Forty Days of Musa Dagh Read Online Free PDF

müdir were

his long, scrupulously manicured fingernails. He was wearing a grey suit,

which seemed a little too tight even for his measly person; with it a red

tie and canary-yellow lace-up boots. Bagradian knew at once -- Salonika!

He had no reason for knowing it except the young man's outward appearance.

Salonika had been the birthplace of the Turkish nationalist movement,

of frantic Westernization, boundless reverence of Western progress in

all its forms. Doubtless this müdir was a hanger-on, perhaps even a

member of Ittihad, that secretive "Comité pour l'union et le progrčs,"

which today held unimpeded dominion over the Caliph's state. He was

excessively polite to his visitor. He got up and himself brought the

chair to the desk. Most of the time his red-rimmed eyes, with the sparse

lashes of red-haired people, looked past Bagradian.
     
     
Gabriel rather stressed his name. The müdir nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"The highly esteemed Bagradian family is known to us."
     
     
It cannot be denied that his tone and words produced a certain glow of

satisfaction in Gabriel, whose voice became more assured. "Today certain

citizens of my village -- I was among them -- have had our passports

taken away. Is that official? Did you know of it?"
     
     
After long reflection and fumbling among documents, the müdir announced

that, with all the press of official business, he found it impossible to

put his hand on every trifle directly. At last light dawned. "Oh, yes,

of course. The passports for the interior. That's not an independent

ruling of the kazah -- it's a new order from His Excellency the Minister

of the Interior."
     
     
Now at last he had found the crumpled sheet, which he spread in front of him.

He seemed willing, on request, to read the full text of this decree of His

Excellency Taalat Bey. Gabriel asked if the order were to be generally

applied. The answer sounded rather evasive. The mass of people would

scarcely be affected by it, since usually only the richer shopkeepers,

merchants, and such like owned a pass for the interior. Gabriel stared

at the long fingernails. "I've lived most of my life abroad, in Paris -- "
     
     
Again the official slightly inclined his head. "We know that, Effendi."
     
     
"And so I'm not very used to these deprivations of liberty."
     
     
The müdir smiled an indulgent smile. "You over-rate the matter, Effendi.

This is wartime. And nowadays even German, French, and English citizens find

they have to submit to a great deal to which they used not to be accustomed.

All over Europe it's much the same as it is here. May I also remind you

that this is the war zone of the fourth army, and therefore a military

area? It's absolutely essential to keep some control of people's

movements."
     
     
These reasons sounded so cogent that Gabriel Bagradian felt relieved.

That morning's event, which had brought him to Antioch, suddenly seemed

to lose its astringent quality. He had been hearing rumors everywhere of

traitors, deserters, spies. The state had to protect itself. Impossible

to judge such measures as this by the hole-and-corner methods of

Yoghonoluk. And the müdir's further observations were of a kind to allay

Armenian mistrust. The Minister had, to be sure, withdrawn all passports,

but this did not mean that, in certain cases, new ones might not be

procurable. The vilayet office in Aleppo was the competent authority

for these. Bagradian Effendi must know himself that the Wali, Djelal

Bey, was the most just and benevolent governor of the whole empire.

A request, backed by recommendations from these offices, would be sent

to Aleppo. . . . The müdir broke off: "Unless I'm mistaken, Effendi,

you're liable for military service."
     
     
Gabriel gave a short account of the matter. Yesterday, perhaps, he might

still have asked the official to find out why no marching-orders had

reached him. But the last few hours had altered everything. The