The Fool - Chapters 21-25

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Chapter 21

Chapter XXI

After old Khacho and his sons retired Vartan and Tiutiukjian remained in the oda alone. "It is true that the soil is not ready," observed Vartan looking sadly at the pale, mournful face of the man from Constantinople.

"Whose fault is it?" asked Tiutiukjian. "The old man is peace-loving; not like scribblers like us. He spoke the truth saying that we of Constantinople should have prepared the people. But what did we do? Nothing. We took no pains to learn the actual conditions in the interior. Present day Armenia with its frightful misery did not interest us. We were dazzled with its past glory. We had read of its ancient writers, and imagined a land filled with Dikrans, Arams, Vahans and Nerseses. In imagination we saw populous cities in which commerce and art flourished; we saw it-, villages surrounded by fertile fields whose yield filled the storehouses of the Armenian with abundant harvests. We believed that the majority of the Armenian population consisted of Armenians who lived on their hereditary lands enjoying peace and prosperity. But we did not know that the Armenian provinces were being stripped of Armenians, either because they were threatened by destitution, or because they were forced to accept Mohammedanism. We did not know, that instead of finding living Armenians we should find only skeletons walking about, or extensive graveyards. We did not know that religion, which we considered the main prop of our national existence, was extinct, and there remained only the ruins of once splendid churches and monasteries. We did not know that our language, the sacred inheritance of the nation, had been lost, and that today only Turkish or Kurdish is spoken. We did not know that many of the present day brave Kurds who have become the rod and scourge of God for us and Armenians, were our brothers fifty or a hundred years ago, who once spoke our language and worshipped in our churches. In a word, we knew nothing.

"We had a very indistinct knowledge of modern Armenia. We had not learned that, owing to debasing conditions, and under the heavy yoke of slavery, Armenians had lost their finest characteristics, and had acquired meanness, littleness, timidity and deceitfulness."

Vartan was listening intently as Tiutiukjian continued. "The great powers held their meetings where we were. We might have done noteworthy deeds. The Patriarch resided there, he the head of the people, but who never took into consideration the body, his people. We had a National Representative Council, but it was occupied with intrigues and insignificant questions. We bad there the well-educated youth of the country who made the shores of the Bosphorus echo with Armenian songs on their national feast-days, who had no idea that at that very moment, blood and tears were being shed in Armenia. We had the press, which ignored the plight of the Armenians in the interior, but occupied itself with the doings of foreigners. We had schools, but they gave no useful teachers to Armenia. We had the theater which did not once portray the wretchedness of Armenia, but served its audience with the kitchen filth of France. We had the leaders of people who by flattering the arbitrators of the Sublime Porte gained glory for themselves. We had the material strength--money--used only to bedeck the palaces of the wealthy, while not a single 'para' was spent on improving Armenia. In a word, we held the tiller of national prosperity in our hands, but only in order, it would seem, to lead it to destruction. As for me," he continued, "my views and those of a few sympathizers are considered quixotic. What can we wait for? Shall we sit idle in Constantinople forever and not examine the conditions in Armenia, do nothing about education, do not become acquainted with the needs and demands of the people; do not prepare them for a better future, but suddenly appear there, give out arms to enable them to fight in self-defense? That is unreasonable. Nevertheless I do not despair; my faith is not lacking. Perchance I and all my companions will fall, but our, fall will make a path for others to follow; they may be able to pass over our dead bodies."

On hearing these words Vartan was unable to control his feelings; he embraced Tiutiukjian and said: "Such work demands sacrifice, it is true; praise and honor to whomsoever becomes the first victim."

It was past midnight. The beds had been spread in the oda long since, but the two young men remained awake still longer. Tiutiukjian was critical and merciless in his denunciation of the youths of Constantinople; of the clergy, and said that if a tenth of the churches and monasteries of the country should be converted into schools Armenia might yet be saved.

Suddenly someone knocked guardedly at the door of the oda, Vartan went and opened it. Hairabed and Abo appeared, the two sons of Khacho who differed from the others. "We came at such an unusual hour that no one should see us," said Hairabed, as he and his brother seated themselves. "I fear we disturb you. "

"Not at all," replied Vartan, "We were unable to sleep and were still talking. It appears that all the rest are asleep."

"All but my father," replied Abo. "He coughs continually and cannot sleep. He is worried."

Vartan and Tiutiukjian well understood that the visit of the two brothers at this hour was not without significance, and they waited for them to make known their errand.

"We were not able to say anything in the presence of our father and our brothers," said Hairabed, finally, and went on to say, "We wished you to know that we sympathize with you entirely, and are willing to serve your purposes in any manner you consider best."

A look of gladness shone on the face of Mr. Tiutiukjian. It was like the happiness of the missionary when he gains two converts and thinks that now he has a flock, and that these two will be followed by thousands.

"It is quite wrong," said Hairabed, "to think that the Armenians here are dead in spirit and have no lofty aspirations. But there is one thing that is a general failing among them. Every Armenian, taken individually, is cautious, deliberate, unsure of himself, and has no will of his own. He waits for an example, for another to lead, and he will follow. Example, especially the example of successful work, has great influence over him. The Armenian always considers conditions. He does not care how those in foreign countries live. He does not adopt the example of foreigners, but waits for an Armenian like himself to show him the example. Therefore we will be the first to make an example of ourselves, and then I believe many will follow us. I know our people well. We have been tormented so terribly that we are ready to eat the flesh and drink the blood of the Turk and the Kurd. Our hearts are filled with bate, but our hatred is concealed."

Vartan and Tiutiukjian heard Hairabed's words with joy. Through him spoke the voice of the people.

"Happy is the people that knows how to hate,," exclaimed Tiutiukjian with great animation. "He who does not know how to hate does not know how to love."

"My father says that the soil is not ready," said Hairabed. "He is really a wise man, and his head contains many good ideas, but because of his cautiousness his wise thoughts have become faults in him. He has deadened us with his counsel of patience and has kept us inert. In my way of thinking, boldness, self confidence, and almost foolish recklessness will accomplish more than the gentle and prudent reflections of the wise."

"Yes, while the prudent is considering, the fool crosses the river," put in Vartan with a laugh.

"That is quite right," observed Tiutiukjian. "The wisdom of the wise often deceives them, and of ten those who have been deceived by them understand that they have been fooled only when the kizir has finished with them. At one time our wise men in Constantinople considered it more profitable for Armenians to remain under the ignorant and disorderly rule of the Turks than under one which is enlightened and civilized. They thought that a civilized government would annihilate the Armenians by assimilating them; while on the contrary, prudent Armenians, profiting from the folly of the Turks, were able to compete with them in the struggle for existence, and to obtain the victory.

"This observation is quite in line with the theory. But the most correct philosophical theory sometimes proves wrong in the experience of life. History has its notable deviations. If a great civilized nation is able to absorb small nations, a great uncivilized nation may do the same with its small subject races. The difference lies only in the means used. One kills in a barbarous fashion, the other assimilates. I will speak more plainly. Until today none of us understood the secret policy of the Turks concerning the Armenians. I've repeat with childish short-sightedness: 'Our future is that of Turkey.' We looked at the disorder, corruption and barbarity practiced, but we did not see the hellish machinery hidden beneath all this. We saw oppression, murder, forcible change of religion, all the wickedness committed by neighboring tribes. We considered all that as temporary and accidental and did not know that these irregularities were secretly encouraged and fomented by men of high degree. We blamed the government, considering it simply weak and unable to control its lawless subjects. We did not know that government officials themselves excited these barbarians against the Armenians, in order to destroy the Christian element. Do you ask me why? Turkey understands very well that the existence of Christian subjects in her empire gives the Christian rulers a pretext to interfere in Turkish affairs every time, and to bring the Eastern question to the front anew. In order not to lose her territory, and to escape from the interference of the Christian rulers, the Turk is forced to annihilate the Christians. Because of the Christians she has lost many of her European states, and is about to lose the remainder. The only Asiatic country that she controls in its entirety is Asia Minor. Here the principal nationality that threatens the partition of that portion of the empire, is the Armenian. Therefore, in order to stop the noise of the European Governments she must show them that no Armenians remain in Armenia.

"In that work of annihilation, the Turk has chosen those most fitted for the task, the Kurds and the Circassians. If we collect together the proofs of this during the past thirty-five years, we shall be fully persuaded that this is true.

"We shall be persuaded that all the oppression, extortion, violence, persecution and rape committed against the Armenians; in a word, that all the barbarity has not been accidental. We are persuaded that under all this there lies concealed a premeditated, and definitely planned principle, and the intention to weaken, destroy and eventually annihilate the Armenian element. I mention only a few of the many proofs. In order to deprive the Armenians of any possibility of defending themselves, they snatched away their weapons from their hands. They tied and fettered their hands, while they gave weapons into the hands of the enemies of the Armenians. Then they saw that this was not sufficient to weaken the Armenians; they saw that this element, a thrifty and hard-working people was able to wrestle with its opponents, and to preserve its existence, through its wealth and material strength. Therefore it became necessary to impoverish it; to destroy it economically. They increased taxes, repudiated the paper currency in circulation, without notifying the people--in a word, they perpetrated various kinds of fraudulent financiering, in order that the money in the hands of the people lose its value, making them unable to pay their taxes, and in order that they might have a pretext to oblige them to pay in place of taxes, things essential to their subsistence --to deprive them of making implements. These means were still insufficient to accomplish the designs of Turkey. The people were long suffering. If they could not make a living in their native land, they would emigrate to foreign lands, earn money which they brought back and poured into the Treasury. So, what could they do? Turkey considered drying up the source of Armenian livelihood at one blow. Crafty land laws were devised, and the Armenians were deprived of the right to own real estate. The land owned by Armenians was given into the hands of Kurdish outlaw chieftains, Circassians, muftis, kadis and various "eshirat". These became the landlords, while the industrious Armenian became the slave or serf who tilled the soil. Numerous land disputes and law suits of the present-day, between Armenians and Mohammedans, have either received no attention from the Turkish Government, or if they have been tried, the decision has invariably been in favor of the Mohammedan. There are thousands of examples of this. An examination of any one of these decisions is sufficient to prove that the Government does not wish land to remain in the hands of the Armenians, but wishes them to be deprived of their inheritance from their fathers, in order, that more may emigrate to other lands, and by emptying Armenia of Armenians, fill their place with Kurds and Circassians.

"Now you see that there is a connecting thread in all these atrocities, a secret and hellish purpose. It is superfluous to speak of special instances, or to show that the local government officials have often tried to bring about famine by artificial means in the Armenian provinces in order to destroy by hunger those who have escaped the sword of the Kurds and Circassians. That is murder on a monstrous scale of which only the merciless Turk is capable.

"To exhaust them through poverty, to bankrupt them economically, to deprive them of all means of support, these are the chief weapons with which the Turk has tried to destroy the Armenian element. The Turk knows that it is difficult to destroy with other weapons a people whose strength lies in its industry. The Armenians of Zeitoon have no land on which to sow and reap. Their principal source of livelihood is from their iron mines, which they mine, and from which they make iron tools, or exchange the raw material for other articles needed by them, in the neighboring provinces. Several attempts were made by the Turks to snatch these mines from the people of Zeitoon, but the hardy mountaineers, by resisting fiercely, were able to save their principle source of wealth. The destruction of Van by fire may be considered an example of such machination. The Armenians of that city were well off. One night the Turks set fire to all the Armenian shops. Although the Armenians petitioned the government over and over, the local officials were unwilling to begin investigations as to the origin of the fire, and find the criminals, for the government itself was the criminal. We used to be astonished seeing how Turkey flattered the Kurdish and Circassian sheik... who by reason of their irregularities cause the Government not a little trouble. Often they do not pay their taxes, and often they come down in hordes and raid certain provinces. Is it possible, we asked, that if the government wished to do so it could not control those robbers? Now we understand that Turkey needed such tools in her hands. Her intention is evident."

Tiutiukjian seemed to be pouring out all the bitterness of his soul this night. The suffering of a nation in agony, its unfortunate condition, and its dark future, which presented itself to him in somber colors--all this filled his soul with righteous indignation.

"Circumstances and the condition of life," he said, "force men to treat others as they have been treated, returning evil for evil. Man is the only creature which treats his kind more cruelly and unjustly than do the wild beasts. The wild beast kills his prey and puts an end to his suffering at once. But man tortures, oppresses, exhausts morally and mentally, sapping hit; victim's strength little by little, before he finally kills him. It is a frightful death. Only man is capable of murdering in this way. Such a death is dealt not simply to individuals, but to entire nations. Such a death threatens us. Is this not the purpose of the Turk, the Kurd and the Circassian regarding us? Is not this the reason that today Armenia is nearly bereft of Armenians?"

During Tiutiukjian's dissertation, Vartan listened sympathetically, and said finally, with an ironic smile: "The Armenians are a strange people. If one cannot say that it is impossible to destroy them, I can at least say that it is very difficult. This nation is like the many-headed mythological creature, the Hydra. When one head was cut off, another and a stronger one grew. During the course of ages, the Armenian has been so beaten, flattened and hammered on the anvil of the universe, that he has acquired the hardness of iron. It is not easy to crush him; he is exceedingly resilient. The Armenians bore the barbarities of the greatest Mongol invasions compared with which those of the Mongol descendants in Turkey may be considered no worse than flies. Across the country of the Armenians passed the Mongol Khan, Tamarlane and Genghis Khan, and the bloody incursions of similar human monsters. They passed like floods and storms; they exterminated others, and were exterminated themselves, and finally they vanished, but the Armenians remained.

"The Mongol Turkey of today, by trying to kill the productive Armenian who fills the coffers of the Empire, in its ignorance, kills itself. Its present financial bankruptcy is the result of that attempt. Formerly, Turkey better appreciated the profitableness of the Armenian element for the establishment and prosperity of her Empire. Not only did she take especial care to ensure the comfort of the Armenian villages, but she entrusted the treasury department of the empire into the hands of Armenian financiers, and our bankers saved the empire on occasion, from serious critical disaster."

It was nearly morning, and our hotheaded thinkers were still talking. Then they began to talk of the necessary plans and preparations to be made. When the consultation ended, Tiutiukjian took from his pocket three calling cards and giving them to his friends, said, "I trust you implicitly. Now you may know who I am, and my true name." On the cards was printed the name, L. Salman. The father of Mr. Levon Salman, Toros Chelebi, was an Armenian Catholic who became a Mohammedan. (Author's note: Chelebi--a Turkish title given to Greek and Armenian merchants.) The reason for his changing his religion is a long story. We will say only this, that Toros was accused of having relations with a Turkish girl, and in order to escape death he was obliged to marry the beautiful Fatima. She died in childbirth and the infant, Levon, was left in his father's care. He was in great distress of mind at the thought of having his son trained and educated in a religion which had grown hateful to him. Salman pere, who had been given the name of Toros Chelebi, left his native city of Angora, and moved to Constantinople. Here no one knew him. He committed his son to a brotherhood of Freres, but he himself became an infidel. Little Levon grew up in a Catholic monastery, and when twelve years old was sent to Italy.

He received his elementary education from the clergy. He spent several years in the monastery of San Lazzaro Island in Venice, and on leaving entered the Jesuit (Mekhitarist) monastery in Vienna. Finally love of a woman drew him out of that atmosphere and swept him into the chaos of Paris. Here, at first, his life was spent in idleness and pleasure-seeking. He joined various societies where there was much talk but little action. But when his mistress's money was exhausted, poverty forced him to go to work. He wrote articles for the papers about the East, earning a meager income. But when the Eastern question rose to prominence once more, he deserted his mistress, left Paris, and went to Constantinople.

Chapter 22

Chapter XXII

A month previous to the arrival of Salman in the province of Pakrevant, a muleteer of Erzeroum called Hadji Misak, made up his caravan and set out for Erzeroum. He had obtained the title "Hadji" by reason of his having made two pilgrimages to Jerusalem, and, if God should spare him, he intended to do so once more, in order to reach the mystic number, three.

Hadji Misak was considered a good Christian; his zeal reached the point of superstition. He was acquainted with all the towns, villages and inns along the way. For more than twenty years this man had gone about in Armenia and Asia Minor carrying goods. He was a thick-set man of medium height, very quick in his movements. It is impossible to give an exact description of his features, for they were so concealed by his heavy beard that one could distinguish only his huge Armenian nose, and his sharp eyes, in whose depths there could be read great kindness of heart.

Wherever he went, the arrival of Hadji Misak's caravan occasioned general rejoicing. Was there any one who did not expect to receive something through him? The merchants expected goods; the wife, a letter from her absent husband. The officials, great and small, along the way expected this or that article or delicacy to eat, to drink or to wear. Often some wandering Armenian emigrant, near perishing by the wayside would be waiting for Hadji Misak's caravan to have compassion on him and help him on his way. Hadji Misak's prompt service and his willingness to help every man made him a general favorite.

He would be asked, "Hadji Misak, when you return, bring me a few pounds of cotton"; or, "Hadji Misak, my coffee is all gone. Bring me some more." "'Hadji Misak, see that this olive oil reaches my home." He would perform such services without a "para" of pay, even spending something for them from his own pocket. For these reasons, the authorities posted along his route were lenient with Hadji Misak. His caravan passed through the custom offices easily, and he was given no trouble.

A peddler or carrier, especially a well-known one, is trusted very greatly in the East. Bales of the most expensive goods are committed to him. sacks of gold and silver without any papers or official documents, and he will deliver the consignment safely to the appointed parties.

Every town knew the time of the expected arrival of his caravan. So regular was his schedule that unless delayed by some unforeseen circumstances, his arrival would not vary an hour.

But this time Hadji Misak's caravan made slow progress. Although his bales appeared to be small, they were heavy. Most of the bales were oblong cases, bound with iron strips, and with PERSIA printed on them in English. The caravan had traveled principally by night. Hadji Misak said he didn't want his mules to suffer from the heat of the day.

In this caravan there was another person who gave his name as Melik-Mansoor. He was a merchant and claimed to be Persian-Armenian.

During the last twenty or thirty year - many changes had been introduced in Persia. and the adoption of European styles. A new business was thus inaugurated for Armenian traders, that of purveying weapons. Melik-Mansoor was in this business, and the heavy cases on the backs of his mules were of this description. Little attention was given these articles in the custom-houses, as they were bonded through to Persia. Their route was by way of Trebizond, Erzeroum, Bayazid, through to Persia.

Melik-Mansoor was thirty-six years old; he had a pleasant face; his cheerful disposition and his talkative tongue enlivened his conversations with Hadji Misak especially when he began on the interesting episodes which bad taken place in far distant lands. Such conversation enlivened the monotony of travel by caravan. The most interesting tale told by this Armenian "wandering Jew" was of how he lost three fingers in a fight with savages in India. Melik-Mansoor spoke many languages, both of the East and of the West, and in his constant dealings with men of every sort, he had learned all their tricks, and how to meet them. So, he was not what he appeared to be on the exterior. Hadji Misak treated him with marked respect, not only because he owed it to the owner of the loads he was carrying, but because he deserved it. The landlords of the caravansaries along the way always welcomed Melik Mansoor for he was generous and scattered gold right and left. Hadji Misak would expostulate, "You are throwing it away; another time we shall not be able to get as much as a cup of water from these robbers."

"No matter," he would reply with a laugh. "The glitter of gold will blind their eyes."

The caravan passed safely through Erzeroum, and a week later entered the province of Bayazid. Here Melik-Mansoor's loads began to be exchanged for others. The cases disappeared during the night, and in their place the animals were loaded with bales containing very different merchandise. These exchanges took place when the caravan remained at certain Armenian villages overnight.

Sometimes a stranger would appear and speak to Melik-Mansoor in some strange tongue, and then disappear.

At length the caravan approached the Persian frontier. It crossed the boundary and set foot on Persian territory. But by the time they reached here, not one of the cases marked PERSIA and TEHERAN remained on the backs of Hadji Misak's mules, and Melik-Mansoor, the counterfeit merchant, had also disappeared.

Chapter 23

Chapter XXIII

The ordinary routine of life in the house of old Khacho had been greatly altered during the past few days. Salman, whom, the household still called Mr. Tiutiukjian, was not often at home. He and Vartan were away sometimes for days at a time. Hairabed and Abo appeared very much preoccupied and reserved. The brothers could not endure the two strangers whose behavior and "foolishness" displeased them. Old Khacho himself was busy with village affairs which daily grew heavier and caused him much anxiety. for this reason the landlord's oda seemed deserted and the nightly discussions there had largely ceased.

Only the life of the women of the family remained unchanged. That lonely separate portion of the Armenian family had no share in the talk, work and thoughts of the men. No idea outside of their housework and housekeeping occupied their minds. So they knew nothing of the consultation which took place in the oda. The landlord's oda, the village club, was not open to women. "It is necessary to draw on their strength which is confined within their four walls, then we shall surely succeed," Salman often said.

"It is early yet," replied Vartan, "they need preparation first. No reform in the life of a people is possible without the assistance of women. If our people have remained static the principal reason for it is because women have had no share in public affairs. The strength, the energizing force which has lain abortive within their four walls has yielded no results."

"In order to begin the work of educating our people we must certainly begin with the education of women. This time I have traveled all through Armenia and I have studied the Armenian woman with particular attention. The information I have gained has been very comforting. However much the men have grown deceitful and loose, and have lost their Armenian characteristics owing to the influence of the Turk, so much more has the woman remained pure, and has preserved her goodness and moral purity. There is no evil without some good. Women are shut within walls and although for centuries they suffered and degenerated, and were unable to have a share in affairs, they still preserved the Armenian ethos. That is a great achievement.

"However much the man under the influence of Mohammedan elements has lost his moral superiority on the contrary the woman, far removed from that influence, has preserved the national ethos. In this way, unconsciously was preserved a permanent equilibrium. The women have supplied what the men have lost. This can be observed even in the commonest details. The abhorrence by women for Mohammedanism has become a veritable obsession with them. They consider everything defiled that has been touched by a Mohammedan; they will not eat the meat he has touched, the cheese he has pressed, the bread he has kneaded. But the men make no such distinctions. I have heard hundreds of stories of women and girls who have been seized by Mohammedans, who have finally made their escape, or, if not successful. have committed suicide. But such examples in regard to men are very rare.

"There is another thing also which is most important. In many places, especially in cities, men use the Turkish language, but I never saw a woman who would speak Turkish or even know it. Woman has preserved the Armenian language in the home and taught it to the children. She imposes it even upon foreigners. All the Kurdish servants in the employ of Armenians speak Armenian. Woman has given us our language, our national ethos, and has preserved the moral foundation of the Armenian family. Now she is a pure, raw material in our hand, from which something wonderful may be made."

Such reflections and others of a similar nature were the subject of Salman's usual strain of talk during the last few days. But not knowing of his good opinion of Armenian women, the women of old Khacho's house did not take to him. We can understand how they were unable to recognize his inner moral and intellectual worth, but Salman had much on his outer shell which might attract the attention of a woman. But in the various stages of development and in different classes of people, women have different tastes in judging and liking the qualities of men. For this reason it is not strange that the young women of old Khacho's family accorded Vartan a higher rank than they did to Salman.

Once, in the quiet afternoon hour, the young women were sitting in the hall, each employed with her handiwork. One spun wool, another wound it, another was weaving a beautiful rug on a loom, another was sewing clothes for her children. They were all busy. The subject of their conversation was Salman.

"Sara," asked her sister-in-law, Parishan, "what is this man going to do in this village?"

"They say he wants to open a school," replied Sara.

"But he is not a choir-master," said Parishan, who thought that teachers are necessarily choir- masters.

"He is a choir-master."

"Then why doesn't he go to church and chant?"

Sara could think of no reply, and answered carelessly, "He is that sort of a choir-master too."

Abols wife the pretty Maro, spoke up. "People say that he is going to teach girls, too." Maro's speech caused a general laugh.

"What use is it for a girl to read? She won't become a priest or a bishop," answered Maro.

One of the young women turned toward little Nazlou saying, "Have you heard, Nazlou, that you are to go to school to learn Your a-b-c's?"

Nazlou was Hairabed's daughter, and she replied quite fearlessly, "What of it? I will learn, afterward I will go to church, put on a robe, and say the responses like the boys."

"There wasn't enough earth found to finish your head with when you were created," they said, in derision.

Parishan, who started this conversation, queried,

"Choir-master Simon has taught our boys. What do we want of another teacher? Hasn't he read as much as this man?"

"Certainly, he doesn't know very much," answered Sara. "Choir-master Simon has studied much, but he has one fault; he gets drunk and beats the children. Do you remember our neighbor Caspar's boy? He was beaten so badly that he had to be carried home, and the poor boy died after a couple of days."

"Whose fault was that? Without beating what will children learn?" replied another.

This conversation had some foundation in fact. Salman had been talking with the villagers those days, about opening two schools. One for boys and one for girls. He promised to get teachers, to have their children taught free, and even to furnish books and supplies without charge. But that which is free, is regarded with suspicion by the villager. For, that reason it was difficult to persuade the villagers, and they were especially angry about having a school for girls. The people being accustomed to getting their instruction from a priest, or a choir-master, considered it strange, unusual and even wicked (or wrong) to commit the instruction of their children to a man who did not go to church, nor sing chants, nor, as they had heard, keep the fasts.

Old Khacho, who opposed Salman in all his other views, agreed with him about the schools. Being the chief landlord of the village, he was able to win over the other villagers, and they gave Salman a piece of ground which he thought would be a suitable spot on which to build a school. The work was begun, the foundation was laid. Suddenly a tempest arose, and one morning they saw that the villagers had assembled by night and destroyed the foundations. That day, not one of the villagers came to work, even though Salman offered to increase their wages.

What happened?

As it appeared from the talk of the women, there was a chorister or choir-master named Simon in the village who taught school also, that is, during the winter he would gather the children in a stable and make them read psalms and lectionaries, but in the spring when the village work began, he dismissed his pupils who had no more schooling till late in the fall, and by that time they would forget all they had learned. This chorister was the son-in-law of the village priest Marook, and was always getting drunk, and was also a very quarrelsome man. He found the building of the new school injurious to his income, and worked upon his father-in-law to prohibit the enterprise.

One word was enough to excite the villagers and put a stop to the work. The priest informed the people, in a sermon, that Salman was a "Freemason" who did not worship the God of the Armenians and he would destroy the faith of the children. He added that it was a sin to teach girls to read; that Solomon the Wise, and John the Baptist had cursed woman, for a woman had John the Baptist beheaded. He also brought forward many proofs from the Bible saying that the death of the prophet Samson was caused by a woman. Eve deceived Adam and occasioned his expulsion from Paradise. Bringing forth many such proofs in his sermon, the father-confessor affirmed that it was dangerous to educate girls as they would learn too much and become devils.

Chorister Simon had a large following of women in the village. He had cast spells for them, he had foretold events, and so gained their confidence. The women stirred up their husbands still more to help keep the chorister so that he would not lose his income.

The priest and chorister Simon found a powerful ally in this disturbance, in the person of Thomas Effendi, who was violently opposed to all that is included under the name of school. schooling and education. Besides this, the chorister was his recorder who worked without pay. He wrote the tax accounts, and at harvest time accompanied the gendarmes from village to village, and collected the tithes.

All this caused much anxiety to kind-hearted old Khacho, but they were unable to shake Salman's determination. Returning home at evening, he said to Vartan, "I am going to treat those rascals the way the missionaries do. Whenever the missionary enters a community, his first opponents are the educated classes and the clergy. But at the same time his first followers are those persons who opposed him at first. The missionary entrusts various kinds of work to them, or rather no work at all, but simply pays them salaries. In this way the persecuting Sauls become the Pauls, of the new sect, and its most zealous advocates.

"That is true," replied Vartan. "What do you want to do?"

"We must be practical," replied Salman, with great self-confidence. "We must understand, what will attract a man. I would be much interested to know how much money that fool of a chorister received from his pupils. I will propose charging them double and giving him a position in my school, that is, a sinecure. I am sure that then he will come the following morning, with his spade and pick-ax, and will beg to labor with my workmen on the building."

"I think so, too," replied Vartan, "but you must butter the priest's mouth a little too."

"I'll do that, too."

In spite of t he unpleasantness that occurred that day, Salman was more cheerful than usual. The failures attending the beginning of the undertaking aroused his zeal, and bright hopes for the future filled his heart with boundless joy.

"Do you know, Vartan, what a great and prosperous future our school promises. This, only this, will cure our age-long wounds and will prepare the new generation for a vigorous, fresh life. The failure of our ancestors to train the young has left much work for us, it is true. They did not care for our present work at that time - but no matter. It is still possible to have hope that the future will belong to us. Only earnest and patient endeavor is necessary. I think that it is not sufficient to train the mind and ennoble the soul; it is necessary to train the body as well. You yourself have observed, Vartan, how slowly these children move, how lazy they are. It is necessary to strengthen their muscles and invigorate their nerves. With this aim in view, our school must give the necessary instruction. It must inculcate strength in the hearts of our youth and must invigorate their enfeebled spirits.

"I have something pleasant to tell you, Vartan. Today I talked with some Kurds. I spoke of their schools and the benefits of education. Great was my astonishment when they manifested all possible readiness, saying they would be pleased to entrust their children to the Armenians, since learning is such a fine thing. From their conversation it appeared that they do not wish to have their sons become robbers. And really, whose fault is it that their people have remained savages and have gained their livelihood by robbery and murder? We are to blame since until now, we have never tried to teach them. Our self-interest demands that of us. If we wish to be free from the attacks of wild beasts we must try to tame them and accustom them to a more peaceful and civilized life. Turkey has not tried to educate the Kurds, and that is easily explained, because the savagery of the Kurds has been very profitable to her. But we should try to educate them, for we are the ones who suffer. We will not meddle with religion, we will only teach them; after that 'water will find its level'."

Chapter 24

Chapter XXIV

The signs of preparation for war, on the part of the Turkish Government, were quite evident; and this could be seen especially in the province of Pakrevant, which was not far from the Russian frontier. It had collected harshly from the villagers not only the taxes for the current year, but demanded back taxes also, and even for some years in advance. There was no limit to the complaints and cries of the people. Whoever was unable to pay in cash, was forced to sell his household goods and cattle, nor did they spare the oxen and buffaloes which were indispensable to the villager for his plowing, drawing his carts and moving his loads. This not being sufficient, the villager was obliged to prepare so many thousand "okes" of hardtack or they would take from him all the provisions from his home, such as barley, flour, cracked wheat, noodles, fat, cheese, rice, etc. The reply made to all the weeping and tears of the villagers was: "The Government has a war on."

These irregularities opened to Thomas Effendi a new and extensive sphere of activity. Being the imperial tax-collector, he undertook to collect the tribute and to find a portion of the provisions to be furnished for the army. Thomas Effendi had an extensive harvest-field opened to him, where he labored zealously with a sharp sickle. Now instead of two gendarmes. he bad received an official order to employ as many as necessary. All these outrages were inflicted on the Armenians alone, for the Mohammedans were working to take part in the war, and nothing more was demanded of them.

In addition, besides the plundering of the Armenian villages and having the accumulation of ten or twenty years snatched from them at one swoop besides their bitter poverty, they were smitten with terror, they were threatened with universal and frightful misfortune. The Mohammedan element exhibited a brutal ferocity toward the Christians, toward all the giaours. From the lips of each and all was heard the frightful word, "massacre"' The mollahs, muftihs, ghatis and the sheikhs had kindled the fanaticism of the turbulent hosts. They had excited them, preaching "a holy war." In Istanbul, the Sacred banner would soon be unfurled and the "holy war" would be proclaimed, and all Islam must take up the sword against the Christians.

All this caused Salman great anxiety, for he understood perfectly the meaning of this frenzied tumult, and the fearful consequences to the Armenians of the region.

"The Bulgarian horrors will soon be repeated here," he said one morning to Vartan. "We must hasten to prepare the people for self-defense."

"And I can smell the stench of such barbarities," replied Vartan.

Talking together like this they came out of old Khacho's house, and turned their steps toward the house of the priest, Father Marook, with whom they intended to conclude the arrangements they had determined on a few days previously; that is, as Vartan said, they wished to butter the priest's mouth a little to keep him quiet, and to hire his son-in-law, Simon, the chorister, as overseer of the workmen, and to promise him a position later in the new school.

A sound reached their ears. A strange peddler was passing through the village, and calling out his wares one by one; he was inviting purchasers.

"Pretty girls, rosy brides, bring me your 'paras' and I will give you fine needles, colored thread, rings, etc."

The peddler was a huge fellow, dressed in rags from head to foot. The enormous pack of goods which he carried on his back in comparison with the size of his body, bore the same relation that a small sieve would on the back of a camel. The peddler's left leg was very lame, and when he swung toward the left, it looked as though that Goliath would fall to the ground, but the great staff giving him support helped him keep his balance.

When Salman beard his voice he seemed shaken as if by a shock. What tie was there between Salman and the wandering peddler? The peddler still continued to cry his wares and to walk slowly and unevenly through the village streets. Salman approached him and the eyes of the two strangers met. There was no conversation whatsoever between them, but they communicated much to each other. Vartan noticed nothing.

"He has found a fine time to sell his needles and thread. The poor villagers haven't a 'para' left, how can they buy anything?" said Vartan in disgust, as they moved away from the peddler.

"His pack, my friend, like the juggler's cases, have false bottoms," answered Salman. "In the lower one are found supplies which it is best to sell at the present time."

Vartan did not pay any special attention to that significant remark. His mind was occupied at that moment with a very different object. He was thinking about Lila. The sudden change of circumstance, the imminent disturbances made him very uneasy and he did not know how to manage Lila's case; where should he conceal her, what should he do with her, when he might be obliged today or tomorrow to begin a very different undertaking?

"Fine needles, colored thread, pretty beads," again they heard in the distance the lame peddler's raucous, long-drawnout cry.

Just then Salman and Vartan met Thomas Effendi in the street. His beautiful horse stood near him as he prepared to mount. He was surrounded by a group of villagers, to whom he was giving orders and commands. Seeing Salman and Vartan, he left the group, and with his usual crafty smile turned toward the two young men and before reaching them said from a distance, "I have long wanted to see you, Mr. Tiutiukjian, Oh, how fortunate I consider myself, dear, compatriot, to have this opportunity of seeing you. Perhaps you don't know that I am from Constantinople also."

This flattery of the Effendi's seemed not only exceedingly strange but also very distasteful to Salman, whom he did not know in the least, and whom he now met for the first time. He made no reply. The Effendi, grasping his hand, said, "I hope you permit me to embrace you. I wish to assuage my longing for the land of my birth in meeting you."

Vartan stood apart, watching the comedy in silence. Salman did not know how to extricate himself from his embarrassment. The Effendi turned next to Vartan. Come here, my crazy friend, you know I have the heart of a child. I get angry one moment, I forget it the next. 'The Kurd doesn't call his "Koumiss" sour.' You are mine, whether good or bad, you are mine too. I have forgotten everything. Give me your hand."

Vartan found it hard to control his anger. But reflecting that the Effendi did not express this friendship without some special purpose, gave him his hand.

He turned again to Salman. "I am very angry at you Mr. Tiutiukjian," said he speaking in a more sprightly manner. "Have you heard the Turkish proverb, 'First see the landlord, then rob the village'? Thomas Effendi is an important man in this country. If you had consulted me in the beginning I would have arranged all your affairs so that this unpleasantness would not have arisen. Oh, you young people, you young people, you have good hearts but you don't know how to go about your work. Am I not right?"

"I really don't understand what you are talking about," replied Salman.

The Effendi pretended that he did not hear Salman's remark and turning his head toward the group of villagers who were waiting for him, said, "Oh, donkeys, donkeys, when will you have any sense?"

Then turning to Salman again, he said, "Does a man put out the light of his eyes with his own hands? The villagers are like that. I beard of it today. I tell you, my hair stood on end. We have tried to have them start a school, be educated, have their eyes opened, 'not stay blind', learn to know the evil and the good, but they don't understand; with their own hands they have driven away the ass."

"We have tried," Salnian repeated in his mind. Who are the "we" which Effendi emphasized so significantly ?

He continued, "I rejoiced with all my soul when I heard of your, plans, Mr. Tiutiukjian, and that is why I present myself to express my special gratitude. Our people are in darkness, we must bring them out into the light of the world. Only the school can save them. Don't let the disturbance which occurred a few days ago, discourage you. The beginning of every good work is filled with disappointments. You will find in me, your fellow citizen, sympathy and aid. Accept my small services. Today I have business in a village nearby. Tomorrow I will return, and I will go up myself and have the foundation of the school laid. There is no one here who will oppose Thomas Effendi."

"Thank you, Effendi," replied Salman. You are so busy that I did not wish to rob you of your valuable time."

"That is nothing," replied the tax-collector with great self-complacency. "I always have time for good deeds."

He shook hands with the two young men and took his leave.

"Insolent scoundrel," said Vartan after him.

"It is possible to gain something from such men," replied Salman.

"Do you believe what he says? Who knows what hellish purposes he has!"

The two young men had now reached Father Marook's house and knocked at the door.

"Lovely needles, threads of all colors, fine beads," they heard again the voice of the lame peddler passing through another street.

"Vartan, let us not go to see the priest today," said Salman to him.

"Why?" asked Vartan.

"I need to buy a few things from that peddler."

Vartan began to laugh at his companion's unusual eagerness.

"Come, there is something else," said Salman, in such a tone that Vartan could not surmise what his important business could be.

The two young men left the priest's door, crossed to the next street, and began to follow the peddler from afar. A group of village children were following him calling, "Give us mastic, give us mastic." He took out a piece of mastic and divided it among them.

"I saw that man a week ago, when I was coming from Van," said a villager to a neighbor standing near him.

"These peddlers wander everywhere," answered the neighbor, "but what a dreadful face he has. Look at him, Krikor, I shouldn't like to see him at night, I would think he was the devil."

The lame peddlar went through all the streets. Occasionally he was called to enter some house and he would remain there for hours, but sometimes they had him open his case in the street and the village women gathering around him would bargain with him. So by night he was only just able to finish his trading and it was growing dark when he came out of the village. He left the main road which led to the neighboring village, and began to direct his steps towards a ditch which had been worn quite deep by the spring freshets.. but which was dry. There was a change in his gait. He walked slowly, as before, for his load was quite heavy. But the man was not lame in the least, as he had seemed to be during the day. He began to descend into the ditch. Then he set down his pack, and laying two fingers of his left band upon his lips he gave a peculiar whistle. The other fingers of that hand were missing. A few minutes later Vartan and Salman appeared in the ditch. The latter embraced the peddler and clung to him long.

"Now let us be seated," replied the peddler in a happy tone. "I flooded Vasbooragan with my merchandise."

"Of course, without receiving pay."

"Without pay. I delivered my goods free.

Vartan listened in astonishment. He understood nothing.

"Now you understand," Salman said to him, "that my friend's pack like the juggler's has two bottoms."

"It would be interesting to know what was concealed in the principal portion of the pack," said Vartan.

"Weapons."

Now Vartan understood who and what manner of man the peddler was, for he had heard of him a few days before through Salman, and he also embraced him.

This man was Melik-Mansoor.

Chapter 25

Chapter XXV

Great men have great failings. Although Thomas Effendi did not belong in the class of great men, in the province of Alashgerd, he was considered a giant. Where no lions are found, even the fox is a large animal. This man also, however active and skillful he was, had his small failings. Passing the whole day in the pursuit of his business, he often passed the night without sleep in the enjoyment of his pleasures, and following the bad habits of Turkish officials, drank "raki", had boys and girls dance for him, and had a following of strolling musicians play for him.

Whenever he entered a village, the doors of every villager were opened to him. Who could refuse to admit that guest of high degree? On the contrary, the villager considered himself honored when Thomas Effendi stepped upon his door-sill. Although they gained nothing--for he ate and drank at their expense --it was enough that hereafter Thomas Effendi would look upon them with a "kind eye" as his hosts. One evening the "kizir" (tax-recorder) sent word to the house of a poor villager that the Effendi would be their guest. The owner of the house was the only carpenter in several villages. He made farming implements, he mended broken plows, yokes, carts, etc.. He was seldom at home, as he had to make the rounds of these villages afoot to find work. This evening also, he was not at home. The carpenter's wife answered the "kizir" that her husband was not at home and wondered how she could receive the Effendi?

"Your man isn't at home, but his house is," the "kizir" replied insolently.

Those men, called kizirs, are a trial to the dwellers in villages. They are the hounds of men holding government offices. They have keen scent, and are trained to know the best means by which to secure their prey.

The poor woman didn't know what to reply, and said nothing.

The kizir, considering his errand accomplished, turned away, saying, "The Effendi will come when the lamps are lit."

The poor woman remained petrified at the door of her dwelling, and was at a loss to know what to do. Her husband was not at home; it was not proper for her to receive a stranger as guest. She went over to neighbor Oho's cottage and laid her case before him. "Brother Oho," she said, "the kizir has brought me word that the Effendi is coming to our house tonight. My man isn't at home. For the love of God, do come and manage the affair for me."

"What's that?" said Oho angrily. "Isn't there any other house in the village for him to visit?"

"I don't understand it," said the woman sorrowfully. "This is what the kizir ordered."

Neighbor Oho promised to receive the guest, and said he wouldn't leave the woman alone.

Thomas Effendi was so well-known in this province that be could be sure of being received in any place he considered suitable for his purpose. His taste in that regard was very discriminating. The main condition for insuring his enjoyment of the evening being, that the landlord be poor and somewhat foolish, and if not foolish, one who was fond of drink (two qualities which do not differ greatly), and the principal one was the face of a pretty woman be found in the house, which he could look at and enjoy.

But the lodging place he had selected for tonight did not comply perfectly with the Effendi's demands. The husband, Bedros, the carpenter, was an honest and industrious citizen who was neither foolish nor a drinker. Nevertheless the Effendi was not mistaken in his selection, for the husband was not at home. His wife was not bad looking, but his young sister was considered to be the prettiest girl in the village. The lamps were lit in the homes of the villagers. The carpenter's wife, Susan, had prepared the food at the fireplace. The carpenter's sister young Varvare, had fried a few chickens. Neighbor Oho had made various preparations, that nothing should be lacking, and everything in order to receive the honored guest. All was ready when the Effendi appeared preceded by the kizir. He had not brought the gendarmes with him this evening; he had sent them elsewhere to be guests.

Neighbor Oho received the Effendi with great respectfulness as he entered pompously and sat on the cushions prepared for him.

"Where is Master Bedros, I don't see him," asked the Effendi, looking about. "I wanted to see him. I have very important business with him."

Neighbor Oho replied that the carpenter had gone to a neighboring village to work.

"Alas, it's too bad that I can't see him. I had important business with him," the Effendi repeated, and he began to explain that in order to transport the supplies of the Imperial Army he needed many carts, and he wished to hire a carpenter to mend the carts whenever they broke down on the way, and there was no one more suitable for this than Master Bedros, and he wished to do him a "kindness" that he might make money at this job and have steady employment for several months.

Although the Effendi knew beforehand that the carpenter was not at home, and although he had no need whatever of a carpenter, for he used the villagers carts and oxen to transport the supplies without pay, without paying a "para", and if a wagon was broken, they, the owners, must repair it, the Effendi had a special purpose in saying what he did.

The poor carpenter's wife, Susan, hearing the Effendi's promise, rejoiced, and thought they might be able to gain much through this guest, although his having invited himself had been a trial and a very disagreeable task to her. It was necessary to please the simple woman's heart with some hope; that was important for the Effendi's purpose.

Only the Effendi was seated. Neighbor Oho was still standing up, waiting till he should receive permission to be seated. He was allowed that favor. The kizir remained standing and served as there was no servant or grown-up son. He had several attendants whom he had brought with him. The mistress of the house and the carpenter's sister did not appear. They remained apart, separated

from the place where the guest sat, by a low partition which did not reach to the ceiling, and answered as a screen.

But they were obliged to pay their respects to the honored guest. For this reason both Susan and Varvare came out of their hiding-place, and approached the Effendi, and crossing their arms, bowed silently to him from a distance. That was to show that he was welcome.

"Long life to you," said the Effendi, glancing at them sideways.

The face of the mistress of the house was covered with a veil, but the young girl's was open. They moved away and began to prepare the supper.

Profound silence reigned in the little hut. No one spoke. All waited for the Effendi to speak.

"What is your business at present," he asked Oho.

"I have no work, sir," replied Oho, scratching his neck. "God has punished me by sending several misfortunes in one year. My eldest son 'Evil One' carried off. My oxen have been destroyed. Now I can't use my plow, and so I'm out of work."

"Alas, very sad," said the Effendi sympathetical'y. "You are a good fellow, Oho, I know you. I won't let you stay out of work. I'll give you work. I need many men now."

Oho's joy was boundless. "Just give me work, sir, and you'll see how well Oho can serve you. 'The better the ass works the more barley he gets."

"Certainly, that's so."

The Effendi was one of those men who would puff up with such pride at times that he would swell up so that he couldn't enter the door of a house, but at others be would grow so small that be could almost crawl through the eye of a needle.

He must bribe neighbor Oho with some promise as he occupied the position of host tonight. And the simple-minded villager believed all he said, and expressed his deep gratitude saying, "God grant you long life, sir, God spare your hands to us forever."

It was supper time. Varvare appeared bringing the basin and pitcher, and gracefully set them before the Effendi, who began to wash his hands. Then she spread the table-cloth, set on the bread and the food. All they had prepared was set on the table at once, in their proper places. During all these preparations the innocent girl's shyness appeared mingled with timidity which were the ornaments of her secluded life, owing to her having known no strangers.

"My child," asked the Effendi of the young girl, "what is your name?"

She blushed, and looked from side to side for some one to make a reply for her. Neighbor Oho told him her name was Varvare.

"What a pretty name! Really it is a beautiful name," repeated the Effendi delightedly. "I have a sister who is called that also."

Now, something like a smile shone on Varvare's immobile countenance. She was glad that she had the name of such a great man's sister. In truth the Effendi had no sister whatever, but be wished to please Varvare too, by this means.

Only the Effendi and Oho sat at the table. The women of that region do not sit at the table with the men.

"The wheels of a dry mill don't turn," observed the Effendi. By this he intimated that he needed something to drink, and he ordered the kizir to go and bring some raki. Neighbor Oho begged pardon for not having provided any, but the mistress made signs that she would fetch some directly.

"No," said the Effendi, "it is my custom to furnish the wine and raki at every home where I am entertained."

This was true. In poor homes like this one he had the kizir go for the drinks, but he entered the charge on his expense accounts to be paid for by the village. And the beauty of that scheme was that by ordering drinks he could use as much as he pleased.

The kizir returned very soon bringing an immense jug of raki. "Now you may be seated and serve us the drink," said the Effendi.

The kizir sat at the lowest seat, setting the jug of raki near him. His was familiar with the Effendi's expression, "When I go to a house for 'keff' (to enjoy myself), "the first thing to do is to wet the houseowner's cotton," meaning his brain must be fuddled: he must get drunk.

Although the owner of the house was not present, neighbor Obo occupied his place. For this reason the kizir kept urging Oho to drink, offering him glass after glass.

Neighbor Oho was fond of drink, especially more so since his recent misfortunes, having lost his eldest son and, also, his oxen. So, in order to forget his grief, he bad become more addicted to drink. He accepted each glass and drained it to the last drop. The influence of the raki on the one hand, and the Effendi's promise to give him work, on the other, so warmed his blood, so rejoiced his heart that he forgot himself and began to sing a Turkish song.

"Nothing will spin with that (that's not enough)," said the Effendi, and he ordered the kizir to go and bring in the "chalghijis". The "chalghijis" were a local company of Armenian musicians who sang and played on various Asiatic instruments. They followed the Effendi everywhere, from village to village, for they knew that the Effendi did not pass a night without having his "keff", so they helped entertain him, and were paid by him. The musicians appeared shortly. They paid their respects to the company, and seated themselves around the table. Now, the mistress of the house was obliged to bring on more food.

The Effendi condescended to inquire as to the "chalghijis" health.

"Thank you, we are all well," they replied.

After they had eaten and drunk, and were through, Varvare came out of her retreat again and removed the table. But the jug of raki was not removed. It had been refilled over and over all evening; glasses kept being passed around constantly. The musicians' heads grew heated.

"Now, let us begin," said the Effendi.

They took their instruments, and the little dwelling was enlivened with the discordant strains of Oriental music. The Effendi was enjoying his favorite pastime. In a few minutes the house and yard were surrounded by the wives and daughters of the neighbors, who began looking in through the door and the windows, attracted by the sound of the music. Nothing delights village women so much as music, which is a rare treat for them as usually it is only at a wedding or two during the winter that they had the good fortune to hear any.

Little by little the "mejliss" (gathering) grew more heated and more confused. General confusion was added to the drunkenness and music. As the proverb has it, "Even a dog could not know his master." Everyone had lost his head. Only the Effendi drank moderately and kept control of himself. During this interval the women and girls gathered outside grew bolder, and slowly drifted inside. They sat down near Susan and Varvare and listened to the music.

"Dance, dance," cried the Effendi, clapping his hands. "I want dancing."

Upon this, neighbor Oho who was hardly able to stand on his feet, rose, and seizing two small girls by the hands, dragged them fairly by force and stood them in their midst. The musicians struck up a local dance tune. The little girls were embarrassed, blushed a little and said, "We can't," but finally began to dance.

"Shapash, shapash* (dancing fee)," cried the musicians behaving more boldly. *Raffi's note--Shapash is a silver coin given the dancer by the guests which she must give to the musicians.

And the Effendi put a silver coin in the hand of each dancer and they gave them to the musicians. The dance, as usual, began with the smallest girls and was followed by the older ones. After the first two retired, they dropped their handkerchiefs on two other girls. This was a sign that they should succeed them. Thus the dancers constantly changed. The Effendi generously filled their fists with silver "shapashes" and the musicians played lively tunes.

The turn came to Varvare. The pretty girl excelled them all with her graceful dancing. Her every motion was graceful and of bewitching attractiveness.

"In our country," said the Effendi, "there is a custom among Armenians. When a girl finishes her dancing, she approaches the principal guest of the evening, 'kneels before him, places her bead on his knees and does not rise until she has received a fine gift." There is no such custom in Armenia, only among gypsies.

"That is a very fine custom," said the players, "that should be introduced here also."

"Varvare, you shall be the first example," said the Effendi, "come near, my child."

Varvare, abashed and confused, remained motion. less. She wished the floor would fall and the earth swallow her rather than put her head on the lap of a stranger. But they urged her from all sides, and dragged her forward, saying, "Go, girl, don't be bashful. He will give you something." And finally, they forced her to kneel at his feet and place her pretty head on his knees. The Effendi stroked her lovely tresses and put two gold pieces in her hand.

While the Effendi was enjoying such "keff", one of his gendarmes came in and whispered to him. "We found the man you ordered us to seek."

"Keep him safe till morning when I will give you further orders," replied the Effendi in a low tone.

The gendarmes went away. Whom these orders concerned, no one knew.

The night was far spent. Little by little carpenter Bedros' cottage was deserted. The musicians took their leave. They carried the drunken, unconscious neighbor Oho to his house. The crowd dispersed.

In the carpenter's home only the honored guest and the kizir remained, and the latter had drunk so much that his only good eye could see no better than the one he had lost. Susan prepared a bed for the Effendi, the lights were extinguished and all went to rest.

What else happened that night? God only knows. But in the morning Varvare was very sad and for several days she did not cease weeping.

That same night, before dawn, another sad event took place. A young man was led in chains to a military governor who had recently come to this place for military preparations.

None of the villagers saw him, only Thomas Effendi gazed after him through the darkness and said to himself with devilish delight, "Go and blow your whistle all you please after this."

This youth was Tiutiukjian, alias Mr. Salman.