Great news: the students were to act a tragedy during the Christmas holidays. The winter was very severe this year, and the proceeds of the play were to be distributed among the poor.

Mr. Piralian selected the Christian tragedy of Santourt, by Thomas Terzian. Every one approved the choice, but when the poor professor came to assign the parts, he found himself in an embarrassing situation. For the boys, with unbounded confidence in their aptitude for high tragedy, all wanted to play the leading rÔles, and refused to take any others, as being beneath their dignity. The college was all topsy-turvy; Dr. Mills had to threaten to forbid the performance altogether before these embryo actors could be pacified.

The president then commissioned Mihran hodja Kurkjian, professor of Armenian, to assign the parts. This measure met with approval, for the boys were very fond of Mihran hodja. The part of Santourt, the martyr-princess, was given to Garabed, because of his pretty face and rather feminine features. Aram and one of the Freshmen were to be his attendants. Archag was to play Yervant, the fiancÉ of the fair Santourt; Nejib the old king, Sanadroug; Soghomon, the future pastor, was chosen to represent Saint Thaddeus, the Missionary Apostle of Armenia. So they were all satisfied, and set themselves in good earnest to study their parts. All the talk was now about tragedies, famous actors, costumes and acting. The boys called one another by the names of the heroes they were to impersonate, and some of them embellished their conversation with lines from the tragedy.

When the dinner-bell was heard, Dikran, who had the part of the king’s cup-bearer, would say to his comrades:

“Come, noble sons of Haik, to assist at the feast of the gods. The table groans beneath the weight of succulent viands, and the fair-haired Aphrodite will pour us out ambrosia.”

The others, quite carried away by his poetic ardor, would reply with the chorus of the third act:

“Glory be to Aphrodite, the Queen of Cyprus! The whole world acknowledges her power; the flowers bloom in her honor, and the birds sing her praises——,” then, O sad return to mundane matters, they would fall to eating their bread, their olives and their cucumbers, and would drink ambrosia—in the form of clear, cold water!

Soghomon, in the process of learning the part of Saint Thaddeus, had become convinced that though he was not yet the Apostle of Armenia, he should be some day. Already he beheld the Gregorian Church revolutionized by his mighty words, and the people won by his preaching. He scanned his lines; he labored to make his pronunciation more impressive by dragging out the last syllables, and raised his arms as if in the act of blessing a thousand heads bowed at his feet, to the great amusement of his companions.

In the course of a Turkish lesson, in which Saint Thaddeus II had been conspicuous for his stupidity, Professor Hairemian became exasperated, and sent him to his seat.

“Go and sit down, Soghomon; you will stay in for an hour and learn this lesson over again for to-morrow morning.”

The culprit hung his head and murmured, just loud enough to be heard: “Scorned by men, I will take refuge on the barren mountain tops; the birds will provide me with sustenance, and my soul will sing acts of thanks-giving.”

The whole class broke out into a great shout of laughter, and the professor, dumbfounded, asked:

“Come now! Are you making game of me, or have you really gone mad?”

“These words of the Saint, expressing my feelings, seemed to me to be adapted to the situation.”

“Upon my word,” cried the exasperated professor, “I do believe this play-acting has deprived you of the small portion of brains you had left! Take care, or we shall have to send you to Asfourieh” (the lunatic asylum near Beyrout, the only one in Asiatic Turkey).

The rehearsals proceeded very well, and at last the day of the first performance had come and the great dining-hall had been transformed into a theater. An hour before the rising of the curtain the room was nearly filled with relatives and friends of the students; the first three rows of seats reserved for the Americans and their families, were the only ones unoccupied. None of these good people had ever attended an entertainment like this. They talked and laughed, and called to one another from one end of the hall to another, eating oranges and cracking nuts. At a quarter before seven, the president and his wife, Dr. and Mrs. Spencer, Miss Wylie and the other missionaries entered the hall.

Presently the curtain rose before the astonished eyes of the spectators. The stage was decorated with flowers and foliage plants, and draped at the back with the Turkish and American colors.

The old king, Sanadroug, wearing a gold-paper crown on his white head, is conversing with his prime minister. He confides to him his anxiety about his daughter: the beautiful Santourt is no longer her old self; she is grave and serious, she affects black garments, and shuns the dances and games of her companions. The monarch’s speech is interrupted by the entrance of a slave, the bearer of mournful tidings. Santourt, stirred up by the Apostle Thaddeus, has broken the statue of Aphrodite. The messenger is interrupted by the sound of a great tumult; the young girl is being led before the king by a company of pagan priests. A murmur of admiration greets the virgin martyr; with her long black tresses, her white robe, her eyes shining with the inspiration of faith, she is ravishingly fair, and no one could have had a suspicion that it was Garabed the Junior, under this disguise.

The second act is supposed to take place in Santourt’s prison; the decorations were not changed, but the audience was not disturbed by that. The princess has to listen to the entreaties of her father, and scarcely has she rejected these, when her lover presents himself before her. Yervant falls on his knees, and weeping, entreats Santourt to renounce her error. He pleads their love; but it is in the name of that very love that Santourt remains deaf to all entreaties; she, in her turn, seeks to win Yervant to the Christian faith. The hero resists and leaves her in despair. Nothing can save Santourt now, and she is condemned to death.

In the third act we see her going to the altar, accompanied by her women, who have also become Christians. Fortified by Saint Thaddeus, whom she has been able to see once more, she advances with firm step, singing the praises of the true God. Her martyr’s death reveals the truth to Yervant, who becomes a Christian on the field of battle. Since the death of his fiancÉe, life has no more charms for him, and he resolves to anticipate death. The Persians advance in great numbers, meeting the Armenians with furious resistance. Their young prince is ever in the thick of the fray. In spite of his wounds, he fights like a hero; his blood flows; he grows weak; a final blow overcomes him, and he expires breathing the name of Santourt.

Archag put all his own patriotic feeling into his acting; the constraint of the first few moments vanished, and the college and his companions seemed far away. He was no longer Archag the Junior, but Yervant the Armenian hero, and was suffering with him. The audience hung on his lips, most of them sobbing like children; when the prince fell dead, the hall was absolutely silent.

The Armenians were living over again that glorious past; they had quite forgotten where they were. At length the president clapped his hands, and at once a tumult of applause broke forth. The women waved their handkerchiefs, the children cried, “Viva Yervant, Viva Yervant!” and Archag bowed his thanks, with a heart full of gratitude, for he realized that the enthusiasm was for Yervant, that glorious hero of centuries long past, the embodiment of the strength and power of the ancient Armenian people.

And now, Sanadroug, overwhelmed by the death of these two victims, could not resign himself to live without his cherished daughter, and plunged his poniard into his own heart. As he was taking leave of his people in some magnificent lines, Sumpad, an Assyrian slave, burst out laughing, thus creating some confusion on the stage, and in the hall as well, but one of his friends dragged him off behind the scenes, and no great harm resulted from the occurrence.

The curtain had fallen for the last time, but the audience still kept their seats, calling vociferously for Santourt, Yervant and Sanadroug. They went away only when the porter came to request it, and for many a day afterward, they talked of nothing but the theatrical entertainment at the college.

The boys gave four more performances of “Santourt,” and won the same success each time. The proceeds were gratifying, and it was with legitimate pride that Archag and Garabed took to Dr. Mills the goodly sum of one hundred and thirty Turkish pounds, for the poor of the city.