Barnes. Pdf

 
Chapters 
51
Miss Fergusson, however, remained her dutiful and efficient self. It was arranged that later in the afternoon they would be 
conducted to the Monastery of Saint James; they would be lodged that night in the village, and would return again to the 
church the following day for their devotions. 
The monastery lay beside the Arghuri rivulet in the lower part of a great chasm which extended almost to the very summit 
of the mountain. It consisted of a cruciform church whose stone was hewn from hardened lava. Various small dwellings 
pressed against its sides like the farrow of a sow. As the party entered the courtyard a middle-aged priest stood waiting for 
them, the cupola of Saint James rising behind him. He was dressed in a plain gown of blue serge, with a pointed Capuchin 
cowl; his beard was long, its blackness intertwined with grey; on his feet he wore woollen Persian socks and common slippers. 
One hand bore the rosary; the other was folded across his chest in a gesture of welcome. Something urged Miss Logan to kneel 
before the pastor of Noah's church; but the presence and certain disapproval of Miss Fergusson, who dismissed as 'Romish' a 
large category of religious behaviour, prevented her. 
The courtyard spoke less of a monastery than a farm. Sacks of corn were piled loosely against a wall; three sheep had 
wandered in from the nearby pasture and had not been expelled; there was a rank smell from underfoot. Smiling, the 
Archimandrite invited them to his cell, which proved to be one of the tiny 
[p. 158]
dwellings built hard against the outer wall of the church. As he was conducting them across the dozen or so yards, the 
Archimandrite appeared to touch Miss Fergusson's elbow by way of courteous but strictly unnecessary guidance. 
The monk's cell had stout clay walls and a plaster roof supported by a sturdy central prop. There was a rough icon of some 
unidentifible saint hanging above a straw pallet; the courtyard odours continued here. To Miss Logan it seemed admirably 
simple, to Miss Fergusson squalid. The behaviour of the Archimandrite also provoked differing interpretations: Miss Logan 
discerned an amiable candour where Miss Fergusson saw only sly obsequiousness. It seemed to Miss Logan that her employer 
had perhaps exhausted her stock of civility on the long journey to Mount Ararat, and had now retreated into a stony 
carelessness. When the Archimandrite suggested that the two ladies might like to lodge at the monastery that night, she was 
briefly dismissive; when he pressed his offer of hospitality further, she was brusque. 
The Archimandrite continued to smile, and his mood still appeared to Miss Logan a gracious one. At this point a servant 
appeared bearing a rough tray on which were set three horn beakers. Water from the Arghuri brook, thought Miss Logan; or 
perhaps that sourish milk which they had already received many times on their travels from obliging shepherds. But the servant 
returned with a wineskin, and at a signal poured a liquor from it into the horn vessels. The Archimandrite raised his beaker 
towards the women, and drank fully; whereupon his servant poured for him again. 
Miss Fergusson sipped. Then she put questions to the Archimandrite which provoked a severe apprehension in Miss Logan. 
This feeling was exacerbated by waiting for the guide to translate.
'This is wine?' 
'Indeed.' The priest smiled, as if encouraging the women to indulge in this local taste which was still clearly unknown in 
their distant land. 
'It is made from grapes?' 
[p. 159] 
'You are correct, lady.' 
`Tell me, the grapes from which this wine has been made, where are they grown?' 
The Archimandrite spread both hands and circled to indicate the neighbouring countryside. 
`And the vines from which the grapes were plucked, who first planted them?' 
`Our great ancestor and forefather, parent of us all, Noah.'
Miss Fergusson summed up the exchange so far, needless as this seemed to her companion. `You are serving us the 
fermented grapes from Noah's vines?' 
`It is my honour, Madam.' He smiled again. He seemed to expect if not especial thanks, at least some expression of wonder. 
Instead, Miss Fergusson stood up, took the untasted wine from Miss Logan, and returned both beakers to the servant. Without 
a word she left the Archimandrite's cell, swept from the courtyard in a manner which made three sheep instinctively follow her, 
and started down the mountainside. Miss Logan made indeterminate gestures to the priest, then set off in pursuit of her 
employer. They traversed lush apricot orchards without comment; they ignored a shepherd holding out a bowl of milk; 
wordlessly they returned to the village where Miss Fergusson, her calculated civility now restored to her, asked the elder if 
lodgings could be supplied to them without delay. The old man proposed his own house, the largest in Arghuri. Miss 
Fergusson thanked him, and offered in return a small parcel of sugar, which was gravely accepted. 
That evening in their room a low table no bigger than a music stool was set with food. They were given losh, the thin local 
bread, cold mutton cut in pieces, hard-boiled eggs taken from their shells and halved, and the fruit of the arbutus. They were 
served no wine, either because such was the custom of the house, or because intelligence of their visit to the monastery had 
reached the elder. Instead, they drank sheep's milk once more. 
'It is a blasphemy,' said Miss Fergusson eventually. 'A blasphemy. On Noah's mountain. He lives like a farmer. He 
[p. 160]
invites women to stay with him. He ferments the grape of the Patriarch. It is a blasphemy.' 
Miss Logan knew better than to reply, let alone plead the cause of the amiable Archimandrite. She recalled to herself that 
the circumstances of their visit had deprived them of an opportunity to examine the ancient willow tree sprung from a plank of 
Noah's Ark. 

---

J
ULIAN 
B
ARNES
: A History of the World in 10 ½