I. H. R. PRINCE GUY DE LUSIGNAN
Last of the Royal Line
THE ROYALTY OF ARMENIA
The Armenian Decoration
I have received a decoration, officially described as follows:
Brevet of Chevalier of the Royal Order of Melusine, founded in 1186, by Sibylle, Queen and spouse of King Guy of Jerusalem, and reinstituted several years since by Marie, Princess of Lusignan. The Order is conferred for humanitarian, scientific and other services of distinction, but especially when such services are rendered to the House of Lusignan, and particularly to the Armenian nation. The Order is worn by a number of reigning sovereigns, and is highly prized by the recipients because of its rare bestowal and its beauty. This decoration is bestowed by His Royal Highness, Guy of Lusignan, Prince of Jerusalem, Cyprus and Armenia.—Clara Barton.
See pages between 326–7; decoration No. 22.
To enter Turkey at this time was an undertaking too great for man; this must be the work of woman. There was one woman equal to the emergency, and she seventy-five years of age. All eyes were turned toward that woman. She was chosen unanimously. Her assistants were to be men but she stood sponsor for man’s conduct, a responsibility the greatest in life woman ever assumes. The deference paid to this woman—Mirabile dictu—was some years before a woman was regarded even capable of sitting as member of the American House of Representatives or as Member in the English House of Commons. Did she accept? Nothing too hazardous for her to undertake; she ever was seeking for something to do that no one else would do, no one else could do.
Florence Nightingale sailed for Crimea “under the strong support of England’s military head and England’s gracious Queen;” Clara Barton set sail for Turkey, “prohibited, unsustained either by governmental or other authority,”—destined to a port five thousand miles away, from approach to which even the powers of the world shrank in fear. As Clara Barton, with her four assistants, left New York City, on the S. S. New York, “crowded were the piers, wild the hurrahs, white the scene with the parting salutes, hearts beating with exultation and expectation;” longing the anxious eyes that followed far out to sea that band of five fearless American crusaders, on humanity’s mission.
Would she reach Constantinople? The Turkish Minister, resident at Washington, forbade her and her Red Cross band to enter the land of the Moslem. Her Christian presence there was not desired; would not be permitted. Unperturbed, she proceeded on her way. She arrived at Constantinople. She stopped at Pera Palace hotel. She asked for an audience with Tewfik Pasha, Minister of State. She explained; she begged the privilege of self-sacrifice. The High Official listened attentively, then said: We know you, Miss Barton; have long known you and your work. And you shall have it. We know your position, and your wishes shall be respected. Such aid and protection as we are able to render, we will cheerfully render you. I speak for my government. I extend to you my cordial good wishes in your work among our distressed people.
At the interview Clara Barton thus assured Tewfik Pasha: “We have no newspaper correspondent, and I promise you I will not write a book on Turkey. What we see and hear will be confidential—not repeated.” But she didn’t keep faith with the Government—she reported on the dogs. Dogs in Constantinople are held sacred, but not because decorated with a brassard they serve in Red Cross work or otherwise are useful. The streets and plazas day and night are filled with dogs, colonies of dogs. Fond of dogs, she enjoyed telling this story. About to be overpowered by other dogs the Turkish dog flops over on his back, his feet in air to serve as the dog’s Red Cross flag, over a hospital. In the “hospital” he remains until there is an opportunity of escape when, without so much as “by your leave,” he invalids himself home.
The British Legation had a blooded rat terrier, also sacred. By chance the terrier slipped out of the yard. Unsuspecting he was “ambushed” and, not knowing Turkish dog strategy, was foully slain. The secretary, in righteous wrath, forthwith imported from England “Bull Brindle,” of a famous fighting breed. The British “warrior” also strolled out on the plaza, but not by chance. A colony of several hundred dogs, with confused noises as terrifying as of a “pack of coyotes” hunting prey, massed an attack on the lone “Britisher.” Victory this time was not with the largest battalions. Bull terrier was killing mongrels without mercy or shame, and with as much ease as the terrier had killed rats, and so continuing until four score or more lay dead on the field.
As ranged
Achilles in his fury through the field
From side to side, and everywhere o’ertook
His victims, and earth was dark with blood.