CHAPTER XIII

THE LAND OF PRESTER JOHN

(QUDSHANIS)

Most of us have some recollection of the legend of "Prester John," particularly in the version given in "Ariosto"; the legend of a Christian king ruling his people in the midst of infidels; a king who was yet a priest and who celebrated Mass regularly; who had a kingdom in the midst of wild inaccessible mountains, girdled by cloud and storm; and who was tormented by the harpies that came daily and snatched the food from his table. We read, too, how he was visited by the wandering English knight Astolpho, and how that hero drove away the harpies by the blast of his magic horn.

It sounds a staggering statement to make, but it is nevertheless the truth, that all these stories told by the Italian poet as legends current in his day, are literally the fact in all essentials (or were so until very lately), with the Patriarch of the Nestorians in Kurdistan. He is the "Bishop-Prince" of a mountain kingdom of Christians; subject to the Sultan of course, but still a recognized ruler, and ruler by virtue of his Episcopal rank. Even the mountains over which the hippogrif bore Astolpho were hardly more inaccessible than those which girdle the village of Qudshanis; while a very good imitation of the harpies that tormented Prester John are found in the Kurds that ravage the land. English visitors are there too, as members of what is known as the "Archbishop's Assyrian Mission;"[126] though they, alas, have no magic horn with which to drive away the harpies of to-day.

If, however, the old magical power has gone, some prestige attaches to the name of the English still; for villages where they reside are not raided when all others suffer, for fear that some evil may thereafter befall the thief. The writer once spent a night in a little village of Nestorians in this immediate district, called Shwawutha; a village whose little rock-built church is shown in one of our illustrations. Hospitality was given him there, as a matter of course; but in the middle of the night he was roused by a Dutch concert of the most pronounced description. Men shouted, women screamed, cattle bellowed, and sheep bleated; while a shot or so told that something warlike was afoot. And soon folk came rushing in to tell him that the Kurds had descended on the village, and were engaged at that moment in turning it inside out.

Sure enough, when he emerged in somewhat sketchy toilet, he found himself in the midst of some five and twenty well armed ruffians. Most of them were gathered on the threshing-floors, and threatening the villagers with their rifles; while the rest were coolly rounding up the sheep for the purpose of driving them away. Deponent had some talk with their leader, carefully introducing himself as an Englishman, and laying stress on the fact that he was going down from that village to the seat of government, to interview the _Vali_ and the British Consul. And presently the robber excused himself for a moment and gave an order in Kurdish, which was not understood by his interlocutor, but which resulted in his men allowing the sheep to remain in their folds. He then turned round and explained with all politeness that he and his young men were on a peaceful journey, and desired to be the guests of the village for the rest of that night. Would the _Effendi_ use his influence with the headman to get him to extend hospitality to them? He tactfully ignored the fact that you do not usually occupy a village with an armed force at two in the morning as a preliminary to asking to be received as a guest!

The _Effendi_ told the headman that he had better let it go at that, lest worse should befall him; for naturally he had no means whatever of controlling these fellows if they should break loose. A meal was hurriedly prepared for all the gang, and he sat with their chief till unholy hours that night, or morning, exchanging yarns. Eventually he had the satisfaction of seeing the marauders depart at daybreak. No harm had been done to the place; though had it not been for the "accident" of the presence of an Englishman, there would have been a different tale to tell.

The village of Qudshanis, which is the residence of the Nestorian or Assyrian Patriarch, "Mar Shimun," and the headquarters of his Church, has a marvellous situation. It lies on a sloping "alp" of rugged pasture, between two mountain torrents which spring from the towering snow-fields to the west of it; and which descend in gradually deepening gorges, enclosing the tongue-shaped plateau on which the village stands. They meet beneath the point of the tongue at the base of a lofty wedge of rock; and thence the united stream flows on, joined by others on its way, till it falls into the Zab some two hours below the village. Nestorian tradition regards the Zab as the Pison, one of the four rivers of Paradise; and the Patriarch will occasionally date his official letters "from my cell on the River of the Garden of Eden."

The official title of the Church, whose principal bishop resides in this romantic, but singularly inaccessible, spot is "the Church of the East." This title was given to it originally by those whom we call "the Eastern Christians," viz. those of Constantinople and Antioch; and by it they meant the Church to the east of them, beyond the frontier of the Roman Empire, in what was then the kingdom of the Sassanid Persians. In the days of its greatness, this communion extended itself marvellously, in just those countries where Christianity finds it hardest to establish a footing now. In the year 1300 its bishops were distributed from Damascus to Pekin, and from Tartary to Malabar. The "Syrian Christians" of the latter land, though they now own a different jurisdiction, still remain as a memorial of its missionary zeal in the fifth century; and the Singan monument in the very heart of China tells of the presence of this "pacific, philosophical, and excellent religion" there also, and commemorates the names of sundry of its bishops and clergy. Nay, the historic Prester John (for he was an historical figure strange to say) was of this Church. A dynasty of Tartar princes of the eleventh century were Christians; and the name of their founder, Ung Khan, readily became Yukhanan, which is John, in Syriac-speaking mouths. Whether he ever was, as a matter of fact, an ordained presbyter is more questionable.

Massacre (particularly the tremendous massacres of Tamerlane about the year 1400), oppression, and the proselytism of better protected and educated bodies, have reduced this Church now to a few wild tribes of mountaineers living in a most inaccessible country; and to a fringe of _rayat_ villages, many of whom are little better than serfs to the Kurds near whom they live. Yet the Church still exists, guarding its independence and its ancient rites, and boasting with legitimate pride that it, alone of all peoples, still uses in daily life the language that our Lord spoke on earth. Whether the dialects of vernacular Syriac that are here in use would have been intelligible in Palestine in the first century of this era, may be doubted; but the statement is so far true, that the language is unquestionably a variant of the Aramaic referred to.

As this Church is a survival of so much that is ancient and that has passed away from other lands, it is appropriate that here alone in all the world, the "temporal power of the Church" should still survive. It is little more than a shadow now, but not a dead thing yet. Mar Shimun holds the village of Qudshanis, and the lands that belong to it, by grant from the Sultan; and until lately every inhabitant of the place was in the happy condition of paying neither rent, rates, nor taxes to anyone. Unfortunately the grant was a merely verbal one, made in the days when you did not ask your king to sign papers from fear that he would "play the Jew" and go back from his given word, and when the evidence of the "grey-beards" of a place was enough to prove a fact. Now there is a new rule in the land, the rule of forms and pens and ink and paper; and this new régime has not recognized the old right. A harmless and picturesque survival has gone; taken away in the interests of civilization and uniformity, by the same people who were so desirous of substituting a Parisian boulevard for the Roman walls of Constantinople, and for the same reason.

One other feature of the old rights remains--besides the fact that the peacock, the bird of royalty, still walks the patriarchal terrace.[127] The wild Christian tribes of Hakkiari, whither no Government of any sort has ever extended, still pay tribute to their Patriarch for transmission to the Sultan; and not taxes through the tax-collector, like the rest. This, again, is based on custom only, and if it were challenged (as it will be ere long), the tribes could show no document acknowledging their right; for it simply arose from the fact that the Ottoman Government was not disposed, or able, to enforce their government practically in this wild district. It was easier to give the Patriarch, whom the tribesmen did reverence, a few decorations and a small salary, and to set him to collect such tribute as he could get the tribesmen to pay. It was an acknowledgment of jurisdiction that could be made more effective if ever the opportunity should offer.

Westerns, accustomed to correct Western notions of managing Church and State, hear with a shock that the patriarchate of this ancient church is hereditary in one family; as indeed is the case also with almost all its bishoprics. Bishops do not marry (though other clergy are free to do so at their will), so the office cannot go from father to son. It does go, however, from uncle to nephew, and so keeps in the "Episcopal house".

It is a strange custom; yet it is not so long since it prevailed in at least one part of Europe; for fifty years ago it was the established order of things in Montenegro. We believe that it was the father of the present King Nicholas who first refused to be consecrated bishop, and to refrain from marriage, when he acceded to the hereditary chieftainship of the "Black Mountain;" though all his predecessors had done so before him. If the custom went on so long in Europe, one need not wonder overmuch if it still prevails under similar circumstances in a remoter land.

The fact is, that among Christians who are still in the wild tribal stage of evolution, the Episcopate is much too important a thing in the tribe to be allowed out of the House of the Chief. Further, the idea of hereditary high priesthood, or family sanctity at any rate, is thoroughly congruous to Oriental thought. Among the Kurds, Sheikhship, which is hereditary religious chieftainship, is a common thing enough; and the Aaronic high-priesthood is at least a respectable precedent to refer to! Perhaps the Patriarch's own statement of the case, as made to the writer, gives as good a defence for the custom as can be made. "Of course, we know that this _Natar-cursiya_ system" (the Syriac name for the habit) "is as thoroughly against primitive practice and our own canons as a thing can well be. Tell me though, you who know our people and circumstances, what other way is open to us? Free election by our wild tribesmen? That means a free fight every vacancy. Nomination by the Turkish Government? If we were lucky, we might get some feeble old monk, who had done no harm to anyone, and never would do any good. We should be much more likely, however, to get some supple blackguard, who asked for a bishopric as his pay for some dirty job done for a Turkish _Vali_. So we have dropped into this hereditary system; and we think that we have as good a chance of a good bishop as others have of a good king." Really the writer had no reply to make; and could only feel thankful that his Holiness had not the knowledge that would have enabled him to continue, "and you know, however uncanonical and unprimitive it is, it cannot well be more so than nomination by a lay Prime Minister. You maintain that custom because it works fairly well. So do we."

One result of an hereditary Episcopate is that the bishop is often absurdly young in years. The present holder of the Patriarchate is of the mature age of twenty-three, and is in the ninth year of his consecration! That a lad of that age (though admittedly maturity comes quickly in the East) should take himself very seriously as an Archbishop, is too much to be expected. Still he does take himself very seriously as the responsible Head of his nation; as the one to whom all have the right to turn in their need, and who is bound to help them to the limits of his power. Long ago, a poet in this land sketched what an ideal king should be; and the main feature of his portrait was that such an one should "preserve the souls of the poor," "delivering the poor when he crieth" and counting "their blood dear in his sight." That is still the ideal of kingship in this land; and this lad (to his credit be it said) has loyally endeavoured to live up to it. It would have been easy for Mar Shimun to make comfortable terms for his House and himself, had he been content to leave his people to look after their own interests. On the contrary, he has habitually sacrificed his own ease and comfort; and has run serious risks again and again, in order that he may try to protect "the sheep whom God has committed to him" either from Kurdish raider, or from the worse oppression of the Ottoman minor official. The Eastern ruler who rules for his people is a rare phenomenon and a high character.

An instance or two of the sort of work this young man has to do, and the spirit in which he undertakes it, will give some idea of the conditions of his life. The writer has known a case, where an important mountain chief brought up an unworthy candidate for priest's orders, only a few weeks after the lad had himself been consecrated as Patriarch. The request was met with the silence which in the East means refusal. It was repeated more urgently, to be met again by a quiet but decided negative.

"But the man is your own cousin my Lord!" said the astonished chief; "how can you refuse this to him?"

"_Malik_" (_i.e._, "chief") came the answer, delivered without either swagger or fear, "the whole _millet_ is equally 'the cousin' of its Patriarch."

On another occasion, he had to undertake a piece of work most eminently episcopal in character, but hardly usual in the West, viz. the reconciliation of a feud between a Kurdish and a Christian tribe.

Preliminaries were arranged by him between the two chiefs; and it was finally agreed that twenty "leading men" from each sept should meet with Mar Shimun in a certain valley, where the last points could be settled at a personal interview, and peace formally made. The Patriarch was prepared, of course, for the fact that every delegate came fully armed; but he had not quite expected that each one of the forty should think it needful for his dignity to come like Vich Ian Vohr, "with his tail on," accompanied that is by four or five followers, all also armed! Further, each side (as was discovered later) had provided an ambush in a convenient place, so as not to be taken unawares in the event of treachery on the part of the other.

Walking with naked lights in a powder magazine was a safe business compared to that conference; and the Patriarch, having got his parties in two villages, divided by a stream, spent most of the day going to and fro between them, arranging the final details. All was settled at last; and "Now," said the Patriarch, "leave your guns here in the shade, and come down to the stream and shake hands."

They came as ordered, without their guns. But it was observed that every man of the forty came down with his right hand on the hilt of his dagger; and when he had to take it away in order to grasp the hand of his opposite number, he put his left hand there instead! However, all passed off well; though the Armenian servant who handed round the coffee that formed the ceremonial hospitality which all had to share, trembled so violently that he upset the cups! For a moment it was a question whether this would be taken as a joke or a bad omen. Then luckily somebody laughed; and a general guffaw saved the situation.

When all were talking in friendly wise, and chaffing one another over the episodes of the feud, it was discovered that each party had brought down its local lunatic to provide amusement for them during the hours of waiting. Some one with a sporting soul suggested forming a ring, and putting up a cock-fight between these two unfortunates. Mar Shimun did his best to dissuade them; having a well-grounded fear that if the two came to blows, each man of the forty would take sides with his own idiot, and that the whole feud would be re-opened with a particularly sanguinary fight. However, to his relief, though to the disappointment of others, the lunatics showed themselves possessed of more sense than any of their companions. Each was provided with a thick stick, and told that the other had insulted all his ancestry; but they fell to talk before proceeding to "lay on load;" and got on together so well that they spent the rest of that day in friendly converse. When they finally parted, each declared that the other was the most sensible man and the best company that he had met in all his life.

In all his work, both spiritual and political, Mar Shimun has had two helpers, one of whom is with him still. This is his sister Surma, "Lady Surma of the house of Mar Shimun;" a singularly cultivated and high-minded woman. She has been thoroughly well educated (_e.g._ she speaks English well, and is well read in such authors as Scott, Stevenson and C. M. Yonge, besides English devotional theology), she yet remains a thorough Oriental, and a devoted member of her own Church. She is a recognized authority in all the rites and services,[128] and the trusted adviser of her brother (whose senior she is by a couple of years) in all the work of his office. Lady Surma is a professed nun (_rabbanta_) of the Nestorian Church; but this does not imply a cloistered life, for monasticism in this land has developed in a very peculiar fashion. The monasteries and nunneries have practically all perished, though their endowments (or some of them) are still recognized as Church property; but monks and nuns--_rabbans_ and _rabbantas_, still continue. Those who feel the "call to the religious life" follow it in their own families; living unmarried, abstaining from meat, and devoting themselves to good works and the services of the church. They maintain themselves by their own labour, and (with the exceptions mentioned) follow no special rule. If they marry, for instance, they have departed from a high purpose, but have broken no solemn vow. Rather strangely, the system has thus fallen back to something very like what "the virginal life" was in the early days of the Church, before monastic rules were formulated. This has come about without the knowledge or intent of its present professors; but the parallel with the conditions of _e.g._ third century Africa is amazingly close.[129]

As bishop, Mar Shimun is of course a _rabban_ also, and as such eats no meat. This, however, implies no great hardship in Qudshanis, where indeed the visitor may be recommended to consult his own comfort by following the same rule; for meat is both hard to come by and seldom good to eat.[130] The course of generations, however, has evolved quite a number of good vegetarian recipes, not indeed for the patriarchal table, for there is none, but for the patriarchal tray!

Mar Shimun's other counsellor was an Englishman of most exceptional character; the late Doctor William Browne, of the "Archbishop's Mission;" who for twenty-five years lived in this remote village as adviser and friend of this Church, and of two successive Patriarchs in it. In spirit a devoted fifth-century hermit, who somehow was born in nineteenth-century England, he applied himself whole-heartedly to the care of the Nestorian Church and its members, as their teacher, healer, and at times rebuker. He lived their life with them, and now sleeps in their midst. Many of the memories of one of the most picturesque and romantic of modern lives were lost irrevocably at his accidental death in 1910; but one or two which the writer received from him are worth inserting, as throwing light both on the conditions under which he lived, and on the character of the man himself.

In January and February of the year 1900, the news of the "Black Week" in South Africa in the previous December filtered slowly through the glens of Kurdistan. Mr. Browne (as he then was) was in his room in the village of Qudshanis, when two visitors were announced; deacons of the Church both, and good friends of their host. In they came, appearing fully armed and equipped for a journey.

"Peace be to you, deacons," said the Englishman, "Are you going on a journey at this season?"

"Upon you be peace Rabbi," came the answer; "Could you tell us the way to South Africa?"

"To South Africa? Why on earth do you want to go there?"

"Well, Rabbi, we owe a good deal to you English; it seems from what we hear that you fellows don't understand fighting behind rocks. Now we do know _that_ here in Hakkiari if we know nothing else, and we thought we ought to go and help."

They would certainly have been a picturesque reinforcement for Lord Roberts; but it came out on inquiry that there really was no way of getting to Africa without crossing the ocean, a prospect far more dreadful than battling with any number of Boers; and so the volunteers returned regretfully to their homes.

The "debt which they owed to the English," by the way, was principally the service rendered to their nation by Stratford Canning in 1847; when he insisted on the restoration of the children stolen as slaves by the Kurds under Bedr Khan Beg, the Mira of Bohtan, who perpetrated a fearful massacre of these mountaineers in that year. The return of those who had been given up as dead (and who were brought back in some cases from Aleppo and Smyrna) made a deep impression on the people, and has never been forgotten since.

On another occasion, a worthy old _qasha_, or priest, _Qasha_ Tuma by name, better known for his straight shooting than for his learning, turned up to interview Mr. Browne; assured him of his attachment to the English, and asked if there was nothing he could do to serve him.

"Certainly, _Qasha_," said the Englishman; "gather the boys of your village and teach a school; I will find you books enough."

"Nay Rabbi, that is quite beyond me. It is as much as I can do to read the services. But, if there was anyone whom you wished shot now, I should be delighted to undertake the job!"

Mar Shimun is accustomed to think of himself rather as Chief of his nation than as Patriarch of its Church (or to be accurate, not to separate those two offices in his mind); but it is as Patriarch notwithstanding that he appeals to the imagination of outsiders--Patriarch of one of the most interesting and picturesque Churches in the world. We give a picture of his Cathedral, which like most of the mountain shrines is very small in size, and resembles a border "peel-tower" rather than a church of the type we are accustomed to.[131] Orientals are not troubled with any desire for pews and either stand through the service, or kneel or sit upon the floor during the Lessons and sermon, and thus a very small nave will accommodate a very fair congregation. Though the Church of Mar Shalitha at Qudshanis measures at the most a scant thirty feet square, we have seen a congregation of about 400 accommodated in it; and that without more crowding than was advisable to keep people warm before the dawning of a Kurdistan winter's day. Once only, we may mention, have the Christmas day services been postponed till after sunrise; and that was on an occasion when a wild snowstorm, of the sort known by the expressive name of the "white darkness," made it a physical impossibility for any person to win his way over the 200 yards that divide the church from the village.

Internally the church is divided into nave and sanctuary; the latter being partitioned off by a fairly solid wall, and raised on three steps above the nave level. Outside the sanctuary door two solid "tables" of masonry carry the book of the Gospels, and the Cross which is kissed by every person who enters the building. Curtains and small votive offerings form the decorations, the latter being chiefly bunches of aromatic herbs, which are suspended from the tie beams; but in these matters the Nestorian is of more than evangelical severity, and will allow no picture, far less any image, to be brought into the church. Even a stained glass window would excite his prejudice, if it contained any figures; a fact which is no doubt due to his desire to escape any reproach of "idolatry" from his Mohammedan neighbours.[132]

The Liturgy of this Church is one of the oldest used in any part of Christendom; for it is practically certain that it existed in something like its present form by the year 450, and tradition ascribes it to an even earlier date. However, in a land where all services were until very lately manuscript and not printed, a certain amount of "fluidity" is natural; and indeed at certain services anyone who will bring an anthem of his own composition is entitled to have it chanted!

Evening celebrations of the Eucharist (_Qurbana_ is the Syriac name for the Rite) are customary on the vigils of the greater festivals; and these are performed in a way that suggests a possible and most beneficial concordat on that disputed point between the "high" and "low" divisions of the Church of England, for all who attend the evening celebration in the Nestorian Church do so fasting!

That so ancient a Church as this isolated body should have certain rites peculiar to itself, in addition to those that are variants of services common to all Christendom, is of course to be expected; and every Nestorian attaches great importance to what is known among them as the "Succession of the Leaven." Like all Orientals they celebrate the Eucharist with leavened bread,[133] and a certain amount of this is reserved after each "_Qurbana_" for one purpose, and one only. That purpose is neither communion of the sick, nor adoration; but the leavening of the dough that is to be baked for the next celebration. That baking of the bread, as is general with Orientals, is performed by the priest himself, and in the sacristy of the church, at a special preliminary office; and the admixture of the reserved crumbs at once leavens it, and puts it "into connexion" with that used on the previous occasion. And so they hold it is put "into connexion" with that used at all previous celebrations also, back to the institution in the upper room at Jerusalem. As a matter of history, the fact can be of course neither proved nor disproved. As a piece of instructive and interesting ceremonial, we imagine that at the least nobody could object to it; while many would envy such a possession.

It is at the patriarchal _diwan_ that the real life of Qudshanis finds its centre. At this solemn gathering, which is held daily in the course of the afternoon, anyone may be present; and anyone may bring forward any conceivable business that he wishes to have discussed in public. Coffee and tobacco go round, and for picturesqueness the gathering is hard to beat. It is composed mostly of mountaineers who look as if they had stepped down from the Assyrian sculptures, clad in loose home-spun coats and trousers, gay cummerbunds that are wrapped round and round their waists, and high felt caps that have been their headgear since time immemorial. Below these hang the long, plaited pigtails that form the traditional arrangement of their long hair. A bishop, or so, in long dark robes, serves as a foil to the many coloured dresses of the men of Tyari and Tkhuma; and the wonderfully handsome face of the young Patriarch (for good looks are part of the inheritance of the men of his family) forms a centre to the whole. He has himself unfortunately departed from the tradition of his fathers, and wears semi-European dress, which is seldom becoming to the Asiatic. Any visitor at Qudshanis is expected to attend the reception; and indeed to be in the place and not to be sometimes at the _diwan_ of the Patriarch is a marked act of discourtesy and almost a proclamation of disloyalty. As far as the writer can make out, something the same line of thought governs the Oriental attendance at the services of his church. In attending the _Qurbana_, he is attending the _diwan_ of that Great Power to whom he certainly does not intend to be openly disloyal.

Absolutely any business may be discussed, or any subject brought forward at these gatherings. Who is to be _malik_ of such and such a district; what villages stand in need of clergy; what terms of agreement can be suggested for the settlement of some grazing dispute. And though these questions may be settled _in camera_, the meanest man has his chance of making his opinion heard. If there is no special business to talk over, other subjects crop up; and a good fund of general information is a desirable possession for any Englishman who may be present, for strange questions are put before his wisdom. Thus, he may be asked why it is the case that some wild animals take so much more killing than do others; or invited to pass an opinion as to whether it is really the fact that shooting stars are the javelins cast by the Seraphim at the Jann, when they see them come up from earth to the lower courts of heaven for the purposes of eavesdropping. Once, a worthy old priest started the problem whether the angels kept the Fasts of the Church; and this was discussed with much learning and in true scholastic style. The theory propounded that they could hardly fast because they did not eat was scouted on the authority of the text, "Man did eat angels' food;" this proving that they certainly ate something! "Then they eat but do not fast" said some; but that seemed unlikely, for of all sorts of men known to these present, whether Christian, Mussulman, Jew or Devil-worshipper, the only folk who did not fast in some way were the American Missionaries, and there was a general feeling that this was not quite a conclusive precedent![134] Finally the meeting somehow hammered out the very sensible conclusion that laws made for fallen creatures like man did not necessarily bind unfallen beings; and the matter was left at that.

Occasionally some queer anecdote is related by one of the visitors; and one of these sticks in our memory as exemplifying the exceeding toughness and callousness of the Kurd. A gentleman of that race was riding his mule along one of the mountain paths when he was caught by an avalanche, which carried him down some distance, and then (in the sportive way that avalanches sometimes have) flung him on one side with his leg broken, but with his mule unhurt. He was ill enough off even so; for the spot was very lonely, and it was near nightfall. There was frost in the air already, and the temperature would be somewhere about zero before dawn. But by great good luck another traveller passed, and that traveller the victim's own brother. This model of fraternal affection rode off with the mule "lest it should get stolen," and left his brother in the snow till morning! But the latter was little the worse for his experience after all!

This episode was told us, as it happened, on the day after the query why some animals were very hard to kill; when we had explained that roughly, the lower the animal in the scale of creation, the more cutting and hacking he would stand. Hearing of the Kurd's adventures, the Patriarch looked across at us and observed drily, "I always thought that Kurds were precious low animals, Rabbi, and now I know it."

On the same occasion, a visitor detailed his own experience, when he had gone to pay a visit of sympathy to a Kurdish neighbour, who had recently lost some near relative. He entered the house, and found all the family as he had expected, seated wailing round the fireplace, as proper Kurdish custom dictates. They will sit thus, literally in the ashes, for some days; keeping up a low keening continuously, though at times some one of the party, without the least warning, will spring to his feet and shriek. Any visitor who wishes to express sympathy, takes up a shovelful of ashes from the hearth and pours it on the heads of the whole circle. The Christian, of course, did not neglect this act of courtesy, but performed it liberally. However, quite unintentionally, he took up some live coals in the shovel, and these, by ill-luck, went down the neck of one of the mourners, who at once sprang to his feet with a howl, exclaiming "I burn, I burn," and began tearing his clothes off. This, however, was quite ordinary behaviour, for wailing and rending of garments are habitual on these occasions; so all the family simply sat still and wailed in sympathy. The unlucky lad was really painfully, though not dangerously, burnt before his friends could be brought to understand that his sufferings were physical rather than mental!

As the recognized head of the Christian "_ashirets_" of Tyari and Tkhuma, and as the present holder of what all Mussulmans of the district recognize as a most ancient and venerable throne, Mar Shimun has a high position among the Kurds personally; though that fact does not, of course, keep them from plundering his people. In the past, indeed, it has not always availed to protect the House of the Patriarch itself from outrage; for when Bedr Khan Beg, the formidable Mira of Bohtan, attacked these Christian tribes in 1845--and perpetrated a massacre so appalling that the years are dated from it to this day--a special attempt was made to "extirpate the head of this brood of serpents."

Qudshanis itself was ravaged; the church plundered; and many priceless records utterly destroyed. Even a _firman_ said to be signed by the Prophet himself, and specially granting toleration to members of this body, was destroyed; no doubt as a forgery, because it condemned the very thing that its captors were in the act of doing. Whether as a matter of fact the document in question was actually Mohammed's own dictation and sealing, cannot of course be proved now; but tradition has it that he was taught what he knew of Christianity by a monk of this body, so the story may be true. It is perhaps more probable that the grant in question was made by Omar, who was Khalif at the time that the Mussulmans over-ran Persia; and who is known to have made some such grant of toleration to the Nestorian Patriarch of his day.

However that may be, it is the fact that every Kurd in the district of Hakkiari (a general name for the mountain districts of southern Kurdistan) has some reverence for Mar Shimun, as a sort of titular head of the land, and as a man of as much hereditary sanctity as a Christian can aspire to. Thus, strict Mussulmans will often consider that the flesh of animals killed by Christians is not clean enough for a true believer to eat. Who can tell if it has been properly made _hallal_ or no? If, however, the beast has been killed by one of the patriarchal family, the strictest Moslem will not hesitate; particularly if the slaughtering has been done with one particular knife that is one of the heirlooms of the house.

Many other strange survivals of old days remain in this home of ancient semi-royalty and even more ancient patriarchate, but these must suffice. There are few spectacles more romantic and more attractive than that of this young man whom Providence has called to so difficult a position, loyally doing his best, with the help of his devoted sister, to guide and preserve those that are entrusted to him; to save them in the perils that encompass them, and to make them once more worthy inheritors of their own splendid past.

NOTE. The conclusion of this chapter provides an opportunity for the insertion of a few notes upon the bird and animal life of the mountains of Hakkiari. The subject has some interest of its own; though the fact that every self-respecting man in the country carries a gun prevents the land from ranking as a sportsman's paradise.

Ibex are fairly common in the southern portions of the range, which are also the more rugged; and moufflon are to be obtained upon the lofty downs of the Armenian plateaux--but not in any great numbers. The former carry very fine heads, and we have seen them with knobs that marked a life of ten or even eleven years, and a measurement, round the curve of the horn, of over four feet.

Bears are common enough to be a nuisance in the spring--when they do much harm to the flocks--and are usually of the ordinary brown type. Sometimes they are of a greyish colour; and the district of Jilu can boast a variety which is described as "white." The only skin of the type that the writer has seen, however, was light sandy in hue, and it is probably no more than a slight local variant in colour.

Generally they are hunted in a strictly utilitarian way; the object being not so much as to provide sport as to get rid of a nuisance. All the men of the village who can raise anything that can be fired without bursting go out _en masse_, and beat the hillside till the quarry is roused. When that happens there is as much firing as at an ordinary tribal skirmish; and by the time the skin is brought in, it sometimes has some resemblance to a fishing-net.

One good man of Qudshanis, however, had a more sporting disposition, and made a practice of hunting the bear in a way that would have delighted the soul of the Emperor Maximilian, with no other weapon than a short stick (some eight inches long, pointed at the ends) and a dagger. His method was to track the bear to his lair, to approach to within arm's length if possible, and then rouse the enemy. It seems that the bear could be trusted to stand at gaze for an instant with open mouth, and the hunter (so said deponent, who was the worthy old steward of the Nestorian Patriarch) then thrust the stick into his mouth, thus propping his jaws apart. The bear was sure to use his paws to get rid of the nuisance, and so laid himself open to just one stab from the dagger. It was certainly a sporting method, and the hunter got many skins and much local _kudos_, the latter being certainly well earned.

However, as often happens, there came a day when something went wrong. Precisely what happened was not known, for the hunter was, as usual, alone--and he never came back to explain how he had failed.

As is the case with many half-wild races, Assyrians regard the bear as half-human, or at all events nearer to man than other beasts; and are convinced, among other things, that he understands human speech. In one instance known to the writer, a girl went down to the fruit-orchards one summer evening with the reprehensible purpose of helping herself from trees that did not belong to her family. As she peered up the tree in the dusk, she saw the soles of a pair of feet above her, and called to the supposed boy to throw her down a share of the fruit. She got no answer, and so went on: "Then I'll go and tell Abraham that you are stealing his fruit, and he will come out with a gun and a stick." At that word, a half-grown bear dropped out of the tree beside her, and she perceived that the feet had been his, and not those of a boy. (The resemblance between the footprint of a bear and that of a man, in snow, is remarkably close.) It would be hard to say which party was the most scared, for they ran away in opposite directions; but, naturally, nothing would persuade the girl that the bear had not understood her.

Wild boar is fairly common in the lower hills, which are forest-clad; but the sportsman must reconcile himself to shooting them, for orthodox "pig-sticking" is out of the question in that land. Some of the Christian tribes (though they keep no domestic swine) will shoot and eat these beasts; and at times play unkind tricks on their Mussulman neighbours, inviting them to a banquet and putting pig before them. Kurds are not too particular under these circumstances, though they will not eat the meat knowingly. Still, if trapped thus, they salve their consciences with the remark: "The Christian had the sin, and I had the good dinner." It is, however, only men of Tkhuma who act thus. The good folk of Tyari might not be above scoring off the enemy in that or any other way, but they will never themselves eat either pork or hare. They do not realize, however, that the rule is not peculiar to that elect people, their own tribe. A good lady of that valley once expressed to the writer her disgust at hearing that Christians were to be enrolled in the army in future. "How can I endure to have my sons set to eat pigs' flesh among the Mussulmans?" Nothing would persuade her that they were not likely to be exposed to that horror at any rate.

Wolves are numerous, and their packs are at times a positive danger to life, particularly in hard winters. Solitary travellers are known to have been pulled down by them; and the local sheepdog is of necessity a powerful and savage brute, though he has little of the sagacity of a Scotch collie. We have known a case in which a pack of wolves (driven by hunger, of course) actually entered the suburbs of the city of Van, and sent in a crafty old she-wolf as decoy. She brought a pack of rash street-dogs out at her tail, and the ambush was a great and shining success. The wolves got a good meal for once, and the nights in that quarter of the city were more peaceful for some time after. In the same winter (that of 1905-6, which was of exceptional severity) a pack of hunger-driven wolves actually invaded an Armenian village, and remained in possession of it for a matter of an hour. All human beings were driven to take cover in the houses, and every dog in the place was killed, while the middens were cleaned up as they had not been for many a day. The folds could not be entered, nor could the houses--else a grim tragedy would have been enacted--and, after a while, the enemy withdrew, after a strange temporary reversal of the normal condition of things.

Leopards are still to be found in the mountains, but very rarely. We have, however, seen a cub in captivity, and he was certainly not imported into the land. Lynx and marten are rare now; and the foul-eating "ghoul," which is apparently a type of hyæna, is found on Mosul plain, as mentioned above, in company with the equally disreputable jackal. The lion which, on the evidence of Assyrian sculptures, was once common on the Mesopotamian plain, is extinct now; though old men among the Arabs still look back fondly to the days when a youth was expected to prove his manhood by killing one as a gift to his bride.

If the lion is extinct, however, another great beast that figures with him as royal game for the King of Nineveh would seem to be not quite exterminated yet. This is the aurochs, which appears repeatedly on the carvings in the British Museum.

We have never seen this animal in life, but we once saw the head of something of the _genus bos_ on the wall of the house of a Kurdish gentleman of Amadia. Its preservation was deplorable, but it had long fine horns, and its colour had been white originally, as is the case with wild cattle elsewhere, but is very rare with the domestic animal. We observed to our host that his ox had unusually fine horns, but he declared "that is no common ox, _Effendim_; it is one of the wild cattle of the mountains, of which there are very few in these days." We regret to add that seven years later the head had perished altogether, which is a distinct loss; still, there is other evidence that the animal is not entirely extinct as yet.

Birds are not numerous, but what there are are mostly of the decorative order. The great golden eagle is fairly plentiful in the mountains, and the black one is seen at times. Vultures and kites are common enough; and Haji Laqlaq the stork comes in regularly from his pilgrimage to Mecca in the spring. Magpies are plentiful and are seen in flocks of twenty at a time, in numbers that preclude any superstition attaching to them. They are good scavengers; and the parts that appear as black in their English cousins are seen, on examination, to be of a dark metallic blue and green in these specimens, so that the total effect is really brilliant.

The "blue jay" too, is really blue in this land; for he does not confine himself to a few blue feathers in his wings, as with us, but does equal honour to both our universities, by appearing with a Cambridge blue body and Oxford blue wings, and thus has a magnificent appearance. Even he is outdone by the kingfisher, who is a large specimen of his kind, and clothes himself entirely in deep metallic blue with a marvellous sheen. That at least is the livery of the fisher on the River Zab. Lower down on the Tigris, the blue is light in colour, though equally metallic in tone, and is set off by a pair of bright russet wings.

The hoopoe comes in the summer and is, as ever, an attractive and gay neighbour, with his body of bright chestnut, and wings and crest of barred black and white. Nestorians call him "the bird of Solomon," and tell the familiar legend of his crown; but Armenians account for it in a different way. "Their fathers say" that the hoopoe was once a damsel, very pretty, but also very conceited, who would not veil her face as decency dictates, but kept the covering that should have concealed it cocked up on the top of her head, so that all the young men could see her. So she was turned into a hoopoe, and goes about for ever in the same flirty way as of old, with the veil still on the top of her head in the guise of a crest!

Of all feathered fowl, however, none are more brilliant in colour than the bee-eater and the golden oriol. A gold-coloured body and black wings distinguish the latter; but we have never been able to satisfy ourselves as to how many hues go to the livery of the small and quick-flying bee-eater. Gold, red, green, and blue all form part of it we know; and a flock of them flying in the sun is at least a beautiful sight, though not one that is too welcome to the keeper of hives. If only they would turn their attention to flies of other varieties, one would afford them unstinted praise; as it is, one pardons their iniquities for the sake of their good looks.

Page 275. NOTE. We add a note to make this matter clearer, for the benefit of liturgiologists. Two sorts of leaven are put into the dough to leaven it, and both are called "melka" (King, cf the Spanish title for the Host "Su Majestad.")

One of these is a portion taken, before consecration, from the loaf prepared for the last celebration, and reserved for this purpose. The other consists of a mere pinch of flour, or of bread reduced once more to the consistency of flour, which is kept in a special vessel in the sanctuary.

The tradition concerning this is as follows. When the Lord distributed the elements at the first Qurbana in the upper room, he gave a double portion of the bread to St. John. The Apostle consumed one part and reserved one, which he moistened with the blood of Christ on Calvary, and divided, after the Ascension, into twelve portions. One was given to each Apostle when they went forth to preach, that the act of mingling particles of it with the dough to be consecrated at every Eucharist, might connect the bread used on each occasion with that used at the first. This Melka is supplemented as needful, either with pulverised bread from the Qurbana or with fine flour, (our informant was not clear on this point), and is held to contain particles of the original, or at least to have been put into connexion with it.