by Franz Werfel
A clearly defined line of conduct towards Turkish authorities was therefore laid down. The living example of their leader, Nazareth Chaush, forged iron discipline among the inhabitants of Zeitun. So far no longed-for "incident" had assuaged the secret itch of the High Command. A medical board, eager for blood-letting, passed cripples and invalids for the army. Good! They reported for duty without a murmur. The Kaimakam imposed illegal taxes and war levies. Good! They were punctually supplied. This same Kaimakam used the most foolish pretexts for arranging victory celebrations and mass demonstrations of patriotism. The townsfolk mustered in full force, their faces aglow with honest loyalty, to bawl the prescribed hymns and victorious anthems to the braying of Turkish army bands.
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."
But the surprising, the miraculous, thing was that they lived. For scarcely had the siege artillery dropped its fourth superfluous shell against half-ruined walls when the order came from some mysterious quarter to cease fire. Were the few Moslems among the besieged a sufficient reason for such misplaced humanity? The townsfolk of Zeitun did not suppose it -- they saw in this constricting truce the omen of some more than usually gruesome evil. They had reason to do so. And in their terror they sent a deputation to the Kaimakam, begging him that the valiant troops might free them of these cursed rebels as soon as possible. They had nothing to do with them. The Kaimakam moaned and sighed. It was too late now to see reason. All future decisions were in the hands of the commander of the occupying regiments. He himself was now no more than a tolerated cipher.
One radiant morning in March a terrifying rumor spread through the town. The besieged deserters, leaving their dead, whom they had however disfigured past recognition, had escaped from the fortress and disappeared into the mountains. Those Zeitunlis who did not believe in miracles asked: How could a hundred tattered, highly suspicious-looking men have got through lines of over four thousand trained soldiers? And the questioners knew well what their question meant. The blow had already fallen by midday. The commandant and the Kaimakam called the whole town of Zeitun to account for the disappearance of this hundred. The profoundly treacherous Zeitunlis had, in some devilish fashion, contrived to spirit the besieged garrison past sentries, through lines of peacefully slumbering Turkish troops. News of this crime had brought the Mutessarif in person, in his carriage, all the way from Marash. The münadirs, the drummers-up, passed with a dull rattle down all the streets. Strings of official messengers followed them, whose business it was to summon the elders and notables of Zeitun to "a conference on the situation with the Mutessarif and the commanding officer." The summoned, fifty of the town's most respected inhabitants, doctors, schoolteachers, priests, large shopkeepers, business men, appeared without delay at the place appointed, most of them still in their working clothes. Only a few of the most far-seeing had hidden any money about them. The "conference" consisted in this -- that these elderly and highly respected citizens were brutally herded together on a barrack square by sergeants and counted like cattle. This had ended the matter, they were informed, and the very next day they were to set out along the Marash-Aleppo road, on their way to the Mesopotamian desert, to Deir ez Zor, to which they were to be "migrated." They stared at one another without a word. Not one of them had a stroke, not one of them wept. Half an hour ago they had been the chief citizens of a town; now, at one blow, they were degraded to almost inanimate lumps of clay, livid of face, half bereft of will. The new mukhtar, their spokesman, begged almost voicelessl
y for one favor: that their families, in the name of divine compassion, might at least be left in peace in Zeitun. Then they would meet their fate quietly. The answer came with a cruel sneer. Certainly not -- the Armenians were already sufficiently known, and nobody had any desire to separate the respected fathers of families from their nearest relatives. On the contrary, the order was that all present should by tomorrow, an hour before sunrise, have handed in a written declaration of readiness to march, with all their relatives, their goods and chattels, wives, sons, daughters, children of every age. Orders from Istanbul explicitly stated that the whole Armenian population, to the last baby in arms, was to be evacuated. Zeitun had ceased to exist. From now on its name was to be Sultanieh, so that no memory might remain of a township which had dared open rebellion against the heroic Turkish people.
