Archag, the Little Armenian

by Charles H. Schnapps

Nejib’s father, Dr. Rossinian, was the leading physician of Aleppo. While his numerous colleagues barely managed to secure a living, he made money hand over fist. He lived in a magnificent house, and kept an automobile, a carriage, and saddle horses. All this luxury he owed to his wife, an Irish lady abounding in energy and good spirits, who had been for several years head nurse at the Aintab Hospital, at the time when Dr. Rossinian, fresh from the University of Beyrout, was there as resident physician. The Irish lady had fallen in love with the young man, and he had made her an offer of marriage. When she became his wife, she gave him all her savings, in order that he might continue his studies, and went with him to Europe. After spending four years at German and English universities, Dr. Rossinian established himself in Aleppo, where by means of his skillful operations and remarkable cures, he acquired an extensive practice among the wealthy classes of the entire province. His wife did not let him rest on his laurels, however; she spurred him on to further study, and it was due to her persuasion that the doctor went to Europe every three or four years, to keep abreast of his profession. Dr. Rossinian’s love and admiration for his wife were unbounded, and she adored him with all the ardor of her early attachment. They had two children, Nejib, and a daughter, Winifred, two years younger.

Archag had heard of the luxury of the Rossinians, and when he and Nejib reached their journey’s end, and were driving through the streets of Aleppo, he wondered with a little uneasiness, how he would be received. The carriage stopped in front of a large, handsome house, and the boys were ushered into the hall by a negro servant. Then they heard footsteps, and the doctor, with his wife and Winnie, came forward to welcome the travelers. Nejib embraced his parents and sister and presented Archag.

“Bouyourun, Baron Archag,” said Mrs. Rossinian; “welcome to you!” and she shook hands with him, English fashion.

Her very face, in its frame of soft gray hair, breathed kindness; she was dressed in black silk, and Archag observed that her fingers were loaded with rings. Winnie was a pretty young girl of fifteen, with mischievous eyes; she made Archag feel extremely shy.

The dinner hour had been set forward in honor of the two boys, who declared they were as hungry as wolves. When they entered the dining-room they found only Winnie and her governess there. Miss Pritchard was a long and lean individual, all angles and asperities. She must have seen rather more than forty summers, but nothing in the world could ever make her admit it. She was one of those daughters of Albion who, though living in various parts of the world, still retain their own habits and English peculiarities. Miss Pritchard, for instance, would have thought herself forever disgraced if she had appeared a single evening without dressing for dinner; no matter if she happened to be traveling in Asia Minor, or sitting down to a cup of tea with bread and butter, she would make no exception to her rule. She always withdrew to her room an hour before the meal, to emerge clad in a silk dress, with a bright ribbon in her hair. For her, there was but one country in the world: England. In spite of the comfort and luxury which she enjoyed, she was always lamenting her “English home.” At the bottom of her heart, however, she very well knew that she was much better off at Aleppo than in England, where she would have had to work hard to earn her living. It need hardly be said that after living ten years in this country, she did not know ten words of Turkish. She had never become accustomed to the small discomforts of the Orient; a flea gave her a nervous shock, and other insects threw her into a swoon. These ill-turns recurred at such frequent intervals that nobody was alarmed by them any more. Some one would give her eau de cologne to inhale, and after five or ten minutes the poor lady would come to herself, saying: “It is too dreadful, I must pack my trunks at once; so sorry to leave you all, dears, but I can’t stand it any longer.”

Nobody took her at her word, however, and by the next day she had forgotten all about it. The Rossinians overlooked her numerous eccentricities, for she was a very good teacher, and devoted to her pupil.

When Archag was presented to her, in accordance to all the rules of good society, she held out two fingers with an indifferent air, looked him over from head to foot, murmured a, “How do you do?” and turned her back on him.

But the doctor and his wife quickly put Archag at his ease. They had a deep feeling of gratitude toward him, for they knew that to him they owed the life of their only son. Mrs. Rossinian asked him a multitude of questions about his family, to which he replied without embarrassment. Miss Pritchard asked him if it was very hot at Van, and without waiting for his reply, declared that she could never get used to the heat of Aleppo.

“I bear it, I bear it,” said she plaintively, “but how I do miss our dear London fogs.”

Then she began to sing the praises of her native land. She was off on her favorite hobby, and no one paid much attention to what she said. She sat opposite Archag, who thus had a good opportunity to study her singular coiffure, a sort of tower made up of braids of hair, both natural and false, and adorned with puffs and rings and curls. This structure was crowned with a large bow of ribbon, which varied in color, according to the season; the dark shade, worn during the day, gave place to rose-color, pale green or yellow for dinner; on Sundays it was pure white, black in Holy Week, and blue at Christmas and Easter, as a symbol of hope.