meanness, the blackness and accumulations of dust, the darkness and
the gloom of the Syrian churches, of which this one is a favourable
specimen, typifying, I fear, too truly the gross ignorance,
indifference, and superstition in which bishops, priests, and people
are buried. And yet they are "faithful unto death." My daily wonder is
that people who know so little will for that little suffer the loss of
all things. Apostasy would be immediate emancipation from terror and
ruin, but it is nearly unknown. Their churches are like the catacombs.
Few things can be more pathetic than a congregation standing in the
dark and dismal nave, kissing the common wooden cross, and passing
from hand to hand the kiss of peace, while the priest, in dress like
their own, with girdle and stole of the poorest material, moves among
the ancient Liturgies in front of the dusty sanctuary, leading the
worshippers in prayers and chants which have come down from the
earliest ages of Christianity; from the triumphant Church of the East
to the persecuted remnant of to-day.
I. L. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[44] For the correction of my very imperfect investigations into the
religious customs of the Syrians, I am indebted to a very careful and
learned paper by Canon Maclean, _Some Account of the Customs of the
Eastern Syrian Churches_, originally published in the _Guardian_, and
now to be obtained at the office of "The Archbishop of Canterbury's
Mission to the Assyrian Christians, 2 Deans Yard, Westminster."
[45] A singular legend is told regarding the origin of the sacred
leaven and the sacred oil.
The Syrians say that as our Lord went up out of the Jordan after His
baptism John the Baptist collected in a phial the baptismal water as
it dropped from His sacred person, giving it before his death to St.
John the Evangelist. At the Last Supper (the legend runs) our Lord
gave to John two loaves, putting it into his heart to preserve one. At
the Cross, when this same apostle saw the "blood and water," he took
the phial from his bosom and added the water from the pierced side to
the water of baptism, dipping the loaf at the same time in the blood.
After the Day of Pentecost the disciples, before going forth to
"disciple" the nations, ground John's blood-dyed loaf to powder, mixed
it with flour and salt, divided it among themselves, and carried it
forth to serve as leaven for ever for the bread of remembrance. In
like manner they took of the mingled water of the phial, and mixing it
with oil of unction, divided it, and preserved it for the perpetual
sanctification of the waters of baptism.
[46] A portion of one of the latter follows:--
_The newly dead._--"Hail, my brethren and friends who sleep. Open the
door that I may enter in and see your ranks."
_Those in Hades._--"Come, enter and see how many giants are sleeping
here, and have been made dust and rust and worms in the bosom of
Sheol. Come, enter and see, O child of death, the race of Adam: see
and gaze where thy kind dwells. Come, enter and see the abundance of
the bones and their commingling. The bone of the king and the bone of
the servant are not separated. Come, enter and see the great
corruption we are dwelling in."
_The mourners._--"Wait for the Lord, who will come and raise you by
His right hand."
Translations of the Liturgies are to be found in Dr. Badger's valuable
book, _The Nestorians and their Rituals_.
LETTER XXIX (_Continued_)
Who is or is not in this house it is hard to say. Mirza tells me that
there are 115 guests to-day! Among them are a number of Tyari men,
whose wild looks, combined with the splendour of their dress and arms,
are a great interest. Their chief man has invited me to visit their
valley, and they say if I will go to them they will give me "a fine
suit of clothes." I need it much, as doubtless they have observed!
Their jackets are one mass of gold embroidery (worked by Jews), their
shirts, with hanging sleeves, are striped satin; their trousers, of
sailor cut, are silk, made from the cocoons of their own silkworms,
woven with broad crimson stripes on a white ground, on which is a
zigzag pattern; and their handsome jack-boots are of crimson leather.
With their white or red peaked felt hats and twisted silk _pagris_,
their rich girdles, jewelled daggers, and inlaid pistols, they are
very imposing. Female dress is very simple.
These Tyari men come from one of the wildest and most inaccessible
valleys of Central Kurdistan, and belong to those Ashirets or tribal
Syrians who, in their deep and narrow rifts, are practically
unconquered by the Turks and unmolested by the Kurds, and maintain a
fierce semi-independence under their _maleks_ (lit. kings) or chiefs.
They are wild and lawless mountaineers, paying taxes only when it
suits them; brave, hardy, and warlike, preserving their freedom by the
sword; fierce, quarrelsome among themselves, and having little in
common with the _rayahs_ or subject Syrians of the plains except their
tenacious clinging to their ancient Church, with its Liturgies and
rites, and their homage to our Lord Jesus as divine. They and their
priests, many of whom cannot even read, are sunk in the grossest
ignorance. They love revenge, are careless of human life, and are
wilder and more savage than their nominal masters. It is among these
people, who purchase their freedom at the cost of absolute isolation,
that Mr. Browne is going to spend the coming winter, in the hope of
instructing their priests and deacons, to whom at present guns are
more than ordinances. He has been among them already, and has won
their good-will.
[Illustration: A SYRIAN GIRL.]
These Ashirets, of whom the Tyari guests are specimens, are quite
unlike the Syrian lowlanders, not only in character but in costume and
habits. As they have naturalised numbers of Kurdish words in their
speech, so their dress, with its colour, rich materials and
embroideries, and lavish display of decorated and costly arms, is
almost altogether Kurdish. If report speaks truly their fierce tribal
feuds and readiness with the dagger are Kurdish also. Their country is
the country of the hunted. Its mountains rise nearly perpendicularly
to altitudes of over 12,000 feet, and the valleys, such as Tyari,
Tkhoma, Baz, Diz, and Jelu, are mere slits or gashes, through which
furious tributaries of the greater Zab take their impetuous course.
Above these streams the tribes have built up minute fields by raising
the lower sides on stone walls a few feet above the rivers, the upper
being the steep hill slope. So small are these plots that it is said
that the harvest of some of them would only fill a man's cap!
Occasionally heavy floods sweep away the rice and millet cultivation
of a whole district, and the mountaineers are compelled to depend for
their food entirely on the produce of their flocks.
If they could sustain themselves and their animals altogether within
their own fastnesses, they would be secure from molestation either
from Kurds or Turks, for the only possible entrances to their valleys
are so narrow and ruggedly steep as scarcely to be accessible for a
pack-horse, and ten men could keep any number at bay. But
unfortunately the scanty herbage of their mountains is soon exhausted,
and they have to feed their flocks outside their natural
fortifications, where the sheep are constantly being carried off by
the Kurds, who murder the shepherds and women. The mountaineers are
quick to revenge themselves; they carry off Kurdish sheep, and savage
warfare and a life under arms are the normal condition of the
Ashirets. The worst of it is, that they are disunited among
themselves, and fight and spoil each other as much as they fight the
Kurds, even at times taking part with them against their Christian
brethren. Travellers are scarcely safer from robbery among them than
among the Kurds, but fierce, savage, and quarrelsome as they are, and
independent both of Turk and Kurd, they render a sort of obedience to
Mar Shimun, who rules them, through their _maleks_. There is not only
enmity between tribe and tribe, but between village and village, and,
as in parts of the Bakhtiari country, guides refuse to conduct
travellers beyond certain spots, declaring that "blood" bars their
farther progress.
Besides the Kurdish and Ashiret inhabitants of these mountains of
Kurdistan there are Yezidis, usually called devil-worshippers, and a
few Jews and Armenians. Probably there is not a wilder population on
the face of the earth, or one of whose ideas, real beliefs, and ways
Europeans are so ignorant. What, for instance, do we really know of
the beliefs which underlie the religious customs of the Kizilbashes
and Yezidis, and of the Christianity to which these semi-savage
Ashirets are so passionately attached?
If I were to leave Mr. Browne unnoticed I should ignore the most
remarkable character in Kochanes. Clothed partly as a Syrian and
living altogether like one,--at this time speaking Syriac more readily
than English; limited to this narrow alp and to the narrower exile of
the Tyari valley; self-exiled from civilised society; snowed up for
many months of the year; his communications even with Van and Urmi
irregular and precarious; a priest without an altar; a teacher without
pupils; a hermit without privacy; his time at the disposal of every
one who cares to waste it; harassed by Turkish officialism and
obstruction, and prohibited by the Porte from any active "mission
work," it yet would be hard to find a sunnier, more loving, and more
buoyant spirit. He has lived among these people for nearly four years
as one of themselves, making their interests completely his own,
suffering keenly in their persecutions and losses, and entering warmly
even into their most trivial concerns, till he has become in fact a
Syrian among Syrians. He sits on the floor in native fashion; his
primitive and unpalatable food, served in copper bowls from the
Patriarch's kitchen, is eaten with his fingers; he is nearly without
possessions, he sleeps on the floor "among the spiders" without a
mattress, he lives in a hovel up a steep ladder in a sort of tower out
of repair--Syrian customs and etiquette have become second nature to
him.
He has no "mission work" to report. He is himself the mission and the
work. The hostility of the Turkish Government and the insecurity of
the country prevent him from opening schools, he cannot even assemble
a few boys and teach them their letters; he got a bit of land and the
stones for erecting a cottage, but is not allowed to build; his plans
are all frustrated by bigotry on one side and timidity on the other,
and he is even prevented from preaching by the blind conservatism of
the patriarchal court. It has not been the custom to have preaching at
Kochanes. "Sermons were dangerous things that promoted heresy," the
Patriarch said. But Mr. Browne is far from being idle. People come to
him from the villages and surrounding country for advice, and often
take it. They confide all their concerns to him, he acts effectively
the part of a peacemaker in their quarrels, he is trusted even by the
semi-savage chiefs and priests of the mountain tribes, and his medical
skill, which is at the service of all, is largely resorted to at all
hours of the day. Silenced from preaching and prohibited from
teaching, far better than a sermon is his own cheery life of
unconscious self-sacrifice, truth, purity, and devotion. This example
the people can understand, though they cannot see why an Englishman
should voluntarily take to such a life as he leads. His power lies in
his singular love for them, and in his almost complete absorption in
their lives and interests.
His room is most amusing. It is little better than a Kerry hovel. He
uses neither chair, table, nor bed; the uneven earthen floor is
covered with such a litter of rubbish as is to be seen at the back of
a "rag and bone" shop, dusty medicine bottles predominating. There is
a general dismemberment of everything that once was serviceable. The
occupant of the room is absolutely unconscious of its demerits, and my
ejaculations of dismay are received with hearty laughter.[47]
Humbly following his example, I have become absorbed in the interests
of the inhabitants of Kochanes, and would willingly stay here for some
weeks longer if it were not for the risk of being blocked in by snow
on the Armenian highlands. The cattle plague is very severe, in
addition to other misfortunes. The village has already lost 135 of its
herd, and I seldom go out without seeing men dragging carcasses to be
thrown over the cliff. The people believe that the men will die next
year.
My future journey and its safety are much discussed. If I had had any
idea of the "disturbed" state of the region that I have yet to pass
through I should never have entered Turkey, but now I have resolved to
go _via_ Bitlis to Erzerum. If the road is as dangerous as it is said
to be, and if the rumours regarding the state of the Christians turn
out to have much truth in them, the testimony of a neutral observer
may be useful and helpful. At all events the risk is worth running. My
great difficulty is that _Qasha_ ---- must leave me here to return to
Urmi with Mar Gauriel's escort, and that I have no competent man with
me in case of difficulty. Mirza not only does not speak Turkish, but
has no "backbone," and Johannes, besides having the disadvantage of
being an Armenian, is really half a savage, as well as disobedient,
bad-tempered, reckless, and quarrelsome. He fought with a Turk at
Yekmala, and got me into trouble, and one of his first misdemeanours
here was to shoot the church doves, which are regarded as sacred,
thereby giving great offence to the Patriarch.
It is most difficult to get away. The Julamerik muleteers are afraid
of being robbed on the route I wish to take, and none of them but a
young Kurd will undertake my loads, and though he arrived last night
the _zaptiehs_ I applied for have failed me. They were to have been
here by daylight this morning, and the loads were ready, but nine
o'clock came without their appearance. I wanted to take armed men from
Kochanes, but Mar Shimun said that twelve Christians would be no
protection against the Kurds, and that I must not go without a
Government escort, so things were unpacked. Late this evening, and
after another messenger had been sent to Julamerik, one _zaptieh_
arrived with a message that they could not spare more, and the people
protest against my leaving with such insufficient protection.
Another difficulty is the want of money. Owing to the "boom" in silver
in Persia, and the semi-panic which prevailed, the utmost efforts of
my friends in Urmi could only obtain L10 for a L20 note, and this only
in silver _mejidiehs_, a Turkish coin worth about 4s. As no money is
current in the villages change cannot be procured, and on sending to
Julamerik for small coins, only a very limited quantity could be
obtained--Russian _kopecks_ locally current at half their value,
Turkish coins the size of a crown piece, but so debased that they are
only worth 1s., a number of pieces of base metal the size of
sixpences, and "groats" and copper coins, miserably thin. It took me
an hour, even with Mr. Browne's help, to count 8s. in this truly
execrable money. The Julamerik _shroff_ sent word that the English
sovereign is selling at 16s. only.
So, owing to these delays, I have had another day here, with its usual
routine of drinking coffee in houses, inviting women to tea in my
room, receiving mountaineers and others who come in at all hours and
kiss my hand, and smoke their long pipes on my floor, and another
opportunity of walking in the glory of the sunset, when the mountain
barriers of beautiful Kochanes glow with a colouring which suggests
thoughts of "the land which is very far off." Good Mr. Browne makes
himself one with the people, and is most anxious for me to identify
everybody, and say the right thing to everybody--no easy task, and as
I hope and fear that this is my last evening, I have tried to "leave a
pleasant impression" by spending it in the great gathering-place,
called pre-eminently the "house"! Mirza says that the people talk of
nothing but "guns, Kurds, the harvest, and the local news," but the
conversation to-night had a wider range, and was often very amusing,
taking a sombre turn only when the risks of my journey were discussed,
and the possible misconduct of my Kurdish _katirgi_. Ishai, who
describes him as "a very tame man" (not at all my impression of him),
has told him that "if he gives any trouble the House of Mar Shimun
will never forget it."
Nothing could exceed the picturesqueness of the "house" to-night.
There were doubtless fifty people there, but the lamps, which look as
old as the relentless sweep of Taimurlane, hanging high on the
blackened pillars, only lighted up the central group, consisting of
Sulti and Marta in the highest place, the English priest in his turban
and cassock, the grotesque visage of Shlimon the Jester, and the
beautiful face and figure and splendid dress of Ishai the Patriarch's
brother, as proud as proud can be, but sitting among the retainers of
his ancient house playing on a musical instrument, the hereditary
familiarity of serf and lord blending with such expressions of respect
as "your foot is on my eyes," and the favourite asseveration, "by the
Head of Mar Shimun." The blackness in which the lofty roof was lost,
the big ovens with their busy groups, the rows of men, half-seen in
the dimness, lounging on natural ledges of rock, and the uphill floor
with its uncouth plenishings, made up such a picture as the feudalism
of our own middle ages might have presented.
My letter[48] from the Turkish Ambassador at Tihran was sent to
Julamerik this afternoon, and has produced another _zaptieh_, and an
apology!
I. L. B.
FOOTNOTES:
[47] In the winter of 1887 and the spring of 1888 every effort was
made by Fikri Pasha, the Turkish Governor of this district, but a Kurd
by race, to dislodge Mr. Browne from his position in the mountains.
"Soldiers were continually sent to inquire into his plans; he was
accused of practising without a diploma as a medical man, because he
gave a few simple remedies to the natives in a country destitute of
physicians, and his position became well-nigh intolerable when he
found that his host, Mar Shimun, was being insulted and punished for
harbouring him, and that the native Christians were being made to
suffer for his residence among them. The Patriarch, however, stood
firm. 'Your presence here,' said he to Mr. Browne, 'may save us from a
massacre; and as for these troubles we must put up with them as best
we can.' These words were verified a few months afterwards."--Mr.
Athelstan Riley's _Report on the Archbishop of Canterbury's Mission to
the Assyrian Christians_, 1888.
[48] Translation of a letter given to the author by His Excellency the
Turkish Ambassador to the Court of Tihran.
"Among the honoured of English ladies is Mrs. Bishop. On this tour of
travel she has a letter of recommendation from the Exalted Government
of England, issued by the English Embassy in Tihran, and earnest
request is made that in her passage through the Imperial Territory she
be well protected. As far as _zaptiehs_ are necessary let them be
given for her safety, all necessary provision for her most comfortable
travel be perfected, and all her requests from the High Government of
the Osmanlis be met.
"That all courtesy and attention be shown to this distinguished lady,
this letter is given from the Embassy at Tihran."
As various statements purporting to be narratives of attacks made upon
me in Turkey have appeared in Russian and other papers, I take this
opportunity of saying that they are devoid of any foundation. I was
never robbed while in the dominion of His Majesty the Sultan: courtesy
was shown me by all the Turkish officials between the Persian frontier
and Erzerum, and efficient escorts of steady and respectful _zaptiehs_
were readily supplied.
LETTER XXX
KOTRANIS, KURDISTAN, _Oct. 28_.
Here, in one of the wildest of mountain hamlets, I hoped to indulge in
the luxury of my tent, and it was actually unrolled, when all the
village men came to me and with gestures of appeal besought me not to
pitch it, as it would not be safe for one hour and would "bring
trouble upon them." The hamlet is suffering terribly from the Kurds,
who are not only robbing it of its sheep and most else, but are
attempting to deprive the peasants of their lands in spite of the fact
that they possess title-deeds. This Berwar-Lata valley has been
reduced from a condition of pastoral wealth to one of extreme poverty.
Kotranis, and Bilar a little lower down, from which the best hones are
exported, are ruined by Kurdish exactions. The Christians sow and the
Kurds reap: they breed cattle and sheep and the Kurds drive them off
when they are well grown. One man at ---- a few miles off, had 1000
sheep. He has been robbed of all but sixty. This is but a specimen of
the wrongs to which these unhappy people are exposed. The Kurds now
scarcely give them any respite in which "_to let the sheep's wool
grow_," as their phrase is.
Kotranis is my last Syrian halting-place, and its miseries are well
fitted to leave a lasting impression. It is included in the _vilayet_
of Van, in which, according to the latest estimates, there are 80,000
Syrian Christians. The _rayahs_ either own the village lands or are
the dependants or serfs of a Kurdish Agha or master. In either case
their condition is deplorable, for they have practically no rights
which a Kurd or Turk is bound to respect. In some of their villages
they have been robbed till they are absolutely without the means of
paying taxes, and are beaten, till the fact is established beyond
dispute. They are but scantily supplied with the necessaries of life,
though their industry produces abundance. Squeezed between the
rapacity and violence of the Kurds and the exactions of the Turkish
officials, who _undoubtedly connive at outrages so long as the victims
are Christians_, the condition of these Syrians is one of the most
pitiable on earth. They have no representatives in the cities of
Europe and Asia, and no commercial instincts and habits like the
Armenians. They have the Oriental failings of untruthfulness and
avarice, and the cunning begotten by centuries of oppression, but
otherwise they are simple, grossly ignorant, helpless shepherds and
cultivators; aliens by race and creed, without a rich or capable man
among them, hemmed in by some of the most inaccessible of mountain
ranges, and by their oppressors the Kurds; without a leader, adviser,
or friend, rarely visited by travellers, with no voice which can reach
Europe, with a present of intolerable bondage and a future without
light, and yet through all clinging passionately to the faith received
by tradition from their fathers.
As I have no lodging but a dark stable, I am utilising the late
afternoon, sitting by the village threshing-floor, on which a mixed
rabble of animals is treading corn. Some buffaloes are lying in moist
places looking amiable and foolish. _Boy_ is tied to my chair. The
village women knit and stare. Two of the men, armed with matchlock
guns, keep a look-out for the Kurds. A crystal stream tumbles through
the village, over ledges of white quartz. Below, the valley opens and
discloses ranges bathed in ineffable blue. The mountain sides are
aflame with autumn tints, and down their steep paths oxen are bringing
the tawny gold of the late harvest on rude sledges. But the shadow of
the Kurd is over it all. I left English-speaking people so lately that
I scarcely realise that I am now alone in Central Kurdistan, in one of
the wildest parts of the world, among fierce predatory tribes, and a
ravaged and imperilled people.