BARON MUGGURDITCH THOMASSIAN
"Warbling still amidst the others,
Wandering with them where they roam,
And yet hallowing remembrance,
With low gushes about home."
No doubt some subtle form of nervous weakness, the relic of his long and
terrible illness, still held young John Grayson in its grasp. Moreover
the loss of his father, so intensely loved, had entered like iron into
his soul. His mother's death was still, when he left home, a recent
bereavement, and he was an only child. He had no near relatives except
in his uncle's family, and even amongst them there was only one he cared
for much, his father's godson, a cousin five years his senior, whose fag
he had been at school.
What had he, after all, to go back to in England? He excused his torpor
with thoughts like these, whenever it occurred to him to ask himself if
he meant to spend his life tending vines, teaching English, and
studying Armenian, in a little out-of-the-way town on the banks of the
Euphrates.
He spent many months there without taking much note of time. The
Meneshians were his family; the whole Armenian community his friends. He
entered more and more into their life, shared more and more their
interests. He was especially interested in the culture of the vineyard,
wanting to know the how and the why of everything. Once--but this was in
early days--he proposed taking Kevork and a couple of other lads with
him, and going to stay there long before the regular vintage time. "We
could guard it a great deal better," he said, "than that lazy Turk, who
does nothing but lie all day on his perch smoking cigarettes, and is
always wanting backsheesh."[1]
"You could not do it at all," answered Boghos, the eldest son of
Hohannes, and the husband of Mariam Hanum, "just because you are not a
Turk. Backsheesh is very well spent in setting the Turk to watch the
Kourd, instead of both of them preying upon us. Do you not know that
yet, Yon Effendi?"
They all continued to give him that name, which he had taught in the
first instance to Kevork and his brothers. To them all he was a cross
between a pet and plaything to be taken care of, and a superior person
to be honoured. In both capacities he had every attention, and all his
wants were liberally supplied. But he insisted that Hohannes should
expend for that purpose some of his father's gold, and should give from
time to time a small sum by way of compensation to Boghos and Mariam
Hanum, with whom he lived. Money was so scarce in that region that a
very small sum sufficed.
At last one day the whole Meneshian family, and indeed the whole
Armenian quarter of Biridjik, was thrown into excitement by the news
that Baron Muggurditch Thomassian (in English, Mr. Baptist Thomson), was
about to honour them with a visit. He was travelling from Urfa to
Aintab, and proposed staying a day or two on his way with his kinsfolk,
the Meneshians.
Jack shared in the excitement. He was very curious to see this wealthy,
travelled, educated Armenian, whom he expected to find of a very
different type from the simple folk of Biridjik. And now, at last, he
was sure to find through him the opportunity of communicating with his
friends in England, which, however little eagerness he might feel in
the matter, he knew he ought not to neglect.
What could the duteous and admiring kinsfolk of Baron Thomassian do on
the occasion, except pay him the attention of riding "three hours
distance" to meet him on his way, even although it was midwinter, the
rains heavy and the wretched road ankle-deep in mud? Boghos led the
party, and Jack went among the rest. Old Hohannes had a few fine horses,
of which he was very proud; and he had given one of them to Jack, to his
immense delight and satisfaction.
In that district there is scarcely any snow, and the rain had happily
cleared off, so it was only a splashed and muddy, and not a drenched and
soaking company that drew up by the wayside in the shelter of a little
hill, to await the coming of the travellers.
At last the jingling of mule bells announced the approach of the
caravan. There was a long string of khartijes, or muleteers, there were
some servants on horseback, and a few zaptiehs to act as guards. These
were fully armed of course, and the central figure of the whole, Baron
Thomassian himself, rode a very fine horse, and actually carried a gun
at his side, for which he must have got a special "permit" from the
government. He was a good-looking middle-aged man, dressed _à la Frank_,
or in complete European costume, except that he wore a fez in place of
a hat, which was amongst the things forbidden to an Armenian.
There was something else which gave all the Biridjik folk a great
surprise. Beside him rode a slight young girl, closely wrapped in a long
"ezhar" of striped silk, which was drawn as a veil over the greater part
of her face, leaving very little of it visible except her large,
beautiful, dark eyes. Veiled though she was, Boghos recognised his
daughter, and Kevork at least guessed his sister. Scarce, for looking at
her, could they give their kinsman the customary greeting, "Paré yejock"
(your coming is a joy), or wait for the response, "Paré dessack" (we see
you with joy). And Thomassian hastened to say, "I have brought your
daughter back to you at the request of your cousin, Baron Vartonian. I
will explain the reason afterwards." Then Boghos kissed his daughter on
both cheeks, and she kissed his hand and asked for his blessing. Kevork
kissed her also; and Jack, keeping modestly in the background, thought
what a pleasant thing it must be to have a sister. He had already seen
lovely faces among the girls and women of Biridjik, but never, as he
thought, eyes quite so soft and dark, lips quite so rosy, and cheeks of
such perfect form and hue.
All the rest, who were old acquaintances, came crowding round her; and
then Boghos turned his attention to Jack, and made him known to
Thomassian, with much polite observance, as their English friend, John
Grayson Effendi.
They rode back together to Biridjik, Boghos devoting himself to the
entertainment of Thomassian. Jack could not help wondering that they all
showed so little pleasure at the return of Shushan; on the other hand, a
sort of constraint and gloom seemed to brood over the whole party.
Kevork would give him no explanation. Even when he said, "I am surprised
to see your sister looking so young. She seems scarcely fourteen. I
thought, of course, from what you told me, that she must be older than
you." Kevork only answered, with a quick, guarded look around, "She was
but ten years old when she left us."
After the festive supper in honour of the guest, Thomassian explained
the matter in private to Hohannes and to Boghos.
"Your former Kamaikan, Mehmed Ibrahim," he said, "has come to Urfa. He
has got some good office there in the Government. Somehow he found out
that Shushan was there with the Vartonians, and--he has not forgotten.
In short, she must go. There was no other way."
"Amaan!" or "Oh dear!" was all her father said. But he looked perplexed
and sorrowful, seeing trouble before them all.
Hohannes put the trouble into words. "He may find out, and send after
her here."
"The Vartonians thought not. You must keep her as close as you can, or
send her in disguise to one of the villages."
"How dare we--for the Kourds? A bride on her way from the church was
carried off the other day from Korti, and the bridegroom and her father,
who tried to defend her, were both killed. Our girls are not safe
anywhere, except in their graves." Though they sat within closed doors,
they all spoke in low tones, and with furtive glances around them.
"Our only possible protection," Thomassian said, "lies in the wealth our
abilities and our industry enable us to gain. The Turks and Kourds
consider our peace and safety marketable properties, which they are
willing to sell us at a good price."
"Yes," said Hohannes sadly, "until they find we have nothing more to
give, or until it suits them to take all together."
Thomassian, who probably did not much care to talk on these matters,
said that he was weary with his journey, and expressed a wish to go
early to rest.
Kevork had been hanging about watching for an opportunity of speaking
with him, and now, as soon as the door was opened, he came forward,
offering politely to attend him to his sleeping-place.
A little later he came quickly, and evidently in much excitement, into
the room where Shushan was sitting, with her mother and several other
women and girls of the household, who had come in to see her.
"Mother, I have done it!" he cried.
"Done what, my son?" asked his sad-faced mother.
She was sitting, as usual, behind her wheel, but its whirr was silent
now. She had enough to do in looking in the face of Shushan, and holding
her hand.
"I have made a conquest of old Cousin Muggurditch," said Kevork
triumphantly. "He will take me with him to Aintab, and put me to the
Foreigners' School."
A murmur of surprise ran round the room. But his mother asked, with some
shrewdness,--
"What did you give him?"
"What you gave me, mother. I owe all to you. It was those gold coins
that did it."
The other women looked significantly at Mariam. The strings of gold
coins which she wears about her person are the Armenian woman's only
absolute and indisputable possession. They stand to her instead of
settlements and dowry. That must be precious indeed for which she will
sacrifice them.
"He made little of the coins at first," said the quick-witted lad; "but
that was all in the way of business. I could see that he thought a good
deal of them, and liked well to get them."
"How much did you sell them for?" asked Mariam.
"I did not sell them. Not such a fool as that! I mean you to have them
again some day, mother. I only gave them in pledge to him--he promising
to advance my school expenses--until I should be able to repay him."
"But that is for ever and ever," said one of the women.
"Nothing of the sort. After two years at Aintab I shall be a teacher,
and able to earn money for myself."
Here Shushan looked up and spoke. She was very beautiful; not only with
the beauty characteristic of her race--soft dark eyes, black pencilled
eyebrows almost meeting, long curling eyelashes, and olive-tinted,
regular features--but with the rarer loveliness of a sweet, pure
expression, that suited well her name, Shushan, the Lily. During her
four years of absence the familiar surroundings of home had become
strange to her, so she spoke with a certain timidity.
"My brother," she said, looking appealingly up to the tall youth whom
she had left a mere child--"my brother, will you do something for me
when you go to Aintab?"
Kevork protested his willingness, although somewhat surprised.
"My dearest friend," said Shushan, "the person I love best in the world,
next after my father and mother and my brothers, is just now going to
Aintab, to the school for girls. They hurried me away so quickly that I
could not see her to say good-bye. And I shall not see her now; for,
although she must pass by this on her way, she will not come into the
town, but lodge in the khan outside. Will you salute her for me, and
give her this as a gift from her poor little friend, Shushan Meneshian?"
She drew from her bosom something resembling a necklace, made of amber
beads, and held it out to Kevork.
He stooped down to take it, saying, "Well, then, my sister, what is the
name of the girl?"
"Elmas Stepanian; she is the daughter of the Badvellie."
"Badvellie" means "full of honour"; and the Armenians usually speak of
their priests and pastors by this respectful title.
"Stay, Kevork," said his mother. "You had better not take that
_tebish_. Shushan is a child, and does not know the world. But do you
think that it is possible the foreigners would allow the boys and the
girls to speak to one another? They are very good people, else surely
our cousins would not have let their own children, and Shushan, go to
school to them."
This certainly was a difficulty, and even Shushan looked perplexed. But
Kevork was equal to the occasion. "Yon Effendi tells me that the foreign
Effendis, men and women, talk to each other just as much and as often as
they like," he said. "Shushan, my sister, I will pray of the Effendi who
teaches me to give thy token to the Effendi who teaches Oriort[2] Elmas
Stepanian, and she will find some right way, I have no doubt, of giving
it to her."
"Do so, Kevork, and I thank thee many times." She gave him the string of
beads, and then her tongue waxed eloquent in praise of her friend. "She
is so good, so clever," she said. "She knows, oh, so many things! She
can speak and write English, not just a little as I do, but beautifully,
like a real American! She knows grammar and geography, and the counting
up of figures, and the story of the world. She does not want a
thought-string like that to help her." (Both Turks and Armenians are
accustomed, when thinking or talking, to finger strings of beads, called
_tebishes_, and to obtain some mysterious assistance from the process.)
"Oh! no. She would never use one at school, nor indeed would most of us.
But now she is going where she will have such _very_ hard lessons to
learn, that perhaps she may be glad of it. At least it will remind her
of her poor little Shushan. Tell her, Kevork, that Shushan puts a prayer
for her on every bead she sends her."
"I think it is a very foolish plan to teach all those things to girls,"
one of the old women observed. "They will be fit for nothing else in the
world but reading books, and who will mind the babies? And what will
become of cooking and washing and baking bread, not to talk of spinning
and sewing?"
"The girls of the American school at Urfa cook and bake and spin and sew
right well for their years," Shushan spoke up bravely. "And those who go
to Aintab, like Elmas, learn those things even better there. Oh, I wish
you could see Elmas in her home, working to help her mother, and taking
care of her little brothers and sister; you would know what she was
worth then."
This did not fall upon unheeding ears. Young Kevork made a mental note
of it; then turned quickly to ask his mother what she could manage to
give him in the way of clothing, as his cousin wished to set out on his
journey the morning of the day after next.
Meanwhile Jack was busily employed writing to his uncle, and to his
uncle's son. The former he told, briefly enough, of his father's death,
his own long illness, and the care and kindness of the people amongst
whom he had fallen. He asked him to write to him, and to send him money
for his journey home, and also to recompense those who had been so good
to him. He knew, of course, that he would have a considerable income of
his own, so he felt no difficulty in making this request. He concluded
with love to his relatives and enquiries after their welfare. To his
cousin he wrote more freely, and gave more particulars. But even to him
his words did not flow easily. He could not take up his life in his
hand, and look at it from the outside, so as to describe it to another.
He could only give details of his surroundings, and of this he soon
tired, being unaccustomed to write in English, or indeed to write at
all. He broke off abruptly, folded up the two letters in one, sealed the
packet, directed it to his uncle, and brought it to Thomassian.
Baron Muggurditch Thomassian was emphatically the courteous, cultured,
cosmopolitan Armenian. He had amassed a considerable fortune in his
business, which was that of a merchant of drugs; and to which he joined
some cautious and lucrative money-lending. Moreover, he had travelled
far, and seen much. He could speak several languages quite well enough
to make shrewd bargains in them; and he knew the art of spending as well
as of making money. He could appreciate music, poetry, and painting, no
less than luxuries of a more material kind. Yet Jack felt as if he could
never love him, never trust him even, as he did his friends in Biridjik.
"I don't know what it is," he said to himself; "for there is nothing
amiss with his looks, except perhaps something a little shifty about his
eyes."
Nothing, however, could have been more courteous than his response to
Jack's request that he would take charge of his letter, and see it safe
into some really reliable post-office.
"I am asking my friends to send money to bring me home," he added, by
way of explanation.
"How did you tell them to send it, Mr. Grayson?" asked Thomassian.
"I never thought of telling them how. I thought they would know
themselves," Jack answered simply.
"It is not so simple a matter as you think," said Thomassian.
"Then what must I do? Stay, could it be managed this way? You are going
to Aleppo?"
"Yes, Effendi."
"The English Consul there was my father's friend, and very kind to us.
He would let my uncle send the money to him, and would know how to send
it to me. I daresay he would write to my uncle too. You will ask him,
will you not, Baron Thomassian?"
"I will do it without fail."
"And I am very grateful to you," Jack said, giving him his hand in
English fashion, though the courteous Eastern did not fail to bow low
over it.
Next morning Muggurditch Thomassian went his way, taking with him Jack's
letter and Jack's chief friend Kevork, but leaving behind him what was
destined to be of still more importance in the life of the English
youth.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The "perch" upon which the Turkish guard reposed was a kind of
booth, erected on the top of four poles, twelve or fifteen feet high,
planted firmly in the ground.
[2] Miss.