Forty Days of Musa Dagh

by Franz Werfel

  Gabriel revealed himself: "You ought to have given your drug-sack to my people, instead of trying to drag your whole chemist's shop alone."

  Krikor still strove to get his breath. Yet, even so, he could put a certain aloofness into his answer: "None of this has anything to do with my drugs. I sent those up several hours ago."

  Gabriel had by now observed that both the chemist and his ass were laden exclusively with books. For some vague reason this annoyed him and inspired him with the wish to mock. "Forgive my mistake, Apothecary. Are these the only provisions you've managed to bring?"

  Krikor's face was again impassive. He eyed Gabriel with all his usual detachment: "Yes, Bagradian, these are my provisions -- unluckily not the whole of them." A coughing-fit shook him. He sat down and mopped his sweat with a monstrous handkerchief. The starlight twinkled. The donkey stood with its heavy load and melancholy knock-knees on the pathway. Minutes elapsed. Gabriel regretted his unkind impulse. But Krikor's voice had regained all its old superiority.

  "Gabriel Bagradian, you, as a Paris savant, have had very different chances from mine, the Yoghonoluk chemist. Yet perhaps one or two things have escaped you, which I have perceived. Possibly you never heard the saying of the sublime Gregory Nazianzen, nor the answer he received from the pagan Tertullian."

  No wonder Gabriel was unacquainted with St. Gregory Nazianzen's saying, since Krikor was the only man who had heard it. He related it in his usual lofty voice, with supreme, lordly detachment -- though, to be sure, his confusion of Tertullian, the Church Father, with a pagan of the same name was a sign that Jove can nod.

  "Once the sublime Gregory Nazianzen was invited to dinner by the august pagan, Tertullian. Have no fear, Bagradian, the story is as short as it is profound. They spoke of the good harvest and the fine white bread which they were breaking together. A sunbeam lay across the table. Gregory Nazianzen lifted up his bread in his hands and said to Tertullian: 'My friend, we must thank God for His great mercy -- for see, this bread which tastes so delicious is nothing else than this golden sunbeam which, out in the fields, has changed itself into wheat for us.' Tertullian, however, stood up from the table and drew down a work of the poet Vergil from his shelves. He said to Gregory: 'My friend and guest -- if we praise God for a mere slice of bread, how much more, then, must we not praise Him for this book. For see, this book is the transformed sunbeam of a far higher sun than that whose beams we can watch with our eyes across the table.'"

  After a while Gabriel asked in melancholy sympathy: "And your whole library, Krikor? This can be only a sample of it. Have you buried the books?"

  Krikor rose as stiffly as a wounded hero: "I did not bury them. Books perish in the ground. I left them, just as they were."

  Gabriel took up the lantern which the apothecary had forgotten. It was getting lighter, and Krikor could not hide the fact that tears ran down his inscrutable parchment cheeks. Bagradian shouldered the old man's sack: "Do you really think, Apothecary," he said, "that I was only born for service-rifles, cartridge belts, and trench-digging?"

  Though Krikor protested again and again, Gabriel carried his heavy sack to the North Saddle.

  BOOK TWO

  THE STRUGGLE OF THE WEAK

  "And the winepress was trodden, without the city . . ."

  REVELATION xiv, 20

  1. LIFE ON THE MOUNTAIN

  Musa Dagh! Mountain of Moses! At its summit, in the grey dawn-light, a whole population set up its camp. The mountain top, the windy air, the sea surge, put such new life into this people that the toil of the night seemed dispersed and forgotten. No more strained and exhausted faces, but only excited-looking ones. In and around the Town Enclosure they ran past one another, shouting. No consciousness whatever of the underlying reality of it all, only a pugnacious stir. Like a spring torrent, small and overwhelming urgencies swept away all thoughts of the whole. Even Ter Haigasun, decking the wooden altar at the center of the camp, and so engaged in getting things shipshape for eternity, was shouting impatiently at the men who helped him in the work.

  Gabriel had climbed the point selected by him as observation post. From one of the rocky knolls of the Damlayik, it offered a clear look-out to sea, across the Orontes plain and those undulations of the mountain which ebbed away towards Antioch. You could see the valley itself from Kheder Beg as far as Bitias. The outlying villages were hidden by bends in the road. Of course, besides this chief observation post, there were ten or twelve thrust out spying-points, from which single sections of the valley could be closely observed. But here, well shielded by ridges of rock, he had a clear view of the general outlines. Perhaps because, from his position, he stood above the general scurry of the camp, Bagradian found himself suddenly, sharply confronted, pierced to the quick, by its reality. There in the north, the east, the south, as far as Antakiya -- no, as far as Mosul and Deir ez-Zor -- destruction, not to be evaded! Hundreds of thousands of Moslems, who would soon have only one objective -- the smoking out of this insolent wasps' nest on Musa Dagh. On the farther side an indifferent Mediterranean, sleepily surging round the sharp declivities of the mountain. No matter how close Cyprus might be, what French or English cruiser would take the least interest in this arid length of Syrian coast quite out of the war zone? Certainly the fleets only put out in threatened directions, towards Suez and the North African coast, always sailing away from the dead Gulf of Alexandretta. Bagradian, looking over the desert sea, realized how impossibly -- demagogically -- he had behaved both towards himself and his hearers, when he tried, at the general assembly, to raise hopes of a rescuing gunboat. The scornfully empty horizon crushed his arguments. All round them, incalculable death, with not the narrowest cranny of escape -- such was the truth. A huddled, piteous crowd of villagers, inescapably menaced on every side. And even that was not the whole truth. For should death from without -- though not even a madman would have supposed it -- remain benevolently inactive; though no attack should come, not one shot be fired -- even so, another death, from within, would rise in their midst, to destroy them all. They might scrape and spare as much as they pleased, herds and supplies could not be renewed and, within measurable time, they would be exhausted.

  Down in the valley the thought of the Damlayik had seemed a release, since in bitter need the prospect of any kind of change works as an assuagement and a cure. But now they were firmly ensconced, the healing thought no longer sustained Gabriel. He had the sensation of having been hurled out of space and time. No doubt he could keep the inevitable at arm's length for a few seconds, yet in exchange he had had to sacrifice the hundred cracks and loopholes which chance presents. Had not Harutiun Nokhudian made a wiser decision for his flock? An icy compulsion had hold of Gabriel. What an unforgivable sin against Stephan and Juliette! Over and over again he had let slip the moment of escape, nor once seriously tried to shake Juliette out of her fool's paradise, though he had known, even on that March Sunday, that the trap was closed. Violent giddiness, sudden emptiness in his head, succeeded this incredible feeling of guilt. The two horizons, land and sea, had begun to swirl. The whole earth was a twirling ring, and Musa Dagh its dead, fixed focus. But the true center of that focus was Gabriel's body, which, high though it stood, was in reality the lowest point of rigidity above which swung this inescapable vortex. All we ask is to keep alive, he reflected horror-stricken. Instantly there followed the still thought: "But -- why?"

  Gabriel rushed down to the Town Enclosure. The separate committees of the Council were sitting already, since the myriad tasks of the first day were not yet apportioned. He insisted that every active person, man or woman, should set to work instantly on the trenches and outposts already begun. This whole line of defences must be as good as complete by tomorrow evening. Who could tell whether the first Turkish assault might not be delivered within two days? He had to keep on urging again and again that defence, and all that appertained to it -- the sharpest fighting discipline -- must take precedence of all other things. Since they had chosen him to lead
their resistance, it followed as the inevitable consequence that he must be given a free hand, not only over the front-line fighters, but the reserve -- that is to say, over fighters and workers -- the whole camp. Pastor Aram, who was unfortunately very touchy, kept saying that it was equally urgent to control the inner life of the community. At present it was all chaos -- each family jealous of the living-space assigned to every other, and the separate communes equally dissatisfied with their camping-ground. Bagradian seized on the pastor's words. There must be no such thing as dissatisfaction, this was a state of acute emergency. Grousers must be dealt with out of hand, and ruthlessly punished. Kebussyan and the other mukhtars at once began siding with the pastor. Even Dr. Bedros Altouni obstinately insisted that the bodily needs of the people were the first thing to be considered, that work on the hospital hut must be started at once, so that the sick might not get any worse. Then, one after another, teachers and mukhtars made rambling speeches -- each on the particular urgency of his own particular job. Gabriel perceived with terror how hard it is to get a deliberating body to pass the most essential and obvious measure. But the constitution he had given them soon proved its efficacy. Ter Haigasun had the necessary authority to determine undecided cases. He made such skilful and unobtrusive use of it that their counsels had soon ceased to be troubled with dangerous and confusing suggestions. Gabriel was perfectly right. Everything else must give way to the work of defence. The rules of discipline laid down several days ago by the council must be read out instantly to the decads and, as from that moment, come into force. Everyone owed unconditional obedience to the chief. He had the definite advantage over all the other representatives of having learned to know war as a front-line officer. The Council therefore must give him complete authority in all which might concern defence, fighting preparations, and camp discipline. Gabriel Bagradian and the members of his Defence Committee were in no way bound to submit their decisions to the General Council. Pastor Aram Tomasian had been given a seat on that committee, and Gabriel on the Committee for Internal Discipline, so that unnecessary friction might be avoided. And naturally the commander must have his own powers to inflict punishment. He must be able to deprive recalcitrants and lazy people of their rations, have them put in irons, punished with the bastinado, mild or severe, as he might see fit. Only one punishment -- death -- remained at the sole discretion of Ter Haigasun, the Council having unanimously endorsed it. Every inhabitant of the camp must be made to realize, from this first hour, the seriousness of a war situation. The chief tasks of the Camp Committee would be to provide for strict law and order, to make these difficult circumstances seem natural, and to direct every effort towards the development of a normal, ordinary daily routine, just as much up here as down in the valley. Ter Haigasun kept stressing the words "normal" and "everyday." On these unobtrusive powers, more than on any deed of heroism, would depend the strength and duration of their resistance. So that not one pair of hands must be left idle. Not even children must be without their regular work. No holiday wildness should encroach on this life-or-death struggle. School must still be taught in a place assigned to it, and in as disciplined and serious a manner as ever. Teachers, as they came off duty, must take their turns in holding classes. Only unremitting work, concluded the priest, would enable people to sustain this life of deprivations. "So get to work. Let's waste as little time as possible on talk."

  The mukhtars assembled their communes on the big square before the altar, already marked out as the Town Enclosure. Bagradian ordered Chaush Nurhan to form up the eighty-six decads of his first defence. That tyrant of recruits soon had them drawn up in front of the still unconsecrated altar, in neat square formation. Ter Haigasun climbed the altar tribune, a broad space raised fairly high above the square. He asked Bagradian, but no other leader, to stand beside him. Then he turned to the men and in a resonant voice read out the rules, as taken down by Avakian. These he supplemented with a few threatening words of his own. Anyone who disobeyed, or set himself up against his chief would bring down instant punishment on himself. Let all newcomers from Turkish barracks take that to heart. It was not an understood thing that they should be taken into camp and fed out of communal supplies. It was an act of brotherly kindness by the communes, of which they would have to show themselves worthy. Ter Haigasun took up the silver crucifix from the altar and came down into the ranks, along with Gabriel. Slowly he administered the oath. The men had to repeat, with uplifted hands:

  "I swear before God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost that I will defend this encamped people to the last drop of my blood; that I subordinate myself to my commander and all his edicts, in blind obedience; that I acknowledge the authority of the elected Council of Leaders; that I will never leave the mountain for my own purposes -- as God the Father shall help me to my salvation."

  After this oath had been administered, the front-line men marched behind the altar. The eleven hundred reservists, men and women, divided into twenty-two groups, took a shorter oath of obedience and willingness to work. This reserve shouldered the main burden of entrenchment and camp-building. It had nothing with which to ward off an attack but those scythes, pitchforks, and hammers which it had carried up with it from the valley. Lastly the three hundred adolescents, the "light cavalry," marched forward. Ter Haigasun made them a short speech of admonishment, and Gabriel explained their duties as scouts, signallers, and liaison-runners. He divided these youngsters up into three sections, by "picking them out." The first were to garrison the observation posts and concealed look-outs, and send a report every two hours to headquarters. The hundred oldest and most reliable boys were chosen for this very important duty. It would also be their job to post sentries, day and night, on the Dish Terrace, to use their sharp young eyes to keep a look-out for the smoke (vain hope!) of passing ships. The second section were to do orderly work. This hundred must always be somewhere about around headquarters, to take the commander's orders in any direction, and keep him in touch with the various sectors of the defence. Samuel Avakian was put in command of this corps of orderlies, and Stephan enrolled in it. Finally, the third hundred were to be at Pastor Aram's disposal, for general use about the camp and, for instance, to carry rations out to the line.

  This dividing up of the villagers by Bagradian instantly revealed its advantages. The martial self-importance which swelled the breasts of the various decads, the pricking itch to command, with which lower officers were at once infected, the childish delight in forming ranks and playing soldiers -- all these human traits served to veil completely, in the beneficent ardor of a game, any deeply uneasy sense of the inevitable. As, soon after this, the ranks marched off to trench-building, there arose here and there, shyly yet stubbornly, the old workers' song of the valley:

  "Days of misfortune pass and are gone, Like the days of winter, they come and they go; The sorrows of men do not last very long, Like the buyers in shops, they come and go.

  Gabriel summoned Chaush Nurhan and the heads of the most important decads. But meanwhile Ter Haigasun had left the altar square for that of the Three Tents, near a great well-spring. Sheltered on three sides by fern-grown rocks and myrtle bushes, its beauty was a signal proof of how carefully Juliette was looked after. Ter Haigasun asked to speak to the hanum Juliette Bagradian. Since Kristaphor, Missak, Hovhannes, and the other servants were all engaged in setting up the adjacent "kitchen square," the priest found only Gonzague Maris to take his message. That young man was pacing rapidly up and down, as passengers walk for exercise up and down the narrow deck of a liner. The Greek went to Juliette's canvas tent and struck the little gong which hung at the entrance. But the hanum kept them waiting a very long time. When at last she appeared, she asked Maris to bring out a chair for Ter Haigasun. He refused to sit down, regretted that he had no time to spare. He let his hands slip out of sight into his wide sleeves, and cast down his eyes. What he said, in his stiff French, was charged with formality. Madame's kindness was known to everybody. He therefore begged Madame
to honor his people by undertaking a special duty. It was necessary that a very large white banner, with a red cross, should be set up on the ledge of rock jutting out to sea, on the steep side behind the mountain, to give any ships which God, in His mercy, might choose to send them knowledge of their desperate plight. Therefore the banner must bear an inscription in French and English: "Christians in need. Help!" Ter Haigasun bowed as he asked Juliette whether, with the help of some other women, she would be willing to get this banner prepared. She promised; but tepidly, indifferently. It was queer -- the Frenchwoman seemed to have no inkling of the honor Ter Haigasun was paying her, as much by his visit as this request, which he framed with all possible courtesy. She had grown indifferent again to all things Armenian. But when Ter Haigasun quickly left her, with nothing more than a curt nod, she suddenly became very restless, and herself sought out two big linen sheets, to be sewn together on the machine.