Forty Days of Musa Dagh (74 page)

 

 

"The Dardanelles, the Caucasus, Palestine and Mesopotamia are German fronts
today, Herr Lepsius, more even than Turkish. If they collapse, the whole
war structure collapses with them. We really can't threaten Turkey with
our own suicide unless we want to make ourselves ridiculous. I don't think
I even need remind you of the tremendous significance which His Majesty
the Kaiser attaches to our power in the East. But aren't you even aware
that the Turks by no means feel indebted to us -- on the contrary, they
consider themselves our creditors. I don't see why you shouldn't be told
that a very powerful group on the Committee would be perfectly ready at
any minute to change horses, and negotiate with the Allies. You might
easily live to see France and England, who today raise such a howl over
Armenian atrocities, shut both eyes to the same atrocities tomorrow.
You speak of truth, Herr Lepsius. The truth is that the Turks hold trumps
in this particuar game, that we have to mind our p's and q's and keep well
within the limits of the possible."

 

 

Johannes Lepsius listened quietly. He had heard them all, again and again,
these "truths" which the children of this world utter with their sharp
logic. They led to incontestable conclusions. Whoso admitted a single
link in the chain was forever lost. But the pastor was far beyond the
point of admitting anything. In these few weeks his mind had grown a
shell, which rendered it impervious to such processes. He would not let
himself be drawn out of it. Stubbornly he remained on his own ground.

 

 

"I'm not a politician. It's not my business to find possible ways by which,
even now, a part of the Armenian nation can be saved. But it is my duty
as the representative of a great number of German Christians, who think
as I do, to voice the urgent petition that such ways and means may be
discovered, and discovered before it's too late."

 

 

"No matter how we may turn the thing and twist it, Herr Lepsius, it may
be possible here and there to ameliorate the lot of these Armenians,
but unluckily we shan't be able to change it."

 

 

"Neither my friends nor I can accept that unchristian standpoint."

 

 

"Please realize that, in this Armenian destiny, certain historical forces,
too vast for us to control, may be working themselves out."

 

 

"I only realize that Enver and Talaat have taken advantage, with devilish
cunning, of the best possible moment at which to cast themselves for the
role of historical forces."

 

 

The privy councillor smiled rather mincingly, as though it were his turn
now, to display a sample of his religious views. "Doesn't Nietzsche say:
'What totters, ought it not to be thrust down?' "

 

 

But Nietzsche was not the man to disconcert such a child of God as
Johannes Lepsius. Rather annoyed at the generalities in which the
conversation kept petering out, he answered shortly: "Which of us knows
whether he's falling, or pushing down?"

 

 

The privy councillor, back at his desk again, took another brief glance
at the map on the wall. "The Armenians are going under because of their
geographical position. It's the fate of the weak, of the hated minority."

 

 

"Every man and every nation at one time or another becomes 'the weak.'
That's why nobody should tolerate persecution, let alone extermination,
as a precedent."

 

 

"Have you never, Herr Lepsius, asked yourself whether national minorities
may not cause unnecessary trouble -- whether it may not be better that they
should vanish?"

 

 

Lepsius took off his glasses and polished them hard. His eyes peered
and blinked wearily. Their myopic look seemed to give his whole body
something courageous.

 

 

"Herr Geheimrat, are not we Germans in a minority?"

 

 

"What do you mean by that? I don't understand you."

 

 

"In the midst of a Europe united against us, we're a damnably imperilled
minority. It only needs one bad breakthrough. And we've not chosen our
geography so brilliantly either."

 

 

The privy councillor's face had ceased to be kindly, it looked sharp
and pale. A whiff of dusty midday heat beat in through the window.

 

 

"Quite right, Herr Pastor. And therefore it's the duty of every German
to be concerned for the fate of his own people, and to think of the
rivers of blood which, what you prefer to call the German minority,
is shedding. That is the only standpoint from which a German can view
the Armenian question."

 

 

"We Christians depend on the grace of God and our obedience to the Gospels.
I tell you quite frankly, Herr Geheimrat, that I reject any other standpoint.
For weeks now I've been seeing more clearly every day that power will have
to be taken out of the hands of the children of this world, the politicians,
if ever communion in the Lord, the Corpus Christi, is to become a reality
in our poor little world."

 

 

"Render unto Caesar -- "

 

 

"But what
is
Caesar's -- apart from a worn-out penny piece? Christ was
too wise to tell us that. No! No! the peoples are the slaves of their
racial differences. And their flatterers, who want to live off them,
intensify such things and stimulate their vanity. As though there were any
special merit in being born a dog or a cat, a turnip or a potato. Jesus
Christ, Who gives us the eternal example of the divine man, only put on
hunian form in order to conquer it. So that on earth only the true sons of
God should rule, from the very fact that they have conquered their race,
their earthly conditioning. That is my political creed, Herr Geheimrat."

 

 

The Prussian aristocrat's face showed not the slightest suggestion of irony.
"You talk like a confirmed Catholic, Herr Pastor."

 

 

"More Catholic than any Catholic -- since the Church of my trust does not
share her power with any lay authority."

 

 

The privy councillor screwed in his monocle again; this conveyed the
suggestion that the time for debate had come to an end. "But till we
can re-establish the Holy Inquisition, we poor children of this world
have got to take the responsibility."

 

 

Johannes Lepsius, who perhaps had gone a little too far, drew back into
his shell. His voice sounded calm, almost offhand: "Let me still be
quite frank with you, Herr Geheimrat. Till a few days ago I was hopeful,
and I still believed that Herr Bethmann-Hollweg would support me in
this fight with more drastic measures than he has, so far. You have
let me see quite finally that our government's hands are tied in its
dealings with Turkey, and that we must confine ourselves to the usual
interviews and démarches. But no reasons of state tie mine. And now the
Armenian question in Germany rests solely on me. I'm not inclined to make
concessions and give in. I, in conjunction with my friends, intend to
enlighten our own people. Since only when men know the truth will it be
possible to establish our work of Christian assistance on a broad basis.
I therefore request that my hands may not be tied in these activities."

 

 

The privy councillor had been deep in the study of his wristwatch;
he glanced up from it, pleased. "One frankness is worth another, Herr Pastor.
You mustn't therefore misunderstand me if I tell you that for some time now,
we've been keeping an eye on you. Your stay in Constantinople was the
subject of a great many complaints. I repeat, you have no idea how complex
the situation is. I'm sorry. I have the greatest respect for your humane
activities. And yet, in the political sense, such activities are -- well,
not desirable. I would advise you, my dear Herr Lepsius, to keep them
within very definite bounds, and make them as unobtrusive as possible."

 

 

The pastor's reply came more like a growl than a solemnity:
"A call has come to me. No power on earth can prevent my following
that voice."

 

 

"Oh, you mustn't say that, Herr Doctor Lepsius." The startled privy
councillor's face looked almost flurried in its kindliness. "A few
powers of this world are already doing their very best to prevent you
effectively."

 

 

The pastor patted the whole left side of his coat before he stood up.
"I'm extremely grateful, Herr Geheimrat, for all your frankness and
your advice."

 

 

The tall, slim councillor faced Herr Lepsius, in a kind of self-satisfied
embarrassment which sat him perfectly. "I'm so glad we've managed to come
to such a quick understanding, Herr Pastor. You're looking as though
you need a rest. Wouldn't it be better for you to slack off a bit --
just go on living from day to day. Don't you live in Potsdam?"

 

 

Johannes Lepsius regretted having taken up so much official time. But the
privy councillor showed him out with a positively ingratiating smile.

 

 

"My dear Herr Pastor! It's a long time since I've spent such an interesting
hour."

 

 

Down in the stuffy, midday Wilhelmstrasse, Johannes Lepsius stood and asked
himself whether, as his Lord instructed him, he had been as meek as a dove,
as wise as a serpent. He was instantly forced to the admission that both
dove and serpent had failed to come off. But luckily he had been sufficiently
prudent to obtain, some time ago, all the necessary passports, identification
descriptions, travelling permits, and permissions to export currency.
That was why, a few minutes ago, he had tapped the left side of his coat so
carefully, to assure himself of these sacred objects. He turned sharply
round. Suppose even now a detective were tracking him! His mind was made up.
The express for Basel left at 8:40. He had still more than three hours
in which to telephone Potsdam for his luggage and make all his other
arrangements for setting out. Even tomorrow the frontiers might be closed
to him. But he must get back to Istanbul! That was his place, even though
he had still no clear idea what to do there. In Germany, in any case, his
work would go forward without him. The organization had been built up,
the office opened, patrons, friends, collaborators, won over. His place
was not in far-off safety, but on the very coasts of the sea of blood.

 

 

The scurry and din of the Potsdamer Platz deafened him. The short-sighted
Lepsius waited a long time for his chance to get across it safely. The
thunder, rattle, clatter, and grating of cars, motorbuses, trains,
surged round his ears, like a single tone. Like the bells of some great
barbaric cathedral. A little rhyme came up in his mind; he had taken it
down many years ago on the deck of a little dancing steamer, as it bore
him across to the rocky island of Patmos-Patino, the holy apocalyptic
isle of St. John. Its refrain sang in him:

 

 

A and O
A and O
Ring the bells of Patino.

 

 

And that little rhyme seemed to link two such different places as Patmos
and Potsdamer Platz.

 

 

 

 

The life of a shy night animal in Istanbul.

 

 

Johannes Lepsius knew himself spied upon and tracked. Usually, therefore,
he left the Hotel Tokatlyan only at night. On the day after his arrival
he had paid his duty call at the German Embassy. Instead of the Minister,
Embassy secretary, or press attaché, a very minor official indeed had
received him, with the plain, unvarnished inquiry what object brought
him back to Constantinople. Lepsius answered that he was there without a
definite object, merely to rest in this city of which he was extremely
fond. That he had no definite object was true enough. The pastor had
still no clear idea of what he could manage to undertake. He was out
of favor with the Turks, and now even with the Germans. That splendid
naval commander attached to the Embassy, for instance, who had been so
helpful in getting him the interview with Enver, met him now with the
cut direct in the Grande Rue de Péra. God alone could say what dirty
lies weren't being told about him everywhere. Often a cold shudder ran
down his spine at the thought that he was alone in the Turkish capital,
that his country's Embassy had not only ceased to afford support, but was
almost hostile. Should Ittihad be inspired with the notion of getting him
neatly out of the way, not much diplomatic fuss would be likely to be
made over his corpse. At fainthearted moments he thought of going back
to Germany. He was only wasting his time. This was already the third
week in August. Suffocating heat struck up from the Bosporus. "What
am I after here?" he kept asking himself. And so compared himself to
an unskilled burglar, trying to pick the lock of an iron door with his
bare hand, without even a jimmy, or skeleton key, and obliged moreover
to work under the eyes of the police. But so much was clear. The lock of
that door into the interior would have to be picked, for there ever to
be a chance of real help. Funds sent by official channels melted away,
with nothing to show for them.

 

 

Johannes Lepsius was so daring as to visit the Armenian patriarch,
Monsignor Saven. Since they last met, what little there was left of life
in it seemed to have ebbed out of that priest's dead face. This holy man
abstractedly eyed his visitor. When he recognized him, he could not hold
back the tears.

 

 

"It'll do you no good, my son," he whispered, "if they know you've been
coming here to see me."

 

 

Now Dr. Lepsius heard the full horror of the truth, as it had developed in
the weeks he had been away. The patriarch told it curtly, dryly, as though
not in words. Any further attempt to help was worse than useless, it was
superfluous, since the deportation law had already taken full effect. Most
of the clergy, all the political leaders, had been slaughtered. This people
now was composed of famished women and children. Any neutral or German
help given to these Armenian women provoked Enver and Talaat to further
savagery.