A MASTER OF MISRULE
(NERI AND JILU)
The valley in which Barzan lies is a great fold in the earth's surface,
running due east and west from Jezireh on the Tigris past Amadia to the
mountains on the Persian frontier; a distance of about 120 miles. It
forms a sort of huge natural moat to the mountain citadel of Hakkiari;
and the counterscarp is represented by the series of lower parallel
ridges which rise behind Akra, Sheikh Adi and Rabban Hormizd,
overlooking Mosul plain.
This great trench appears continuous, but is, in fact, occupied
successively by four distinct rivers which break into it from the
northern mountains, run for some little distance along it, and then
break out again towards the south. The Zab takes possession at about
mid-distance and runs eastward for thirty-five miles or so, its section
thus roughly coinciding with the jurisdiction of his Holiness of Barzan:
and the extreme eastern section is occupied by the Neri river, which
descends from the Persian mountains to unite its waters with the Zab.
Our road does not get any easier as we enter the Neri valley. All travel
in fact is impossible anywhere in the neighbourhood of the stream. The
track keeps high up on the slope of the Sat range, crossing one
tributary gorge after another, and the incessant ascents and descents
are formidably rugged and steep. The path is exceedingly narrow, and the
slope not far short of precipitous: and the traveller feels rather as if
he were riding along the gutter of a steep-pitched roof.
We had companions on the way; for the Heriki Kurds were in the act of
conducting their usual migration from Mosul plain to the upland pasture
of Tergawar.[96] Thus we were constantly passing their large flocks of
sheep, and parties of their well-armed men-folk; a feat that was
sometimes made ticklish by the exceeding narrowness of the road. As far
as we were concerned, they were harmless companions enough. The "Boy of
the Belt" whom the Sheikh of Barzan had sent with us was ample security
against any attempt being made on our mightinesses; and they seemed as
pleasant and jolly a set of brigands as a man need wish to meet. It is
true that we had a slight misunderstanding with one particular shepherd;
but that was misapprehension pure and simple, and brought about no evil
results. The lad was so picturesque an object as he strode up the pass
in front of his sheep, clad in his rough cloak with long gun, shepherd's
crook, and pipe all complete, that we begged him to do us the favour of
standing still for a moment, in order that we might secure his portrait.
Our friend, however, was new to the camera, and (very pardonably)
thought that it was a lethal weapon. He fled like a hare to the cover of
the nearest rocks, and prepared to shoot us thence; nor could any
blandishments make him relax his attitude of suspicion. Recent events
had made him distrustful of anything that looked Governmental.
If, however, the Heriki were just friendly travelling companions for us,
they were regarded much in the light of an annual migration of wolves by
all the villages on the road. These were all standing to arms till the
danger should have passed--the sheep penned in folds close to the
houses, the women all within doors, and the men with guns in hand, much
inclined to shoot at the stranger first and ask whether he did not mean
mischief after. A little _yourt_[97] that we purchased at one place was
only handed out to us through one loop-hole while the master of the
house kept us covered with a gun from another. Albeit when we had duly
handed over coin of the realm in payment, that gentleman became
effusively friendly and apologetic--through his closed and barred door.
Really, these precautions were not uncalled for. The Heriki carry off
everything that happens to fall in their way, as incidents already
recorded to testify, and "stealis and reifis" with as much impunity as
the "common thiefis of Liddisdail" in old Sir R. Maitland's day.
_They plainly throw the country rydis,_
_I trow the mekil deil thame gydis!_
_Quhair thay onset,_
_Ay in thair gait,_
_Thair is na yet nor dor thame bydis._
Poor fellows, they were rather out of humour too, because things had not
been going quite well with them. Hitherto, it had been easy to avoid all
the attentions of the tax-collector by a proper timing of their
migrations, coupled with a little _bakhshish_ to officials; and at the
worst they could always go over the border to Persia out of the
jurisdiction. Now, however, their condition had greatly deteriorated.
Persia had gone so much farther off owing to recent changes, and Ottoman
officials were to be found even in the summer pastures which had been
free of them before. Thus does a "rectification of frontier," such as
Turkey was then carrying out at the expense of Persia,[98] bring
unmerited trouble upon quiet folk.
We stayed for one night in the village of Sat, which gives its name to
the whole range. The place is Christian (Nestorian), but its inhabitants
have a name for quarrelsomeness and love of intrigue that makes them a
proverb among their not very peaceful nation. Such at least is the
description given of their character by their own Patriarch, who is, we
suppose, the highest authority possible on such a matter; and we give
the legend illustrative of the fact, as current among the nation and
recounted to us by his Grace himself.
A woman of Sat was once on a journey, near to a Nestorian village
unnamed, when she met an old acquaintance on the road outside. This was
no less a person than Satana himself, who was sitting on a stone,
weeping bitterly.
"O Brother, what is your trouble?" said the sympathizing lady.
"I am broken-hearted," sobbed the poor fiend; "I have been trying to sow
strife in this village for seven years and have not raised a single
quarrel in that time; I must give it up."
"Cheer up! let me try my hand;" said the lady; and the couple went
together to the village, where they found a bridal party just leaving
the church. What measures were taken by the woman history (prudently)
sayeth not; but within half an hour bride and bridegroom were pulling
one another's hair, and the friends of each were taking part in a very
pretty fight.
"Now you can stay here and be happy," said the woman of Sat to her
friend.
"Thank you," said Satana, "But while you are here, I really think my
presence would be superfluous."
One is completely outside the power of the Government in the Barzan-Neri
district, but not quite out of touch with its officials notwithstanding.
In one of the remotest of villages, in a deep gorge running up into the
Sat range, and called Bi-Kar, we actually found a Government mudir. It
is true that he had no power; and any collecting of taxes that took
place in the neighbourhood was done by wholly unauthorized agencies; but
there he was, presumably as a testimony to the existence of the
_Hukumet_.
Like most Ottoman officials, he was delightfully courteous to the chance
visitor; and in this case perhaps the welcome was not mere politeness,
but real joy in speaking to an educated man once more. For years in that
remote glen, he had enjoyed no conversation with any but policemen and
Kurds. His story was typical of those of a good many of the young
Ottoman official class. Educated at Stamboul, in the college for
Government servants, he had (like most of the younger men of his day)
been attracted by the "Young Turk" propaganda, and its hopes for a
reformed and revived Ottoman Empire. Something brought his reforming
sympathies to light; and a prompt order from Abdul Hamid dispatched him
to this corner of the earth, with a black mark against his name, and no
chance of promotion, or any sort of career.
Three years passed in that exile, and then the revolution gave him some
hope of a change. But the years that had elapsed since then had only
been evidence that he was forgotten by the new régime as thoroughly as
the old one could have wished; and here was he, an educated and capable
man, settling down while still under thirty as a soured, disappointed
minor official. He was one of the many tragedies of Ottoman rule.
Laboriously enough, we pushed on for three days' travel, a daily ascent
and descent of 3000 feet marking our progress. The tracks were always
feasible enough for mules, though as viewed from a distance they had a
painfully dizzy aspect; and the deep gorges between each pair of ridges
were places of marvellous beauty. The valley of Heriki lives in our
memory as perhaps the most exquisite of all. We descended the crags and
steep slopes of the mountain side--coming down 2000 feet in half an hour
on foot, though of course the animals might take four times as long--to
a glen that was one garden, thick with walnut and poplar trees,
interspersed with figs and with vines trained from tree to tree, all in
the glory of their best foliage. Trees flourished here luxuriantly from
the soil and climate, and were respected for the one reason that makes a
Kurd respect anything; for the whole glen is one great cemetery. As its
name implies, it is the original home of the nomad tribe with whom we
had just been journeying. From this spot there set out the five
eponymous ancestors of the five septs that make the tribe to-day; and
hither every man of name and fame is borne for burial among the great
ones of his house. There is much romance about this most turbulent of
nomad tribes; and it is not diminished by the fact that (if legend tells
true) they were Christians once; in the days when Nestorian bishops,
nomad like their flocks, had for diocese "the tents of the Kurds." One
relic of their ancient Christianity they are said to bear with them
still (we follow the account given by old Nestorian priests), namely,
the head of a Christian martyr, one of the several saints George of
Eastern legend. This is the palladium of their tribe, and is borne about
in a chest either by the principal chief among them, or by some holy
mollah in the clan.
A three days journey from Barzan takes the traveller to the domain of
the great rival of the chief of that ilk, viz. the Sheikh of Shamsdin,
who has his palace at Neri. This man is at least as powerful as his
neighbour; and indeed Obeid-Allah of Shamsdin, grandfather of the
present Sheikh, had thoughts of carving out for himself a separate
principality, a buffer between Turkey and Persia. He was able to invade
the latter country in force, and to besiege the city of Urmi for some
weeks in the early "seventies." He failed, however (though the success
of the Sheikh of Koweit in an analogous scheme shows that it was not
impossible under favourable circumstances); and he and his son
Abd-l-Kadr were removed to Constantinople as state prisoners, while his
second son, Saddik or Zadok, was left as head of the tribe. Shrewder
than his father, Saddik was content with the reality of power, and
accumulated wealth by tobacco smuggling on the most magnificent scale.
His caravans went down to Persia, often 100 mules strong, in open
defiance of the "Regie" officials; and a large portion of the proceeds
was invested in rifles, smuggled from Russia to Urmi. If the troops in
Trans-Caucasia were not much libelled, many of them came from their
barracks, in exchange for _vodka_!
A _kaimakam_, and an inspector of the "_Regie_" (the Governmentally
recognized tobacco monopoly) both reside at Neri; and are generously
provided with apartments in the fine house built by the Sheikh out of
the profits of the industry which their official duty is to stop. But
both of these domestic animals are most gratifyingly tame.
Not all of the Sheikh's income went in rifles, or even in _bakhshish_.
He once wrote politely to the author, asking for a recommendation to an
English bank, as he had some savings to deposit with them. The writer
named a bank or two; and knowing that his Holiness expected ten to
fifteen per cent. on money ready at call, did not think much would
follow. But eventually some thousands of pounds did actually find their
way to Lombard Street; for this prince of tobacco smugglers was in very
solvent circumstances indeed! A Kurdish brigand chief with a large
banking account in England sounds a wildly impossible conception. Yet
William Hickey records how another wholesale smuggler hailed a
homeward-bound China clipper in mid channel, and purchased all her
skipper's private stock of tea with a cheque for £800, which was
accepted without the least demur. So such things were certainly done in
the England of 1770!
Saddik was a terrible oppressor of Christians in his early days, and his
deliberate murder of one particular bishop, whom he had invited to his
house as a guest, shocked even the robust Kurdish conscience.[99] Years
brought wisdom, however; and he realized that to massacre or dispossess
good cultivators was bad economy. So such as remain are allowed to live,
though it must be owned that their condition is but very little removed
from serfdom. Among these properties of his is an Archbishop. The second
dignitary of the Nestorian Church, the Metropolitan Mar Khanan-Ishu,
resides in the Sheikh's country. He lives of course in his own monastic
house, and is allowed the use of his own property; but he is practically
a prisoner in the hands of "that Great One," maintained much as the
Norman adventurers in Italy maintained certain Popes, as the readiest
instrument for governing their own subjects.
Both officially and personally, as hereditary Sheikh of Shamsdin, and as
an Imaum of eminence, Sheikh Saddik had a great reputation among
Moslems, and knotty problems came to him for solution. Thus it was at
his "_diwan_" that a perplexed tribesman presented himself one day with
a fine cock under his arm, and the query, "What ought to be done with
this fowl? It has taken to preaching Christianity!" He was asked for an
explanation, and told how three times in his hearing the bird had
proclaimed, "_The_ religion is the religion of Jesus." And sure enough
when the cock was produced in evidence it immediately repeated at the
top of its voice "_Din Din el Seyidna Isa_"; or at least what all
present unanimously interpreted as being those words. That it was a
miracle none doubted: but was it of Allah, or of Sheitan? If the latter,
of course the owner could wring the cock's neck and the incident would
be closed. If the former, ought he, a good Mussulman, to obey it and
turn Christian?
The Sheikh considered the matter; and gave an answer that at once showed
some skill in casuistry, and was as bitter and well merited a gibe at
Christian divisions as one could wish. The miracle was declared to be
from Allah; and the cock must in no wise be slain, but preserved as an
honoured and sacred fowl. However, there were many sects of Christians,
and each one claimed that its particular version of Christianity was
"_the_ religion of _Seyidna Isa_." The cock had given no evidence as to
which was the right one; so, until all Christians should agree together,
or till the bird should give another and more explicit oracle, no true
believer need do anything. It is an episode that shows many aspects of
the Oriental mind.
Sheikh Saddik was a ruffian, but a fine and strong character withal. His
son and successor, Taha, has inherited all his ruffianism without the
stronger qualities. At the age of nineteen years he weighed precisely
that number of stone; and when a day's journey was unavoidable, it took
two sturdy mules, with specially padded saddles, to bear his gross
carcass along the way. He has the bad taste to wear European clothes (or
what he takes to be such, corduroy trousers and butcher boots), and
presents a strong family resemblance to the "Claimant." His younger
brother, Sheikh Musa, once fell foul of the British military Consul from
Van, in a way that has since been vigorously impressed on his memory.
The officer in question, accompanied by the writer, arrived at this
place in the spring of 1909; and the party was of course entertained as
guests of the house in the absence of the master. We had arrived at
noon, and had sent the horses out to pasture and rest, when one of the
_katarjis_ came running up with tidings much resembling those of the
servants of Job, and in much the same state of mind as that of those
unfortunates. The Sabaeans, represented by the personal servants of the
Sheikh, had come down on the animals as they were feeding, and
disregarding all protests had carried off every one!
There was of course a tremendous storm, for a deadlier insult to guest
and British Consul could hardly be imagined; and the tame _kaimakam_ was
required to procure the instant return of the stolen property. He, poor
man, was grievously perplexed between his fear of the Consul on the one
hand, and his fear of his proprietor on the other. Between the two, he
collapsed in something very like tears, ejaculating "What can I do? They
were the Sheikh's men who took them." He did send out his two
_zaptiehs_, with a consular kavass, to bring back the beasts; but as
soon as they were outside the village, those two worthies sat themselves
on the ground and informed the kavass that, _kaimakam_ or no _kaimakam_,
they were not going to do anything against the Sheikh's followers if
they knew it!
The animals were returned that evening; and it came out that Sheikh Musa
had suddenly conceived the idea that he would give a picnic to his
womenkind; wherefore the order "bring horses" had been issued, and
obedience to it was expected.
"There are no horses, your Greatness," the servants had said.
"No horses? There are horses!" pointing to the meadow where the Consul's
animals were at grass.
"But those are the Consul's, your Greatness."
"The Consul's! Am I Sheikh, or am I not?"
So the horses were brought; and it is to be hoped that the trouble that
followed, and the fine that had to be paid, was a salutary lesson to
everybody.
Of late years, a family quarrel has rather diminished the power of
Sheikh Taha. His uncle Abd-l-Kadr, son of Obeid-Ullah, returned from
Constantinople with the claim to be (what he is by all laws of
primogeniture) the Head of the House. Fighting followed between the two;
a proceeding which would not have done much harm to anyone had the
Kurds only fought among themselves. Naturally, however, the poor serfs
of Christians (whose allegiance both parties claimed) suffered as those
do suffer who have the misfortune to find themselves between the upper
and nether millstones.
Both Sheikhs were arrested, but a compromise was arranged. Abd-l-Kadr
agreed to accept a liberal allowance from the family funds; and to live
in Stamboul, the city he knew, rather than set up as a savage chief in
Kurdistan.
A day's journey from the Sheikh's house at Neri brings the traveller to
the land of the Christian "_ashirets_" of Jilu and Baz.
_Ashiret_ is a word that strictly means "tribe" or clan; but as
descriptive of status it is contrasted with "_rayat_" or subject; and
means that the bearers of the name pay tribute (when it can be got out
of them) and not taxes. The Ottoman Government is only now extending its
power, as a practical thing, into Kurdistan at all. All the Mussulman
dwellers in the land were until lately "_ashiret_," and much in the same
position as the Highlanders "beyond the line" in days previous to the
"forty-five." A fair proportion of the Christian dwellers there,
happening to have arms, are "_ashiret_" as well.
Those who are unarmed are in the unpleasant position of having to serve
two masters (both of them abominably bad ones), and are "_rayat_" both
to the Government, as far as its power goes; and to the Kurdish chiefs,
as far as they can enforce theirs. The whole position is comprehensible
to those who live among the people; but to the foreigner, it appears to
be (and is) the negation of law, order, and all that we mean by good
government. It is the old life of the highlands of Scotland, complicated
and worsened immensely by the division between Christianity and Islam.
Still, among the _ashirets_ who carried arms, whether Christian or
Moslem, the position was by no means intolerable a generation ago.
Besides it was extremely picturesque. The various tribes fought one
another freely; and of course the feuds usually, though not always,
followed the religious and racial line of division.
Still, arms were approximately equal; and the Christians, though
outnumbered, had strong positions to defend, and were of good fighting
stock, as men of Assyrian blood should be. So, until Abdul Hamid's day,
the parties were fairly matched on the whole; and generations of
"cross-raiding" had evolved an understanding in the matter, capable of
summary statement as "Take all you like, but do not damage what you
leave; and do not touch the women." Thus, live-stock were fair loot, and
so were carpets and other house-furniture, and arms of course. But the
house must not be burnt, and standing crops and irrigating channels not
touched, while a gentlemanly brigand would leave the corn-store alone.
Women were never molested when a village of _ashirets_ was raided, until
a few years ago. And this was so thoroughly understood that it was not
necessary even to guard them; a custom which by an interesting parallel
prevailed on our own Scotch border in the fourteenth century.[100] When,
however (as sometimes happened), a party of Kurds at feud with other
Kurds, plundered a Christian village that was "_rayat_" to the chief of
the other party, girls might be carried off, with the other live stock.
Even so, however, wives were sacrosanct.
Of late years things have changed for the worse in this respect. Women
are not always respected now; and the free distribution of rifles among
the Kurds has done away with all the old equality. This was done, when
the late Sultan raised the "_Hamidie_" battalions; partly for the
defence of his throne, partly perhaps with the idea of keeping the
Christians in subjection. Now when to odds in numbers you add the
additional handicap implied in the difference between Mauser and
flint-lock, the position becomes impossible; and the balance has since
inclined steadily against the Christian tribes.
The fights of old were not usually very deadly, for though a good deal
of home-made powder was burned, these mountaineers are tough, and hard
to kill. The writer has known an instance of a Kurd who was shot through
the body in a tribal skirmish; after which he walked home, and observed
to his wife, "Beastly nuisance this: here is a brand-new shirt, and two
holes in it; and it will want washing too!"
Jilu is a curious little mountain canton--a fan of narrow gorges
descending from the rugged Galiashin range, the highest peak of which,
Supa Durig, approaches 14,000 feet. Their union forms the Oramar River,
that considerable tributary of the Zab mentioned in the previous
chapter. Nothing but "terrace cultivation" is possible on the bare rocky
slopes; and the earth that composes the fields has usually to be carried
to the spot where the terrace wall has been built to retain it, in
baskets on men's backs. A spot has to be chosen which is reasonably safe
from avalanches; else the poor farmer may find, some spring morning,
that not only his crop, but his whole field, has been swept away in the
night.
Men of Jilu have a harder life than even the average mountaineer of
Kurdistan; and hence it is, no doubt, that they have developed the
_wanderlust_, which is far more strongly marked in them than in most of
their fellow countrymen. They wander everywhere in search of work,
though they always drift back to this strange little canton at the end.
Starting with nothing but the clothes they stand up in, and very ragged
clothes too, they apparently never starve, and occasionally bring back a
fortune. Men are to be found in Jilu who helped to build the forts of
Port Arthur; and who corrected the writer on certain points connected
with that fortress when the siege was being discussed in the patriarch's
_diwan_. Who served guns on board the American battleships off Cuba; or
have (goodness alone knows how) found some charitable person to give
them a university education in America. One of these wanderers brought
back £3000; or, to be accurate, brought it to within a few days' journey
of his home, when his luck deserted him at last, for he met a party of
Kurds, and the robbers made the haul of their wicked lives. It was the
cruellest trick of fortune; but he owned to have made the money in one
very doubtful trade that these fellows practise; and we could not avoid
the feeling that the thief by violence had as good a right to the spoil
as had the thief by fraud.
The trade in question is this. Jilu men have made the discovery that
folk in Europe and America have much sympathy with an ancient and
struggling church, and are willing to give considerable sums to assist
it. So they collect for "schools and orphanages." Men go by the dozen to
gather in money, nominally for these objects; but actually spend it on
their own needs alone. American police know the trick well, and indeed
have invented the term "fake-priest" as descriptive of this branch of
the great profession of roguery.
One can feel some sympathy with the rascals who thus answer the old
question "why did Allah create fools, if not for the profit of wise
men?" They are in absolute and utter poverty; and they know that by
going to foreign parts, and there "slinging a yarn" that they would not
expect their own people to take seriously, they can gather sums that
mean wealth to them. It is a great temptation; and it will continue till
such time as charity and common sense begin to run in double harness,
and charitable folk at home refuse to extend to these Orientals the
trust they would never repose in one of their own countrymen.
Further, tried by their own standards, these Orientals are not cheating.
An Eastern does not understand the administration of a Trust. What you
give, you give; and may Allah reward you for your charity. But, when you
have given it, it is yours no longer; and why should you complain if its
owner finds that he needs it for something different to his original
intent. You gave it for a school? Well, he really meant to use it for a
school then; but afterwards he found that he needed it for his own
family. It is his; why not? Narrow-minded man, why use the ugly word
thief?
So, while sympathizing with these rascals, we advise no man to give
them money; or even to trust the interesting documents they produce,
sealed with the patriarchal seal. Forgery is singularly easy in a land
where the seal is the sole signature, and any seal-cutter can copy it
from an impression.
So the "_Jiluayi_" wander; reproducing to-day in all details the seller
of relics who rode to Canterbury with Chaucer. One enterprising member
of the fraternity made a considerable sum by selling in four Russian
villages the four feet of the ass on which our Lord rode into Jerusalem;
and only got into trouble when the temptation to supply the demand of a
fifth village for another foot overpowered his prudence. Another, in
India, suffered even worse things. He had gathered about £300 from
various places; mainly by his absolute refusal to go away from anywhere
till something was given him. But in Malabar he was arrested as a
Russian spy, and dragged before a zealous native magistrate. Knowing, by
experience at home, the danger of telling the truth to any official, and
particularly of owning to the possession of money, he declared that he
was a very poor man and had not a penny in the world; thus sticking to
the lie, when the truth would probably have secured his safety. The
magistrate handed him over to the police to be searched, and they of
course found the gold upon him, and appropriated the whole. Then they
reproduced their victim in court, saying that as far as they could
ascertain he had spoken the truth, and that he really had no money. On
this, he was discharged.
The central shrine and cathedral of the district of Jilu is the ancient
church of Mar Zeia, a building remarkable enough to merit a word of
description to itself. In structure it is not very different from any
other mountain church; being a mere rectangular box of stone, with a
roof vaulted within and flat without, and arranged according to the
usual type of Nestorian building, which we must describe later. It is
its contents that are unique.
For centuries, Jilu men who have gone "to countries" (or foreign parts
generally) have made a practice of giving gifts to this shrine on their
return; and it, unlike other churches, has never been plundered by any
foe, for a reason that will presently appear.
The consequence is that the building contains such a collection of _ex
voto_ offerings as can hardly be matched in the world, reaching back for
one is afraid to say how long. The most modern feature is a grand
collection of American clocks, alarm and otherwise, that hang on a cord,
touching one another, all across the church. Bells, usually of small
size (for half a mule load or 125 lbs. is the strict limit of weight
that can be transported in one mass), are hung everywhere; long strings
of them decorating the curtain that veils the sanctuary. Vestments for
the priests, of Russian cut and make, hang all along the walls; while
ostrich eggs and coral speak of the connexion with Malabar. Finally,
away at the back, and covered thick with dust, stand rows of "China
jars," said to have been brought back thence when this Nestorian church
had its bishops at Pekin and Singan in the eighth century, and which
connoisseurs would probably think cheap at their weight in gold.
Strangest perhaps of all, if genuine, is the charm that has preserved
all these treasures from the spoiler. A _zaptieh_ had accompanied us
from the seat of government at Neri, and had entered the church with us,
reverently removing hat and shoes at the door. He now approached the
young bishop who was showing us his treasures, and said "My Lord, you
will allow me to see the handkerchief of Mohammed the Prophet?" "By all
means," said the bishop; and going to a recess in the wall, he produced
thence a bundle of silk wrappings, which were removed one after the
other, revealing a piece of plain linen, inscribed with Arabic
characters. This either is, or is supposed to be, a _firman_ of
protection for this church, issued by the Prophet himself, and written
on his own napkin. Whether it is, whether it can be, genuine is not for
us to say.[101] This is certain at least; that every Kurd believes in
its genuineness: and the _zaptieh_ bowed before it with the utmost
reverence, placed it on his forehead and eyes for a moment, and finally
returned it, with an offering to the shrine which represented about a
week's pay. Genuine or not, the fact of its existence has saved this
church and its contents from plunder many a time and oft, and will
probably continue to do so; though it must be owned that at one terrible
outbreak of Moslem fanaticism in the year 1847, not even reverence for
the name of the Prophet saved a similar document in the hands of the
Patriarchial family from destruction, the members of the family from
slaughter, or an even wealthier church from plunder.
We were the guests of the Bishop of Jilu, Mar Sergius, in his very
primitive palace; and as we had arrived at noon, spent a good deal of
the afternoon "holding _Diwan_" in his reception room--sitting that is
in the seat of honour on a low _diwan_, while all the village came to
us, and talked of anything and everything that occurred to them. Many of
course desired medicine, for any Englishman is a doctor by hereditary
right; and always carries with him good "English salt," which is
quinine, as well as other drugs.
So, "distribute medicines manfully" is the rule for the traveller here,
whether you chance to know anything about the trade or not. Fever you
can recognize at any rate, or the patient will recognize it for you; and
if you have not the ghost of a notion what the disease is, look doubly
wise and administer something harmless and bitter. The nastier the drug,
the more it will stimulate the faith of the sufferer, and that, after
all, is the essential thing. Speaking generally, you will cure more
efficiently when you do not know what the trouble is, than when you do.
Only remember certain rules. First, that to give mild aperients to an
Oriental is a sinful waste of good drugs; and diminishes faith in
foreign medicines, which is worse. Second, if you go by book at all,
give three times the "book dose" to an Assyrian, and five times the
amount to a Kurd; for then you may produce some sort of effect. This
instruction was given to the writer by men of experience when he was new
to the country, and it staggered him for the moment, but he was
reassured. "Yes," said a worthy member of the Syrian nation, "it is
very difficult to poison a Kurd at all; and if you succeed, it does not
much matter."
Still, we own that we have once known an Oriental suffer from an
overdose. He had applied to a Syrian friend for an aperient; and the
friend (who called himself _hakim_ on the strength of three months spent
as bottle-washer in an American Mission dispensary) had given him "a
strong medicine." Both parties were startled at the result; and as the
writer turned up opportunely next day, he was called in as a consultant,
and found the victim in a very reduced state indeed after a night spent
upon the rack!
"What did you give him?" he asked the _hakim_.
"Croton oil," said he.
"And how much?"
"Oh, not much; only a teaspoonful."
(N.B. half a minim is the maximum allowed by the British
Pharmacopoeia!)
Persian tea-spoons are not as big as English, so perhaps he had not
given much more than thirty times the full dose. The consultant gave it
as his opinion that as the patient had survived twenty-four hours, he
would recover; and the event justified his wisdom.
There was one case brought to us that afternoon, however, that was quite
beyond our skill. A man came with a tale of woe expressed in a mountain
dialect that we could not follow; and the bishop had to be impressed as
interpreter. He heard, and collapsed in a fit of laughter, gasping out,
"He wants a medicine to quiet his wife's tongue, Rabbi."
"Tell him I am not a worker of miracles, my lord," said we.
The most important subject of local politics that came up for discussion
was an attempt recently made by a reforming local governor to take a
census of the men of Jilu. A Government official had come among them
with papers and ink, and proceeded to write down all their names. When
they asked what it was all about, he explained that it was the elections
to the _Mejlis-i-Mebussan_, the Turkish Parliament; and that if their
names were written down properly they should have a member all to
themselves, who should be a man of Jilu, and should live in
Constantinople and draw a fine salary, just for sitting in the capital
and representing their grievances to the Sultan.
The idea seemed a good one, and folk gave in their names freely, till
the census was nearly finished. But then it occurred to them that
perhaps they had been hasty, and that these lists might be used for
other things than the election of an M.P. What if they were a basis for
taxation? or even worse, for the drafting of their young men to the
army? The result was that a "strong deputation" went after the
Government mudir (who, by the way, was an Armenian), confiscated all his
papers and burnt them. He was disposed to think that he was fortunate in
that he had not been himself thrown on to the pile.
A casually minded Government took no notice of the little incident,
which after all only concerned an Armenian underling.[102] Had it been a
real Turkish official, there would probably have been trouble for every
one concerned; and a good many more besides.