ARABS, ARMENIANS, CATHOLICS
I looked up to heaven. "What sin have these people committed against Thee?" I asked. "What wrongs have my people done to deserve the millions massacred and maimed since they embraced Christianity? Are not these chapels and cathedrals and the daily Masses and offerings of prayer sufficient proof of their faith in Thee and Thy works? . . . Why, then, do You oppress them thus?"
THE war had taken much out of the Patriarch since I had seen him that last frantic day of the Mandate. His beard had whitened during my absence. He appeared thinner, and was haggard--his usually plump cheeks drawn tighter against the cheek bones, his eyes weary, though still ablaze with unquenchable vitality.
His people had all gathered around him like frightened children around their father. There were the Armenians who fled in panic from the New City leaving their property to be looted and appropriated by the Jews; Armenians from quarters adjoining the Jewish section of the Old City, whose homes had long ago been picked clean by the Arabs; Armenians from near-by villages, in fear of their lives; the old and tottering who could remember the massacres of Sultan Hamid, the Damned; the young and vigorous, the soldier, the