Forty Days of Musa Dagh (13 page)

 

 

So nothing was to be done along such lines. But what mass-provocation had
failed to achieve might yet be managed by petty tyranny. Suddenly the cafés,
the bazaar, every street and square, the inns of Zeitun, became infested
with strange Armenians, soon on gossiping terms at every corner, taking
a hand at cards and dominoes, even worming their way into private houses,
to bemoan with peculiar acrimony this intolerable and increasing Turkish
oppression. Such grains of sedition as they could gather hardly paid these
spies' personal expenses. The first winter of war descended without one
"incident" having been angled out of the still waters of Zeitun, though
a certain exalted quarter urgently needed one. At last the Kaimakam
decided to take over the part of
agent provocateur
.

 

 

It was Nazareth Chaush's good fortune -- or indeed, as things turned out,
his bad -- to have a very clumsy player to deal with. This Kaimakam was
no blood-smeared tyrant, but a mediocre petty official in the style
of the old régime, who, on the one hand, wanted a quiet life, on the
other, to "keep in" with his superiors. These superiors began with
the Mutessarif of the sanjak of Marash, to which the kazah of Zeitun
was subordinate. This Mutessarif was a very sharp-eyed individual, a
dauntless member of Ittihad, resolute to enforce without compunction
all decisions of Enver and Talaat as to the fate of the "accursed
people" -- even against the orders of his superior, the Wali of Aleppo,
Djelal Bey. The Mutessarif overwhelmed the Kaimakam with questionnaires,
warnings, acrid reprimands. So that the portly chief justice of Zeitun --
who would far rather have lived at peace with Armenians -- found that he
must trump up grounds of complaint, if only against a single prominent
personality. It is the essence of a good negative civil servant that,
having no character of his own, he should mirror that of any temporary
superior. The Kaimakam therefore addressed himself to the mukhtar,
Nazareth Chaush, whom daily he invited to come to see him, overwhelmed
with cordial civilities, and even offered the chance of a very good
business deal with the government. Not only did Chaush turn up punctually
whenever he was required, but, with the most innocent expression, made the
most of these business-like inducements. Naturally such constant visits
gave rise to more and more heartfelt conversations. The chief justice
kept assuring the mayor how passionately fond he was of Armenians. Chaush
begged him earnestly not to exaggerate: all peoples had their faults, and
not least his compatriots. It was for Armenians to win their position in
the fatherland by the services they rendered in the war. What newspapers
did the mukhtar read to get the true account of the situation? Only the
Tanin, the official Ottoman newspaper, answered Chaush. And, as for truth,
these were the days of world-shaking military events -- surely truth was
one of the prohibited weapons. The Kaimakam, in his helpless simplicity,
grew plainer. He began to abuse Ittihad, the power behind the power.
(Probably he meant what he was saying.) Nazareth Chaush was visibly horror
stricken. "They are great men, and great men always act for the best."

 

 

The Kaimakam lost his temper at being laughed at. "And Enver Pasha?
What do you think of the Enver, Mukhtar?"

 

 

"Enver Pasha is the greatest general of our time. But what else can I
think of him, Effendi?"

 

 

The Kaimakam began to blink, whine, and implore. "Mukhtar, be frank with me.
Have you heard the Russians are advancing?"

 

 

"What are you saying, Effendi? I don't believe it. There's nothing about
it in the papers.

 

 

"Well, I tell you they are. Be frank, Mukhtar. Wouldn't that be the
solution?"

 

 

Nazareth Chaush interrupted, noisy with horror: "I warn you, Effendi.
Such a highly placed man as you. Please say no more, in Heaven's name.
It sounds like high treason. But have no fear. Your word shall be buried
within me."

 

 

When such ruses had failed, open aggression could not be far off.
Naturally, even in Zeitun, and in the wild country surrounding it, there
were "elements." Their numbers, the longer the war lasted, kept being
increased from without. Besides Armenians there were at least an equal
number of Mohammedans escaped from the barracks at Marash. The jagged
mountain range Ala Kaya was a safe and pleasant retreat for deserters of
all kinds, or so the rumor went in all the barracks. But these deserters
were inoffensive: apart from the usual countiy pilferings, they harmed
nobody, were even anxious not to cause trouble.

 

 

One day, however, a Turkish muleteer was attacked in the mountains,
whether by deserters or others remained unknown. Some incredulous people
even suggested that this lousy patriot had let himself be thrashed half
to death for the baksheesh of the imperial Ottoman government. In any
case the man was discovered in a ditch, half unconscious. Here was the
longed-for "incident." Müdirs and petty officials began to wear a look
of inscrutability, all saptiehs were ordered to patrol the streets of
Zeitun in pairs, and this time Nazareth Chaush was commanded, not invited,
to attend the Kaimakam.

 

 

Revolutionary unrest, the Kaimakam mourned, seemed increasing to a most
alarming extent. His superiors, in particular the Mutessarif of Marash,
were demanding extra measures to deal with it. If he delayed any longer it
would be all over with him. Therefore he counted implicitly on the help of
his friend, Nazareth Chaush, so highly respected all over the district.
It ought not to be difficult for the mukhtar, in the interests of the whole
Armenian people, to give up a few firebrands and criminals; there must be
a great many in the neighborhood, even in the town itself. And here this
clever man walked into the trap set by the stupid one. He ought to have
said: "Effendi, I am at your orders and those of the Mutessarif. Command
me, what I am to do." Instead he made his first real blunder: "I know
nothing of criminals or revolutionaries, Effendi."

 

 

"So you can't even tell me the place where you hide your rabble to molest
honest Turks in full daylight?"

 

 

"Since I know of no rabble, I am also unaware where it is to be found."

 

 

"That's a pity. But the worst of it is that you yourself, in the last
few days, have received some of these scoundrelly traitors in your house."

 

 

Nazareth Chaush raised gouty fingers to heaven and denied it. But he
could not manage to sound very persuasive.

 

 

The Kaimakam had an inspiration, not born in the least of cunning, merely
of his own inertia, which instinctively shunned anything troublesome.
"I'll tell you what, Mukhtar. I have a request. I'm really getting to
loathe all these difficulties between us. I'm a peaceful man, I'm not
a police-hound. You take all this business off my hands. I beg you to
go to Marash. Speak to the Mutessarif. You're the city elder, he's the
responsible man. He's got my report on what's been happening here. You
two will soon find the right way to deal with it."

 

 

"Is this an order you're giving me, Effendi?"

 

 

"I told you -- it's a personal request. You can refuse, but it would
hurt me very much."

 

 

"If I go to Marash, I shall be in danger."

 

 

The Kaimakam grew reassuringly benevolent. "Danger? Why? The road's quite
safe. I'll give you the use of my own carriage and two saptiehs for a guard.
And I'll give you a letter of personal recommendation to the Mutessarif,
which you can read before you go. If there's anything else you want,
I'll let you have it."

 

 

The wrinkled face of this Armenian mountaineer turned ashen-grey. He stood
there as old and dilapidated as the weatherbeaten rocks of Zeitun itself.
Desperately he sought some valid excuse. But his lips, under the
overhanging moustache, could frame no more words. An unknown power lamed
his will. He only nodded weakly, at last. Next day he took quiet leave of
his family. A short journey. He would not be away more than a week. His
eldest son went with him to the Kaimakam's carriage. His swollen feet
and hands made it hard to climb into it. The young man supported him.
As Chaush set one foot on the step, he said in a low, casual voice,
so as not to be overheard by the coachman: "Oglum, bir, daha gelmem."
My son, I shall not come back.

 

 

He was right. The Mutessarif of Marash made short work of Nazareth Chaush.
In spite of his cordial letter of introduction he was received as a criminal,
whose crime however was kept secret from him, and finally, as an enemy
to the state and member of a treasonable secret society, he was placed in
the jail of Osmanieh. Since no further inquiries elicited any information
as to the secret organization of an Armenian revolutionary movement,
nor even as to deserters in Zeitun, he was condemned to the highest degree
of the bastinado. After which corrosive acid was poured upon his bleeding
feet. This was too much for his failing body. He died after an hour of
indescribable agony. A brass band of janizaries played outside the windows
of the jail. Their drums and fifes were to drown the shrieks from his cell.

 

 

And not even this martyrdom brought the expected results. At first nothing
happened. Only the grief, the sullen desperation, of these townsfolk became
an almost physical miasma. A darkness of the human spirit brooded upon this
dark mountain town, stiffing people's breath like a black fog. It was March
before at last two events gave the government its excuse to fulfill its
intentions. The first of these was a shot fired out of a window. A police
patrol in the Yeni Dünya quarter of the town, as it passed the house of the
dead mukhtar, was fired upon, and one of them was slightly wounded. Instead
of holding the usual inquiry, the Kaimakam declared at once that his life
was in danger in Zeitun and, having sent telegrams right and left, moved
his residence to a barracks outside the town. This mode of procedure was
entirely consonant with his character, slyly stupid and anxious not to
take trouble. At the same time, to protect the Mohammedan population,
he gave orders for a "civil guard" to be armed -- that is to say, a few
quickly drummed up hooligans received, quite in the manner of Abdul Hamid,
a green armlet each and a Mauser rifle. Worthy Turkish citizens in Zeitun,
dignified and law-abiding souls, were the first to lodge angry complaints
against their "protectors." They besieged the Kaimakam and demanded the
instant disbanding of their guardians. It availed them nothing. A paternal
government was obstinately concerned for their security. At last the civil
guard gave a good, clear pretext for the second incident, which brought
matters to a head. In the afternoons, Armenian girls and women liked to
frequent the Eski Bostan, a small public garden in the suburbs. Wide plane
trees shaded a few benches. Children played about round the fountains,
the women sewed and gossiped on the seats. A sherbet-seller pushed his stand.
This garden was suddenly invaded by the raggedest members of the civil
guard. These panting vagabonds flung themselves on the Armenian women,
held them, and began to strip off their clothes. For, no matter how
intense the itch to slaughter the men of the accursed race, the Turks had
always longed for their women, those soft-limbed, full-lipped creatures
with alien eyes. Shrieks and children's howls filled the air. But help
came the next instant. A much stronger force of Armenian men, who,
scenting evil, had crept out after the town's protectors, thrashed them
until they were lame, with bare fists, straps, and cudgels, and took
away their rifles and bayonets.

 

 

To their own disaster. Open rebellion against the state! This disarming
of the civil guard by rebels furnished all the proof that was wanted.
It could not be denied. That same evening the Kaimakam issued a list of
names for arrest to be handed over by the municipality. The men affected
came together in desperate rage, swore not to separate, and took refuge,
half an hour east of the town, in an old tekkeh, an abandoned cloister
of pilgrims and dervishes. Some deserters on Ala Kaya and other points
in the nearby mountains got wind of this and came down to join the
fugitives. This little fortress contained about a hundred men.

 

 

The Mutessarif in Marash, the government agents in Istanbul, had all
they had planned for. The time for petty provocations was over and
a very effective little rebellion well under way. Neutral and allied
consuls should no longer be allowed to keep their eyes shut to Armenian
lawlessness. Within two days military reinforcements had reached Zeitun
-- two provisional infantry companies of the line. The bashi, the major
in command, laid siege at once. But -- whether because he was a hero
or merely a fool -- when he rode forth, disdainful of any cover, on a
plunging horse at the head of his men, towards the tekkeh, to subdue its
garrison in this very frank and warlike manner, he and six of his men
were shot down with well-aimed bullets. This was even more than had been
desired! The major's heroic death was broadcast at once, with a blare of
trumpets, to all four corners of the empire. Ittihad worked feverishly to
get the exact note required into the cries of indignation that arose. In
about three days Zeitun had become an armed camp. A contingent of four
battalions with two batteries had been summoned to clear out this little
nest of despairing fugitives. All this, moreover, at a moment when Jemal
Pasha needed every man and every gun for his fourth army. In spite
of this vast surrounding force a private was sent with a white flag
to admonish the rebels to surrender. He received the classic answer:
"Since we have to die, let it be fighting."