Woman and Her Saviour in Persia / By a Returned Missionary

by Thomas Laurie

There was hardly a man among the Nestorians who did not beat his wife. The women expected to be beaten, and took it as a matter of course. As the wife lived with the husband's father, it was not uncommon for him to beat both son and daughter-in-law. When the men wished to talk together of any thing important, they usually sent the women out of doors or to the stable, as unable to understand, or unfit to be trusted. In some cases, this might be a necessary precaution; for the absence of true affection; and the frequency of domestic broils, rendered the wife an unsafe depositary of any important family affair. The same causes often led the wife to appropriate to her own foolish gratification any money of her husband she could lay hands on, regardless of family necessities. Women whose tastes led them to load themselves with beads, silver, baser metal, and rude trinkets, would not be likely to expend money very judiciously.

In 1835, the only Nestorian woman that knew how to read was Heleneh, the sister of Mar Shimon; and when others were asked if they would not like to learn, with a significant shrug they would reply, "I am a woman." They had themselves no more desire to learn than the men had to have them taught. Indeed, the very idea of a woman reading was regarded as an infringement of female modesty and propriety.

It is a little curious, and shows how we adapt ourselves to our situation, that the women were as unwilling to receive attention from their husbands as they were to render it. Several years after the arrival of Miss Fiske in Oroomiah, the wife of one of her assistants visited the Seminary, and on leaving to return to her village, the teacher, in the kindness of her heart, proposed to the husband to go and assist her to carry the child. She seemed as if she had been insulted in being thought unable to carry it, and sent her husband back from the door in any thing but a gracious mood, leaving the good teacher half bewildered and half amused at this reception of her intended kindness.

Indeed, until some of them were converted, all that was lovely and of good report in woman was entirely wanting. They were trodden down, but at the same time exceedingly defiant and imperious. If they were not the "head," it was not because they did not "strive for the mastery." They seemed to have no idea of self-control; their bursts of passion were awful. The number of women who reverenced their husbands was as small as the list of husbands who did not beat their wives. Says Miss Fiske, in writing to a friend, "I felt pity for my poor sisters before going among them, but anguish when, from actual contact with them, I realized how very low they were. I did not want to leave them, but I did ask, Can the image of Christ ever be reflected from such hearts? They would come and tell me their troubles, and fall down at my feet, begging me to deliver them from their husbands. They would say, 'You are sent by our holy mother, Mary, to help us;' and do not think me hard-hearted when I tell you that I often said to them, 'Loose your hold of my feet; I did not come to deliver you from your husbands, but to show you how to be so good that you can be happy with them.' Weeping, they would say, 'Have mercy on us; if not, we must kill ourselves.' I had no fear of their doing that, so I would seat them at my side, and tell them of my own dear father,—how good he was; but he was always obeyed. They would say, 'We could obey a good man.' 'But I am very sure you would not have been willing to obey my father.'

"It is one thing to pray for our degraded sisters while in America, but quite another to raise them from their low estate. When I saw their true character, I found that I needed a purer, holier love for them than I had ever possessed. It was good for me to see that I could do nothing, and it was comforting to think that Jesus had talked with just such females as composed the mass around me, and that afterwards many believed because of one such woman."

Sometimes the revilings of the women were almost equalled by similar talk among the men, as in a village of Gawar, where they said, "We would not receive a priest or deacon here who could not swear well, and lie too." In the same village, a young man spoke favorably of Mr. Coan's preaching in Jeloo. Instantly a woman called out, "And have you heard those deceivers preach?" "Yes," was the reply, "both last year and this, and hope I shall again." Hearing this, her eyes flashed, and drawing her brawny arms into the form of a dagger, with a vengeful thrust of her imaginary weapon, she cried, "The blood of thy father smite thee, thou Satan!" and dreadful was the volley of oaths and curses that followed. Yet she was only a fair specimen of the village.

We of the calmer West do not know what it is to have a mob of such women come forth in their wrath. In one town was a virago, who often, single-handed, faced down and drove off Moslem tax-gatherers when the men fled in terror. No one who has ever heard the stinging shrillness of their tongues, or looked on their frenzied gestures, can ever forget them, or wonder why the ancients painted the Furies in the form of women. Words cannot portray the excitement of such a scene. The hair of the frantic actors is streaming in the wind; stones and clods seem only embodiments of the unearthly yells and shrieks that fill the air; and yet it was such beings that grace made to be "last at the cross and first at the sepulchre."

The East is notorious for profanity, and among the Nestorians women were as profane as men. The pupils in the Seminary at first used to swear, and use the vilest language on the slightest provocation. Poor, blind Martha, on her death bed, in her own father's house, was constantly cursed and reviled. She was obliged sometimes to cover her head with the quilt, and stop her ears, to secure an opportunity to pray for her profane and abusive brother; and though, in such circumstances, she died before her prayers were answered, yet they were heard, for he afterwards learned to serve his sister's God. "Do you think people will believe me," said a pupil to her teacher, who was reproving her for profanity, "if I do not repeat the name of God very often?"

Lying was almost as common as profanity, and stealing quite as prevalent as either. It was a frequent remark, "We all lie here; do you think we could succeed in business without it?"

In the early days of the Seminary, nothing was safe except under lock and key. Sometimes there seemed to be a dawn of improvement, and next, all the buttons would be missing from the week's washing, and the teacher was pretty sure to find that her own pupils were the thieves. Miss Rice tells of one, amply supplied with every thing by her parents, yet noted for her thefts. Indeed, sons and daughters were alike trained to such practices. In 1843, Miss Fiske could not keep a pin in her pin-cushion; little fingers took them as often as she turned away, and lest she should tempt them to lie, she avoided questioning them, unless her own eye had seen the theft. No wonder she wrote, "I feel very weak, and were it not that Christ has loved these souls, I should be discouraged; but he has loved them, and he loves them still." If the pins were found with the pupils, the answer was ready—"We found them," or, "You gave them to us;" and nothing could be proved. But one summer evening, just before the pupils were to pass through her room to their beds on the flat roof, knowing that none of that color could be obtained elsewhere, the teacher put six black pins in her cushion, and stepped out till they had passed. As soon as they were gone, she found the pins gone too, and at once called them back. She told them of her loss, but none knew any thing about it. She showed them that no one else had been there, and therefore they must know. Six pairs of little hands were lifted up, as they said, "God knows we have not got them;" but this only called forth the reply, "I think that God knows you have got them," and she searched each one carefully, without finding them. She then proposed to kneel down where they stood, and ask God to show where they were, adding, "He may not see it best to show me now, but he will do it some time." She laid the matter before the Lord, and, just as they rose from their knees, remembered that she had not examined their cloth caps. She now proposed to examine them, and one pair of hands went right up to her cap. Of course she was searched first, and there were the six pins, so nicely concealed in its folds that nothing was visible but their heads. This incident did much good. The pupils looked on the discovery as an answer to prayer, and so did their teacher. They began to be afraid to steal when God so exposed their thefts, and she was thankful for an answer so immediate. The offender is now a pious, useful woman.