The culprit hung his head and murmured, just loud enough to be heard: “Scorned by men, I will take refuge on the barren mountain tops; the birds will provide me with sustenance, and my soul will sing acts of thanks-giving.”
The whole class broke out into a great shout of laughter, and the professor, dumbfounded, asked:
“Come now! Are you making game of me, or have you really gone mad?”
“These words of the Saint, expressing my feelings, seemed to me to be adapted to the situation.”
“Upon my word,” cried the exasperated professor, “I do believe this play-acting has deprived you of the small portion of brains you had left! Take care, or we shall have to send you to Asfourieh” (the lunatic asylum near Beyrout, the only one in Asiatic Turkey).
The rehearsals proceeded very well, and at last the day of the first performance had come and the great dining-hall had been transformed into a theater. An hour before the rising of the curtain the room was nearly filled with relatives and friends of the students; the first three rows of seats reserved for the Americans and their families, were the only ones unoccupied. None of these good people had ever attended an entertainment like this. They talked and laughed, and called to one another from one end of the hall to another, eating oranges and cracking nuts. At a quarter before seven, the president and his wife, Dr. and Mrs. Spencer, Miss Wylie and the other missionaries entered the hall.
Presently the curtain rose before the astonished eyes of the spectators. The stage was decorated with flowers and foliage plants, and draped at the back with the Turkish and American colors.
The old king, Sanadroug, wearing a gold-paper crown on his white head, is conversing with his prime minister. He confides to him his anxiety about his daughter: the beautiful Santourt is no longer her old self; she is grave and serious, she affects black garments, and shuns the dances and games of her companions. The monarch’s speech is interrupted by the entrance of a slave, the bearer of mournful tidings. Santourt, stirred up by the Apostle Thaddeus, has broken the statue of Aphrodite. The messenger is interrupted by the sound of a great tumult; the young girl is being led before the king by a company of pagan priests. A murmur of admiration greets the virgin martyr; with her long black tresses, her white robe, her eyes shining with the inspiration of faith, she is ravishingly fair, and no one could have had a suspicion that it was Garabed the Junior, under this disguise.
The second act is supposed to take place in Santourt’s prison; the decorations were not changed, but the audience was not disturbed by that. The princess has to listen to the entreaties of her father, and scarcely has she rejected these, when her lover presents himself before her. Yervant falls on his knees, and weeping, entreats Santourt to renounce her error. He pleads their love; but it is in the name of that very love that Santourt remains deaf to all entreaties; she, in her turn, seeks to win Yervant to the Christian faith. The hero resists and leaves her in despair. Nothing can save Santourt now, and she is condemned to death.