For centuries, Jilu men who have gone “to countries” (or foreign parts generally) have made a practice of giving gifts to this shrine on their return; and it, unlike other[{172}] churches, has never been plundered by any foe, for a reason that will presently appear.
The consequence is that the building contains such a collection of ex voto offerings as can hardly be matched in the world, reaching back for one is afraid to say how long. The most modern feature is a grand collection of American clocks, alarm and otherwise, that hang on a cord, touching one another, all across the church. Bells, usually of small size (for half a mule load or 125 lbs. is the strict limit of weight that can be transported in one mass), are hung everywhere; long strings of them decorating the curtain that veils the sanctuary. Vestments for the priests, of Russian cut and make, hang all along the walls; while ostrich eggs and coral speak of the connexion with Malabar. Finally, away at the back, and covered thick with dust, stand rows of “China jars,” said to have been brought back thence when this Nestorian church had its bishops at Pekin and Singan in the eighth century, and which connoisseurs would probably think cheap at their weight in gold.
Strangest perhaps of all, if genuine, is the charm that has preserved all these treasures from the spoiler. A zaptieh had accompanied us from the seat of government at Neri, and had entered the church with us, reverently removing hat and shoes at the door. He now approached the young bishop who was showing us his treasures, and said “My Lord, you will allow me to see the handkerchief of Mohammed the Prophet?” “By all means,” said the bishop; and going to a recess in the wall, he produced thence a bundle of silk wrappings, which were removed one after the other, revealing a piece of plain linen, inscribed with Arabic characters. This either is, or is supposed to be, a firman of protection for this church, issued by the Prophet himself, and written on his own napkin. Whether it is, whether it can be, genuine is not for us to say.[101] This is certain at least; that every Kurd believes in its genuineness: and the zaptieh bowed before it with the utmost reverence, placed[{173}] it on his forehead and eyes for a moment, and finally returned it, with an offering to the shrine which represented about a week’s pay. Genuine or not, the fact of its existence has saved this church and its contents from plunder many a time and oft, and will probably continue to do so; though it must be owned that at one terrible outbreak of Moslem fanaticism in the year 1847, not even reverence for the name of the Prophet saved a similar document in the hands of the Patriarchial family from destruction, the members of the family from slaughter, or an even wealthier church from plunder.
We were the guests of the Bishop of Jilu, Mar Sergius, in his very primitive palace; and as we had arrived at noon, spent a good deal of the afternoon “holding Diwan” in his reception room—sitting that is in the seat of honour on a low diwan, while all the village came to us, and talked of anything and everything that occurred to them. Many of course desired medicine, for any Englishman is a doctor by hereditary right; and always carries with him good “English salt,” which is quinine, as well as other drugs.
So, “distribute medicines manfully” is the rule for the traveller here, whether you chance to know anything about the trade or not. Fever you can recognize at any rate, or the patient will recognize it for you; and if you have not the ghost of a notion what the disease is, look doubly wise and administer something harmless and bitter. The nastier the drug, the more it will stimulate the faith of the sufferer, and that, after all, is the essential thing. Speaking generally, you will cure more efficiently when you do not know what the trouble is, than when you do. Only remember certain rules. First, that to give mild aperients to an Oriental is a sinful waste of good drugs; and diminishes faith in foreign medicines, which is worse. Second, if you go by book at all, give three times the “book dose” to an Assyrian, and five times the amount to a Kurd; for then you may produce some sort of effect. This instruction was given to the writer by men of experience when he was new to the country, and it staggered him for the moment, but he was reassured. “Yes,” said a worthy member of the[{174}] Syrian nation, “it is very difficult to poison a Kurd at all; and if you succeed, it does not much matter.”
Still, we own that we have once known an Oriental suffer from an overdose. He had applied to a Syrian friend for an aperient; and the friend (who called himself hakim on the strength of three months spent as bottle-washer in an American Mission dispensary) had given him “a strong medicine.” Both parties were startled at the result; and as the writer turned up opportunely next day, he was called in as a consultant, and found the victim in a very reduced state indeed after a night spent upon the rack!
“What did you give him?” he asked the hakim.
“Croton oil,” said he.
“And how much?”
“Oh, not much; only a teaspoonful.”