Forty Days of Musa Dagh

by Franz Werfel

  "May I permit myself a question, Monsieur le Capitaine? You tell me that your ship is not independent, but under orders. How did it happen then that you came this way along the coast instead of sailing northwest?"

  "Gentlemen, I'm sure it must be a long time since you smoked. May I offer you a packet of cigarettes?"

  And Brisson handed the teacher a big packet. He turned his grey, naval head to Ter Haigasun, thoughtfully.

  "Your question interests me, mon pčre, because in fact I went against my orders, and came a good way out of our course. Why? At about ten we passed the north cape of Cyprus. An hour after midnight I received reports of a big fire on the Syrian coast. It looked as though a fairly large town had been set on fire. A wide expanse of red sky. We were well out to sea, at least thirty miles off land. And now I hear that you'd only set fire to a few huts. Qf course fog often acts as a magnifying-lens. Such things are conceivable. Half the sky was red! So, from curiosity -- it must have been mere curiosity -- I altered our course."

  Ter Haigasun rose from his chair. It looked as though he had something very important to say to them. His lips moved. But suddenly, in a few uncertain steps, he went to the wall of the cabin and pressed his face against the glass pane of a porthole. Captain Brisson supposed that the priest, like the old doctor, was on the verge of a collapse. The priestly face shimmered in rays of sunlight, as though cut in amber.

  Ter Haigasun's eyes were sightless with ecstasy as he stammered in Armenian: The evil only happened . . . to enable God to show us His goodness."

  He raised his hands lightly, as though all this suffering had been surmounted by its meaning. The Frenchman could not understand. Bedros Hekim sat asleep, with his head on the table. But Hapeth Shatakhian was not thinking of the fire in the Town Enclosure, which began with a sacrilegious altar flame to end in redemption.

  Two hours later the great Jeanne d'Arc was on the horizon, with behind her the English and the French cruisers. The big troopship did not arrive till close on midday. In a wide, beautifully even line, these blue-grey turreted fighters approached the land, drawing long foam-trails in their wake. The squadron commander had signalled back to Captain Brisson that not only would he pick up these Armenian fugitives, and change his course in order to do so, but was himself most anxious to inspect this heroic encampment, where the offshoots of a Christian people had held their own for forty days against superior forces of barbarians. The rear-admiral was a pious, indeed a celebrated Catholic, and this fight of Armenians in defence of the religion of the Cross had really moved him.

  When the squadron had anchored in perfect symmetry, there began a sparkling stir on the glassy sea. Bugle signals vied with one another. Chains and pulleys creaked. Slowly the big boats hovered down. Meanwhile the sailors of the Guichen had improvised a kind of landing jetty at the most accessible place along the shore, where Pastor Aram's raft came in unexpectedly useful. The rescued people lay, sat, squatted on narrow ledges and watched this sight through half-seeing eyes, as though it were no concern of theirs. The head-surgeon of the Guichen, with his assistants and medical staff, were busy with the sick and those exhausted with hunger. He praised Bedros Altouni highly, for the fact that yesterday, even when life seemed almost at an end, he had still arranged a separate camp for infected people and those suspected of being so.

  Altouni admitted with a sigh that many of these poor people up on the Damlayik had died for want of proper care, though they might quite well have been saved with the usual nursing. The head-surgeon frowned. It was a great responsibility for him to take in these fever patients. But what was to be done? Christians could not simply be left to the mercies of the revengeful Turks. Since the head-surgeon was humane, he gave his Armenian colleague a hint: "Don't say too much about it." The troopship was almost empty, with big, well-arranged hospital cabins. The head-surgeon winked at the old doctor not to give it another thought.

  Vast supplies of bread and tinned food had been divided up among the healthy, in so far as there were any "healthy" to eat. The ships' cooks had boiled big kettles of potato soup, and the good-natured French sailors lent their own mess tins. But the people received all this as though it were none of it real -- dream-bread and dream-soup, which could never satisfy. Yet a new state of mind possessed the communes when everyone had gulped down his portion, unchewed, almost untasted. People felt almost lifeless, weary to death, and yet, having eaten, the forty days seemed as remote as some half-forgotten saga. Their bodies might protest against this unaccustomed food (oh, bread, bread, a thousand times desired) -- to their souls all this seemed merely normal, as if nothing else had ever been, as if God's grace were no more than "normality."

  The rear-admiral landed, with his numerous staff, by the rickety bridge. A swarm of craft shot in the wake of his motor launch. Detachments of marines with machine guns had been ordered ashore from every vessel, to protect the squadron commander. These troops landed and invested the narrow ledges of rock in such dense throngs that, hemmed in by innumerable French uniforms, the admiral scarcely managed to get a sight of this camp he was so curious to inspect. Then, as he came on closely through crowds of villagers, he asked for an exact account of the origin and course of this defence. And here Shatakhian got his second chance, a still better one, to air his French and charm an august French ear with his perfect accent and choicely extensive vocabulary. The rear-admiral was a small, dapper old genfleman with a soldierly face, austerely ornate. His cheeks had the brown tan of the sea. A little, snow-white moustache. His light-blue eyes were unrelenting, yet their look seemed mollified by distances. This old gentleman's dapper little body was not clothed in regulation naval uniform, but he wore a comfortable drill suit, to which only the narrow strip of decorations on his chest gave martial distinction. He asked several questions about the fighting strength of the Turks, and then, with his thin bamboo cane, pointed up the walls of rock and once more informed his suite of his decision to inspect the plateau and encampment. One of them ventured to observe that this would entail a climb of hundreds of meters, which perhaps might be too much for the chief. Nor would they be able to get back on board in time for lunch. This audacious officer got no answer. The rear-admiral gave the sign to proceed. His adjutant had to send off secret instructions to the marines to hurry on up the winding path at the double and reach the Damlayik plateau before the admiral. Such an incursion into enemy territory was a highly risky proceeding. The mountain seemed surrounded by Turkish troops and Turkish guns. It might lead to inconvenient surprises. But the chief's well-known obstinacy made any further objections hopeless. It was decided, therefore, to drop a few shells, in the course of this picnic, in villages along the coast, to warn the Turks to keep their distance.

  The long-suffering adjutant had also to arrange for a special snack, since the effort entailed by such a climb might well prove a strain on an elderly naval officer. It was one of the admiral's pet foibles to show the younger men surrounding him how sound he was of wind and limb. He went blithely on, well ahead of the rest. Sato was his alpine guide. She darted on and back, and on again, as her habit was, like a young mongrel bitch, covering the ground at least three times. Never in all her life had the orphan of Zeitun beheld such resplendent shapes. Her greedy, magpie eyes devoured these uniforms with their rows of medals, their gold braid, while her paw scraped out the last fat in a bully-beef tin. Her body glowed with the brandy the sailors had given her. She wriggled it urgently, in the indescribable rags of what had once been her "butterfly frock," cajoling these dazzling gods. And she stretched out her dark brown paw to them while a sound indigenous to these regions came almost unbidden to her lips: "Bakshish."

  The officers stopped several times, looked about, and began to admire the beauties of this treed and watered Musa Dagh. More than one was inspired to the same description as Gonzagne Maris: "Riviera." Others again were charmed by its wildly virginal quality. The last to ascend were two young naval lieutenants. So far neither had said anything, nor had they even a
dmired the view. The one, an Englishman, stood still, though he did not turn back to look at the sea, but stared straight at the wall of rock in front of him.

  "I say, you know, those Armenians! I don't feel as though I'd been looking at people; nothing but eyes."

  Gabriel had not broken his lines. Though he had had reports that the Turkish forces were being withdrawn, both north and south, he seemed still to put no faith in this peace. It may merely have been a matter of war morale, still no armed defender should quit his post till his people's fate has been fully determined. But perhaps there were deeper reasons for his austerity. The new Gabriel had advanced too far along unknown paths to be able to find his way back to the old so quickly. The forty days had worked in him a transformation which held him banned by a kind of magic. Many a rougher man had the same experience. No one in his line protested or groused against Bagradian's long resistance, least of all the conscience-stricken deserters, who could not do enough to display their servility. Gabriel had spoken to the decads. No one must fancy they were safe till their last women and children were on board. Their steadiness must show the French the worth of the Armenian nation. They must leave this camp and their old home as undefeated soldiers, rifles in hand, in the steadiest order. Nor would he consent to leave the howitzers shamefully undefended on the Damlayik, for the Turks to take back that night. He intended rather to present such magnificent trophies to the French nation.

  The fact that Ter Haigasun had had ample supplies sent up to the Damlayik, bread, marmalade, wine, and tinned meat, was no doubt as persuasive as Gabriel's words. Also tobacco. The men lay about in a pleasant half-sleep, better pleased with their long rest than they would have been at having to move, no matter where.

  Their rest ended when the marines appeared on the plateau to march straight to the howitzer emplacement in one long, extended line. Then the Armenians sprang up and with shouts of joy rushed to meet the French. These sailors, in smart, clean uniforms, were in glaring contrast to the scarecrows, ragged and famished, of Musa Dagh. The men at last were fully conscious of this marvellous triumph of their enterprise. Then came the group of officers, and Gabriel went slowly to meet it. His approach was casual, he would have been ashamed to make it seem too soldierly. He had left his rifle on the ground. He looked now like a huntsman or a mining engineer. He took off his dented sun helmet to confront the rear-admiral.

  That old gentleman eyed him keenly for a second before holding out his hand. "You were the commander?"

  Gabriel pointed at once to the howitzers. It seemed most important to show these rescuers that he did not come to them empty handed:

  "Monsieur l'Amiral, I give over to you and the French nation these two guns which we captured from the Turks."

  The rear-admiral, who possessed highly developed ceremoniousness, stood at the salute. All the other officers drew themselves up. "I thank you, Commander, in the name of the French nation, which receives these Armenian trophies of victory."

  He held out his hand again to Bagradian. "Did you yourself capture these howitzers?"

  "No, my young son, who was killed."

  A long and general silence followed this. The rear-admiral pushed aside a stone with his bamboo cane. He turned to his escort. "Will it be possible to get these guns down, and on board?"

  The expert of whom he asked it looked rather dubious. Given the necessary assistance, it would, with the greatest difficulty, be possible, if they could have a whole day at their disposal.

  The admiral thought it over for a minute. He decided: "See to it these guns are rendered useless. Better blow them up, but carefully, please!"

  So much the better, Gabriel thought; two pieces of artillery less in the world. And yet he was sorry. For Stephan's sake.

  The admiral proffered consolation: "You have done the good cause most signal service, Monsieur le Commandant, even though these howitzers are destroyed."

  This brought the transition from ceremony to practical matters. The rear-admiral asked for a complete account of Gabriel's battles and defences. As Gabriel briefly described them, he grew conscious of the deepest impatience. These kempt and soigné officers in their smart uniforms seemed as faintly, patronizingly interested in a reality which constricted the heart as they might have been in any indifferent piece of amateur soldiering. The three battles? They had been by no means the reality. What did these electro-plated bigwigs know of the Armenian destiny, of the gradual, slow undermining of every individual life up there? His impatience became tinged with disgust. Couldn't he simply turn his back on them and walk away? Now he was merely a civilian, and he should be looking after Juliette and Iskuhi, to make sure that they were properly bestowed. No -- in Christ's name! The French, after all, were miraculous saviours; they had a right to eternal gratitude. At last the pertinacious rear-admiral expressed the wish to see their chief sector, the North Saddle. He had already whispered to his officers to take careful notes of all they heard. He no doubt intended a precise report to the French Admiralty. This rescue of seven Armenian villages was, after all, not merely significant; it was highly decorative. So that therefore there was nothing left for Gabriel but to satisfy the admiral's wish. He sent along word to Chaush Nurhan the Lion. At the same time, led by a few orderly-scouts, a detachment of marines with a machine gun, to protect the admiral, went ahead. When half an hour later Gabriel and the officers climbed the Saddle, Chaush Nurhan had already disposed his men in exemplary lines, to receive the French as soldiers should.

  Gabriel, not heeding the admiral, went straight up to his weatherbeaten sergeant, whom he embraced. "Chaush Nurhan! It's all over now! Thank you! And I thank every one of you!"

  The bearded men broke their neat rank and surrounded Gabriel. Many of them snatched his hand to kiss. This eager acclamation of their leader had in it, too, a dash of mistrust and dislike of these very resplendent guests. But the officers seemed profoundly affected by this scene, so much too manly to be soldierly. When the rear-admiral had briefly examined the trenches and rock barricades, he considered it his obvious duty to express esteem for Gabriel Bagradian and the officers with him, in a speech. This speech, although volubly Gallic, had in it the astringent severity of the admiral's profession and of his creed. "Monsieur le Commandant," he began, "today in every country, and on all seas, deeds are being done of the highest valor. But these are trained soldiers who confront each other. Here, on Musa Dagh, it was otherwise. You had no trained men at your disposal, only simple, peaceable peasants and craftsmen. And yet, under your leadership, this handful of insufficiently armed villagers not only held its own against an enemy many times as strong, but emerged victorious in the desperate struggle for bare life. This deed merits not to be forgotten. It was only possible with God's help. God helped you because you fought for more than yourselves, for His holy Cross. You, therefore, Monsieur, have given proof of the most exalted of all heroisms -- Christian heroism, which defends something more precious than hearth and home. The French nation thanks you out of my mouth, and is proud to be able to assist you. I shall be delighted to bring you all, to the last man, to a place of safety, and herewith inform you that my squadron will convey you to an Egyptian port, to Port Said, or Alexandria. . . ."

  As Gabriel bowed the deepest gratitude in answer to this sincerely felt little speech, cordially grasping the rear-admiral's small, thin hand, he casually thought: "Port Said? Alexandria? I? What should I do there? Live in a concentration camp? Why? . . ."

  The clear, hard eyes of the little admiral had in them an almost fatherly look of sympathy. "Monsieur Bagradian, I ask you to be my guest for the voyage, on the Jeanne d'Arc. . . ."

  He awaited no thanks, but drew out a big, gold, bourgeois watch, from its chamois-leather case, and glanced uneasily at it. "And now may I have the honor of being presented to Madame Bagradian? I used to know her father very well."

  In the night Juliette had made fast the entrance to her tent with every available strap and bit of string. For her lifeless hands it had been
an exhausting task, and she could scarcely drag herself back to bed again. it was not any fear of plundering thieves which caused her to shut her tent so carefully. Strangely enough, the whole deserter episode, the grimacing mask of the long-haired thief, Sato's hands stripping off her sheets, had passed Juliette by like any other dream. She made fast her tent to prevent its ever being light again, to keep another day from ever beginning, so that she might be left alone in bed, with her beloved, lace-trimmed little cushion, off which her head should never again be lifted. She proposed a kind of walling-up for herself. And so, as familiar darkness enclosed the chrysalis of her being, she felt frostily at peace. Now she had never lived on Musa Dagh, never lost a son, never known that Turks were coming nearer and nearer to kill her. Magically, the inside of her tent had become the innermost refuge of Juliette, beyond which there was no longer anything but the vague sounds of a dangerous world. Her reason had long since been unseated, her being sat inconceivably secure.