mule carrying a bier on its back. Sona's body lay in it. According to the story of the Kurd, the unfortunate girl had been snatched from the fields by a Kurdish chief, who was distinguished principally by his villainies. Sona finding no other way to escape from the hands of the monster, bribed an old Kurdish woman with some gold pieces which were sewn onto her headdress, to buy some poison for her. The woman did her bidding. Sona took the poison and died.

The Kurds would not allow the body to be buried in their burying ground, because she had affirmed till her last breath, "I am a Christian. I will not change my faith." So her body remained unburied.

One of the Kurds, learning whose daughter she was, thought it might be worth his while to take the body to old Khacho, and claim a reward.

The Armenian clergy also would have nothing to do with the corpse. The reasons they gave were that she was a suicide, driven to death by a villain, and she had not confessed nor received absolution; therefore they could not allow her to be buried in the Armenian cemetery. This was why her grave was in her father's garden. Rejected by the church, she had found shelter in her home.

Naturally this misfortune brought great grief to the whole family, but this was not all. Sona's mother, Rhea, had given birth to Stephanie shortly before, and unable to bear the bitter pain caused by Sona's fate, grew weaker day by day and soon followed her daughter to the grave. That event influenced Stephanie's life. Stephanie was, indeed, a girl; but she was called by a boy's name, and dressed as a boy. Her baptismal name was Lila.

But why had they brought her up in this disguise?

Sona's death left her father so oppressed with grief that he had a foreboding that his other daughter would suffer the same fate. His anxiety was not without grounds, especially in his country, where he had known of many and many a young girl carried off by Turks or Kurds. Consequently he wished to have Lila grow up as a boy till she became of age. The mother concurred in this desire, but dying soon after was unable to bring up the child. The secret had been kept most scrupulously. Outside the family only three persons knew the fact: the village priest, and the godfather and godmother who were no longer living.

Lila whom we may call by her proper name, was now sixteen. Few village girls remain at home after reaching that age. Her father thought it was time to think of settling her in a home of her own, but since Lila was supposed to be a boy naturally no one sought her in marriage. Besides, her father desired her to marry a man who would take her away from their village, in order that the deception he had practiced might not be known, although this was no uncommon course for people to pursue in his country. But where could be find a husband for Lila who would comply with these requirements?

Her father had set his heart on a man called Thomas Effendi, a talkative, tricky, short, smug man who was anything but a gentleman. It was not known where he was from. By his own report he was from Constantinople, and had rich relatives there. Lila's brothers hated the fellow heartily, not only because his face was repulsive, but because they knew him to be exceedingly profligate and cruel.

He kept quite aloof from the majority of Armenians, but kept company with Turks, and fawned upon Mudirs, Kaimakams and Kurdish Beys, He used their names to threaten Armenians, and he would boast of their friendship. Thomas Effendi was the Imperial Multezim, that is, the tax collector of the Imperial tolls and customs.

The Multezim is as much dreaded by the villagers as the destroying angel, or devil, and is a terror to the village. But what the peasant most fears, that he most respects. If the Satanic Majesty should appear in a village, the peasants would make haste to appease him with gifts and flattery. This is the way of mankind. In primitive ages men worshipped the good spirits and the evil impartially, offering sacrifices to both, and if anything, offering more to the evil ones. They may have explained this by saying: "The good are bound to do us good, but we must placate the evil lest they do us harm." With this idea in mind, it is easy to understand why Thomas Effendi was admitted into the home of Goodman Khacho as an honored guest.

Goodman Khacho, the largest landowner in the village, held a semi-official position, being the person with whom the officers had dealings concerning taxes, customs, and tithes of the products of the soil. For this reason the Multezim came to Khacho's house, and often he would remain there for weeks at a time, collecting the grain and other products due him as tax collector.

The "oda", or guest room of the chief landowner, is to all purposes the village inn. The Kaimakam, the Mudir, the Multezim, the bishop gathering "spiritual fruit", the mounted guardsmen and even the latest arrival from beggardom, all apply for entertainment there. There is little to choose between these various characters.

It was the morning after the council held by Goodman Khacho's sons in the woods, when Thomas Effendi appeared again in the village of 0.... bringing with him two guards who were inseparable from him. He had come to set the figures of the tax on sheep and other animals, for it was late in the spring, and the villagers would soon be migrating with their flocks and herds to the "yailah" or mountain pastures, to graze, and to escape from the heat of summer.

After completing his day's work, Thomas Effendi made his way with Goodman Khacho to the home of the latter.

The Sultan would never parade the streets of Constantinople with such haughtiness on his visit on Fridays to pray in Aiya Sophia (St. Sophia) as that which this insignificant man assumed as he strutted through the streets of the village of O.... . Swaggering along, with his nose in the air.. he was constantly looking from side to side to see how many men were noticing him and paying him respect. He wore a kind of "muntir" or cloak, decorated with numerous buttons which he would have you believe that the Vizir had sent him. Upon entering the landlord's oda, he ordered coffee to be brought without delay, and proceeded to order what he wished for supper. Into whatever house the Imperial tax collector enters, he constitutes himself master forthwith. If the people of the house do not perform his bidding, he knows how to bring them around.

When they were seated, Goodman Khacho said to his guest: "Effendi, it was hardly fair to beat that poor peasant today."

"You are mistaken, landlord," replied the tax collector, with his purring voice. "The peasant needed to be beaten, and to be beaten well. The ass will not carry his load till he is beaten."

"But it was not the fault of the peasant."

"It is all the same whether it was or it wasn't. Perhaps he was not to blame today; another day he will be to blame. You have heard the fable of Nasreddin Khodja and his ass. When one of Nasreddin Khodja's asses broke its halter and ran away, instead of chasing the runaway ass and beating it, he began to beat his other ass which bad not broken its halter but was standing quietly in its place. They asked him what the poor creature had done to deserve a beating. The Khodja answered: 'If this one should break his halter, you have no idea how he would run!"

"But I am certain that the man was not lying. I know that the Kurds carried off the greater part of his sheep," continued the old man, who was not convinced that it was necessary to beat the quiet, innocent ass in place of the runaway culprit.

"I know, myself, landlord, that the Kurds have stolen some of his sheep," replied the tax collector, impressively, "but if I should accept such accounts and every tale of how 'the floods came and the mill-race carried away', I should have to pay the Imperial taxes out of my own pocket half the time. In last year's estimate that man was set down as owning one hundred sheep. I demand the tax on one hundred. But if the Kurds have stolen some fifty or sixty is that my fault? The Kurds rob every day. If these fellows are men let them prevent them."

"One ought to show some pity," still urged the landlord. "You have a right to require the tax on only as many sheep as he has in hand. He should not be obliged to pay taxes on the lost, the dead, and the stolen."

"How can I prove that they have really been stolen?" demanded the tax collector, angrily. "The peasants may hide their sheep, and tell me that they are lost, dead, or stolen, or they may make a thousand and one excuses."

The landlord made no reply.

"But you have not seen the new 'firman' (royal decree) which I have received from the Sultan," Thomas Effendi exclaimed. "If you knew what is written there, you would not be talking like this, landlord." So saying, he drew from his bosom a large packet, took out a number of papers, opening them one after another with great care, at last he unfolded an immense red sheet, printed in large, striking characters. "Take it and read!" he commanded.

The landlord gazed in astonishment at the imposing document. But if he had been able to read Turkish, he would have found that this great, red sheet was nothing but a theater poster or playbill advertising benefit performances for some actress.

Thomas Effendi looked at the old man reprovingly. "Landlord, the Sultan's 'firman' should not be treated with such little respect. When anyone takes it in his hands, he first kisses it and afterward proceeds to read." The old man did as he was bid, and humbly returned it.

"I have told the villagers a thousand times that this is the way the 'firman' stands now. and that the taxes have been increased, but still they don't comprehend; they still insist on the old way," said the tax collector, with rising anger. "I, too, am a man; my patience is exhausted and I begin to beat them. The stupid ass, though only an ass, if he once steps in the mire, won't step there again even if you cut off his head. But these peasants haven't as much sense as they." (It was Thomas Effendi's habit to draw all his illustrations and comparisons from donkey-life.)

"Listen, landlord Khacho, let me tell you of an experience of mine. You know that I have business in the villages around Alashgerd. Once a certain man had reaped and threshed his grain, and had it ready for inspection. He sent for me to measure it and take the tithes. I demanded cash instead of the tithes. He replied that he was unable to pay the cash, and added, 'You have a right only to the grain, so take that which belongs to you.' (I can't tolerate having village asses talk about my 'rights'!) So, I said what I thought: 'Cursed be your father! I'll teach you what "rights" are!' I didn't measure his grain but went away and left it there. The rains came; the grain sprouted, was scorched, rotted and was destroyed. Then I went and said, 'I don't stand on my "rights" any longer, give me my grain!' But whence could he give it? The grain had become a moldy heap of dust. 'Then give me my money instead of the tithes!' I said. He had no money. I gave him a good beating; ordered his oxen to be sold and got my money! Now that fellow is so careful that he will carry a basket of eggs without breaking one! When he sees me he rises to his feet a verst away, and bows most humbly. That is the way to treat people."

"Is that mercy?" asked Goodman Khacho, in such a low tone that one would think he did not wish to be heard.

"What's that about 'mercy'?" sputtered the tax collector. "Government is one thing; mercy is another. Although you have been head of the village forty years, you haven't learned how to govern yet! You just heard the story about Nasreddin Khodja and his asses, now I'll give you another example. A Pasha is appointed to govern a certain Province. As soon as he enters upon office, he has a few men seized at random; he may have them imprisoned and even beheaded. It may be that those men are not guilty of any crime, but the Pasha must put a few men to death in order to inspire the people with a proper degree of respect for him. What does governing mean? It means keeping the people in constant terror. If I hadn't done as I did in regard to that villager's harvest, the others would have lost their respect for me, and I could no longer have done as I pleased there."

Thomas Effendi talked about his doings as frankly as a Kurd about his atrocities. What difference was there between this Armenian and Fattah Bey? Only this that the one was a low, crafty oppressor, while the other was a brave, spirited robber!

The fate of Lila was to be linked with one of these two persons. But no one asked which one she loved.

Chapter 14

Chapter XIV

Thomas Effendi was going to remain several days longer at the house of Goodman Khacho. He had still some further business in 0....

Another guest was accustomed to visit Goodman Khacho's house two or three times a year. He was a young man from the region of Mt. Ararat, who would buy of Khacho sheep, oxen, wool, butter and cheese which he sold in Alexandropol, or in Erivan. In exchange for these commodities he would bring such merchandise as was not found in this region; various kinds of manufactured articles, such as calico, cotton, sugar, tea, coffee, and other articles. Such traders fill an important need in the villages like this one situated far from cities. The country-folk gave him what he needed, and received in exchange that which it would be difficult for them to go and obtain for themselves; especially in a country where there are no traveled roads for caravans, and where from fear robbers intercourse with the outside world is largely interrupted.

Every time this young man appeared there was great rejoicing in old Khacho's house. He had been there so often that they treated him as one of the family. On entering the village he would direct his caravan, consisting of a few pack horses, toward the old man's house; unload his animals, and take up his quarters there for weeks, until he should finish his trading, and be ready to return.

On the day following Thomas Effendi's arrival, this young man came again; and the two met at Khacho's gate as he was unloading his horses.

"Ah, you are here!" exclaimed the young man, crossing himself meanwhile and muttering "In the name of the Father, Son and---Alas, I have seen the face of a devil, and I shall have no luck this time!"

Thomas Effendi laughed heartily, and seizing the young man's hand said, "You are crazy, crazy! I have said a thousand times that you are crazy."

"Well say so! What evil have you brought me this time, I wonder! I have brought some poison for you to drink, so that the poor peasants may be rid of you!" he retorted, laughing in his turn.

Several men were standing near who had been helping unload the animals and carry in the bales. The Effendi thought that it was not fitting for him to be bantering with a fool in the presence of the villagers, so he turned away saying he had business in the village but that they should enjoy each other's company at supper.

"It would be a sin to eat with you!" retorted the young man.

"The tail of the ass grows neither longer nor shorter,, and it is the same with your wits," responded the Effendi. "If you take an ass to Jerusalem, he is still an ass; he never becomes a Pilgrim," he added.

"Ah, when you bring your donkey tales, there is no end to them!" exclaimed the other. The Effendi quickly left.

Already every one from the oldest to the youngest in Khacho's house had heard of the arrival of Vartan, for such was the trader's name, and they were waiting with impatience for him to open his bales.

Nearly every one had entrusted him with some commission. He set his bales down in the hall and immediately the whole of Khacho's family swooped down upon him. One asked, "Did you bring the shoes I ordered?"; another. "Did you bring my cap?" There was a Babel of voices on every side. Even the children tugged at his coat and asked for everything they could think of.

"I have brought them all!" he replied, "I have brought you each something."

"Then give them," they clamored.

"Away with you, you rascals!" he ordered jokingly. "Can't you let me rest a moment first? I will open the bales presently and give you what you wanted!"

'No, now, now!" they insisted.

They stood so little in awe of Vartan that they paid no attention to his objections, but began to open the packages themselves. As soon as the ropes were loosened there followed a scramble for the articles of which they were in search. The young man watched them with kindly amusement, and said, laughingly, "May your house have no evil befall it! But should the Kurds ever attack you, they wouldn't make worse havoc."

The only one who did not join the marauding horde was Stephanie, whom we may now call Lila. She stood apart smiling as she watched the excited scramble.

Vartan went near her and asked, "Why don't you take something?"

"What shall I take?" she inquired with a blush.

Truly, what could she take? She was weary of her disguise, but she did not dare touch trinkets such as other girls might enjoy.

Vartan understood the cause of her perplexity, and said in a low voice, "Never mind, I have brought you something you will like."

"What is it?" she asked in a whisper.

"I will give it to you later, but no one must see it."

Lila smiled her thanks and turned away.

Vartan was about twenty-five years old; he was a tall, powerfully-built fellow, with large features which could not be called handsome. His large roving black eyes might cause him to be taken for a robber. On his full lips he always wore a bitter, ironical smile. His carriage was free and bold; he had great skill in business.

Where he hailed from, or what his past had been, no one in this region knew. But there were many stories about him. They said he had broken his vows, for he had once been in a monastery, as deacon; he had also been a teacher. But no one knew why he had left either monastery or. school. But what was well known was that in this region Vartan played the role of contrabandist. He had all the qualities needed for that profession: bravery, skill and quick wits. Constantly on guard against danger and accident, he combined firmness of purpose with fearless bravery.

There was this also, that not Thomas Effendi alone considered Vartan a fool, but both in the village of 0.... and in the country around he was known as "crazy Vartan." In what respect was Vartan crazy? He was not a fool. He had studied much. He had acquired considerable knowledge. He understood and knew the conditions of life. In spite of his youth, he had been tried, and had suffered much.

Then how was he crazy? Simply because he did not know how to dissimulate (or did not think it worth his while to do so) and he tried to run counter to prejudice. He was very outspoken, and would say to anyone's face what he thought of him. He did not conceal his own faults, but would tell them all, and such persons are usually regarded singular characters. There are many who expect men to appear quite differently from what they actually are, and they can't understand straightforwardness. Many of the ancient philosophers and prophets and Nasreddin Khodja were considered "peculiar" although there was a kind of wisdom in their folly. But Vartan was not a philosopher and much less a prophet; still his observations, manner of speech and behavior seemed harsh and strange to most people.

When he promised Lila "a pretty thing he had brought her" and gave her to understand that he could give it to her only in secret, Vartan did not proceed with his accustomed directness. He seemed to prefer secrecy on this occasion. He soon attained his desire.

When describing Goodman Khacho's house the enclosed garden was not fully pictured. It was quite a large garden, and was so thick that one could disappear from sight by taking a few steps among the shrubbery.

After storing away his goods, Vartan stepped into the garden. He wished to rest in the shade of the trees. His heart was filled with a delicious tumult; his spirit was in a turmoil. At such times, trees, flowers and the rustle of leaves speak most eloquently to the heart. Lying on the soft grass he gazed up at the blue sky through the interlacing branches, and was not consciously thinking of anything. He watched the flecks of white sailing across the sky, piling upon one another in great cloud banks. It presaged a storm. Vartan's heart resembled these. The indefinite and inchoate passions of his soul seemed to be uniting and taking shape into that tender sentiment called love.

Vartan had long known that Stephanie was a girl. He surmised, also, the reasons why her parents had been obliged to dress her as a boy, and to have her grow up as a boy. It was these circumstances that had attracted the attention of the young man to the unfortunate girl, and filled him with a heroic desire to rescue her from her unnatural condition. But until this day these feelings had remained latent in the depths of his heart. Until this day no love passages had transpired between the two, nor had he let her know that he knew her secret. Stephanie had conversed with him freely, and the disguised girl bad not always been on her guard, but had shown the characteristics of her sex, such as a girl cannot conceal.

Vartan bad been lying in the garden a long time, and was becoming restless. Finally he heard a rustle in the grass, and turning, saw Stephanie standing near him. His heart beat more rapidly: that heart of iron, which was not easily agitated; Stephanie came a little nearer and said, "Supper is ready; my father has sent me to call you."

"Is the Effendi there?" asked Vartan rising, seating himself on a mound of earth shaded by climbing vines.

"Yes," replied Stephanie, making a wry face, and adding, "May the Evil One carry him off!,,

"You don't like the Effendi either, do you Stephanie?"

"Who does?" she retorted.

Vartan thought he would use this opportunity to deliver the gift he had brought for Stephanie. So he begged her to wait a moment till he should bring it. He returned presently bringing a package. He stepped into the arbor and invited Stephanie to follow him.

"My father is waiting for you," she objected.

"We will not be long," he replied. "Sit beside me Stephanie, it is early yet. Now I will give you the thing I have brought you."

Stephanie obeyed, and Vartan proceeded to open the package. It proved to be a small ebony work-box, richly carved. Vartan took a key from his pocket and opened it. It was fitted out with scissors, thimble, needlebook, etc., all of silver. On one side was fastened a tiny mirror, and on another, a miniature music box. Vartan raised it from its place and it began to play. Stephanie gazed in astonishment at all these beautiful objects such as she had never seen before.

"Are you pleased with your gift?" asked Vartan. "Accept it from me."

Stephanie, who at first felt much pleased and delighted, suddenly grew grave. She appeared unwilling to accept the gift. She drew back and after a momentary indecision, replied: "What should I do with scissors, thimble and needle-case? They are for girls; you should not have brought them to me; you should have brought me something suitable for a boy," adding in a trembling voice, "I am not a girl," but she blushed as she said these words which seemed to burn her rosy lips.

Vartan had not thought that Stephanie would carry the concealment of her sex so far and be was accordingly much disturbed, and unable to control his agitation said, "But you are a girl, Lila."

"Oh, you know my name also!" cried the girl, as she fell upon his breast.

The young man clasped her in his arms, and Lila repeated in a low voice, choked with tears, "Yes, I am a girl, I am a girl."

This confession which she had kept with sealed lips for so many years, she now made for the first time to a strange young man, whom she loved and to whom until this day she had not dared make known her love.

The two were so absorbed in each other that they did not know that a pair of eyes had penetrated their retreat and had rejoiced at what they saw. It was Sara who had been attracted by the sounds from the music-box. "Now Lila is saved!" she said to herself, and slipped silently away.

Chapter 15

Chapter XV

The evening meal was ready in Goodman Khacho's oda. The landlord and Thomas Effendi were waiting for Vartan. The tax collector's two gendarmes, furnished him by the government, were seated there also --two rascals who served the Effendi in all kinds of evil. There were no others in the oda for Khacho's sons would not think of venturing to sit at table with such exalted personages.

"He will come directly; he barks so loud that he will bring a curse upon our bread," said the Effendi, speaking of Vartan.

"Though he sometimes makes sharp retorts, he is not a bad-hearted fellow," observed the landlord.

"I know he is not bad at heart, landlord, but his mouth is full of venom. He should not be so disrespectful. When I cough even, men tremble. People should show Thomas Effendi proper respect. Don't you remember my showing you the Sultan's 'firman'? It is not every man who is armed with equal authority. And do you know this, that the Vali of Erzeroum always seats me next to himself; ask these men if you don't believe me," he said indicating the two gendarmes.

"They asked the fox for a witness--he showed his tail," the proverb says. These two witnesses were on a par with that.

"You may be sure I believe it," replied the landlord.

Thomas Effendi hated Vartan, not only because of their war of words that morning, but because on every occasion when they met, Vartan would hold the tax collector up to ridicule.

"If I wished to do so I could turn the world upside down in a moment," continued the tax collector, "and I'll show that good-for-nothing fellow who Thomas Effendi is!"

"He is young and heedless," said the kind-hearted landlord. "You must give no weight to the talk of such a young man; but I repeat that he is not as bad as you think."

At that moment Vartan entered, pale and silent.

Thomas Effendi, who had been denouncing him, and "Pulling his tail" as they say, now addressed him in quite a different strain.

"Blessed one, how long you have kept me waiting! You know I would not think of touching a morsel until you were here to share it with me."

"I know it," replied the young man, taking his place without vouchsafing him a glance. Vartan scarcely uttered a word throughout the entire meal. He was moody and morose like the lowering sky above. Love, which begets joy in many, filling the heart with contentment, sweetening the bitterness of lives, love had saddened this man. He ate very little but drank much. He seemed to wish to quench the fire of his heart with draughts of wine.

Thomas Effendi talked incessantly, as was his custom. What did he not tell of his life and of his past? And in all his talk it appeared that Thomas Effendi was a great man. The Patriarch Nerses always called him his "son" it seemed; he didn't think much of Khirimian, for he was such a common man, and stooped to have dealings with porters of Van and Moush; Nubar Pasha in his letters always addressed him as "Honored Friend"; he had a palace on the shores of the Bosphorus, which he had rented to some English people; his grandparents had given a large sum to the Temple at Jerusalem, for which reason mass was said for all their family every day at the monastery of St. James; there was a coldness between Odian and himself because the former had offered to give him his daughter, but he hadn't cared to marry her, etc. etc.

Vartan gave no heed to his interminable chatter, but the simple-minded landlord listened in astonishment. "How fortunate my Lila would be," thought he to himself, "if she were to marry such a man: one who has refused the daughter of Odian, and who owns a palace on the Bosphorus."

Then he began to discuss the political situation.

This was at the time of the disturbances in the Balkan peninsula, when the Slavs tried to obtain freedom at the cost of their blood. A conference had been held at Constantinople to ameliorate their condition, and Midhat, that famous diplomatist and juggler, had promulgated the Turkish constitution. Thomas Effendi, sitting in a village inn, was discoursing on thrones and empires. He spoke first of the folly of the Slavs in attempting to revolt against the beneficent rule of the Turks, from which he proceeded to criticize the Armenians, saying: "There are such fools among the Armenians who think the Turkish yoke is heavy, and they are talking of freedom and independence." He declared that but for the Turk the Armenians would have become a lost people, and that Armenians are so constituted as to be incapable of governing themselves.

Then at last, Vartan was aroused, and he exclaimed, "To those like you who suck the blood of Armenians by reason of the irregularities of the Turkish Government, to tax collectors like you, the Turk and his misrule are always desirable. You catch fish in muddy water. You hate clearness and cleanliness. You love darkness, as all thieves do."

"Sir," interrupted the tax collector, "recollect that. two gendarmes sit beside you."

"With these gendarmes you delude the poor, miserable peasants who are so ignorant that they believe that you have a palace on the Bosphorus, that you refused Odian's daughter and that mass is said for you every day in the church of St. James. Such as you are worthy of nothing but curses. It is you who destroy the homes of the Armenians, all of your class; beginning with the insignificant village tax collector like you, up to the great lords in the Sublime Porte, who for their personal profit sell the rights of their nation!"

Thomas Effendi gives vent to his anger only when he is sure that his opponent is "a man for his teeth", as the Armenians say; that is, one whom he can tear to bits and maul and mangle as he pleases. But he knew Vartan of old, and for this reason he tried to turn it off as a joke.

"I see that the wine is too strong for you, blessed one. Why do you drink so much?"

Vartan gave him a withering glance in reply.

The landlord kept silence with difficulty. He felt the force of Vartan's words, but at the same time he did not approve of his boldness, thinking it highly unbecoming to speak in that manner to an official. He was very glad to have the meal over, but he did not anticipate the starting of a fresh feud.

Directly after the meal coffee was served. The Effendi had a standing order in the house that after he drank his coffee, Stephanie should fill his pipe for him, "because the pipe prepared by his hand tasted better," he said.

There was something strange about this. Fattah Bey wished his coffee to come from Stephanie's hand "because it tasted better," and Thomas Effendi said the same about his pipe. The Kurdish Bey, however, had learned that Stephanie was a girl; but did the Armenian Effendi also know it, and did he also love her ?

When Stephanie brought in the long Turkish pipe, intending to hand it to the Effendi, Vartan was filled with rage. He snatched the pipe from Stephanie's hand, and threw it out the window, and ordered her out of the room. She obeyed in surprise, and withdrew.

If the pipe had been thrown at the Effendi's head he would not have been more enraged. "I don't like such joking," he stormed. "You have disgraced me. This affects my honor."

"Such men as you have no claim to honor."

"I? I? The tax collector of this great province?" shouted the Effendi.

"Yes, you the robber of this whole province."

The tax collector made as if to rise.

"Don't you stir, or I will kill you like a dog," cried Vartan, laying his hand upon his sword.

One of the gendarmes tried to interfere. "You have no cause to be angry, sir," he said. "The Effendi has said nothing which should cause you offense." Vartan paid no attention to him, but turning to the Effendi again said, "Vile creature! You have learned to enter every house, to lick the table and guzzle the wine of the Armenians, and to demand degrading service of the young girls and boys. Vile creature that you are!"

The old landlord was too much astonished to speak, but from time to time he made the sign of the cross to avert the threatened evil. But the Effendi, in spite of his loud talk and bragging, was as timid as a fox. Seeing the furious passion of the Russian youth, he knew very well that he could not crush him as he had crushed the peasant at Alashgerd. This man carried a sword and was a Russian subject; so controlling himself as best he could, he said, in a very gentle tone, "God knows that I have no intention to degrade anyone, Vartan. You malign me for no cause."

"I malign you, do I? You, who go through the Mohammedan 'namaz' (forms of worship) with Turks, but have mass said in Armenian churches, to gain the good opinion of the peasantry; you, who in the company of Turks call Armenians 'giaours' (infidel dogs), but who curse the Turks when among Armenians; you, who have betrayed to the Turkish Government every noble Armenian who worked for the good of his nation; you, who are a companion of thieves, and who give false witness in the courts, saying 'the Armenians have no cause to petition the Government to relieve them from oppression', you, who have been married in ten different places and have deserted your wives, and now wish to marry again here --don't you follow Turkish customs? But I say that the Turk is a thousand times more noble than an Armenian like you; for you are neither a true Armenian, nor a true Turk!"

His concluding charge that the Effendi had been married in ten places and now wished to take another wife here, fell like a clap of thunder upon the ears of old Khacho. Fool that he had been to think of giving his Lila to that man! Still was it not possible that Vartan had slandered him?

After Vartan had poured out all the gall in his heart, he left the room. Then, at last, the Effendi found his tongue. "I shall certainly write to the Sultan and to the Czar of Russia as well, and I shall have him sent to Siberia," he stormed. "It is impossible for me to overlook such behavior. Until you beat an ass he does not know his place," he concluded.

Thomas Effendi made very free use of the titles of the great when threatening his opponents, and would have it appear that he was in frequent communication with rulers and could obtain any favors for which he cared to ask. Old Khacho, though not a fool, having taken the Effendi at his own valuation, thought that he was indeed able to perform these mighty threats; so, believing that Vartan was as good as exiled to Siberia already, he threw himself down at the tax collector's feet and with tears in his eyes began to beseech, "For the love of God, don't exile him! Grant this favor, for the sake of my gray head. You know the young man is a 'fool'."

The Effendi meditated for awhile, and finally replied, "For the sake of the bread and the salt, which I have eaten at your table, I will grant your request."