In The Levant 26

In The Levant 26

As soon as he learned that we were Americans, he said that he had

something that he thought would interest us, and going to his table took

out of the drawer an old number of an American periodical containing

a portrait of an American publisher, which he set great store by. We

congratulated him upon his possession of this treasure, and expressed

our passionate fondness for this sort of thing, for we soon discovered

the delight the Patriarch took in pictures and especially in portraits,

and not least in photographs of himself in the full regalia of his

sacred office. And with reason, for he is probably the handsomest

potentate in the world. He is a tall, finely proportioned man of fifty

years, and his deportment exhibits that happy courtesy which is born of

the love of approbation and a kindly opinion of self. He was clad in

the black cloak with the pointed hood of the convent, which made a fine

contrast to his long, full beard, turning white; his complexion is fair,

white and red, and his eyes are remarkably pleasant and benignant.

 

The languages at the command of the Patriarch are two, the Armenian and

the Turkish, and we were obliged to communicate with him through the

medium of the latter, Abd-el-Atti acting as interpreter. How much

Turkish our dragoman knew, and how familiar his holiness is with it, we

could not tell, but the conversation went on briskly, as it always

does when Abd-el-Atti has control of it. When we had exhausted what the

Patriarch knew about America and what we knew about Armenia, which did

not take long (it was astonishing how few things in all this world of

things we knew in common), we directed the conversation upon what we

supposed would be congenial and common ground, the dogma of the Trinity

and the point of difference between the Armenian and the Latin church.

I cannot say that we acquired much light on the subject, though probably

we did better than disputants usually do on this topic. We had some

signal advantages. The questions and answers, strained through the

Turkish language, were robbed of all salient and noxious points, and

solved themselves without difficulty. Thus, the "_Filioque clause_"

offered no subtle distinctions to the Moslem mind of Abd-el-Atti, and he

presented it to the Patriarch, I have no doubt, with perfect clarity. At

any rate, the reply was satisfactory:--

 

"His excellency, he much oblige, and him say he t'ink so."

 

The elucidation of this point was rendered the easier, probably, by the

fact that neither Abd-el-Atti nor the Patriarch nor ourselves knew much

about it. When I told his highness (if, through Abd-el-Atti, I did tell

him) that the great Armenian convent at Venice, which holds with the

Pope, accepts the Latin construction of the clause, he seemed never to

have heard of the great Armenian convent at Venice. At this point of

the conversation we thought it wise to finish the subject by the trite

remark that we believed a man's life was after all more important than

his creed.

 

"So am I," responded the dragoman, and the Patriarch seemed to be of

like mind.

 

A new turn was given to our interview by the arrival of refreshments, a

succession of sweetmeats, cordials, candies, and coffee. The sweetmeats

first served were a delicate preserve of plums. This was handed around

in a jar, from which each guest dipped a spoonful, and swallowed it,

drinking from a glass of water immediately,--exactly as we used to take

medicine in childhood. The preserve was taken away when each person

had tasted it, and shortly a delicious orange cordial was brought, and

handed around with candy. Coffee followed. The Patriarch then led the

way about his palace, and with some pride showed us the gold and silver

insignia of his office and his rich vestments. On the wall of his

study hung a curious map of the world, printed at Amsterdam in 1692, in

Armenian characters. He was so kind also as to give us his photograph,

enriched with his unreadable autograph, and a. book printed at the

convent, entitled _Deux Ans de Séjour en Abyssinie_; and we had the

pleasure of seeing also the heroes and the author of the book,--two

Armenian monks, who undertook, on an English suggestion, a mission to

King Theodore, to intercede for the release of the English prisoners

held by the tyrant of that land. They were detained by its treacherous

and barbarous chiefs, robbed by people and priests alike, never reached

the headquarters of the king, and were released only after two years

of miserable captivity and suffering. This book is a faithful record of

their journey, and contains a complete description of the religion

and customs of the Abyssinians, set down with the candor and verbal

nakedness of Herodotus. Whatever Christianity the Abyssinians may once

have had, their religion now is an odd mixture of Judaism, fetichism,

and Christian dogmas, and their morals a perfect reproduction of those

in vogue just before the flood; there is no vice or disease of barbarism

or of civilization that is not with them of universal acceptance. And

the priest Timotheus, the writer of this narrative, gave the Abyssinians

abiding in Jerusalem a character no better than that of their countrymen

at home.

 

The Patriarch, with many __EXPRESSION__s of civility, gave us into the

charge of a monk, who showed us all the parts of the convent we had not

seen on a previous visit. The convent is not only a wealthy and clean,

but also an enlightened establishment. Within its precincts are nuns

as well as monks, and good schools are maintained for children of both

sexes. The school-house, with its commodious apartments, was not unlike

one of our buildings for graded schools; in the rooms we saw many cases

of antiquities and curiosities from various countries, and specimens of

minerals. A map which hung on the wall, and was only one hundred years

old, showed the Red Sea flowing into the Dead Sea, and the river Jordan

emptying into the Mediterranean. Perhaps the scholars learn ancient

geography only.

 

At twelve the Moslems said prayers in the Mosque of Omar, and at one

o'clock the procession was ready to move out of St. Stephen's Gate.

We rode around to that entrance. The spectacle spread before us was

marvellous. All the gray and ragged slopes and ravines were gay with

color and lively with movement. The city walls on the side overlooking

the Valley of Jehoshaphat were covered with masses of people, clinging

to them like bees; so the defences may have appeared to Titus when he

ordered the assault from the opposite hill. The sunken road leading from

St. Stephen's Gate, down which the procession was to pass, was lined

with spectators, seated in ranks on ranks on the stony slopes. These

were mostly women,--this being one of the few days upon which the Moslem

women may freely come abroad,--clad in pure white, and with white veils

drawn about their heads. These clouds of white robes were relieved

here and there by flaming spots of color, for the children and slaves

accompanied the women, and their dress added blue and red and yellow to

the picture. Men also mingled in the throng, displaying turbans of

blue and black and green and white. One could not say that any color or

nationality was wanting in the spectacle. Sprinkled in groups all over

the hillside, in the Moslem cemetery and beneath it, were like groups of

color, and streaks of it marked the descent of every winding path. The

Prince of Oldenburg, the only foreign dignitary present, had his tents

pitched upon a knoll outside the gate, and other tents dotted the

roadside and the hill.

 

Crowds of people thronged both sides of the road to the Mount of Olives

and to Gethsemane, spreading themselves in the valley and extending away

up the road of the Triumphal Entry; everywhere were the most brilliant

effects of white, red, yellow, gray, green, black, and striped raiment:

no matter what these Orientals put on, it becomes picturesque,--old

coffee-bags, old rags and carpets, anything. There could not be a

finer place for a display than these two opposing hillsides, the narrow

valley, and the winding roads, which increased the apparent length of

the procession and set it off to the best advantage. We were glad of the

opportunity to see this ancient valley of bones revived in a manner to

recall the pageants and shows of centuries ago, and as we rode down the

sunken road in advance of the procession, we imagined how we might have

felt if we had been mounted on horses or elephants instead of donkeys,

and if we had been conquerors leading a triumph, and these people

on either hand had been cheering us instead of jeering us. Turkish

soldiers, stationed every thirty paces, kept the road clear for the

expected cavalcade. In order to see it and the spectators to the best

advantage, we took position on the opposite side of the valley and below

the road around the Mount of Olives.

 

The procession was a good illustration of the shallow splendor of the

Orient; it had no order, no uniformity, no organization; it dragged

itself along at the whim of its separate squads. First came a guard

of soldiers, then a little huddle of men of all sorts of colors and

apparel, bearing several flags, among them the green Flag of Moses;

after an interval another squad, bearing large and gorgeous flags,

preceded by musicians beating drums and cymbals. In front of the

drums danced, or rather hitched forward with stately steps, two shabby

fellows, throwing their bodies from side to side and casting their arms

about, clashing cymbals and smirking with infinite conceit. At long

intervals came other like bands with flags and music, in such disorder

as scarcely to be told from the spectators, except that they bore guns

and pistols, which they continually fired into the air and close over

the heads of the crowd, with a reckless profusion of powder and the most

murderous appearance. To these followed mounted soldiers in white, with

a Turkish band of music,--worse than any military band in Italy; and

after this the pasha, the governor of the city, a number of civil

and military dignitaries and one or two high ulemas, and a green-clad

representative of the Prophet,--a beggar on horseback,--on fiery horses

which curveted about in the crowd, excited by the guns, the music, and

the discharge of a cannon now and then, which was stationed at the gate

of St. Stephen. Among the insignia displayed were two tall instruments

of brass, which twirled and glittered in the sun, not like the golden

candlestick of the Jews, nor the "host" of the Catholics, nor the

sistrum of the ancient Egyptians, but, perhaps, as Moslemism is a

reminiscence of all religions, a caricature of all three.

 

The crush in the narrow road round the hill and the grouping of all the

gorgeous banners there produced a momentary fine effect; but generally,

save for the spectators, the display was cheap and childish. Only once

did we see either soldiers or civilians marching in order; there were

five fellows in line carrying Nubian spears, and also five sappers

and miners in line, wearing leathern aprons and bearing theatrical

battle-axes. As to the arms, we could discover no two guns of the same

pattern in all the multitude of guns; like most things in the East, the

demonstration was one of show, color, and noise, not to be examined

too closely, but to be taken with faith, as we eat dates. A company of

Sheridan's cavalry would have scattered the entire army.

 

The procession, having halted on the brow of the hill, countermarched

and returned; but the Flag of Moses and its guard went on to the camp,

at his tomb, there to await the arrival of the pilgrims on the Monday

following. And the most gorgeous Moslem demonstration of the year was