by Franz Werfel
"We certainly should, yüs-bashi," agreed the Kaimakam. "But any animal, even the smallest, gets ferocious when it's fighting for its life."
The Kolagasi from Aleppo most explicitly endorsed the major's view. He fully hoped that within two days he would be out of this primitive neighborhood and back in the pleasant town of Aleppo.
Since the officers all seemed so confident, the Kaimakam dismissed the sitting with a yawn: "Well, then -- you guarantee success, Yüs-bashi?"
That draconian officer poured swaths of smoke out of his nostrils. "One can guarantee nothing in any military enterprise. I must reject the word guarantee. I can only say that I don't want to go on living if the Armenian camp isn't liquidated by this time tomorrow."
Upon which the lolling Kaimakam heavily rose. "Well, let's get to bed."
But that night the potentate's sleep was not of the soundest. He had taken up his quarters in Juliette's room. It was still saturated with perfume from the many flasks of scent that had been broken in it. They enmeshed the slumbering dyspeptic in such cloying and irritating nightmares that his rest was broken by several sleepless hours.
His awakening was no better than his sleep had been. Scarcely had the light begun to break when he started up to the sound of a terrific explosion. He rushed, half-dressed, outside the house. The destruction was great. The shell had dropped sheer in front of the steps. The fragments of every window in the whole house strewed the ground. The gust of the shell had torn a wing of the front door off its hinges and flung it back into the hallway. Three deep breaches gaped in the brickwork, and iron shards stuck up everywhere out of the ground. But worst of all was the sight of the Aleppo staff officer. That unfortunate had been designed by fate to be making his way out of the house at the very instant of the explosion. Now he sat huddled against the wall. His blue eyes looked vacantly childish. He breathed heavily, seemed lost in some dreamy past. A splinter had skimmed all the flesh off his right shoulder, another wounded his left hip. The yüs-bashi was assisting him. It looked as though he were telling him rather sharply not to give way so comfortably to his wound. But the Kolagasi was insubordinate. He paid no attention whatever and lurched over, slowly, on to his side. The yüs-bashi turned away angrily and bellowed at the frightened men not to stand about there with their mouths open, but go along and fetch the doctor and an ambulance. It was not so easy. The surgeon was attached to the third company in Bitias. The major had the wounded Kolagasi carried upstairs into Stephan's bedroom and deposited on Stephan's bed. He returned to consciousness but only to implore the major not to leave him until his wound had been dressed. The Kaimakam by nature a confirmed civilian to whom bloodshed was as repugnant in practice as it frequently seemed desirable in theory, crept into the cellar as though by accident -- down the dark cool stairs. Gabriel's bombardment continued. Another shell had just come crashing into the orchard.
It was more than ironic fate which had directed the trajectory of the first straight to Bagradian's own front door, checkmating the battalion commander. Perhaps it was not mere accident, but a living witness to the fact that God is not invariably on the side of the biggest battalion. In any case this laming of the command delayed the attack by over an hour. The Turks, in the orchards and vineyards, who had already disposed themselves in extended order to advance, were kept back. The Armenian swine seemed to have known what to aim at, and have expert gunners! And, though the next eight shells were not quite so lucky, the valley was at least wide enough to ensure that, wherever they might drop, shrapnel and grenades caused panic. Three houses in Bitias, Aziz and Yoghonoluk were set alight. A detachment of encamped saptiehs, drinking morning coffee out of tin mugs, sustained heavy losses from a grenade. Leaving three dead and many wounded, these upholders of law and order retired forever from the engagement, without having fired a single shot.
This howitzer bombardment at least gave the results envisaged by Gabriel, though he got no clear perception of his success. It disorganized the Turkish plan of attack. The morale of the new civil population was so disastrously affected by it that shoals of Turkish women had begun already to take flight in the direction of the Orontes plain. Not least was the paralysis of the leadership, whch lasted a considerable time. Not till long after the howitzers had ceased their fire, did lines of riflemen summon enough courage to advance and disappear into the woods on the lowest slopes of Musa Dagh. For an instant Bagradian reproached himself with not having possessed enough audacity to post at least the four hundred men of his first defence, the half of his decads and komitajis, here and there along these lines of advance, and so molest the attack before it had time to develop properly. But in any case the hundred komitajis already enrolled had disposed themselves halfway up the height so skilfully, and were fired with such mad, clear-headed audacity, that they wrought more damage and confusion among the groups which came panting past them than any open attack could have achieved. Twice, three times, their invisible cross fire hurled these companies, engaged in toiling their way through thickets, wildly apart, and fully dispersed them. Cut off from their leaders, and expecting death at any instant, these groups went rushing down the slopes. It was not cowardice. Defence was impossible. After which unsuccessful attempt there was nothing left for the major but to rally his companies on the line of the lowest slope, order a short rest, and serve out rations. Meanwhile the komitajis were undisturbed as they gathered up the rifles and cartridge belts from dead or wounded, and carried them off behind their lines.
The Kaimakam, who had come out to see the command, caustically inquired of the yüs-bashi: "Are you going to repeat your tactic? If you do, it doesn't look as if we'd ever get up the mountain."
The irate major's face turned coffee-colored. He began to bellow at the Kaimakam: "Take over the command yourself if you like! It's your responsibility far more than mine."
The Kaimakam perceived that one must be careful in dealing with this touchy officer. This was not the moment at which to quarrel. He shrugged, in his usual sleepy way. "You're quite right. It's my responsibility. But don't forget, Major, that you'll be responsible to me. If there's another fiasco we shall both of us have to take the consequences, you just as much as I."
This was so true that the major had nothing more to say. Since the highest quarters, the Wali, the Minister of War, had had their attention drawn to Musa Dagh, a third failure would mean a court martial for the major. It would probably handle him even worse than it had his rosy-cheeked predecessor. He and the Kaimakam were linked together for good or ill. He must be kept in with. He grunted a pacific remark and set to work again. The companies in the north were ordered to advance immediately against the Armenian trenches along the Saddle. The South Bastion along the steeper ridge was not to be meddled with, since neither the major nor his effectives were anxious for another avalanche. The major called his officers together and ordered them to tell their platoons that any man who turned back in the next advance would be shot down without mercy. A long line of saptiehs and chettehs, detailed especially for this executioner's work were posted along the hollows of the fore-slope. They received stringent orders to open fire on retreating infantry. Neither saptiehs nor sharpshooters had any objection to the duty. At the same time the major advanced a third, very long line of armed villagers (they even included a few women) into the region of apricot orchards and vines. The companies' terror of the major's drastic orders had its effects. The men, driven on by panic, came rushing up the steep slopes. They did not so much as dare to get second wind. They shut their eyes and stormed through the komitajis' fire. The afternoon was well over by the time the three platoons, under gruelling bullets from above, managed to set foot on the upper slopes, and dig themselves in, as best they might, with their infantry spades, under the Armenian positions, or else take cover behind rocks, heaps of rubble, or folds in the ground. By this heroic advance between two fires, the major's troops had obtained their first outstanding success. That officer, drunk with the lust of battle, waving his sword, led on fr
esh lines to the assault. These, too, succeeded in implanting themselves below the Armenian trenches, and so extending the line of attack. Such successes inspired the Turkish soul. They opened wild fire along the new line, on every attacking point. At first it mattered nothing to the major whether his bullets found a mark. For two whole hours the ears and hearts of these Armenians were to be so basted into terror that the dregs of their courage should ebb away. They were also to be shown that the Turkish state had enough bullets at its disposal to keep the fire as hot as ever for the next three days. The defenders crouched back, paralyzed, in their trenches, letting this dense hailstorm of bullets patter and spin above their heads. The worst of it was that the infantry nearest the Town Enclosure sent unlimited shot among the log huts, so that from time to time both dumdum and ordinary rifle bullets caused terrible wounds among the inhabitants. Ter Haigasun therefore gave orders for the whole enclosure to be vacated, and for non-combatants to retire towards the sea and among the rocks.
During this long frenzy of munition wasting, the major advanced one after another, his company reserves, his saptiehs, and last of all his armed peasants, all led by officers, so that overwhelmingly superior numbers, when at last he stormed, might have their effect in ever-increasing lines of men. The second, third, fourth lines of attack were stationed at fairly wide intervals behind the front. When these shaken and excited troops, emerging from the komitajis' cross fire, had come on bellowing up the slopes, the major ordered his first line to attack. The Armenians, seasoned by now in the art of repelling such wide advances, fired down from their, as a rule higher, positions and calmly dispersed the attacking waves. Quickly as these lines, one after another, were advanced, they broke each time, severely handicapped by the roughness of this mountain terrain, far from the Armenian trenches. In spite of superior numbers and unlimited supplies of ammunition the Moslems could not manage till almost nightfall to advance one pace on any point of attack. The Armenians still found it comparatively easy to repel them without too many losses, owing to the fact that their defences had been so skilfully contrived. Here and there their trenches formed sharp angles, so that the oncoming Turks had to take both front and flank fire. Added to which the komitajis, who suddenly on this or that part of the line spattered the reserves with a quick and deadly rain of bullets, disconcerted these regulars. The compulsory valor of these attacks, all equally vain, had already cost the major as many men as the last defeat of the poor bimbashi, whose losses had brought him such dire disgrace. But the yüs-bashi was made of sterner stuff. He would not retire. Again and again he put himself at the head of his men, avoiding death a hundred times, by virtue of that miraculous law which seems to protect all real valor in leadership. He usually stayed with the ilex-gully sector, since gradually it had grown apparent that this was the weakest part of the defence. Gabriel, thanks to his mobile guard, had still control of all the threads. "Three hours more," he thought, "and it'll be dark." The guard had again and again come galloping up to reinforce a threatened sector, hold unsteady trenches, fill up the menaced gap between two divisions, and relieve an exhausted decad. Now, however, Gabriel lay fagged out, white, breathless as a corpse, he could not tell where, and finding it hard to regain his strength. Avakian sat beside him, and about twelve orderlies of the cohort of youth awaited his orders. Haik was one of them. Not Stephan. Messages came in every minute. Mostly they came from the North Saddle, which till now had been having an easy day. But at about this time the Turks seemed to change their intention and prepare a big coup against the north. Chaush Nurhan's messages were more and more anxiously framed. Not only the major but the whole staff of other officers had come up from behind cover on to the counter-slope. He had recognized them quite plainly through his field-glass. Bagradian intended to use the guard, his last defence, as sparingly as he possibly could, and not let himself be imposed upon by the inexperience of individual section leaders. This north section was by far the best defended position, and he could see no reason for sending up reinforcements into this particular system of his defence, before the real fight had even begun. It seemed far more important to Gabriel to stay continually in the vicinity of the ilex-gully sector, by far the most menaced, and do his best to avert disaster there. So there he lay, with his eyes shut, and seemed not to heed the continual messages from the north ridge. "Only two and a half hours more of it," his thoughts kept whispering. A lull had set in. The firing died down. Gabriel let exhaustion overwhelm him. It may have been this mental and physical enfeeblement which caused him to fall into the major's trap.
Sharp echoes of the fight sounded all along the "Riviera." Some acoustic trick made the ping and clatter of the bullets seem to whip the ground all round Gonzague and Juliette. They got the sensation of sitting in the very midst of a battle, although really it was a good way off. Juliette kept tight hold of Gonzague's hand. He listened. The whole of him seemed to be listening. He sat very excited, and very still.
"I think it's coming nearer all round. At least, that's what it sounds like."
Juliette said nothing. The hissing din was so fantastically strange that she seemed not to understand and, so far, scarcely to have heard it. Gonzague only bent slightly forward, to get a better view of the surf as it leapt round the rocks many feet below. The sea today was unusually rough: its distant anger mingled with the din of the rifles. Maris pointed south, along the coast. "We ought to have made up our minds sooner, Juliette. By now you should have been sitting quite peacefully in the manager's house, beside the alcohol factory."
She shivered. Her lips opened to speak, but she took a long time to find any voice; she seemed to have lost it. "The ship leaves on the twenty-sixth. This is only the twenty-third. I've still got three days."
"Well, yes" -- he calmed her down with the tenderest forbearance -- "you've got three days. . . . I won't deprive you of one of them . . . if others don't."
"Oh, Gonzague, I feel so strange, so incomprehensible . . ." Her voice died halfway through the sentence. There seemed no object in trying to describe a state of mind which was so entirely unfamiliar. It was like drawing something soft and very vulnerable out of its protective chrysalis by the very part that felt most coldly exposed. All her limbs had a cold life of their own, scarcely in touch with her general consciousness. She could, she felt, regretfully take off her arms and legs at any minute and lock them up in a trunk. Ages ago, when she inhabited her bright and reasoned world, Juliette would not have remained inactive. "I must have something the matter with me" would have been her instantaneous reaction, and so she would, no doubt, have taken her temperature. Now she could only sit and wonder how it was that her appalling situation should at the same time feel so right, so comfortable. As she thought this, she twice repeated: "Incomprehensible . . ."
"Poor Juliette. I understand exactly. You've lost yourself -- first for fifteen years, and now for the last twenty-four days. Now you can't find either the sham Juliette or the real one. You see, I don't belong anywhere. I'm not Armenian or French or Greek, or even American; I'm really and truly nothing, so I'm free. You'll find me very easy to be with. But you must cut loose."
She stared, not understanding a word he said to her. The rifle fire was nearing the climax of its excitement. Impossible to sit quietly in one place. Gonzague helped her to her feet. She stumbled about as though she were dazed.
He seemed to get restless. "We must think what to do, Juliette. That doesn't sound very reassuring. What are your plans?"
She half completed the gesture of putting her hands up to her ears. "I'm tired. I want to lie down."
"That's quite impossible, Juliette. Just listen. They may break through at any minute. I suggest we move away from here, and wait farther down, to see what's happened."
She shook her head stubbornly. "No. I'd rather go back to the tent."
He clasped her hips, and gently tried to draw her his way. "Don't be annoyed, Juliette. But you know it's really absolutely necessary to get this thing straight in your mind. In th
e next half-hour the Turks may be in the Town Enclosure. And Gabriel Bagradian? How do you know he's still alive?"
The howling and crackling all round them seemed to reinforce Gonzague's fears. But Juliette suddenly started out of her torpor to all her old energy and decisiveness.
"I want to see Stephan. I want Stephan here, with me!" she cried out with almost angry vehemence.
Her child's name rent a horrible fog of unreality which had crept upon her from every side. Her maternity had become a well-built house -- its walls impenetrable, strong enough to keep out the world. She seized Gonzague with both hands and pushed him impatiently. "Go and bring Stephan to me at once, you hear. . . . Please don't lose any time. Find him. I'll wait! I'll wait!"
For a second he thought it over. Gallantly he suppressed every objection, and bent his head. "All right, Juliette. I'll do whatever I can to hunt up the boy. And as fast as I can. I won't keep you waiting long."
