TWIGS OF A WITHERED EMPIRE
(URMI)
On their eastern side the Hakkiari Mountains subside into the plain of
Urmi, and the journey down to that town from Tergawar is quite a tame
affair after such wild experiences as are furnished by Jilu and Baz. We
have merely to cross the last two down-like ridges of mountain, and then
the country changes, with the startling suddenness induced by
irrigation, to a fertile crop-covered plain, plentifully chequered with
trees.
Ten years ago Urmi town was but an overgrown village, crowded with mean
houses of sun-dried mud brick, and girdled with crumbling mud walls.
Only occasionally did a gateway of burnt brick, with some pretensions to
architecture, usher one into the courtyard of some notable; into a
garden constructed exactly on the lines depicted in the Assyrian
sculptures, and a house in a state of more or less disrepair. Within the
walls the city remains thus to this day; though recent changes have
promoted the growth of a suburb with an air of "underdone Tiflis," where
Persians have produced a bad imitation of the Russian imitation of
European style.
By far its most picturesque feature (not excepting even the mosque
courtyards) is its great Bazaar. This is a good specimen of the usual
Persian type, which is far more ambitious than the Turkish. It is a maze
of ill-lit corridors, roofed with domical brick vaults, and lined on
either side with the booths of the merchants and artificers. It will be
long ere a visitor's eyesight can accustom itself to the darkness, and
longer still ere his "bump of locality" can master the intricate
windings of the passages. He will enter in to explore them joyfully, for
they are a perfect feast of Oriental _genre_ subjects depicted in the
richest of subdued harmonious colouring; but if he wishes to emerge
again, he had better charter a guide!
The alleys are lit only by small holes pierced in the crowns of the
vaulting; and so solid seem the beams of light that fall athwart the
dustladen gloom, that the passenger instinctively checks his pace before
he ventures to breast them.
The townsfolk are mostly Persians; and the typical costume of the lower
classes consists of rather loose trousers, with a wide-skirted tunic
coming down as low as the knee and girt at the waist with a sash. Over
this they usually wear a sleeveless jacket of brown frieze, and the cap
is of light brown felt, shaped like half a gourd. It is practically the
same dress that we see represented as Persian on the old Greek
sculptures. Richer men wear a full-skirted coat of dark blue, with a cap
of black astrachan.
The working women wear much the same costume as the men, except that the
tunic is rather longer, and the trousers rather tighter. Also, the
colour of their garments is usually dull red, while that of the men is
blue or grey; and they muffle the upper part of the body in a voluminous
wrapper of indigo blue. The country women, when they have finished their
marketing, are accustomed to discard their trousers directly they get
outside the city gate. They then pack their purchases in the legs, and
march off with them on their necks like a yoke, quite unconscious of the
least impropriety!
Urmi plain is a proverb for richness in Persia, and its cultivators
(Christian for the most part) have an hereditary skill in their art.
They grow some seven and twenty varieties of grape, and the export of
raisins to Russia is a very large one. The grapes when gathered are
dipped in a strong solution of lye to keep off wasps, and so exposed to
dry for a fortnight on earthen floors sloping to the sun. Few things in
the country are more striking than the mass of purple and golden grapes
on such a floor, resembling, but far surpassing in richness, one of the
famous carpets of the land.
The Persian summer is reliable, or such a method would be impossible;
for anything like a sprinkle of rain during the drying time is ruin for
the crop of the year.
The frontier line between Persia and Turkey may be uncertain, but at
least the customs go on; and we found the authorities in that department
waiting for us where we entered the plain. Our managing servant,
however, is a master of strategy in these matters; and all the loads
chanced to be lagging some distance behind, save one that carried the
indispensable food-box. This was removed at the order of the Government,
and opened; on which the first things to appear were the tea apparatus
and the medicine chest. The sight of this last reminded the official
that he had fever lately; "Could the Englishman spare him a little
quinine?" Of course we could; and perhaps (as our servant suggested) he
might like some tea also;[109] the English sahib was sure to want some
while waiting for the loads to come up. There was a stream handy, and
the invaluable "primus" stove in the box; so that the customs officer
and the writer were amicably having tea together under a tree when the
mules arrived.
"Shall I take down the boxes?" said the wily Dinkha, smoothly.
"_Wallah Effendim_, this English sahib is not a merchant! Pass upon your
way, and may Allah go with you."
And so, the customs barrier was passed; for politeness seldom fails in
the East.
On occasions, of course, things do not go so well. We remember the
despair of an unfortunate American bride who had come out fresh to the
country, with her husband, as missionaries. A dinner-set of rather good
china (a wedding present) had preceded her by some weeks, and was
waiting for her in her new home, where she eagerly unpacked it.
It had been sent out to Trebizond, properly packed in hay and straw; but
the officials there, being suspicious for some reason, had searched it
to the very bottom--though of course without finding anything
contraband. Then, to save themselves trouble, they had just stuffed the
goods into the case again, without the hay packing; and as there was
naturally some room to spare at the end, had thrown in some saucepans,
flat-irons, and the iron weights of a lever weighing-machine, and so
sent the whole on a three weeks' journey across country. Its condition
at the end of that experience may be imagined. We believe that one plate
had survived; and it now adorns, in the character of a monument, the
lady's drawing-room wall!
Urmi city and plain was the Mecca of one of the noblest of the religious
faiths and philosophies that man has evolved for himself; for it was the
birthplace of Zoroaster, and was for centuries a stronghold of the
fire-worshippers' cult. Their most sacred shrine, Sirsh (now
Takht-i-Sulieman), is a little to the south; and ruins of the greatest
of the fire temples still stand there, beside the weird crater-lake of
Zindan. Not a Zoroastrian, however (as far as we know), is found in this
district now; though a few still cluster round the Towers of Silence at
Resht, and there is, of course, an important community of them in
Bombay. Even there, however, their numbers are disproportionate to their
influence, and even those small numbers are diminishing.
Once Urmi plain was their principal Holy Place; and even now, every
village of importance stands on or near one of the great ash heaps
(often covering acres of ground) that mark the sites where the sacred
fires were kept perpetually burning. These memorials have fallen on very
evil days lately; for the present owners of the land have found that
good wood ash is one of the best of manures for their fields, and the
heaps are steadily diminishing in consequence. Strange relics are
uncovered in them at times, and are sold to the foreigner as _antikas_;
though usually it is impossible to be certain where, or under what
circumstances, they were found, and they lose much of their historical
value in consequence. One such discovery suggested grim rites at one
period, as a part of the Zoroastrian ritual; for several skulls were
unearthed, the owners of which had been killed by copper nails hammered
into the brains, and still resting embedded in the bone.
Zoroaster was a reformer rather than a founder of a religion; and the
sites that became fire-temples after his date (the seventh century
before Christ) were probably shrines of some kind of worship for ages
before that period. Thus the explorer can still find near them (and
often buried under their advancing flanks as they grew in size) the
tombs of chiefs of the Bronze Age, with spear-heads and sword-blades of
that metal, and finely worked golden ornaments of a distinctive
shell-like pattern. These were the tribes, one may suppose, that the
Assyrians encountered, when (somewhere about 1000 B.C.) they tried to
extend their empire into this fertile country, and fought a battle on
the waters of the lake of which a picture still remains among their
carvings. Their warriors were supported on inflated sheep-skins; a
precaution that seems hardly necessary in such water, for Lake Urmi is a
good second in the matter of buoyancy to the Dead Sea itself.
The lake is of a good size, perhaps forty miles by eighty, though at no
place is it more than about thirty feet in depth. Its saltness is
remarkable, for the bather sits in deep water much as in an armchair,
with his head and shoulders emerging. Swimming is difficult, for the
legs are so apt to kick clean out above the surface; and on landing, any
scratch or cut on the person makes its presence very noticeable. The
rash British Consul who once took a header in, as he was accustomed to
do in ordinary salt water, is not likely soon to forget his experience.
It is, of course, a "dead sea," for there is absolutely nothing living
in it save a variety of shrimp of low organization. All fish carried
down into it by the rivers die at once. Still it is an exhilarating
place for a swim, provided that a bucket of fresh water is available for
a wash down before attempting to dry. There are rocky promontories on
the shore at intervals, but, as a rule, the water is very shallow near
the bank; a fact borne impressively into the consciousness of a member
of the Royal Geographical Society who was making investigations in this
land. His boat grounded hopelessly three-quarters of a mile from shore,
and he had to wade that distance in waist-deep water with a muddy
bottom; while every time he lifted a foot, a large bubble of
sulphuretted hydrogen rose to the surface, and burst under his nose!
St. Thomas the Apostle once crossed the lake--on his way to India as
local tradition has it--but in a fashion less laborious and odoriferous
than did the scientist. He walked on the water's surface; a smaller
miracle in this case than some parallels in the lives of the saints, yet
no small portent all the same. In memory of it all Urmi comes down for a
solemn and ceremonial bathe in the waters on the anniversary of the
passage, the fifteenth day of August. Other folk have to cross in boats,
usually the very clumsiest craft that swim on any sheet of water in the
world, with masts built after the style of an old-fashioned bear's pole.
With a strong wind dead astern, they move perhaps two miles an hour, and
may get over in a day and a night. In any other case the sail is hauled
down, and they wait for better times; so that the voyage of forty miles
may last for a week or even more. Latterly, enterprise has risen to a
steamer, plying between the ports of Urmi and Tabriz, and passing
through the winding channel that divides the two principal islands of
the lake, "Sheep Island" and "Donkey Island." With luck, this craft may
manage the passage (on the rare occasions when the engine does not break
down and have to be repaired _en route_) in six hours. The regular
programme, however, is a doleful remark from the engine-room "_Machina
qizdi_," "The machine has lost its temper"; and a halt that may last
some hours, or may endure for a day. As for the islands, they are
uninhabited by man. How the second got its name we know not; but "Sheep
Island" has some herds of wild sheep, which have been long enough
isolated to develop some characteristic peculiarities in their very fine
horns.
Urmi is one of the most ancient centres of Christianity in the land; for
if local tradition is to be trusted, the Faith was brought here by no
less a person than one of the "Wise Men," who came from the East to the
manger at Bethlehem. Oriental story, naturally, has nothing to say to
their traditional migration to the city of Cologne; though it does
include the three traditional names, Gaspar, Melchior and Balthasar, as
those of three of the band of twelve "Magi" who journeyed together to
Palestine, looking for the fulfilment of the prophecy of that ancient
initiate of their religion, Balaam the son of Beor. As for the identity
of the Magian who came back to his home at Urmi, and brought the "Good
News" with him; do not his revered bones rest to this day in the church
of St. Mary in the city, and is not that proof enough? Like many another
Oriental legend, it is at least more ancient, and less improbable, than
is the story of the "Three Kings" of the city on the Rhine.
Many beautiful traditions or parables gather round the visit of the Magi
in the East, as in the West; and one of them may be recounted here. "Our
fathers say" that when Adam went forth from the garden, he took with him
two things as memorials of his lost Paradise. These were some of the
spices that grew upon the Tree of Knowledge, and one branch gathered
from the Tree of Life. They were preserved by his descendants in the
East, as tokens that the lost inheritance would be given back again some
day; and when at last the Wise Men knew that He had come, who was to
restore it, and went forth to do Him homage, those spices were the
frankincense that they offered at Bethlehem. The branch of the Tree of
Life they took with them also, and left in Jerusalem; and there those
who knew not what they did, took it, and used it for the cross-beam of
the Tree on Calvary.
Originally the church in Urmi, like that in the mountains, was of that
"East Syrian" communion which its enemies called Nestorian. It is very
certain, however, that the body did not teach what Nestorius of
Constantinople was condemned for teaching, in the year 431; and indeed
it is very doubtful whether either he or anybody else ever did so.
It has since become the prey of foreign missions of various complexions,
such as Russian Orthodox, French Roman Catholic, and American
Presbyterian; each of which has been anxious to win the body over to
what they are convinced is a much better form of Christianity, and could
not conscientiously be content to leave it in its old independence,
while recalling it to its own ancient rule. All three have achieved a
good deal of success, and the "Old Church" is now a small minority; but
to a member of the Church of England it appears doubtful whether the
success was worth winning. Do you improve the Oriental Christian by
taking him out of the Church of his fathers and inducing him to join any
other body? He has his faults in the Old Church, and plenty of them; and
there is an element of truth in the accusation so often thrown at him,
that he is an invertebrate, backboneless creature--Christian, only
because his fathers were Christian before him. There is no doubt that
his religion is an external armour of inherited habit and belief; and
that he is, so to speak, crustaceous rather than vertebrate in his
spiritual construction. We will assume it as certain that all those who
make this fact a reproach to him would themselves have become
Christians, had they been born heathens or Mussulmans. Still, if a
zealous reformer extracts the lobster from his shell (a feat which can
be performed, if you disregard the lobster's feelings), even that
drastic operation does not enable him to develop a backbone. He merely
develops a fresh armour of habit, that may or may not be superior to the
old. Further, invertebrate though the Oriental Christian may be (and,
therefore, of course, of a far lower type than the vertebrate European
Protestant), he has the peculiar powers of his species; and can endure
an amount of cutting and hacking, without losing his faith, which would
altogether destroy the spiritual life of a higher type of Christian. The
gift of passive endurance may appear small to those who have it not; but
at least it can claim Gospel approval.
Even those who do not sympathize with "Mission Effort" usually admit
readily that it has called out a wonderful devotion in those who give
themselves to it, no matter what the particular form of their
Christianity may be. It is true, however, in this as in other things,
that "_corruptio optimi, pessima_"; and there is in Urmi and its
neighbourhood a good deal of mission work gone bad.
The various European missions (the word includes American in this case)
are above reproach; none of their members taking more than a sufficient
maintenance. But there are various small missions (usually managed
entirely by natives but financed from Europe) which simply exist to
provide a comfortable living for the native "pastor" who manages them.
These profess usually to evangelize the Mussulmans, but as a matter of
fact simply gather small congregations of men already Christian from
among the relations of the "Missionary."
It would be very much better if the good people who support these would
put their work under the superintendence of some one of the larger
missions in the place; and not install the Oriental in a position where
opportunities for fraud are so easy that even a European might easily
succumb to them.
As for mission work among Moslems, there is practically none, in this
province at any rate. Nothing but philanthropic and educational efforts
are possible at present, so long as the _sheriat_ or "sacred law" is
recognized by every Moslem as immeasurably superior to any civil
enactments, and death consequently remains the legal penalty for every
apostate from Islam.[110] How can the European missionary (himself
necessarily protected) expect success, when he has to call his converts
to face daily peril of death which his own European status forbids him
to share?
There is another point to be remembered. There is no doubt that
Christianity if preached as the Asiatic faith which it really is, and
not as the European religion which we have (inevitably and properly)
made it for ourselves, can do much for the Islamic races. It is equally
certain that those Islamic races can do much for Christianity. But,
with all their reverence for Seyidna Isa (our Lord Jesus) Mussulmans
will never accept Him, even as a superior prophet to their
Hazrat-i-Mohammed, till they learn to respect the native Christians whom
they see among them. So it would seem that all mission work must
necessarily apply itself first to the uplifting of the native
Christians, and leave the conversion of Islam to the future. Islam
meanwhile has to face a great problem of its own; viz. will faith in
their Prophet's teaching survive the impact of modern science, coupled
with the political subjugation of the last great Moslem Powers? If not,
what will take its place? For who dare contemplate such a phenomenon as
a religionless East?
Urmi considers itself a civilized and educated town, and all its
prominent citizens wear the most correct of _alafranga_ clothes. Even
the mysteries of the right relation of collar and tie have been mastered
now, perplexing though the problem is. But behind all this aping of
modernity one rejoices unfeignedly (if perhaps unrighteously) to find a
good deal of primitive paganism. That oldest faith of the land, the
aboriginal tree-worship, still lingers in the villages; and indeed is
only despised by the townsfolk when the foreigner is within hearing.
Does not the Sacred Tree of the village of Kerdami--a noble ilex of most
unusual size--still command more than reverence? A rag from the garments
of any sufferer from any disease has only to be tied on to one of its
branches to secure relief infallibly. Once only has any man been known
to treat it with any disrespect, when a profane villager of Protestant
sympathies dared to abstract a fallen bough that was still sound enough
to make a bridge for a wide irrigation cut in his field. Soon, however,
he had reason to repent his temerity; for first the roof of his outhouse
fell, and then his buffalo died; then his wife died, and finally his son
fell ill. In terror at the series of calamities, he restored the bough
and made a propitiatory offering at one of the neighbouring churches; on
which the lad recovered. And none has dared to speak against the tree
since!
Churches at which offerings are made are numerous in the neighbourhood,
and one of these, Mar Sergius,[111] is particularly famous in the land.
This saint protects travellers provided that they offer a black lamb to
him before setting out; but his special _métier_ is the curing of the
"possessed," or _shidâni_--a name used both of lunatics and epilepts.
The treatment in this case is that, after solemn prayer and benediction,
the patient is consigned to a certain cell in the foundations of the
church, which was once no doubt the abode of an ascetic. It is of
"beehive" structure, and a regular "little ease" in pattern; for the
inmate can neither sit, stand, nor lie in any comfort. There the sick
person remains for a full night, or sometimes for twenty-four hours; and
the fact is at all events past question, that a very fair proportion of
those who submit to the discipline come out cured. It is of course a
case of faith-healing, natural enough in people who have never been
taught the modern heresy that the age of "miracles" is past; though we
own that profane Europeans have suggested that as a solitary night in
that vermin-swarming den might well drive a sane man mad, it is
therefore conceivable that it might drive a mad person sane!
Inscriptions in the church, by the way, indicate that under certain
circumstances it is allowable to sleep in the _bait shidâni_ by proxy.
We have read there the statement that "I, John, the son of Jacob, have
slept here in the cell, on behalf of my sister Khua, who was unable to
come. Grant, O Lord Almighty, that by the power of the prayers of Thy
servant Mar Sergius, it may be profitable to her." Mussulmans are as
ready to avail themselves of the curative powers of the shrine as are
Christians; and we have known a party of Heriki make liberal offerings
to the church, and attend a Christian service in the same, to testify
their gratitude for the recovery of an epileptic girl.
Many Mussulmans seem to hold that Christianity, whether of an ancient
or modern type, has marvellous power against disease; and their belief
received what they regarded as a signal confirmation when the cholera
visited Urmi in 1905. Mussulmans took, of course, no precautions against
it; for how could merely boiling the water frustrate the Will of Allah?
The marvel is that the whole of their quarters of the town were not
depopulated, when one considers the conditions under which they live. It
was not unusual, for instance, to see dead bodies washed before burial
in the conduit of drinking water! One can only assume a relative
immunity, acquired originally, but transmitted by inheritance, to this
and similar filth diseases; and the point may be worth study, as
throwing light on the question whether acquired characteristics can pass
by inheritance.
Christians, as a general rule, took the precautions that the European
missionaries advised: with the result that while four thousand
Mussulmans died in the city alone (the numbers in the villages were
unknown), only five individual Christians perished; and one of these was
a Christian scientist who refused to boil his water. Mussulmans held
that Azrael was showing undue partiality to infidels, and many of them
even put the Cross over their doors to deceive him! One would like to
investigate the state of mind that dictated that act! Fancy trying to
fool the Angel of Death!
There was, of course, a good deal of panic, and every stomach-ache was
put down as cholera at first. One man even declared that he had seen the
fatal microbes following the American doctor about, "like little dogs";
but the general belief was that he had been indulging in strong
prophylactics!
Almost all the Mussulmans in Urmi itself, and the plain around it, are
of the _Shiah_ persuasion, as good Persians should be. In consequence
the celebrations of Mohurram are particularly striking. Long processions
of mourners parade through the streets, beating their breasts, and
mourning for the martyrs Hassan and Hosein; while occasional bands of
devotees rush by in white garments striking at their shaven heads with
the heavy "Mohurram knives" (which are really short broadswords of old
Roman pattern), till the blood gushes out upon them. As the heads are
shaven it is true that a light blow will draw blood, and that therefore
the ceremony can be made a matter of display and little more. As a fact,
however, there is no sham about it, for the feast scarcely ever passes
without one man at any rate actually dying from his self-inflicted
wounds; at least this was certainly the case before the Russian
occupation.
Practically Urmi is a Russian town now; and every good _Shiah_ must feel
that Mohurram, with infidel bayonets to keep the streets clean and
orderly, has been robbed of its soul if not of its outward pomp. The
processions still take place of course, and are even more magnificent
with increasing wealth; but "Ichabod"--where is the old glory? The
occupation crept in gradually, and came unperceived; but it is there,
and will continue. First came the purely religious mission, for the
protection and education of those Christians who wished to become
members of the Orthodox Church. Then a Consul had to be sent, to protect
the resident Russian priests and monks. Next, to avert any possible
peril for the Consul, there must be an escort of Cossacks for him; and
when the Persian Government is manifestly so feeble that the road cannot
be kept open even for the Royal Mail, what can Consul and Consul-General
do but patrol the roads for the public good? And then behold the
occupation as complete and permanent as that of the English in Egypt. In
both cases, the result looks as if there had been a deep-laid and
unscrupulous plan all along. In both cases there has been no such thing;
but circumstances have pushed the men on the spot into action; and
authority at home (with more or less of unwillingness) has had to
acquiesce. Neither Power has been able to avoid the feeling, "_mea res
agitur, paries cum proximus ardet_." It is all for the best for those
most concerned, for now there is safety, comfort, wealth, and an even
law for all; but all the same one's memory turns lovingly to the
picturesque, dirty, disreputable days of a few years ago!
In those days, a real _Seyyid_ (or even a sham one) had the rights that
a Descendant of the Prophet ought to have.
[Illustration: THE CITADEL ROCK, VAN.
No. 9]
He lived at free quarters where he chose (on Christian villagers mostly)
and paraded the streets in a flowing purple robe with a green turban,
which indicated by its folds and pattern whether the wearer was
descended from the Prophet by the male or female line.
He was hated by all creeds maybe, but he was feared by all
notwithstanding; by Moslems for his supposed spiritual rank, by
Christians for his undoubted worldly power. Woe to the Christian dog who
presumed to shirk getting off his horse and standing at the salute when
the _Seyyid_ rode by; it was an unmerited favour that he should be
allowed to ride a horse at all!
Of course, there are gibes against the clan in plenty: for the more
grossly superstitious a man is, the more impossible he finds it to keep
his tongue off the Church which nevertheless he dares not disobey. When
all else is bound, it is hard if speech is not free!
Thus we are told how Khoja Nazr-ed-din was sent out by his wife one day
to buy egg-plants for dinner.
"Don't know what they are like," said the Khoja.
"Mudhead," said his wife, "there are lots in the market--fat purple
things with green heads."
"Oh, I know then," said the khoja; and he came back with a _Seyyid_ in
full robes.
"Here's the egg-plant, wife. What shall I do with it?" he demanded.
"Rip it open and cut off its head," came the voice from the kitchen,
"and then put it in the pot."
The khoja, obedient man, did his best to follow instructions, and a very
dishevelled _Seyyid_ succeeded in escaping into the street.
Khoja[112] Nazr-ed-din is a sort of Oriental Joe Miller, upon whom any
story can be fathered, from Stamboul to Kandahar. But how completely the
"Arabian Nights" atmosphere survives in Urmi to this day may be judged
from the following story, which was told to us as a true one, and which
the narrator at any rate believed implicitly. Let us call it,
THE STORY OF HAJI KAS, AND HOW HIS OWN SON BOUGHT HIM
There lived of late in the city of Urmi a _Seyyid_ of the _Seyyids_,
whose name was Haji Kas. And he was a rich man and a powerful, who had
thrice performed the Pilgrimage to Mecca; and who was a friend to the
governor and the kadi, and had in repute among the mollahs and imaums.
Now it is said by the Poet (upon whom be peace), "if thy neighbour hath
made the Pilgrimage once, beware of him; if twice remove into the next
street." And Haji Kas had three times made the Pilgrimage. Wherefore all
men feared him greatly, for he regarded neither God nor man.
Now there was a certain householder in the city who had a garden which
Haji Kas coveted; and forasmuch as he would not sell, Haji Kas reviled
him and persecuted him, and brought false accusation against him before
the kadi in the courts of law. So that householder went to his house
sorrowful and sore vexed; and sat him down in an inner chamber, and ate
not, and covered his face.
Howbeit that householder had a wife, and she was a fair woman and a
wise; and when she saw her husband sorrowing, she said unto him, "What
aileth thee, O my lord, that thou eatest nothing and art sad?" And he
answered, "Because of Haji Kas the _Seyyid_; for he seeketh to take from
me my garden, and hath brought false accusation against me; and moreover
the kadi hath eaten bribes at his hand." And the woman laughed, and
said, "Truly, thou doest ill to fret thyself for such a matter. Leave
Haji Kas to me. I will give thee vengeance on Haji Kas."
So the woman arose in the morning, and donned her fairest raiment, and
perfumed herself with musk, and painted her eyes with kohl; and she took
her veil, and went forth, and came to the street where Haji Kas dwelt.
And as the _Seyyid_ passed by, she drew aside her veil and ogled him,
and said, "O Moslem, canst thou tell me the dwelling-place of Haji Kas?"
And Haji Kas answered, "I am he. What wouldst thou with me?" And she
drew aside her veil further, and smiled, and said, "Thy servant is a
woman of Teheran,[113] and married to a man of Urmi. And my husband hath
gone on a journey, and hath sent me a writing of divorcement. And behold
my neighbours said unto me, 'Seek not advice of any in this matter, save
only of the upright Haji Kas.'"
(The narrator dwelt on the flirtation lovingly, and at great length, but
here we are obliged to curtail it.)
Then Haji Kas lighted down from his horse, and took her by the hand and
said, "O my lady of beauty, verily in this matter thy neighbours
counselled thee well." But the woman drew away from him, and veiled
herself, and answered, "It is not meet that we talk together in the
street at this time. Come to my house at sundown, and I will give thee
welcome; and there shalt thou instruct me in all that it behoves me to
do."
So Haji Kas arose after nightfall, and went secretly to the house that
the woman had appointed to him; and she opened to him, and set meat and
drink before him; and while they made merry together, behold, there was
a knocking at the door. And the woman went softly to hearken; and she
said, "It is my husband. Lo! he is returned from his journey, and I wist
not aught of his coming; and I fear that he will do us a mischief, if he
find us together in the house."
Then said Haji Kas, "I conjure thee, O my lady, that thou show me a way
of escape." But she answered, "There is no other door. Hide thee in this
great chest; I only have the key thereof, and when my husband is
departed then straightway I will set thee free."
So Haji Kas entered the chest, and the woman turned the key upon him.
And she opened the door to her husband, and said, "A greeting to thee!
Behold, I have taken Haji Kas in the snare that I have laid." And the
man said, "Where is he?" And she answered, "He is in that chest. Cord
it tightly, and we will eat and be merry, and thereafter we will take
counsel what we shall do with Haji Kas."
And when the morning morrowed, the man arose, and said, "What shall we
now do with Haji Kas? Come let us open the chest, and I will beat him
and let him go." But the woman said, "Not so. Call thou hither a porter,
and lay the chest upon his shoulders, and bid him bear it to the bazaar;
and let Achmet the salesman cry it for sale to the highest bidder; but
charge him to sell it unopened; no man shall know what is in it, until
that it is sold." Then the man did as the woman had bidden him, and the
porter departed to the bazaar.
And as he was going down he met a water-seller; and the water-seller
said, "A greeting to thee. Whither goest thou?" And he answered, "I bear
this chest to the bazaar." Then said the water-seller, "What is in it?"
And the porter said, "Nay that I know not, for no man may know what is
in it till it is sold."
Then the water-seller went near and hearkened; and he said, "There is
some living thing within it. Beware lest it be a jinn. Peradventure it
will do thee hurt." And the porter dropped the chest, and sprang away
from it, and cried, "I take refuge with Allah from Satan the stoned."
Then the water-seller answered, "See now this pool of water. It is my
counsel that thou sink the chest awhile therein."
Now when Haji Kas heard that saying he cried aloud out of the chest,
saying "See thou do it not, for I am the _Seyyid_, Haji Kas." And the
porter answered, "Nay, but this is a cunning jinn." And Haji Kas cried,
"By Allah, I am indeed the _Seyyid_, and if thou let me go I will give
thee a great reward."
But the porter said, "Not so; for I have been paid my hire and my charge
is laid upon me. If then I deliver not the chest to Achmet, who will
henceforth employ me in the bazaar?"
Then Haji Kas spake to the water-seller saying, "I pray thee then,
friend, that thou will hie thee to the house of my son; and bid him
haste to the bazaar, and buy the chest of Achmet, how great soever may
be the price thereof. And let him bear it away unopened, that I be not
discovered therein."
So the water-seller ran to bear the message, and the porter took the
chest and bore it to the bazaar.
And Achmet the salesman took the chest and set it on the bench before
him, and he cried aloud, "O Moslems, I have for sale a chest--a chest
and all that is in it. What will ye give me for the chest, and for the
contents of the chest?"
And the merchants said, "What is in the chest?" And Achmet answered,
"Nay that I know not, for none may know what is in it until that it is
sold." Then the merchants came together; and one said, "It is a good
chest. I will give a toman[114] for it." And another said, "I will give
two tomans." Then came to them the son of Haji Kas, breathless with much
running, and he cried aloud unto the salesman, saying, "Oh, Achmet, sell
me the chest for five tomans." And a Jew merchant answered, "I will give
six tomans"; and the Haji's son said, "I will give thee twelve!"
Then the merchants spake one to another, saying, "Verily we know not
what is in the chest; but behold the Haji's son knoweth, and it seemeth
that it is a thing of price. Of a surety it is smuggled tobacco from the
warehouse of the Sheikh; or maybe hashish, and worth much gold." And
they that were aforetime backward were now eager to buy.
But though many bid for the chest, yet the Haji's son bid higher, and
Achmet the salesman sold him the chest for sixty tomans; and he wiped
his brow, and paid the money and called a porter to bear the chest away.
But the porter who had brought the chest had stood by, listening to the
bidding; and he laughed till his legs gave way beneath him, and he
rolled on the ground in his mirth. And while the merchants wondered at
him, he gat his breath, and sat up, and cried aloud, and said, "By
Allah, O Moslems, was there ever seen the like? This man hath bought his
own father for the price of sixty tomans. Haji Kas the _Seyyid_ is in
that great chest!"
And when the merchants heard that saying, they ran upon the chest and
brake it open; and Haji Kas sat up, and blinked at them therein. And all
the merchants laughed till the bazaar rang with their laughter; and they
held their sides, and the tears ran down their faces, and they rolled on
the ground whooping, even as the porter had done.
Then Haji Kas arose, and gat him out of the chest; and he and his son
slank away in shame together. And it came to pass after a few days, that
he sold his house, and all that appertained to him in that city, and
departed into another country, and returned to Urmi no more.
* * * * *
Governors in the old days did not often lift their hands against the
_Seyyids_; the experience of those who tried to do so, teaching them
wisdom. Twice the effort was made; but in each instance the privileged
corporation that had religious sentiment behind it was able to win. Once
the Vali-Ahd[115] had tried to meet the undoubted difficulty caused by
the fact that no governor could keep the Kurdish raiders in order, by
making the biggest brigand of the countryside Governor of Urmi province;
on the same principle as a certain King of England once made The O'Neill
Viceroy of Ireland. The Governor, Hassan Beg of the Marku Kurds, was at
least commendably energetic; and being, like all Kurds, a _Sunni_, he
despised all _Shiahs_ equally, whether they were _Seyyids_ or not. He
began operations by blowing a batch of them from guns--a fate which they
probably richly deserved, but which roused much scandal, for no amount
of hereditary sanctity will get you to Heaven in little bits! But
presently one such victim escaped. He bribed the artillery-men; and they
put him with his arm round the gun's muzzle, instead of with his back to
it. (The execution took place in the midst of a big parade-ground, so
that the fraud was not too conspicuous.) Bang went the gun: but the holy
man stood unharmed. Up went the cry, "A miracle! a miracle!" and the mob
immediately assaulted the governor's house. He had taken the precaution
of bringing a garrison of his own tribesmen with him to his new post,
so the attack failed; but he thought it more prudent to leave the city
that night and go home. His tenure of the governorship of Urmi had been
brief; but like the kingship of Roumania was "always a pleasant
reminiscence."
In the year 1902 another governor, one Mejid-es-Sultaneh, also attempted
reform. He proposed to clean the streets and have a pure water-supply; a
scheme which was admirable as far as it went, though an American
missionary in the town did suggest that "his Excellency had better make
the streets before he scrapes them." Another aspiration of his,
expressed in the words that there would never be any real reform in
Persia, "till one can see a _Seyyid_ hanging on every tree round Urmi,"
was also a perfectly sound one; but unfortunately he lacked the power to
execute his admirable ideas. Thus, when Mohurram came round, friction
began. By immemorial custom a deputation of _Seyyids_ waits on the
governor at that feast; for then (like the Jews of old) they have the
right to demand that he "release unto them one prisoner, whomsoever they
will." Mejid-es-Sultaneh was willing enough to honour custom, but had
let the college of _Seyyids_ know, unofficially, that there was one man
whom they were not to ask for. It had cost some trouble to get him into
the jail, and he was to hang. They accepted at once this challenge to a
trial of strength, and demanded that man and no other. The governor had
the whole deputation thrashed and turned out of his house; sending
orders to the prison to hang the man without more ado.
The _Seyyids_ were naturally furious; and they were able to pull strings
at Teheran till Mejid-es-Sultaneh was exiled. He only escaped
confiscation of his property by executing a hurried deed of gift of the
whole of it, in legally binding form, to an English merchant at Tabriz.
He trusted absolutely, and justifiably, to that man's verbal promise
that the income should be paid over to him, and the capital restored if
ever the original owner were in a position to claim it again.
As for trial, or any pretence of justice, even for a man in this
position, there was none. Such things are mere empty words to a ruler
who on another occasion invited a prominent Kurdish chief to a
conference, swearing on the Koran that, if he came, he should leave
Tabriz in safety and honour. The Kurd (Jaffar Agha by name) came on that
assurance. He had his conference and started home, loaded with honours
and decorations. One hundred yards from the gate of Tabriz he was called
back for a last word. He returned fearlessly; entered the reception
room--and was shot dead from behind a grating. So the Shah kept faith
with a man who trusted to his honour.
Under such rule, government broke down utterly and absolutely in Persia;
and the Turks took the opportunity of carrying out the aggression
mentioned in the previous chapter, and occupying the strip of frontier
they had long coveted. Not content with this, they encouraged a system
of open raids over the whole district of Urmi, with the avowed intention
of showing the Persians "you cannot control or bridle these Kurds, and
so you had better let us do it, for we can." The writer was in Urmi at
the time; living, as an Englishman does in these lands, in personal
sanctuary. To shoot an Englishman is too dangerous an amusement
(fascinating though it admittedly is) for any gentleman to indulge
in--unless the temptation is very great indeed. The experience was
interesting; for what one saw was anarchy, apparently with no power of
redemption. _Vis consili expers_ the Government of Persia had always
been; and when at last it fell under the weight of its own corruption,
there was no force left to set up any fresh rule at all. Folk had been
accustomed to look to the _Hukumet_ for everything; and when it was gone
they lacked the political instinct to set up anything to take its place.
The strangest rumours circulated: such as the statement that a caravan
of five hundred camels had arrived in Tabriz from Russia, loaded with
nothing but _tanzimat_ (reform); or that "Enjuman Effendi" (Monsieur
Parliament) had been appointed governor of the land by the Shah, and
that he was a very great man and had very many wives. The collapse of
the central Government did not, however, affect daily life in the
villages; except that the raiding bands of Kurds walked about the
countryside rather more at their ease than was the case normally.
In one instance a party of twelve robbers marked down a village some
thirty miles from the frontier; looted it, and insolently drove their
plunder along the high roads to their own home again. They made no
attempt at concealment or even hurry; and ten miles per diem being about
the limit that a sheep can be taken comfortably, the process must have
occupied three days at the least. It is true that the Turkish Governor,
on hearing of the exploit, did insist on the return of the animals,
greatly to the disgust of the raiders. However, they did not go quite
without profit; for finding that the beasts had got to go back, they
took the precaution of shearing them first!
At the time, we were endeavouring to give the local "Nestorian" clergy a
week's instruction in matters pastoral and devotional. As part of the
course, we ordered the whole gathering to write a sermon on the text,
"As lambs in the midst of wolves." We could not help feeling a profane
sympathy with the teaching propounded in one of the discourses;--that
undoubtedly Christians were lambs, as Scripture said; but that what was
most needful under the circumstances was that they should develop the
teeth and claws of wolves! The doctrine received practical support from
an incident that occurred before the week ended, when two of the deacons
present announced, "By your leave, _Rabbi_, we must go."
"And wherefore, O deacon?"
"Because our village is being attacked by Kurds, _Rabbi_; and it is
needful for us to go and help beat them."
Leave was given readily enough; but when was a respectable "retreat"
interrupted by such an incident before?
As for the official who was called Governor of Urmi, he sat in the
walled town, and did nothing. Once he expressed a general hope that
things would go better in the near future; because he had hired a
murderer to assassinate Bedr Ismail Agha, the man who was doing most of
the raiding at the time. But even the rôle of First Murderer in the
Government troupe was bungled; a gratuitous bit of mismanagement, for
there was plenty of talent for the part.
Christian townships in the neighbourhood, finding themselves in daily
risk of plunder, sent in to complain to his Excellency; and "soldiers"
were actually ordered to go out and protect them. They started; but
returned in two hours, stating that they had heard a rumour that there
were Kurds on the road. They had, of course, never dreamed of doing
anything to molest the people they were sent out to punish; but in
compensation, they had robbed all the unfortunate villagers, Christian
and Mussulman alike, whom they met upon the way coming to seek shelter
in the town!
When one of the townships in question, Gukhtapa, renewed its request for
some sort of protection, the governor could only regret his inability to
afford any assistance "because the soldiers say that they won't go." He
generously offered to send Kurdish irregulars of another tribe, Marku
men, who might be persuaded to "sit in the village." "Thank you," said
the applicants, "but of the two we prefer the robbers who will go away
again, to the robbers who will sit there indefinitely." They then took
their own measures for protection; giving hospitality to a party of
Tergawari Christians, driven from their homes by the Turkish aggression,
and glad to earn their living by so congenial an occupation as fighting
for it.
Ultimately, the Ottoman Government sent a "High Commissioner" to settle
the disputed frontier; and the official who appeared was that genial
general-utility man of the Empire, Tahir Pasha of Mosul. He settled
himself quite comfortably in the house of the Ottoman Consul; a
gentleman who (to give a touch of farce to the tragically comic opera
that all concerned were playing) was one of the most successful of those
"Jilu men" referred to in a previous chapter. This genius had
accumulated quite a fortune by collecting money from the charitable in
British Columbia for an orphanage in Macedonia (whither he had neither
been nor meant to go); and had really carried his nefarious trade to a
point where it became almost respectable, because he had actually
swindled the Pope! He had got a decoration out of the Holy Father, by
posing as an important mountain chief, converted to true Catholicism at
the threshold of the Apostles; and by promising to bring his whole tribe
to confess the same. One feels that cheating _in excelsis_ in this
fashion confers a halo of semi-respectability on such a supreme artist;
and the impression was apparently shared by the Ottoman Government, for
they had felt that no man could be fitter to represent the Sultan in
Urmi, and he had been nominated acting Consul accordingly.
The British Consul-General from Tabriz had come over to help in the
settlement of the frontier dispute, and a rather delicate point arose in
consequence. The Ottoman Consul was, of course, most desirous to come
and pay his respects to his esteemed British colleague; but would like
to be assured first that the warrant for swindling that was out against
him in British Columbia, would not be executed if he came into a British
Consulate. He complained sadly that the expenses of entertaining Tahir
Pasha were ruining him; but unfeeling people pointed out that he had no
cause to grumble. His money had been given for the sustenance of
Macedonian orphans; and his Excellency was a Macedonian of sorts, being
an Albanian, and (as he was over seventy) most likely an orphan as well.
Thus some of the money was going at last for something that resembled
the intention of the donors!
It presently appeared that the instructions the worthy old Pasha had
received were, in brief, to waste all the time possible, and do as
little else as might be. As these jumped absolutely with his own
inclination, he fulfilled them _con amore_; while it was hard to say
whether the British Consul was more annoyed or amused at the
manoeuvres.
"All Kurds are Turkish subjects, surely," said the Pasha mildly; "a
treaty says so, somewhere."
"But there are some tribes of Kurds right down on the Indian frontier in
Beluchistan, Excellency. Do you mean to claim them too?"
"Well, why not? If they raid over your frontier, let the Sultan know;
and he will send a punitive expedition as soon as possible."
Or there might come a mild protest on the part of the Persian Governor,
anent the arrival of some two hundred armed Kurds, "to pay their
respects to Tahir Pasha."
"What is the meaning of this armed invasion of Persian territory, your
Excellency?"
"Well, well, these Persians are hard to deal with. We let their pilgrims
go over our frontier to Kerbela in droves, and say nothing; and when a
few good peaceable fellows come over to pay their respects to the
Sultan's representative you have these complaints at once. So
unneighbourly, you know."
To drive a wily old Australian cow may be hard; but it is child's play
to getting an old Turk to do business when his instructions are to waste
time.
So the frontier dispute dragged on _ad infinitum_ till the British
Consul left it to settle itself, and went back to Tabriz. The Russians
could not allow a country where they had large interests to go to rack
and ruin through anarchy, and the present practical occupation of
northern Persia was the result.