The Fool - Chapters 26-30

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Chapter 26

Chapter XXVI

At old Khacho's house no one knew what had happened to Salman, causing him to fail to return at night, and they felt very uneasy about him. Vartan, Hairabed and Abo were especially troubled, for they felt some evil had overtaken him. In the morning the three set out together in hopes that they might hear of him.

At noon, Thomas Effendi appeared at the house unexpectedly. His coming in this way, without a servant, without an officer, seemed very strange to the old man. Heretofore he had always come with his private attendants. He grasped the old rnan's hand, drew him aside, as if he had a secret to impart.

"Do you know," he said with feigned sympathy, "they have put that 'whistler' in irons, and taken him to 'Abraham's bosom?'"

The old man understood to whom he referred. He was horrified, and his limbs trembled so that be nearly fell to the floor.

"Hold yourself together - it is no time to tremble," continued the Effendi, "you have still more to hear." He told him that he had learned that last night Salman had gone to a village where a number of herdsmen gathered around him to whom he had talked of the "individual rights of man about the "work of cultivators"; talked against "tyranny"; had talked of bow men have secured for themselves "a freer and a more fortunate life"; and who knows what other crazy things he talked about? Suddenly, several officers entered and put him in irons. The government had long been seeking that "fool" for they had put some of his companions in irons in other places. Now this little mouse had also fallen into the trap.

Thomas Effendi told all this, but without revealing the fact that it was he who betrayed Salman.

He turned again toward the old man.

"Now we have a new problem," be said with a bitter smile, apparently trying to stab the wretched old man's heart still deeper.

"The gendarmes will soon come here to examine your house, and I came as a friend to warn you in time." He laid particular emphasis upon the word "friend". Upon hearing the words "gendarmes" and examine", the old man was terrified.

"There is still time to save yourself," the Effendi continued more coldly. "Just tell me this, has anything of his been left in your house?"

Terrible as was the news imparted to him, still the old man was a little relieved when he considered that such a "friend" as the Effendi had offered him a helping hand at such a dangerous moment.

"His saddle bags are here," be replied, fearfully looking around lest some one should bear him.

"Come now let me drag this donkey out of the mire," said the Effendi to himself, and then aloud, "Saddle bags! That is no small thing!"

He turned to the old man and fixed his wicked green eyes upon him. "Every moment is precious for us. Make haste, let us go hide those saddle bags before the gendarmes arrive!"

The old man, trusting the sincerity of the Effendi implicitly, took him to the oda and showed him the traveling "khoorjis" which Mr. Salman had left there.

"Lock the doors," commanded the Effendi, and opening the saddle bags himself, he began to examine their contents.

There were letters of introduction and various addresses. There were drafts on certain persons, by means of which Salman was able to obtain money when necessary. There were various instructions, documents, etc., also some leaflets which the young propagandist used to distribute to the villagers; in a word, there was nothing there but papers. The Effendi examined them with great care, and shook his head ominously.

"If they should fall into the hands of the Government," be said, "one of those papers would be enough to hang you and your sons, Landlord Khacho, and the Imperial treasury would swallow your property."

The old man stood petrified, and way, unable to reply. The last words had plunged him into a kind of a stupor.

"All this must be burned up," said the Effendi and be stuffed the papers back into the bag.

"I can't understand it at all; I haven't any wits left," replied the old man in a trembling voice, and his sunken eyes filled with tears.

Suddenly the Effendi changed his mind. "Why burn them," he reflected, "I must examine them well. I may need them. Why destroy them?"

He asked the old man, "Is there any secret place in this house, where this bag might be hidden temporarily?"

"There is." replied the old man.

There were several secret storerooms in his house, in which articles of value were hidden in time of danger. Because danger was never lacking in the land, several of them were full, and only one remained empty, which he could show the Effendi.

They took up the suspect "khoorjis" and went to a store-room in which were kept olives, oil, wine and similar store.-. The floor of the store-room was paved. The old man raised a couple of the paving stones underneath which a small iron door was concealed, placed horizontally over the entrance to a secret storeroom. The old man took a key from his pocket, put it in the lock, gave a certain number of turns and the iron door swung open. Now the mouth of an underground cavern was shown. They descended a narrow flight of steps.

It was impossible to see anything in the dark space within this cavern. The damp air was stifling. Leaving the "khoorjis" there they came out quickly. The old man locked the iron door once more, placed the stones in position and it would be difficult to suspect the existence of a subterranean store-room underneath them.

"Give me the key," said the Effendi. "I will keep it. There is no one you can trust more.

Without reflecting long, the old man gave him the key. Fear so overcame him that he was ready to accept every proposition made by the Effendi.

"I have much to say to you, Landlord Khacho, but the time is short, the examiner may appear very soon," he said hastily. "For the present I give you a few words of advice. No one is to know that I have seen you. All we have done must remain secret, even from your sons and all your family. When the examiners come, try as much as possible to 'appear undisturbed and honest. Let them search wherever they please, and walk all about. We have hidden the dangerous things so that the devil himself could not find it. Do not deny that Tiutiukjian has been in your house, only say that you do not know him and neither you nor your sons know why he is wandering around in this region."

With these instructions the Effendi came out of the store-room. "Now, show me another way for me to leave," he said looking about him. "I must try not to let them see me when I leave the house."

The old man conducted him to a gate in the rear by which the cattle went out and in.

"Now good-bye. I will return again after the examiners have finished their work. I will satisfy them by some means. Be easy."

The Effendi went away. On the way he said to himself, over and over, "Now your life is in my hands, landlord Khacho, and I'll do as I please."

It was an hour past noon. Vartan, Hairabed and Abo had not returned. The other sons were at work in the fields. The women were busy with their housework. preparing food to send to the workers in the fields. Villagers, for the most part, eat their noon meal away from home, and do not come home till supper time. No one knew what had happened.

Old Khacho was impatiently awaiting the examiners, as a prisoner awaits his death sentence; for he knew there was no escape, no chance of becoming free. He did not reveal the facts to the people of the house, not wishing to alarm them beforehand. Finally, a sergeant appeared with a number of gendarmes, guards and soldiers.

The rest of the family, having no information as to what had occurred, were not frightened by the coming of the soldiers. They were accustomed to receiving such guests often, and they sometimes came and remained for days, eating and drinking and then they departed. The lodging of Turkish soldiers in the house of Armenian villagers, especially in the landlord's oda, is a common occurrence.

"I am ordered to examine this house," said the sergeant addressing old Khacho.

"My house is before you, look where you please," answered the old man, trying to preserve some measure of tranquillity.

The sergeant ordered the doors locked, stationed sentinels, and began to make his examination. He first entered the "oda", then the other rooms, looked in every corner, examined every article and found nothing suspicious. The women, seeing this, understood that something unusual had happened and began to weep and wail. The old man rebuked them, and they ceased and were quieted, thinking they had nothing to fear. After completing his search, the sergeant began to question him. "Did a man named Michael Tiutiukjian live here?"

"He spent only a few nights here," replied the old man.

"Were you previously acquainted with him?"

"It was the first time I had ever seen him."

"Then why did you admit him to your house?"

"I am the landlord of this town. You know the custom of this country. The landlord's house is a sort of a caravansary, a hotel, where many strangers find lodging. How can I know who comes and who goes?"

"Did he leave nothing here?"

"He left nothing."

"Did you not understand his purpose in touring this region?"

"He did not inform us. I know only that he was a teacher."

"Did you not know with whom he talked and with whom he consulted?"

"A teacher talks with everyone to secure pupils."

"Do you know, now, where he is?"

"I don't know."

"He is in irons!"

"All the better, if he is a bad man."

Just then someone knocked at the gate.

"No one may enter," commanded the sergeant.

The servant informed him that it was Thomas Effendi.

"He may enter."

The Effendi entered, and seeing the sergeant with his retinue, he pretended to be astonished, as though he knew nothing whatever of why they had entered the old man's house.

"Good may it be. What is the matter?" he asked solicitously.

The sergeant informed him of the nature of his errand. A hypocritical smile crossed the coarse face of the Effendi, and 'grasping the sergeant's hand, he said, "I pledge you my hand that nothing suspicious is to be found at Landlord Khacho's. You don't know what a fine man he is."

He led the sergeant to the oda but the gendarmes, guards and soldiers remained outside guarding the entrance to the house.

"Landlord," he said turning to the old man, "these men are hungry. Order someone to prepare some food. There must be plenty of arak you understand." He spoke the last word in Armenian. The landlord went out rejoicing. He thought he was out of danger.

But no, the danger was not past. The Turks would not let go of the old man's collar so easily. They would torment him, they would wear him out with months of imprisonment. Although no suspicious article was found in the old man's house for which they could blame him, and although there was no certain proof to consider him guilty, it was sufficient that old Khacho was an Armenian, and besides being an Armenian, he was rich. Such a fat prey is very attractive to the Turkish official.

Thomas Effendi had "cooked the broth" himself. It was he who had betrayed Salman to the newly arrived governor. It was he who suggested searching the old man's house, and for that reason it pleased him to rescue the poor old man from the net he himself had spread. But no - in order to accomplish his wicked designs, the Effendi tried to complicate the affair still more.

When the old man left the room to prepare the meal, the sergeant asked Thomas Effendi, "Effendi, what do you think? I think the man is innocent."

"You are aware, Bey," replied the crafty one, "that Thomas Effendi isn't a man who gives his judgment so easily. The affair is still in the dark. I was sure that some suspicious article was to be found in this house, or some preparations by means of which we could learn in how great a degree these men are accomplices of the prisoner's plans, but I am surprised that no certain proof has yet appeared. I am most suspicious of two of the old man's sons and of a stranger guest of his."

"What stranger?" asked the sergeant.

"A young Russian who is an exceedingly dangerous character and a very bitter enemy of the Government. He wanders about in this region in the guise of a merchant, but he is really a Russian spy."

"It will be difficult to imprison him. if he is a Russian subject," replied the sergeant.

"In time of war, it is always permissible to imprison spies. You are aware that war is to be proclaimed shortly."

"I know that."

"I have already spoken with his excellency, Pasha Effendi, the military commander; is it possible he has given you no instructions?"

"The Pasha Effendi only commanded me to put into execution all your plans."

"Very good," said the Effendi, with a pleased smile. "I will make the necessary plans. But there is one thing I will tell you later."

"I am very impatient to know," said the Turkish official, "I can't wait for 'later things'."

"Then I will whisper it to you."

The sergeant leaned toward the Effendi, although there was no one in the room but themselves to hear their conversation.

The Effendi said, "The old man is quite rich. You must milk him!"

Thomas Effendi, being familiar with the looseness of Turkish officials, knew well that the facts of a business (and all its details) do not interest these bribe-taking officials so much as the thought of what shape and course to give the business to be able to get more money out of the suspects. Thomas Effendi tried to gain something from the laxities of the Turks, and to give a turn to the machine he had invented to his advantage. For this reason he was very glad when he observed that the sergeant, struck with his last words, asked, "Then, how do you wish to plan the affair ?"

"You have a good many men with you, sergeant. You will give orders to guard the old man and his two sons, one of whom is called Hairabed, and the other Abo. Besides this, you will order the imprisonment of the Russian spy who is called Vartan."

The sergeant made a note of the names, Abo, Hairabed and Vartan.

"The duty you performed today," continued the Effendi, "was simply examination, but the examination is not yet finished. Therefore, it is necessary for you to take the persons mentioned, under surveillance, until the examination which will be given in the presence of His Excellency, the Pasha Effendi."

"I understand," replied the sergeant.

"Still I must act as mediator, to pretend that I am the protector of the suspects, in order to ferret out their secrets. Do you understand?"

"I understand " repeated the sergeant.

Chapter 27

Chapter XXVII

While Thomas Effendi and the sergeant were in the oda concocting their nefarious schemes, a very different conversation was taking place among the soldiers.

"Mahmood," asked one of the soldiers of one of his companions, "if we stay here tonight, which of these Armenian brides do you choose?"

"That plump, rosy little one is the one for me," replies Mahmood with gusto.

"But that lovely one with black eyes takes my fancy," said the first one with no less relish.

It appeared that when the soldiers entered the harem in their search, they had not paid so much ,attention, to the articles they were supposed to discover, as to old Khacho's daughters-in-law.

The notice of some of them was attracted to the rich goods in the old man's house.

"My wife talks my head off," said an elderly guard, "she doesn't give me a day's peace, telling me constantly that I must get her a large brass kettle to heat milk in. I saw one here. It is just what she wants. When we leave, I shall certainly take it along with me."

A young soldier spoke up. "I saw a fine rug. It would be fine to lie on after a good full meal, smoking a 'narghileh' prepared by a pretty woman."

The old soldier who looked upon the spoil with an eye both to utility and to religion observed to the young soldier. "Such rugs are more suitable to use as 'sejjedehs' (prayer-rugs)."

A soldier full of envy and superstition said, "It is a strange thing, being a 'giaour' and having such lovely wives; to be a 'giaour' and have such a luxurious house. There isn't a piece of matting in my house for the children to sleep on at night. The 'giaour' ought to have this worn out girdle wound around his waist so that when he coughs it will be cut through in ten places."

The last remark is a Mohammedan proverb. In the east the thickness and handsomeness of a girdle is a token of wealth and honor. The Armenian, being a 'giaour' according to the Mohammedan, should be so poor that he should have such a worn and ragged girdle, that it would fall to pieces when he coughs.

Likewise, the Armenian has no right to have pretty wives, since he is a 'giaour' because whatever is good or pretty should belong to the Mohammedans.

Some of the soldiers had entered the old man's beautiful garden, and like a bear or a hog in a vegetable garden, they had trampled and destroyed the beautiful flowers which had been so carefully cared for by the "brides" (daughters-in-law) of the landlord. They had seized the branches of the trees, and broken them off trying to reach the fruit. They had eaten the ripe fruit and dropped the unripe ones into the dust and trodden on them. Old Khacho saw this from a distance and it grieved him very much. He loved his trees as he did his sons. He shook his wise head as the old Persian proverb came into his mind, "When the captain takes an apple from a vineyard without pay, his soldiers root up the whole vineyard." The Turk is capable of such barbarity. He has no pity on living plants, has no pity on living men. The Turk eats the fruit of the tree and destroys the tree. The Turk takes a man's earnings from him, and kills the man. As the Turks have ruthlessly consumed the forests of their country, they have similarly annihilated the foreign races of the Empire.

The old man saw the same barbarity in his house, but he kept his peace. He entered the kitchen where the women were preparing the meal. Poor man, he was already imprisoned in his own house and in his prison he showed his keepers the sacred duty of hospitality.

"What are these men? What do they seek, and why have they turned our house topsy-turvy?" asked Sara, tearfully.

"God knows," replied the old man sadly, and commanded them to serve the meal soon.

The women were in a terrible fright. They had withdrawn into the house to escape the stares of the soldiers. They knew something strange must have happened, for the Turks to behave impudently in their house. They had seen many such guests before now, but the honor of the house had always been respected.

Hairabed and Abo, who had gone in the morning with Vartan to hunt for Salman, had not returned yet. The other sons of the old man, hearing in the field of the irregularities of the Turks, hastened home. They were very angry, not at the Turks, but at their innocent father.

Slaves always attack the weakest. They considered the barbarities of tyrants natural, but they blame slaves like themselves for "angering the master". For this reason there was no limit to the insults and reproaches which they heaped upon their father. They blamed their father for allowing such dangerous men as Vartan and Salman to be in his house, and they were ready to go and tell the sergeant all they knew thinking this would lighten their offense.

"You have demolished your house with your own hands," said his sons.

"Let it be demolished," said the father with anguish, "when such unworthy sons as you live in it. You are worthy of curses and annihilation since your feelings of self-respect, honor and freedom are dead. The men against whom you are angry, they are my true sons and I don't care very much if for their sake I lose all that I have."

The last words of the old man were spoken concerning Salman and Vartan. The sons were still more incensed. The prudent father, fearing that they might commit some folly, or let fall some careless word from their lips, quieted them saying they had no occasion to fear, that it is always possible to stop the mouths of Turkish officials with a few pieces of gold, and he added that Thomas Effendi had promised to use all his efforts to prevent any harm from coming to them. The sons were somewhat relieved. It always exercises a great influence upon such persons to use the names of great personages. Thomas Effendi had promised, therefore he would be able to perform anything.

Just then Thomas Effendi appeared at the door of the oda and he called from a distance, "Landlord Khacho, be quick, you must feed these gluttons."

"It is ready, Effendi," replied the old man, "they will serve it immediately."

The old man's sons began to prepare a separate table in the oda, and another under the shade of the trees outside for the soldiers. The latter were becoming more and more unbearable. On such occasions, in the house of an Armenian, the Turkish soldier becomes exceedingly exacting. His taste is critical, his appetite is keen, and he demands such food and drink whose names alone he knows, but which he has never once seen. The landlord's reply, "we have none," is received with curses. Although such behavior did not occur on this occasion, still the old man's sons were tormented trying to pacify the demands of their shameless guests.

The sergeant and Thomas Effendi ate together in the oda. The old landlord did not wish to sit with them but remained standing like a servant, wishing in this way to show special respect to his guests. The old man's sons served at the soldiers' table. For the present, the wine and the abundant stores of the landlord's kitchen kept them occupied. Taking advantage of that circumstance, the old man approached Sara and said to her privately, "My child, take these keys and hide all the things that are of value. You know already where to hide them."

"I know," replied the poor woman, and her eyes filled with tears. That precaution was a sign that a great danger threatened them.

"Listen, and be brave. Hold your heart firm," continued the old man. "Our house has often passed through such trials. With God's help, it will all pass. We must only be patient. After biding the goods, send the young women with their children to their father's homes, while you must take Lila with you to our townsman Zako's house and remain there till we see how this trial ends."

Some of the old man's daughters-in-law were from the village of O..., but others from near-by villages. For this reason it would not be difficult for them to seek protection temporarily in the homes of their parents. Only Sara had come from a distant place. Her parents were in Bayazid. For this reason the old man proposed townsman Zako's house for her; a neighbor in whom he had great confidence.

"There is another thing; listen Sara," he continued. "Hairabed, Abo and Vartan went this morning to hunt for Mr. Tiutiukjian. It appears that they don't know what has happened to us and when they return they also will fall into danger. Send a man quickly to find them and tell them to hide somewhere and wait for my instructions."

The last words pierced the poor woman's heart still more deeply. Then her dear husband was threatened with danger, also, she reflected. What fault had he, what had he done? But Sara was so wise, there were few of her husband's undertakings of which she was ignorant, from which she feared some disastrous result.

"Whom shall I send?" asked the woman sorrowfully, and her anxious eyes again filled with tears.

Sara's question was not uncalled for. In time of danger, when brother denies brother, and even treats him as an enemy, on whom could she rely? Sara had heard with her own ears, a short time ago how angrily Hairabed's brothers had spoken of him, and how much they were stirred up against him.

The old man understood the reason of Sara's anxiety, and sadly answered her.

"I know that no one of us will go. I know that in time of danger all forsake one another. But Vartan's two servants Sako and Gegho are in the house. They are brave and faithful. Make haste and quickly explain the business to them, then they will go and find Hairabed, Abo and Vartan, and tell them all that is needed. It will suffice if they say that Mr. Tiutiukjian is imprisoned, and our house is being searched'. and they will understand the rest."

Having finished giving his orders the old man came out of the harem, confident that prudent Sara would perform all according to his desires.

In the court-yard, the old man observed that the government representatives of law and order, the soldiers, having enjoyed the abundant viands of the villager's table, drinking his wine and whiskey, now presented a scene of disorder - a very Babel of riot. He closed his eyes and passed on. He did not wish to see their unrestrained lewdness, and he was unable to punish them.

At this time the conversation in the oda was not a little interesting. The sergeant drank much and ate much. The conversation on official affairs with the Effendi became more and more personal.

"How many wives have you?" asked the sergeant.

A rare smile crossed the Effendi's ugly face as he replied, "They asked the ass how many wives he had and he showed the whole herd."

When the Effendi began to illustrate his meaning with anecdotes of donkeys, that was a sign that he was enjoying the happiest moment of his existence.

"But I think Christians are forbidden to have more than one wife," observed the sergeant.

"And so are Mohammedans forbidden to drink wine and raki, but you have drunk more than I," replied the Effendi, pleased with his fitting reply.

At this moment old Khacho entered, bringing in his hands two boxes of "rahatlokoums" and Smyrna figs which he placed on the table saying, "After dinner it is good to sweeten the mouth with something." He hastened out of the room once more.

"The old man appears like quite a good fellow," said the sergeant after he had gone. "I am astonished that he has allowed such men in his house as the Russian spy and the revolutionist from Istanbul."

"The donkey's ears are long, but his wits are short," replied the Effendi in his usual style.

"If there are fools in the world, there are those who are called 'good'. The old man is of that sort."

The Turkish sergeant was a man of nobler feelings than the Armenian Effendi. He said complacently, "I think our new military governor will milk him well."

"No doubt. I would call a man a fool who did not try to gain something from such a fine cow."

"You know him. What sort of a man is he? I have seen him only once."

"I know him very well," replied the Effendi, with the manner of a man of affairs. "I have known him ever since he was a Kaimakam in the province of Dikranagerd. For more than ten years he robbed, and pillaged, then he went to Constantinople and returned there as a Pasha."

"What sort of a man is he?"

"He tears a dead ass to pieces, to pull off its shoes."

While the Effendi and the sergeant were engaged in conversation, while the soldiers were singing, pushing each other around and dancing in drunken abandon, the women of the house, taking their infants in their arms, fled by the back gate toward their fathers' houses. Tears streamed from the eyes of the poor wretches to whom it seemed as though they were being taken into captivity, and that they should never again see that home where they had been so fortunate, so loved.

At that time, Gegho and Sako, both armed, went out by the same gate, and mounting their horses, departed.

Thomas Effendi, with all his cunning, had not thought to imprison these two thieves, who were Vartan's hands and feet, who might ruin his evil plans.

Chapter 28

Chapter XXVIII

Thomas Effendi considered that he had only half attained his purpose. His principal object still remained unaccomplished. He had known before that Stephanie was a girl. Father Marook, the priest who baptized her had informed him one day when he had been invited to dine with the Effendi, and becoming dulled by drink, revealed the secret which he had sworn never to reveal.

From that day, Thomas Effendi had loved Lila. But what was love in this morally dissolute man? Was it a natural desire? He ate, drank and was satisfied, and behold his need passed. He was content when his passions are satisfied. Love was only animal lust in him. Passing his life with Turks, he had acquired all their characteristics. A pretty girl, a lovely woman. are enticing objects to the Mohammedan, as playthings are for children. The child is attracted and pleased with his toy as long as he is not wearied of it: when he grows weary, he breaks the one in his hands and wants another. Woman was an article for the Effendi; an object which he appropriated only for his temporary enjoyment and for his temporary satisfaction when he saw a prettier one, he was already to leave the first and try to obtain possession of the second. His last choice had fallen upon Lila. But why did he attempt to reach his purpose by such dishonorable and wicked ways?

Could he not propose to her father, directly, for her hand ?

Thomas Effendi had acted according to his nature. In all the needs and duties of his life, he had his peculiar way of attaining his ends. Thomas Effendi was an oppressor. The oppressor does not attain his ends by direct means. The oppressor is that kind of a hunter who spreads snares, places nets, sets traps, to catch his prey. He had tried to trap an innocent girl's love by wicked cunning. He had tried to put Lila's father into such an inextricable predicament, that he would be forced to give his daughter to the Effendi in spite of himself, contrary to his wishes.

Thomas Effendi had looked upon Lila as one of her father's possessions: as one of the fruits of his cultivation. As a tax-collector, he knew what means must be employed to wrest the fruits of his labor from the villager. He knew that until you torment and abuse a villager and wrest from him all his power of resistance, he is not willing to let out of his hands the fruits of his labor, or his property. With this idea, Thomas Effendi tied and bound old Khacho with such complicated knots, that only he could loosen them.

Betraying him and his sons as civil offenders, as accomplices of disturbers of the peace, as men who entertained spies in time of war, Thomas Effendi also had a secondary purpose. To show by this means his faithfulness and his great services to the Turkish government. On the other hand, to say to old Khacho, "See, if you don't give me Lila, you and your sons will be hanged. Your house will be burned and your riches confiscated. Only I am able to save you and my reward must be beautiful Lila."

The scoundrel could do all that. He had evidence in his hands, which was very clear proof of their treason. This was the traveling bag hidden in a store-room in old Khacho's house in which were concealed Salman's papers.

The key to the iron door was in the Effendi's pocket, but he did not wish to have his wickedness reach its extreme limit. Yet he was confident that it would be easy to obtain Lila's father's consent. But he saw a more powerful adversary before him. Vartan.

Commencing from that day when Vartan snatched from Stephanie's hand the pipe she offered the Effendi and angrily threw it out of the window, commencing from that day when Vartan had attacked the Effendi so fiercely on Stephanie's account, the Effendi believed that there was a secret understanding between Vartan and Stephanie, and that the two loved one another. Besides this, he knew that Vartan received much sympathy in the old man's family, and that they would be very glad to give their daughter to him for wife. But even if they should not consent, it was enough that he loved the girl; and Vartan being a contrabandist, would do with her as he did with illicit goods, that is, he would run away with her some night.

And Vartan had the courage and boldness to do so. The Effendi had considered all this. Therefore, what must be done to frustrate the young man's intentions? He must remove him in some way from this country, and send him away under the surveillance of Government soldiers that he might not be able to take Lila with him. This was the reason why Thomas Effendi betrayed Vartan as a Russian spy.

But why did he order only two of Khacho's sons imprisoned - Hairabed and Abo? Was he aware that they sympathized with Salman? He could not have had a suspicion that an Armenian villager was capable of thinking of obtaining his freedom. He knew only this that the old man's other sons were "as meek asses" but if any of them would dare to oppose his desire to marry Lila, they would be these two, Hairabed and Abo. For the Effendi had long observed the fierce opposition of these two brothers to him. For that reason he ordered them imprisoned, to stop their noise.

So Lila's fate was in this uncertain condition. Each of the three was planning to obtain her by his own peculiar wiles. Fattah Bey, the Kurd, being a bold and fearless robber, intended to snatch up his prey in a high-handed fashion just as a bold eagle darts down from the clouds and seizes the fawn grazing among the rocks. While Thomas Effendi the Armenian tax-collector and extortioner, meditated, twisting his folds around his prey, like the boa constrictor, and squeezing and strangling it, in order to be able to swallow it. But Vartan, that self-confident and bold contrabandist, as we said before, thought of running away with her if they should not be willing to give her to him. But which did Lila love? We know that.

But the Kurdish Bey was occupied with his military preparations and did not think often of Lila. Vartan was occupied with Salman. Only Thomas Effendi had so managed his affairs that he promised himself success.

After dining, the sergeant had drunk so much that he went to sleep immediately. His soldiers still stood on guard. The old man's sons, Hairabed and Abo, had not yet returned home. Thomas Effendi considered this a very suitable time to talk about Lila with her father. He left the sleeping sergeant in the oda and went out. "I have begun. I must finish," he reflected. "Sitting on a donkey is a shame, but falling from one is a double shame."

He found the old man sad and weary, sitting alone in the garden against a wall warming his chilly limbs in the afternoon sun. The soldiers had jostled him insolently, insulted him and made obscene jests. They had seized the skirts of the Kurdish servants who tried to pass them and obliged them to talk and jest with them. They had beaten the servants to make them obey their orders. The old patriarch had seen this indecent behavior in the house where the sanctity of the family had always been maintained, where even the impudent glances of a strange young man would not pass unpunished. But now he saw a gang of scoundrels before his eyes, who gave orders as if in their own house. "What condition is this?" reflected the old man. "Why do we live? Why does the earth not open and swallow us? Why do the heavens not fail and bury us? What life is this, to see dishonor before one's eyes and to remain silent? For whom has God prepared the fires of Hell? For whom are the lightnings of the Heaven? Why do they not punish the scoundrels?"

Thus he groaned and raised his tearful eyes toward heaven. But no reply was heard from heaven. He saw some of the soldiers bring various articles out of the house. But Sara, after seeing the other young women off, still remained in the house, and was trying to snatch the great copper kettle away from the hands of a soldier. But he struck the poor woman on the breast with his fist and the woman fell to the ground. "My household furniture is divided before my eyes, without asking the will of the owner. And why, in what am I to blame? Because I have received a guest into my house who preaches that the labor of the villagers, the belongings of the peasant should be protected. They punish me because I gave shelter to a man who talked against violence, merciless oppression and brutal cruelty. Who preached to us that we must try to manage our own affairs; and try to shake off the yoke of the foreigner.

"What introduced this thought among us, if not violence? If they had left us in peace, if they had not insulted our families, if they had not wrested from us our earnings, if they had treated us as men, and not abused us as beasts, then we would have been content. 'The father of the love of freedom is oppression,' the young man said, 'and its mother is injustice.' Now I understand the meaning of these words. The tyrant prepares enemies for himself. If the Turk did not treat us like this, we would love him, even though he is not of our flesh and blood."

Thus the old man meditated, and his heart was overwhelmed, like a storm-tossed sea. But what could the helpless lion do against so many wolves? He realized the desperateness of his condition and had no courage to make plans or seek means of escape. He repeated the well-known proverb, "One hand alone can't clap." "If all the villagers thought thus, then we would have some chance."

Thomas Effendi found the old man in this turmoil of soul, and called to him from a distance, "The affair has gone badly, very badly, Landlord Khacho. The ass is too deep in the mire to be pulled out."

The old man did not bear his remarks, but seeing him, rose to his feet.

"Be seated," said the Effendi, placing his hands on his shoulder in a friendly fashion. They sat near ach other on a piece of carpeting which served as a cushion.

"When are these men going to leave," asked the old man, pointing to the soldiers, who had not yet ceased from their unseemly behavior.

"They took the fool to a wedding, 'this is better than our house, he said.' Where should they go, and why should they go? Is food or drink lacking?" said the Effendi laughing insolently.

This raillery wounded the old man's already sorely wounded heart. The Effendi observing this, turned the conversation.

"Don't worry, Landlord Khacho, as long as the Effendi lives he will not let a hair of your head fall."

"Why won't it fall?" asked the old man somewhat angrily. "Don't you see them destroying my house, before my eyes? They are dividing my furniture before my eyes, and I have no right to prevent it." Again he pointed to the soldiers.

"That is their custom. 'When the butcher enters the slaughter-house the dog snatches up a bone.' You know very well yourself, landlord Khacho, that when the Turk enters the house of the Armenian, he does not draw back his hand empty. But the thing isn't theirs. Thank the Lord that it is only your goods, not your lives which suffer."

The old man shuddered. He had grown so sensitive that every word affected him greatly. "What is there, what?" he exclaimed, quite out of patience. "If there is anything else, tell me. Why do you torment me? If I must die, let me die quickly."

"I will tell you, I will tell all, Landlord Khacho; be patient," replied the Effendi, easier now, and speaking with more animation, he explained his meaning with a fresh proverb from his store of such tales, saying, "The ass would not kick against the goad unless he wished to have his leg pricked." From this he drew the conclusion that Armenians should not oppose the Turks, and especially not in time of war. And citing the burning of Van as an example, he began to prove that it is great folly to disobey the Turks. He explained why the Turks of Van had burned several thousand Armenian shops and plundered them of their goods. "Because," he said, "the Armenians there were spying for the Russians. After all," he added, "in this war, the Armenian need not expect gain from the Russians." And again returning to the subject of faithfulness he said the Turks are not as bad as we think; the fate of the Armenian is linked with that of the Turk, and for this reason every plan of revolt must be considered "folly". And for this reason the Effendi considered Salman's behavior "craziness", and he would not be at all sorry to see him severely punished. He was only sorry that on his account some other men would be exposed to danger of punishment also.

"What men?" interrupted the old man, turning pale.

"You and your two sons, Hairabed and Abo, and your other guest, Vartan," replied the Effendi.

The shock was severe enough to paralyze the old man, but a life full of trials, continual danger and suffering had so pierced and wounded his heart that he was able to endure the Effendi's frightening words and, preserving his composure, he asked, "What faults have we?"

"Bless you. You ask such simple questions that even a child would not ask them. Do you think you don't know yourself what faults you have?" replied the Effendi, with bitter insolence. "What fault is it of a well man if he is treated as a sick person, only because he has come from a community smitten with plague or cholera and wishes to go to some other community to escape the sickness. But he is seized on the frontier, forced into a hole and given so much smoke and fumes that he dies."

"Then it is necessary to thrust us into a hole, is it?" asked the old man, his wrinkled face working frightfully with anger.

"Yes," replied the Effendi, coldly. But he had come to make a proposal for Lila, to request her hand and declare his love. Why did he forget that, and why did he torment the pitiable father in this way? As we said previously, Thomas Effendi wag trying to place the old landlord in such an inextricable position, and bring him to such a pass that he would be obliged to consider that their salvation depended upon the Effendi, and Lila must be sacrificed to attain that salvation. For the Effendi knew that the old man would not readily consent to give him his daughter for 'wife, especially after those words which he had heard from Vartan, that the Effendi had left wives in various places and he had been unable to deny the truth.

But the Effendi, observing that he bad passed the limit by discouraging the old man to this degree, began to comfort him, saying, "They will keep you in prison for a few days it is true, but that is only because of regulations. Thomas Effendi has planned the affair so that no harm will come to you."

The old man made no reply. He saw a great difference between the Effendi's talk of the morning and that of the present. A dark suspicion entered his heart.

Chapter 29

Chapter XXIX

After Vartan, Hairabed and Abo left home in the morning, they bad no information whatever of what had happened there in their absence. They did not know of Thomas Effendi's wicked plans, nor of the search by the commissars, nor of the lawless behavior of the soldiers.

They passed through several villages where Salman had been. They had inquired everywhere about him, and finally they entered the village and found the house where he had spent the previous night. The landlord appeared to be a good man. He said that be did not know what became of the poor youth, only that he had sat and talked about all sorts of things with the village good-for-nothings till midnight. When the young people went he was left alone. They gave him food and a bed, and he slept in the oda. In the early morning the young man was missing. He did not know where he had gone. Vartan and his companions entered the room where the young man had spent the night. There they found a scrap of paper on the floor, on which had been penciled hastily only a line, "I have been taken to prison," and the initials, L. S.

Vartan read it, and giving the paper to Hairabed said, "I expected that."

The three stood petrified. This event made a frightful impression upon them. They immediately pictured themselves two great losses - one, that a young man full of good desires bad become a victim of his inexperience, and the other. that his imprisonment might bring to light and destroy that agreement which they had pledged themselves to labor for in spite of sacrifice.

The landlord gazed in astonishment upon these three men, wondering why that scrap of paper caused them such sadness. They said nothing and went away.

It was now evening. The herds and flocks, lowing and bleating, had turned homeward, raising a thick cloud of dust. The joyous villagers also, laughing and making jests with one another, were returning home from their pastoral labors. None of them was interested in the fact, nor gave any thought to the two evil deeds which had been committed in the village. The night before a young man was imprisoned and a maiden was dishonored, both by the band of the same man; one who bore an Armenian name, and who enjoyed the respect of the Armenian people.

"The villager," said Vartan, to his companions, "is a grown-up child. When a child falls and bumps his head against the wall, he cries as long as he feels the pain; when the pain ceases he forgets all about it, and as if nothing had happened, begins to laugh and play once more. It is difficult to deal with such large children," he continued. "They have received the same blows for centuries. They have bumped against the same wall, fallen in the same muddy spot, but they feel nothing; they forget tomorrow what occurred today. They go to work again, happy and careless, never thinking for whom they are working or what they have to cause them joy.

"Thomas Effendi," he continued, "knows these people very well when he calls them 'asses' and those who are thinking about them 'fools'. Go, tell that villager that that young man who so wisely discoursed to you concerning the individual rights of man, and of what labor is, and how it may be safe-guarded, tell him that young man has been imprisoned and possibly he will soon be hanged, and you will hear from all the same remark - 'he was crazy'.

"But I think this," said Vartan, resuming, "I am sure that Thomas Effendi has had a finger in the betrayal of Mr. Salman."

"I think so, too," replied Hairabed.

"We must prove it," said Vartan.

It was nearly dark. The old men and women were enjoying the cool of the evening outside their houses. Vartan and his companions made haste to depart from that village.

"Fine needles, colored thread, pretty beads, came to their ears the voice of the lame peddler.

He was coming along the other side of the street, swaying and limping, as Vartan had seen him a few days before, and with his enormous pack slung on his back, and holding a thick stick in his band, like the club of Hercules.

Seeing Vartan and his companions, he said, "Fine gentlemen, buy something. It is evening and I will sell them cheap."

"What have you?" asked Vartan, approaching him

"I have everything," replied the peddler, setting down his pack.

Vartan, as though examining the goods, surreptitiously slipped the scrap of paper Salman had written on and left at the villager's house, into the peddler's hands. The peddler gave it a glance and replied almost immediately, "Yes, I know it."

"What can be done?"

"We will meet and talk it over."

"Where?"

"Go away. I will find you."

The conversation attracted no attention. Hairabed and Abo who stood there, heard nothing.

The peddler saddled his pack again and turned toward the house of a villager, saying to himself, "I have sold enough today, now I must rest."

Vartan and his companions continued their journey. The lights were burning in the village homes. (or cottages).

They passed the door of carpenter Bedros. Neighbor Oho was standing there. When an Armenian villager sees some one passing his door at evening, whether he be a stranger or friend, it is the custom to invite him in, saying, "Be my guest". They heard that invitation from many villagers and passed on saying, "Thank you". But they stopped before Master Bedros' hut, not because neighbor Oho invited them to be guests, but because they heard a strange sound from the carpenter's house, as though some one was calling for help. They entered immediately. The sound came from the stable which was quite dark. Abo hastily seized a light which was burning in the hut, and the three entered the stable.

This was the picture that appeared before their eyes. A young girl had slipped the end of a noose around her neck and hung from the ceiling of the barn. A woman held her feet and raised her up so that the noose would not strangle her.

"Let go, let go," the girl repeated faintly.

"Varvare," cried the woman sadly.

They quickly cut the rope and took down the half-strangled girl from the gallows she had herself prepared. If they had been a moment later, all would have been over for the woman's strength was nearly spent.

They brought Varvare to the cottage, in their arms. She was unconscious. They placed her in the bed they had prepared for her. Spasms crossed her livid countenance, and from her set lips came the words, "Let go".

The poor woman went to the girl, and embraced her saying, "Varvare, dear, why did you try to kill yourself? What sin had you committed? Let God Punish the scoundrel."

Vartan and his companions understood that a mystery was concealed by the behavior of the young girl. But it was difficult to solve it, for Susan told them nothing, and there was no one in the house save themselves and two small children.

Hairabed was acquainted with the man of the house, Susan's husband. Master Bedros had often come to old Khacho's house, and repaired his farming implements. But Hairabed saw his wife for the first time. And even if he had seen her often, and had been acquainted with her, still a village woman would not speak freely to a stranger. She only blessed and thanked them for helping her and begged them to send for her husband.

"Where is he?" asked Vartan.

"In that near-by village," replied the woman. "He has gone to work there."

They agreed to go and find some one to send after Master Bedros. Just then Varvare opened her eyes and asked for water.

Susan gave her water, of which she drank much. The girl's livid face was waxen now and her eyes were blood-shot. She put her head on the pillow again, and drew the coverlet over her face. Her low groans could be heard from beneath the coverlet. Sad and heartbreaking though the sound was, Vartan and his companions rejoiced for they thought they saved the girl's life.

Outside, they found a boy to whom they gave a few copper coins to go and call Master Bedros. Neighbor Oho was still standing at his door. He again invited Vartan and his companions to be his guests, saying, "Bless you gentlemen. Where are you going this dark night? Oh, if you only knew what 'keff' we had last night," he added, "we will do something tonight, also."

"What 'keff'?" asked Vartan.

Neighbor Oho began to narrate with great enthusiasm how Thomas Effendi had been guest at Master Bedros' house, and he was also called there. "Chalghijis' had played, girls had danced; they had eaten and drunk much and had a fine time, and he finished his story with these words, "God is my witness; this Thomas Effendi is a very fine man; he had so much raki brought, one could swim in it."

"And he got you all drunk, didn't he?" asked Vartan.

"Bless you, who wouldn't be drunk after drinking so much," answered Oho with a laugh. "The 'keff' is in getting drunk."

"Was the master at home?"

"I occupied the place of master of the house."

'But after you got drunk, the Effendi occupied your place didn't he?"

"I couldn't say. They brought me home on their backs."

Leaving Oho they went on their way. On the way Vartan said to Hairabed, "Now I understand why that poor girl tried to hang herself."

"And I understand now who must have betrayed Salman," said Hairabed. "There is no doubt," said Vartan, "that Thomas Effendi betrayed him. He is such a crafty man that it is impossible that he did not suspect Salman's intentions, and betray him with the notion of serving the Turkish Government. Having been in this village himself that night, it is very easy to understand that he must have ordered his arrest. If we have learned to know the Effendi's character, these are truths that there is no reason to doubt."

Silence reigned among the three companions. They bad been walking quite slowly. Each was engrossed with his own thoughts, and by what means the life of the young man could be saved.

"All you have said is right," said Hairabed, interrupting the silence. "Now what must be done?"

"I am quite well acquainted with the loose ways of Turkish officials, how careless they are, how inexact, how negligent in the performance of their duties," replied Vartan, "and for this reason, I think it will be easy for me to rescue Salman. I have two servants, whose bravery you admit. Our horses are ready: this very night we will mount and go where they have taken him; we shall be able to find him, and if we find no other possible means of rescuing him, we will use force. I have long known what cowards Turkish officers are."

"We also are ready to go with you," replied Hairabed and Abo. "We will not let you go alone."

"Your going with me will not only be superfluous, but dangerous," replied Vartan. And remembering the words of the peddler, be thought they should wait for him a while, and said to his companions, "Let us sit here. We are walking so fast it is hard to talk or think."

He did not seem weary; sorrow and sadness seemed to have bent him with their weight. And a tempest seemed to rage in his heart which was increasir4g in fury. They left the highway and withdrew to one side where they sat in a leafy shelter near a melon patch .

None of the peasants bad remained to guard the melon-patch for the fruit was not ripe yet, and there was no fear of robbers. A peasant's leafy booth is a good retreat for the weary traveler. There he finds shelter from the beat of the day, and from the rainstorms which often occur in this region. The night was quite clear, although there was no moon. The lights of the village of 0... could be seen in the distance and occasionally the low warning bark of dogs was heard. Vartan continued the interrupted conversation. He repeated that every means must be used to free Salman from his imprisonment which would certainly end in his death. But he considered it dangerous to have Hairabed and Abo share in this undertaking, principally because such an undertaking must either succeed or fail. In either case Hairabed and Abo would not escape the revenge of the Turks. For this business, he said, might end with fighting and bloodshed, and possibly murder, and if Hairabed and Abo shared it they being natives would not escape punishment, and besides themselves, their relatives and all of old Khacho's family would be punished. But there was no such fear for Vartan, himself. Being the subject of another government, and a stranger, he might accomplish his purpose and then leave and depart from this country and no one could find him, especially in this disturbed time of war.

Listening to the long explanations from Vartan, who was a man experienced in many bold enterprises, Hairabed and Abo replied, "We will disguise ourselves and no one will be able to recognize us."

"It is all the same, whatever you do. It will be found out. Men like Thomas Effendi are not lacking here, who will betray you. The Armenians here, if they can gain the favor of the Turks by any means, will not spare anyone even though they injure their fellow-countrymen thereby. The Armenian is his own enemy." He spoke these last words with deep feeling. The events of this day and the sad impression they had left had been a great strain on his nerves. On one side, the imprisonment of his esteemed young friend, on the other the indifferent hard-heartedness of the people; on one hand, the affair of poor Varvare, on the other, the wickedness of Thomas Effendi filled his heart with indignation although he had not yet learned of the false accusations that detestable man had made against the family of old Khacho, that same day.

In this distress and turmoil, he had almost forgotten Lila that lovely being, who held the first place in his heart. Suddenly, he fancied he saw her sadly entreating him, saying, "Where have you gone? Why have you left me? Have you gone to rescue your beloved friend? I am also your beloved - you promised to take me away from this country - this place is bad I am afraid of the Kurds."

In Vartan's heart a fierce battle of feelings arose. Two beings stood before him. One, the girl he loved; the other, his beloved companion. Both needed his help; the lives of both were in danger.

Vartan had no clear knowledge of the misfortune which threatened Lila from the Kurdish Bey. But he knew what snares Thomas Effendi had spread to trap her. He knew that to reach his evil purposes he was not accustomed to regard the means.

There was silence for a time. A similar reflection occupied Hairabed at the same time. He knew of the love of Lila and Vartan. He intended his sister for that young man. Now Vartan was going to rescue his friend. He would either be killed himself or would save him from the hands of the Turks. In either event he would lose Lila. Perhaps before his return, the Kurdish Bey would have carried Lila away. It seemed that Vartan did not know that and could not know it, for they had not yet informed him of the Kurdish Bey's intention. Why not tell all to Vartan? But how should he begin? Vartan had not informed anyone in old Khacho's family that he loved Lila and wished to marry her. Only Sara knew that secret, and she only by accident. The sudden succession of events one after the other had given Vartan no time to open his heart. Now a new and dangerous undertaking separated him from Lila. Now Hairabed's hopes that Vartan would save his sister were annihilated, the hope that he would take her to a far country, where the Kurdish tyrant's hand could not reach her.

On the other hand, the loss of Salman did not torment Hairabed any less. He loved that devoted youth. He sympathized with him more than Vartan. Now to leave him in the hands of the Turks to wear his life away in a dungeon or to be tortured and killed, that, also, would be cruel. And this cruelty seemed more severe and bitter to Hairabed principally for this reason, that he would furnish Vartan a reason for holding back from the undertaking, that he would weaken his resolve to rescue Salman, if he revealed to him the fate which awaited his sister from the Bey.

The complex and confusing turn which affairs had taken had plunged both Hairabed and Vartan into disturbed meditation. Both Lila and the imprisoned youth demanded speedy assistance. But which should they attempt first? This question gave them difficulty.

But what was Abo, the courageous son of this peasant family, thinking about? In fact, he was not thinking at all. He was one of those men who go in whatever direction they are led, so long as it is not toward evil toward which they are disinclined. Abo was a good tool to employ in saving things from a conflagration. His actions depended upon the skill of his master.

Vartan's confession simplified the matter a little. Vartan without concealing a single point revealed to the two brothers his love for Lila. He told them that he had promised to run away with Lila, and she had expressed her willingness. He said that he felt obliged to put into execution such a strange procedure, only because he had no hope that Lila's father would consent to give Lila to him for a wife: for he had observed and was persuaded that old Khacho had set his mind upon Thomas Effendi and intended to have him for a son-in-law.

"It is superfluous to speak of that man," he continued, "for you both know what he is, and you have learned more about him today. To give a daughter to Thomas Effendi is the same as delivering her to a wolf or dog. But one thing torments me," he continued, "I must go after Salman as I informed you. I cannot give up that undertaking. Love for such a companion and friend has placed a heavy obligation upon me. Besides this, I hold myself partly to blame for his having fallen into this difficulty. I encouraged and abetted him. I rekindled the flame which burned in his heart. By this means I hastened his fall, therefore it is necessary for me to rescue him.

"On the other hand," he continued, "there is a great obstacle before me. I don't know what I ought to do; can I leave Lila? Perhaps today or tomorrow Thomas Effendi will so manage the affair that Lila will become the wife of that monster. What will become of poor Lila?"

Hairabed replied that Lila told Sara everything, and his wife had related it to him, and he had long known of their having come to an understanding. And he and possibly all his brothers would be glad if Vartan would make haste to escape with Lila with all speed. "Not because of the Effendi," he added "but there is another and more imperative reason which calls for Lila's being taken out of our country quickly."

"What other reason is there?" asked Vartan, and his eyes blazed with anger.

Hairabed related in detail the intentions of the Kurdish Bey; he told of his wife Koorsit's opposition to her husband's will; told by what means Koorsit had made known the Bey's intention, and her advice to remove Lila from this country; in a word, Hairabed told him all that had happened in connection with Lila up to this day which Vartan had not learned before.

Vartan heard Hairabed's story with great indignation and his words pierced his heart like poisoned arrows.

"And you knew all that and kept it from me?" be said deeply agitated. "And you were waiting for the Kurd to come and snatch your sister from her father's house in broad daylight, and you were going to listen with your eyes open to how he had dishonored you!"

Now Vartan understood the meaning of Lila's sad and despairing words, which he had not been able to explain till today; be understood why Lila, in the dead of night when he first met her in her father's garden, when the hours spent together should have been sweetened with kisses, when they should have talked of love and boundless happiness, instead she had shed tears from her beautiful eyes, and in mortal terror bad said these words, "I won't go near the grave. I am afraid of graves, I am afraid of Kurds. Save me and take me to some other country." So she knew what a sad fate awaited her and with deep sympathy had related the story of her friend, Narkiss, how she had been carried off by the Kurds, and how unfortunate and sad she was now.

There are moments under the heaviest blows of misery, danger and a bitter sorrow, when a man grows bolder, obtains a more enduring and undismayed heart and is more resolute. He begins after that to despise the blows of misfortune when they attain a certain degree, when he has nothing worse to fear.

Vartan was now in this condition. He did not any longer combat with ideas, feelings and the turmoil of spiritual and mental torture. - Now he was at rest. Everything was decided all at once for him. Now he knew what he ought to do. The love of his friend overcame the love of woman. By losing his friend, the idea would perish, the idea of freedom for the oppressed and wretched villagers, in which was included not only Lila's safety and honor, but that of many thousands of women. Why care only for Lila? Why desert the general good to follow the good of one particular individual, he thought.

"After all," said Vartan, "I must repeat what I said a few moments ago. I must go after Salman, and I must try by every means in my power to save his life. But certainly, I must not leave Lila uncared for. We must make plans for her. This is my plan, listen."

"No plan is necessary," they heard a voice say as the gigantic form of the lame peddler appeared from behind the booth.

Vartan rejoiced to see him; but it produced a very unpleasant impression upon Hairabed and Abo that this wandering fellow should have overheard their secret conversation. They knew nothing about that strange man yet. But when they saw that Vartan shook hands with him with great friendliness and seated himself close beside him, then the two brothers felt relieved, especially when Vartan said to them, "Do not fear, he is one of us."

But Melik-Mansoor was not the ragged, wandering peddler, clad in rags, whom they had seen a few hours earlier. Vartan himself was hardly able to recognize him in his present transformation. He wore the "Laz" national costume and was completely armed.

"I am not able to remain with you long," he said hurriedly. "You are aware that Mr. Salman has fallen into the net and he must be extracted."

"We were just speaking of that," said Vartan.

"You may rest assured about him. He will be set free today or tomorrow," he said rising. "You must continue our general business. Good night for the present."

"Do you go alone?"

"No. My companions wait for me there."

He pointed toward the mountain where in the darkness, they could dimly distinguish a group of horsemen.

"Who are they?" asked Vartan.

"A few mountaineers. Au revoir."

Vartan wished to ask a few more questions, but he had gone. Hairabed and Abo were astonished. They did not know who or what that disguised man was. Vartan imparted to them such information as he had heard about him. The two brothers were now convinced that that skillful man would be able to rescue Salman.

They rose and proceeded toward home. But Sako and Gegho, Vartan's two attendants who had been sent by old Khacho's advice to warn Vartan and his sons not to return home, these faithful followers, although they had searched for them all day, had been unable to find them to let them know what awaited them at old Khacho's house.

"Gegho," said his companion Sako to him, "it is a bad affair. We must try not to be captured so that if anything happens to our master, we may be able to go to his aid."

"I think so too," said Gegho.

The two fellows decided to watch over Vartan from afar and keep away form the old man's house.

Chapter 30

Chapter XXX

The night was nearly over when Vartan, Hairabed and Abo returned home. They did not yet know what had happened in their absence. Entirely unsuspecting, they entered, and immediately the door was clapped shut behind them. Two soldiers stood there on guard. The sergeant and his unruly men were in the oda. Several gendarmes wandered about in the courtyard sniffing about like hunting dog,s, looking for something. The sons' wives had been taken to their parents' or neighbors' houses. On such occasions when a family comes under suspicion and is placed under military surveillance, the women are sent away from the house.

Seeing all this, still Vartan and his companions did not comprehend what this motley crowd could signify. For the quartering of a group of soldiers in the landlord's oda, as well as in any Armenian peasant's house, was a common thing in this country. And whenever a villager received guests of this kind, he was obliged to send his wife and daughter and his sons' wives to spend the night at a neighbor's to save them from the lust of his guests, if the guest was kind enough to allow it instead of pointing his sword at his host's neck and compelling him to keep his wife at home to entertain him and wait upon him.

One of Hairabed's brothers, meeting him, said angrily, "Do you see what a trick that Salman has played on us? Now answer! From the first day I would have seized that whelp by the scuff of his neck and pitched him out of the house, but you wickedly opposed me and would not let me. Now, come, answer!"

Hairabed said not a word. He understood that his brother's curses concerned Salman. He understood the sad occurrences.

"Boy, we have fallen into the snare too," said Vartan to him bitterly. "Only this was lacking."

Immediately several gendarmes approached and seized them and led them to the captain in the oda. Thomas Effendi was not there. After making his arrangements he had left and had settled himself in the house of the village priest, as his guest. There was no one in the oda save the sergeant and old Khacho; only a few soldiers were standing at the door. Vartan entered and took a seat beside the landlord, not waiting for the sergeant's permission. Hairabed and Abo remained standing.

Vartan's behavior seemed rude to the sergeant, and he asked him insultingly. "Where are you from, you Armenian?"

He spoke the word "Armenian" as a slur.

"From Russia," replied Vartan controlling his agitation.

"What business brought you here?"

"I trade in this region."

"Have you a passport?"

"I had, but it is lost."

"That is easy to prove. You have only to tell which custom house you passed on the frontier, and your name will be recorded there."

"I am a contrabandist. Men engaged in this profession do not go near the custom houses. I will say this also, that I never had a passport originally."

"That might be excusable if you were simply a contrabandist, but you are charged with another crime."

"What is it?"

"You are a spy."

"That is true. It seems Thomas Effendi has informed you. He is really a very truthful man," said Vartan sarcastically.

"It is true all the same, whoever informed me," replied the sergeant, preserving the dignity of an official personage. "We do not allow suspicious persons in our country, especially in war time. They will keep you here tonight, and in the morning you will be taken to the military commander. He will determine your case."

"Then what is the need of all this cross-questioning when my fate is to be decided by the military commander? You are able to imprison me and nothing more. But it is your custom. The lowest soldier here, even, when he is sent after a criminal performs all that the highest court should do."

Although the sergeant was offended, he made no reply.

He called four gendarmes and ordered them to take Vartan and guard him. He made no resistance but allowed them to handcuff him.

After they had taken Vartan, the sergeant turned to Hairabed and Abo. "It is not necessary to ask them anything," he stated. "Their crime is apparent. Go and guard them well."

Old Khacho was in a state of stupor. Half asleep and half awake, he seemed to see all this in a dream.

Why had the Effendi deceived him? Was all this mere form, as the Effendi had persuaded him to believe ?

They took Vartan, Hairabed and Abo and locked them in a building which served as a granary. The walls and floor were of stone, solidly joined together to prevent mice from entering and destroying the wheat. The windows were narrow and barred with a grating of iron to prevent the birds from entering. This building was very suitable to be used as a prison. An oil lamp was burning in one corner, and shed its light in the dusky arches of the granary.

Hairabed and Abo were silent. Deep dejection together with great terror was pictured on their countenances. They were familiar with the cruelty of Turkish officials who, making a pretext of an insignificant fault, and often inventing the charges themselves, and slandering the just, were always ready to fleece and destroy the innocent, especially if they were Armenians and somewhat well off. But now they had enough proof to consider them guilty. But how bad they learned this? Who could have betrayed them? They had no clear ideas as to that.

Vartan seemed to feel at his ease. His quiet resembled the quiet of a storm-tossed sea, after a tempest.

"I will explain all this to you by a parable," said he to his fellow-prisoners. "The trees of the forest carried word to their king that a tool had appeared which destroyed them mercilessly. 'What is the tool called?' asked the king. 'It's head is of iron, but it's handle of wood,' replied the trees. 'That is a very dangerous tool,' replied the king, 'since the handle is of us.'

"The handle is of us," repeated Vartan emphasizing the first word. "Our oppressor, our robber, our tormenter, our enslaver, our destroyer and the demolisher of our house, the tool with a handle of ourselves, of Armenians.

"The Thomas Effendis, beginning with the village tax-collector, up to the great lords of the Sublime Porte, are such handles in the lands of our enemies. These evil and dangerous handles have never been lacking in Armenian history. When you see the fatherland and the people betrayed into the hand of a foreigner, there you will find the finger of an Armenian. When you see the Armenian king betrayed and sent into exile, and the gates of the capital opened before the enemy, there you will find the finger of an Armenian. When you see the soil of the fatherland stained with the blood of the Armenian, his dwellings destroyed by fire and his children taken captive, there you will find the finger of the Armenian. When you see religious, political and holy church conspiracies, there you will find the finger of an Armenian. In a word, all wretchedness and persecution and every kind of brutality and barbarity which we have suffered from our enemies, the hatchet of an Armenian man has always had a share.

"The Armenian himself undermines the foundation of his national institutions and with his own hands he destroys his consecrated establishments. Why do we blame the foreigners?"

Hairabed and Abo heard Vartan's words with sad hearts. The latter asked, "Therefore all our hopes are ruined. Our building, still in its initial stages, incompleted, is ruined."

"I seem to have foreseen that it would end this way, and it was folly to expect any other termination," replied Vartan. "Salman himself was also in doubt and scarcely believed in the work he had begun. I remember his discouraged words, word for word. When that enthusiastic young man once said to me, 'When the idea of stirring up a people is not only a visionary phantom of a few individuals, and has not yet become general, has not yet been spread abroad among a portion of the populace at least, it is possible to annihilate it all with one blow - when the leaders are destroyed. But the populace is another thing. It is impossible to destroy the mind which dwells in the populace."

"'We' he said, 'will now perform only the work of the sower, but not of the reaper. We shall leave the harvest to the future descendants.' And that is the reason why in the last days he attempted to establish more permanent. more suitable institutions, such as schools. Salman's activity had no revolutionary purpose. He had no revolutionary spirit, but later it took the form of preparation for the future. Once he turned to me with a peculiarly happy smile, such as I had never seen before on his stern face. 'Vartan,' he said, 'we who are undertaking the work of educating a people, are still ignorant ourselves. We still have much to learn from the people themselves. The people are great teachers. There is boundless philosophy in a single proverb of theirs. Listen,' he said, 'how the people express the condition of their relationship with the Turks. "Be friends with the dog but don't drop your stick".' And truly, the principal requisite of how to behave with Mohammedans is summarized in that proverb. They gnaw and bite, and in order not to be wounded by their teeth, one must always keep his stick in readiness. And that is the reason why Salman tried to arm the people, and place them in a position to defend themselves."

Hairabed and Abo listened with deep interest. They seemed to have forgotten their individual grief and the sad fate which awaited them in the morning. And now they were thinking of the general suffering. They had often heard such ideas expressed by Salman, but they had not clearly comprehended them until now.

The prison seemed to have aroused Vartan's eloquence. He talked without ceasing. He had entered prisons and had been released many times in his life, but the prison had always left a gloomy impression upon him. But now he felt a sort of satisfaction. He was like a condemned prisoner on the point of being put to death and looked with deep contempt upon an unjust world and derided the folly of men, saying to himself: "Behold all your power, what can you do more than this? You kill my body, but you cannot kill the ideas I have disseminated."

"Be friends with the dog, but hold on to your stick," continued Vartan. "From this condition of vital affairs are born monsters - monsters like me. It seems, my friends, that you do not know me as I really am. But because, perhaps, this will be the last night when I shall be able to talk with you, listen. I am one of those men who very early learned to return evil for evil. My hands have often been stained with blood, but never with innocent blood. I was once a monk, but I only learned so much from the Old Testament, 'an eye for eye'. When I read that Moses, the prophet of Jehovah, destroyed whole tribes in order to purify the Promised Land, and caused the children of Israel to dwell there in their stead, I reasoned that the same ought to be done to the Turkish, Kurdish and Cherkez tribes who tyrannize over us Armenians in our remaining inheritance.

"This is the same natural law which Salman explained using plants as an example. One kind of plant chokes and destroys another kind and occupies its place. If we do not wish to be annihilated in the struggle for existence, we must have strength and ability for resistance, and that characteristic is called self-preservation. L. Salman's principal aim was, to develop that quality in the people. I early acquired that characteristic. Perhaps the moralist calls me immoral, criminal, a brute; perhaps the priest considers me a sinner, but no matter. I must act as life demands. But when men cease to be evil, when peace and Christian brotherhood reign upon earth, I am ready to be the best of men."

They talked on for a long time, until the oil in the lamp was exhausted. The flame flickered a few moments, smoked and became extinguished. The prison was enveloped in darkness.