the kingdom of Prester John

[Strengthandhonour]

For those of us here who ever read a book by Umberto Eco, you might know of the kingdom of Prester John. A legend of a kingdom among the muslims and other "pagans" ruled by christians who fight off the non-christian invaders.
I have decided to make somewhat of a compilation of information regarding the legend.




The letter of Prester John of Constantinople
the letter of prester john***||***graveworm.com***

Prester John: fiction and history
Prester John: Fiction and History

Catholic encyclopedia: Prester John

CATHOLIC ENCYCLOPEDIA: Prester John

medieval sourcebook

Medieval Sourcebook: Mandeville on Prester John

Mythical geography: Prester John

Mythical Geography: Kingdom of Prester John

The Kingdom of Prester John

map of the kingdom




Prester John attacking Tartars

[Strengthandhonour]

THE LAND OF PRESTER JOHN (QUDSHANIS)



MOST of us have some recollection of the legend of “Prester John," particularly in the version given in "Ariosto "; the legend of a Christian king ruling his people in the midst of infidels; a king who was yet a priest and who celebrated Mass regularly; who had a kingdom in the midst of wild inaccessible mountains, girdled by cloud and storm; and who was tormented by the harpies that came daily and snatched the food from his table. We read, too, how he was visited by the wandering English knight Astolpho, and how that hero drove away the harpies by the blast of his magic horn.
It sounds a staggering statement to make, but it is never*theless the truth, that all these stories told by the Italian poet as legends current in his day, are literally the fact in all essentials (or were so until very lately), with the Patriarch of the Nestorians in Kurdistan. He is the “Bishop-Prince” of a mountain kingdom of Christians; subject to the Sultan of course, but still a recognized ruler, and ruler by virtue of his Episcopal rank. Even the mountains over which the hippogrif bore Astolpho were hardly more inaccessible than those which girdle the village of Qudshanis; while a very good imitation of the harpies that tormented Prester John are found in the Kurds that ravage the land. English visitors are there too, as members of what is known as the "Archbishop's Assyrian Mission;"126 though they, alas, have no magic horn with which to drive away the harpies of to-day.
If, however, the old magical power has gone, some prestige attaches to the name of the English still; for villages where they reside are not raided when all others suffer, for fear that some evil may thereafter befall the thief. The writer once spent a night in, a little village of Nestorians in this immediate district, called Shwawutha; a village whose little rock-built church is shown in one of our illustrations. Hospitality was given him there, as a matter of course; but in the middle of the night he was roused by a Dutch concert of the most pronounced description. Men shouted, women screamed, cattle bellowed, and sheep bleated; while a shot or so told that something warlike was afoot. And soon folk came rushing in to tell him that the Kurds had descended on the village, and were engaged at that moment in turning it inside out.
Sure enough, when he emerged in somewhat sketchy toilet, he found himself in the midst of some five and twenty well armed ruffians. Most of them were gathered on the threshing-floors, and threatening the villagers with their rifles; while the rest were coolly rounding up the sheep for the purpose of driving them away. Deponent had some talk with their leader, carefully introducing him*self as an Englishman, and laying stress on the fact that he was going down from that village to the seat of govern*ment, to interview the Vali and the British Consul. And presently the robber excused himself for a moment and gave an order in Kurdish, which was not understood by his interlocutor, but which resulted in his men allowing the sheep to remain in their folds. He then turned round and explained with all politeness that he and his young men were on a peaceful journey, and desired to be the guests of the village for the rest of that night. Would the Efendi use his influence with the headman to get him to extend hospitality to them? He tactfully ignored the fact that you do not usually occupy a village with an armed force at two in the morning as a preliminary to asking to be re*ceived as a guest l
The Effendi told the headman that he had better let it go at that, lest worse should befall him; for naturally he had no means whatever of controlling these fellows if they should break loose. A meal was hurriedly prepared for all the gang, and he sat with their chief till unholy hours that night, or morning, exchanging yarns. Eventually he had the satisfaction of seeing the marauders depart at daybreak. No harm had been done to the place; though had it not been for the “accident” of the presence of an Englishman, there would have been a different tale to tell.
The village of Qudshanis, which is the residence of the Nestorian or Assyrian Patriarch, “Mar Shimun," and the headquarters of his Church, has a marvellous situation. It lies on a sloping “alp” of rugged pasture, between two mountain torrents which spring from the towering snow-fields to the west of it; and which descend in gradually deepening gorges, enclosing the tongue-shaped plateau on which the village stands. They meet beneath the point of the tongue at the base of a lofty wedge of rock; and thence the united stream flows on, joined by others on its way, till it falls into the Zab some two hours below the village. Nestorian tradition regards the Zab as the Pison, one of the four rivers of Paradise; and the Patriarch will occasionally date his official letters “from my cell on the River of the Garden of Eden."
The official title of the Church, whose principal bishop resides in this romantic, but singularly inacessible, spot is "the Church of the East." This title was given to it originally by those whom we call “the Eastern Christians," viz. those of Constantinople and Antioch; and by it they meant the Church to the east of them, beyond the frontier of the Roman Empire, in what was then the kingdom of the Sassanid Persians. In the days of its greatness, this communion extended itself marvellously, in just those countries where Christianity finds it hardest to establish a footing now. In the year 1300 its bishops were distributed from Damascus to Pekin, and from Tartary to Malabar. The “Syrian Christians” of the latter land, though they now own a different jurisdiction, still remain as a memorial of its missionary zeal in the fifth century; and the Singan monument in the very heart of China tells of the presence of this “pacific, philosophical, and excellent religion” there also, and commemorates the names of sundry of its bishops and clergy. Nay, the historic Prester John (for he was an historical figure strange to say) was of this Church. A dynasty of Tartar princes of the eleventh century were Christians; and the name of their founder, Ung Khan, readily became Yukhanan, which is John, in Syriac-speaking mouths. Whether he ever was, as a matter of fact, an ordained presbyter is more questionable.
Massacre (particularly the tremendous massacres of Tamerlane about the year 1400), oppression, and the proselytism of better protected and educated bodies, have reduced this Church now to a few wild tribes of mountaineers 1 living in a most inaccessible country; and to a fringe of rayat villages, many of whom are little better than serfs to the Kurds near whom they live. Yet the Church still exists, guarding its independence and its ancient rites, and boasting with legitimate pride that it, alone of all peoples, still uses in daily life the language that our Lord spoke on earth. Whether the dialects of vernacular Syriac that are here in use would have been intelligible in Palestine in the first century of this era, may be doubted; but the state*ment is so far true, that the language is unquestionably 1 a variant of the Aramaic referred to.
As this Church is a survival of so much that is ancient and that has passed away from other lands, it is appropriate that here alone in all the world, the “temporal power of the Church” should still survive. It is little more than a shadow now, but not a dead thing yet. Mar Shimun holds the village of Qudshanis, and the lands that belong to it, by grant from the Sultan; and until lately every inhabitant of the place was in the happy condition of paying neither rent, rates, nor taxes to anyone. Unfortunately the grant was a merely verbal one, made in the days when you did not ask your king to sign papers from fear that he would “play the Jew” and go back from his given word, and when the evidence of the “grey-beards” of a place was enough to prove a fact. Now there is a new rule in the land, the rule of forms and pens and ink and paper; and this new r6gime has not recognized the old right. A harmless and picturesque survival has gone; taken away in the interests of civilization and uniformity, by the same people who were so desirous of substituting a Parisian boulevard for the Roman walls of Constantinople, and for the same reason.
One other feature of the old rights remains--besides the fact that the peacock, the bird of royalty, still walks the patriarchal terrace.127 The wild Christian tribes of Hakkiari, whither no Government of any sort has ever extended, still pay tribute to their Patriarch for transmission to the Sultan; and not taxes through the tax-collector, like the rest. This, again, is based on custom only, and if it were challenged (as it will be ere long), the tribes could show no document acknowledging their right; for it simply arose from the fact that the Ottoman Government was not disposed, or able, to enforce their government practically in this wild district. It was easier to give the Patriarch, whom the tribesmen did reverence, a few decorations and a small salary, and to set him to collect such tribute as he could get the tribesmen to pay. It was an acknow*ledgment of jurisdiction that could be made more effective if ever the opportunity should offer.
Westerns, accustomed to correct Western notions of managing Church and State, hear with a shock that the patriarchate of this ancient church is hereditary in one family; as indeed is the case also with almost all its bishoprics. Bishops do not marry (though other clergy are free to do so at their will), so the office cannot go from father to son. It does go, however, from uncle to nephew, and so keeps in the “Episcopal house "
It is a strange custom; yet it is not so long since it pre*vailed in at least one part of Europe; for fifty years ago it was the established order of things in Montenegro. We believe that it was the father of the present King Nicholas who first refused to be consecrated bishop, and to refrain from marriage, when he acceded to the hereditary chief*tainship of the “Black Mountain;” though all his pre*decessors had done so before him. If the custom went on so long in Europe, one need not wonder overmuch if it still prevails under similar circumstances in a remoter land.
The fact is, that among Christians who are still in the wild tribal stage of evolution, the Episcopate is much too im*portant a thing in the tribe to be allowed out of the House of the Chief. Further, the idea of hereditary high priest*hood, or family sanctity at any rate, is thoroughly con*gruous to Oriental thought. Among the Kurds, Sheikhship, which is hereditary religious chieftainship, is a common thing enough; and the Aaronic high-priesthood is at least a respectable precedent to refer to 1 Perhaps the Patriarch's own statement of the case, as made to the writer, gives as good a defence for the custom as can be made. “Of course, we know that this Natar-cursiya system” (the Syriac name for the habit) “is as thoroughly against primitive practice and our own canons as a thing can well be. Tell me though, you who know our people and circumstances, what other way is open to us? Free election by our wild tribesmen? That means a free fight every vacancy. Nomination by the Turkish Government? If we were lucky, we might get some feeble old monk, who had done no harm to anyone, and never would do any good. We should be much more likely, however, to get some supple blackguard, who asked for a bishopric as his pay for some dirty job done for a Turkish Vali. So we have dropped into this hereditary system; and we think that we have as good a chance of a good bishop as others have of a good king." Really the writer had no reply to make; and could only feel thankful that his Holiness had not the knowledge that would have enabled him to continue, “and you know, however un*canonical and unprimitive it is, it cannot well be more so than nomination by a lay Prime Minister. You maintain that custom because it works fairly well. So do we."
One result of an hereditary Episcopate is that the bishop is often absurdly young in years. The present holder of the Patriarchate is of the mature age of twenty-three, and is in the ninth year of his consecration! That a lad of that age (though admittedly maturity comes quickly in the East) should take himself very seriously as an Archbishop, is too much to be expected. Still he does take himself very seriously as the responsible Head of his nation; as the one to whom all have the right to turn in their need, and who is bound to help them to the limits of his power. Long ago, a poet in this land sketched what an ideal king should be; and the main feature of his portrait was that such an one should “preserve the souls of the poor," “delivering the poor when he crieth” and counting “their blood dear in his sight." That is still the ideal of kingship in this land; and this lad (to his credit be it said) has loyally endeavoured to live up to it. It would have been easy for Mar Shimun to make comfortable terms for his House and himself, had he been content to leave his people to look after their own interests. On the contrary, he has habitually sacrificed his own ease and comfort; and has run serious risks again and again, in order that he may try to protect “the sheep whom God has committed to him” either from Kurdish raider, or from the worse oppression of the Ottoman minor official. The Eastern ruler who rules for his people is a rare phenomenon and a high character.
An instance or two of the sort of work this young man has to do, and the spirit in which he undertakes it, will give some idea of the conditions of his life. The writer has known a case, where an important mountain chief brought up an unworthy candidate for priest's orders, only a few weeks after the lad had himself been consecrated as Patriarch. The request was met with the silence which in the East means refusal. It was repeated more urgently, to be met again by a quiet but decided negative.
“But the man is your own cousin my Lord!” said the astonished chief; “how can you refuse this to him? "
“Malik” (i.e., "chief") came the answer, delivered without either swagger or fear, “the whole millet is equally ‘the cousin' of its Patriarch."
On another occasion, he had to undertake a piece of work most eminently episcopal in character, but hardly usual in the West, viz. the reconciliation of a feud between a Kurdish and a Christian tribe.
Preliminaries were arranged by him between the two chiefs; and it was finally agreed that twenty "leading men” from each sept should meet with Mar Shimun in a certain valley, where the last points could be settled at a personal interview, and peace formally made. ,The Patriarch was prepared, of course, for the fact that every delegate came fully armed; but he had not quite expected that each one of the forty should think it needful for his dignity to come like Vich Ian Vohr, “with his tail on," accom*panied that is by four or five followers, all also armed l Further, each side (as was discovered later) had provided an ambush in a convenient place, so as not to be taken unawares in the event of treachery on the part of the other.
Walking with naked lights in a powder magazine was a safe business compared to that conference; and the Patriarch, having got his parties in two villages, divided by a stream, spent most of the day going to and fro between them, arranging the final details. All was settled at last; and “Now," said the Patriarch, "leave your guns here in the shade, and come down to the stream and shake hands."
They came as ordered, without their guns. But it was observed that every man of the forty came down with his right hand on the hilt of his dagger; and when he had to take it away in order to grasp the hand of his opposite number, he put his left hand there instead! However, all passed off well; though the Armenian servant who handed round the coffee that formed the ceremonial hospitality which all had to share, trembled so violently that he upset the cups! For a moment it was a question whether this would be taken as a joke or a bad omen. Then luckily somebody laughed; and a general guffaw saved the situa*tion.
When all were talking in friendly wise, and chaffing one another over the episodes of the feud, it was discovered that each party had brought down its local lunatic to provide amusement for them during the hours of waiting. Some one with a sporting soul suggested forming a ring, and putting up a cock-fight between these two unfortunates. Mar Shimun did his best to dissuade them; having a well grounded fear that if the two came to blows, each man of the forty would take sides with his own idiot, and that the whole feud would be re-opened with a particularly sanguinary fight. However, to his relief, though to the disappointment of others, the lunatics showed themselves possessed of more sense than any of their companions. Each was provided with a thick stick, and told that the other had insulted all his ancestry; but they fell to talk before proceeding to “lay on load;” and got on together so well that they spent the rest of that day in friendly converse. When they finally parted, each declared that the other was the most sensible man and the best company that he had met in all his life.
In all his work, both spiritual and political, Mar Shimun has had two helpers, one of whom is with him still. This is his sister Surma, "Lady Surma of the house of Mar Shimun;” a singularly cultivated and high-minded woman. She has been thoroughly well educated (e.g. she speaks English well, and is well read in such authors as Scott, Stevenson and C. M. Yonge, besides English devotional theology), she yet remains a thorough Oriental, and a devoted member of her own Church. She is a recognized authority in all the rites and services,128 and the trusted adviser of her brother (whose senior she is by a couple of years) in all the work of his office. Lady Surma is a pro*fessed nun (rabbanta) of the Nestorian Church; but this does not imply a cloistered life, for monasticism in this land has developed in a very peculiar fashion. The monasteries and nunneries have practically all perished, though their endowments (or some of them) are still recognized as Church property; but monks and nuns-rabbans and rabbantas, still continue. Those who feel the “call to the religious life” follow it in their own families; living un*married, abstaining from meat, and devoting themselves to good works and the services of the church. They main*tain themselves by their own labour, and (with the ex*ceptions mentioned) follow no special rule. If they marry, for instance, they have departed from a high purpose, but have broken no solemn vow. Rather strangely, the system has thus fallen back to something very like what “the virginal life” was in the early days of the Church, before monastic rules were formulated. This has come about without the knowledge or intent of its present professors; but the parallel with the conditions of e.g. third century Africa is amazingly close.129
As bishop, Mar Shimun is of course a rabban also, and as such eats no meat. This, however, implies no great hardship in Qudshanis, where indeed the visitor may be recommended to consult his own comfort by following the same rule; for meat is both hard to come by and seldom good to eat.130 The course of generations, however, has evolved quite, a number of good vegetarian recipes, not indeed for the patriarchal table, for there is none, but for the patriarchal tray!
Mar Shimun's other counsellor was an Englishman of most exceptional character; the late Doctor William Browne, of the “Archbishop's Mission;” who for twenty-five years lived in this remote village as adviser and friend of this Church, and of two successive Patriarchs in it. In spirit a devoted fifth-century hermit, who somehow was born in nineteenth-century England, he applied himself whole-heartedly to the care of the Nestorian Church and its members, as their teacher, healer, and at times rebuker. He lived their life with them, and now sleeps in their midst, Many of the memories of one of the most picturesque and romantic of modern lives were lost irrevocably at his accidental death in 1910; but one or two which the writer received from him -are worth inserting, as throwing light both on the conditions under which he lived, and on-the character of the man himself.
In January and February of the year igoo, the news of the “Black Week” in South Africa in the previous December filtered slowly through the glens of Kurdistan. Mr. Browne (as he then was) was in his room in the village of Qudshanis, when two visitors were announced; deacons of the Church both, and good friends of their host. In they came, appearing fully armed and equipped for a journey.
“Peace be to you, deacons," said the Englishman, “Are you going on a journey at this season? "
Upon you be peace Rabbi," came the answer; “Could you tell us the way to South Africa? "
To South Africa? Why on earth do you want to go there? "
“Well, Rabbi, we owe a good deal to you English; it seems from what we hear that you fellows don't understand fighting behind rocks. Now we do know that here in Hakkiari if we know nothing else, and we thought we ought to go and help."


source: The Cradle of Mankind: Life in Eastern Kurdistan