The part which rivers have played in the history of civilization is
well illustrated by this road. The Aragva, flowing southward from
Gudaur, and the Terek, running northward from it, have formed the
highway along which countless crowds of Asiatics have penetrated into
Europe. Between the two streams there is a distance of some ten miles,
forming a huge but not insurmountable barrier, the virtual removal of
which did not take place until our own times. It was General Yermolov
who, in 1824, succeeded in making the road practicable for troops of
all kinds; but from the poet Puskhin's "Journey to Erzerum" (1829),
we learn that there was still room for improvement. The traveller had
to go with a convoy of 500 soldiers and a cannon, he dare not lag
behind for fear of the mountaineers, provisions and lodgings were
scarce and bad, the roads were impassable for carriages, the rate
of speed was sometimes only ten miles a day. When we read Pushkin's
account, and the one given by Lermontov, in "A Hero of Our Times,"
we can only ask ourselves, "What was the road like before Yermolov?"
During the wars with Kasi-mullah and Shamil, it became indispensable
to effect great improvements, and, at length, about five-and-twenty
years ago, under the governorship of Prince Bariatinskii, the road was
finished, and is now one of the finest in the world, besides being
one of the highest--the Simplon is only 6147 feet above sea-level,
while the Dariel road is nearly 2000 feet higher. The total distance
from Tiflis to Vladikavkaz is 126 miles, and the distance can be done
comfortably in less than twenty hours. During the summer 1150 horses
are kept in readiness at the stations, in the winter the number is
reduced by about 300. Two stage coaches start from each end every
day, but as they run during the night also, much of the beauty of
the scenery is lost by those who avail themselves of this mode of
conveyance; besides, it is difficult to get an outside seat unless you
book it a long time in advance. It is far better to travel by troïka,
as you are then free to stop when you like and as long as you like, and
you get an uninterrupted view of the country through which you pass.
About the middle of June, having previously obtained a
formidable-looking document by which Alexander Alexandrovich,
Autocrat of all the Russias, commanded all postmasters to supply me
with horses immediately on demand, I set out on my journey over the
frosty Caucasus, accompanied by a young Russian friend. The troïka had
been ordered for four a.m., but, of course, it did not turn up till
half-past five. For the information of those who have never been in
Russia, I may say that a troïka is a team of three horses harnessed
abreast in a vehicle of unique construction called a teliezhka. The
form of the cart is like a longitudinal section of a beer barrel; it is
large enough to contain an ordinary travelling trunk; it is of wood,
has neither sides nor springs, and there are four wheels; the seat is
made by slipping a piece of rope through a couple of rings on either
side, and laying your cloak and a pillow on the rope; the driver sits
on the front edge of the cart; the whole affair is invariably in the
last stage of decay. The shafts are so long that the horses cannot
kick the bottom out of the thing, and the horse in the centre has his
head swung up in a wooden frame. The driver is always asleep or drunk,
or both, but he never lets the reins fall, and at regular intervals
mechanically applies the whip to his steeds; he only wakes up when
there is a shaky bridge to cross, and, regardless of the notice
"Walking pace!", first crosses himself and commends his soul to the
saints, then gallops over the creaking structure at racing speed.
As we clattered down the steep rocky streets which lead to the
Boulevard, I had not much time to look round; all my attention
was necessary to preserve myself from falling out of the cart,
the jolting was terrible. However, by the time we had got to the
outskirts of the town the road became much smoother; the driver got
down and released the clappers of the bells above the middle horse's
head, and we rattled along merrily to the tune of eight miles an
hour. Just outside the city an imposing cruciform monument marks the
spot where the late Tsar's carriage was overturned without injuring
his Majesty. Passing the Sakartvelo Gardens, where the good people of
Tiflis often dine in vine-covered bowers by the river-side, we cross
the Vera, an important tributary of the Kura, and then enter a broad
plain which continues for many miles to the westward.
On the other side of the Kura we see Mushtaid; a little farther
on is the pretty German colony of Alexandersdorf, with its poplar
avenues, neat houses, and modest little white church. All the German
colonies in the Caucasus seem to be exactly alike, and they do
not in any respect differ from German villages in the fatherland;
the colonists altogether ignore the people of the country in which
they have settled, and, although they make a comfortable livelihood,
their isolated condition and the absence of all European influence
must make their lives very narrow and joyless. Some of these colonies
were founded in order to set before the native peasantry examples
of good agriculture and farm management, but this worthy object has
not been attained, and the Teutons are looked upon with feelings
generally of indifference, sometimes of positive ill-will. High on
the hills behind the colony stands the white monastery of St. Antony,
a favourite place for picnics. In the cliffs on the left of our road
are numerous holes, variously conjectured to be troglodyte dwellings
(like those at Uphlis Tsikhe), rock tombs, places of refuge in time
of war, provision stores, &c. Before us we see the road winding up
between the hills in a northerly direction, and after crossing the
Transcaucasian railway and then the Kura we arrive at the post-house
of Mtzkhet, not far from the village of that name.
Mtzkhet, if we are to believe local traditions, is one of the
oldest cities on earth, for the story goes that it was founded by a
great-grandson of the patriarch Noah. Be that as it may, there are
unmistakable signs that a Greek or Roman town existed here at a remote
date, and antiquaries generally agree in identifying Mtzkhet with the
Acrostopolis of the Romans, the headquarters of Pompey after he had
defeated Mithridates and subdued Iberia and Albania. No better spot
could have been chosen, for its position at the junction of the Aragva
and the Kura commands the two great roads of the country and makes it
the key of Transcaucasia. Mtzkhet, the ancient capital of Georgia,
was always a place of much importance in the annals of the kingdom;
now it is a wretched village of some hundreds of inhabitants. It was
here that St. Nina began her work of converting the nation, and we
propose to give a brief account of the legends relating to this event.
Tradition says that at the beginning of our era there lived in Mtzkhet
a wealthy Jew named Eleazar, who frequently made journeys to Jerusalem
on business. On the occasion of one of these visits he became possessed
of the tunic of our Lord, which he brought home with him as a present
to his daughter. She, expecting a valuable gift, ran out to meet him,
and with an angry expression snatched from his hands the precious
relic, of which she little knew the worth; she fell dead on the spot,
but no force could take the garment from her hands, so it was buried
with her, and from her grave there soon grew up a tall cedar, from
the bark of which oozed a fragrant myrrh, which healed the sick. Now
about three centuries later, that is in the third century of our
era, St. Nina was born in Cappadocia. When she was twelve years of
age her parents proceeded to Jerusalem, and gave themselves up to
religious work, leaving the maiden under the care of a devout old
woman, who taught her to read the Scriptures. Nina was very anxious
to learn what had become of Christ's tunic, and said to her teacher,
"Tell me, I pray thee, where is that earthly purple of the Son of God
now kept?" To which the venerable matron replied that it had been
taken to a heathen land called Iveria, far away to the northward,
and that it lay buried there in the city of Mtzkhet. One night the
Blessed Virgin appeared to the damsel in a dream, and said to her, "Go
to the Iverian land, preach the Gospel of the Lord Jesus, and He will
reward thee. I will be thy guard and guide," and with these words she
handed to her a cross made of vine branches. When Nina awoke and saw
in her hands the wondrous cross she wept for joy, and after reverently
kissing the holy gift she bound the two loose sticks together with her
own long hair. This cross has always been the palladium of Georgia,
and is still preserved in the Sion Cathedral at Tiflis. Now it so
happened that at this time seven-and-thirty maidens, fleeing from
the persecutions of Diocletian, left Jerusalem to spread the good
tidings in Armenia; St. Nina went with them as far as Vashgarabada,
and then pursued her journey alone. As she was entering the city of
Mtzkhet, the king of Georgia, Marian, with all his people, went out
to a hill in the neighbourhood to offer human sacrifices to idols,
but in answer to her prayer a mighty storm arose and destroyed
the images. She took up her abode in a cell in the king's garden,
and soon became well-known as a healer of the sick. At length the
queen fell ill, and St. Nina, having made her whole in the name
of Jesus, converted the Georgian court to Christianity, and in 314
A.D. baptized all the people of the city. Over the spot in the royal
garden where her cell had been, the king built the Samtavr church,
which still exists, and lies to the left of the post-road. It was
then revealed to St. Nina that the tunic, the object of her search,
lay buried under a cedar in the middle of the town; the tree was cut
down and the robe was found in the hands of the dead girl. On the
spot where the cedar stood King Marian built, in 328, the Cathedral
of the Twelve Apostles; the cedar was replaced by a column, and this
column is said to drip myrrh occasionally, even in these degenerate
days of ours. The sacred garment was preserved in the cathedral until
the seventeenth century, when Shah Abbas sent it as a present to the
Tsar of Russia, Mikhail Fedorovich. It was solemnly deposited in the
Cathedral of the Assumption at Moscow, where I saw it last autumn.
Having evangelized Kartli, St. Nina proceeded to Kakheti, where she
met with the same success, and died at Bodbé, near Signakh; her tomb is
in a monastery overlooking one of the finest landscapes in all Kakheti.
The Cathedral of the Twelve Apostles is the chief place of interest in
Mtzkhet. The original church was of wood, but in 378 it was replaced
by a stone edifice, which stood until the invasion of Tamerlane. The
existing church was built in the fifteenth century. A stone wall, with
ruined towers, encloses a rectangular piece of ground, in which stands
the cathedral, a fine building about seventy paces long by twenty-five
paces broad. It is in the Byzantine style, and the interior is divided
into three parts by two rows of columns. Here lie buried the last
kings of Georgia and their families, the patriarchs of the church,
and other illustrious persons.
The post-house at Mtzkhet was a pleasant surprise to me, but I found
nearly all the stations on this road equally comfortable; in many
of them there are bed-rooms, a dining-room, a ladies' room, and one
can get white bread and European food. Those who have travelled on
post-roads in Russia will readily understand my surprise.
Leaving Mtzkhet, our road follows the Aragva along a smooth valley
between forest-clad hills; the scenery reminded me very much of
some of the dales of Thelemarken in Norway. The soil is rich and
well cultivated, and here, as elsewhere, we saw a whole herd of
oxen dragging one wooden plough. This valley is one of the most
feverish places on the whole road, and the people attribute this to a
yellow weed (Carlina arcaulis), of which there is a great abundance;
strange to say, other places where the plant flourishes have the same
unpleasant reputation for unhealthiness, the explanation is doubtless
to be found in the fact that this weed grows best in a damp soil.
Tsilkani is the next station, but there is no village there. While
waiting for horses we saw in the yard a camel; there are plenty of
these amiable animals in Tiflis, but I did not think they went so
far north as the Aragva.
The scenery continues to be of the same character as far as the
station of Dushet, some distance from the garrison-town of that name,
which lies in rectangular regularity on the hillside, like a relief
map; it is a place of some military importance on account of its
position at the entrance of the narrow part of the valley, but it is
as uninteresting as any Russian provincial town. Near it is a lake,
said to cover a Caucasian Sodom; the traveller looks at the lake with
more attention than he would bestow upon it if it were in Switzerland,
for lakes, like waterfalls, are very rare in the Caucasus. Soon
after leaving Dushet we climb a rather steep hill--the wilder part
of the road is about to begin. On our left is a huge, antique-looking
edifice with towers and battlements, which we feel sure has a romantic
history, but we are disappointed to learn that the place is only a
modern imitation. At a pretty spot on the river-bank near here I met
on my return a party of about fifty prisoners on their way to Siberia;
they were, as a rule, honest enough looking fellows, and I could not
help feeling pity for them when I remembered how many cases I knew of
in which innocent men had been ruined in mind and body, by exile for
crimes with which they had no connection. The road crosses a range of
green hills, and passing through scenery very like that of Kakheti,
descends to the Aragva again at Ananur, the most picturesque village
on the whole road, although the surrounding landscape is tame compared
with that to the northward.
Ananur lies in a pretty little valley, amid well-wooded hills. At
the southern end of the village, perched on a rising ground, is a
partly ruined wall with towers and battlements, within which are
two churches, one of them still used for divine service, the other
a mouldering heap of moss-grown stones. The post-house is at the
farther end of the village, and while the horses are being changed
we have time to return to the ruins, about a quarter of an hour's
walk; by the roadside are several little shops in which furs of all
the wild animals of the country may be bought for a trifle; there
is also a small barrack. We now climb up to the citadel, and as we
enter we cannot help thinking of some of the scenes of blood which
have taken place here, even as late as a century and a half ago,
when Giorgi, the Eristav (or headman) of Aragva, defended the castle
against the Eristav of Ksan. When the place had been taken and all
the garrison slain, Giorgi and his family fled to the old church,
thinking that no Christian would violate the right of sanctuary,
but the conqueror heaped up brushwood round the building and burnt
it down; only one of the ill-fated family escaped alive.
The door by which we are admitted lies on the side farthest removed
from the road; it leads us through a square tower into the citadel
proper, which occupied a piece of ground about one hundred paces
long and forty paces broad; formerly it used to stretch down to the
very bank of the river, where a ruined tower may still be seen. On
entering we see immediately on the left the ruined house of the
Eristav Giorgi; straight in front of us is a well-preserved tower,
on the left of which may be seen the ruins of the old church, on
the right is the modern church. The old church is, of course, quite
ruined; it is only about five-and-twenty paces in length by fifteen
paces broad. There still exist fragments of painting and carving which
would doubtless prove highly interesting to those who are acquainted
with the history of Byzantine art. The building is said to date from
the fourth century. There is also a small underground chapel which
is fairly well preserved.
The larger church was built by the Eristav Giorgi in 1704; it is
thirty paces long by twenty paces broad, and is an enlarged copy of
the older sanctuary; the stone of which it is built is yellowish. It
is a very fine specimen of Georgian architecture. Beautifully carved
in the stone, on each side of the building, is a gigantic cross of
vine branches (the cross of St. Nina). The decorative work is excellent
throughout, both in design and workmanship; but the figures of animals,
&c., are very poor indeed.
Ananur is connected with the darkest page in the mournful latter-day
history of Georgia. The Persians had taken Tiflis in 1795, and reduced
it to a smouldering heap of ruins. King Irakli, with a few servants,
had escaped almost by a miracle, and had taken refuge in the mountain
fastness of Ananur; abandoned by his cowardly, faithless children,
betrayed by his most trusted dependents and allies, sick in body and
weary in mind, the old man of seventy-seven was a sight sad enough to
make angels weep. "In the old, half ruined monastery of Ananur, in an
ancient cell which used to stand in the corner of the monks' orchard,
one might have seen a man dressed in a rough sheepskin cloak, sitting
with his face turned to the wall. That man, once the thunderbolt of
all Transcaucasia, was the king of Georgia, Irakli II. Near him stood
an old Armenian servant. 'Who is that sitting in the corner?' asked
those who passed by. 'He whom thou seest,' replied the Armenian, with
a sigh, 'was once a man of might, and his name was honoured throughout
Asia. His people never had a better ruler. He strove for their welfare
like a father, and for forty years kept his empire together; but old
age has weakened him, and has brought everything to ruin. In order to
prevent quarrels after his death, he determined to divide his kingdom
among his children while he still lived, but his hopes in them were
deceived. He who was chief eunuch of Tamas Khuli Khan when Irakli was
a leader of the Persian army, now marched against him in his feeble
old age. His own children refused to help him and their native land,
for there were many of them, and each thought he would be striving,
not for himself, but for his brother's good. The King of Georgia had
to ask the help of the King of Imereti, but if thou hadst been in
Tiflis thou hadst seen how shamefully the Imeretians behaved. Irakli,
with but a handful of men, fought gallantly against a hundred thousand,
and lost his throne only because his children pitilessly forsook him,
leaving him to be defeated by a wretched gelding. His ancient glory is
darkened, his capital in ruins, the weal of his folk is fled. Under
yon crumbling wall thou seest the mighty King of Georgia hiding from
the gaze of all men, helpless and clothed in a ragged sheepskin! His
courtiers, all those who have eaten his bread and been pressed to
his bosom, have left him; not one of them has followed his master,
excepting only me--a poor, despised Armenian.'"
From Ananur the road rises along the Aragva valley, which is well
cultivated, thanks to a fine system of artificial irrigation. On our
left, about a couple of versts from the station, we see high up on
a hill the ruined castle and church of Sheupoval, where a grandson
of the Eristav Giorgi shared the fate of the rest of his family;
the place was burnt down with all its inhabitants. As we pass along
the road we meet several pleasant-looking wayfarers, all armed with
long, wide dagger, and many carrying in addition sword and rifle; this
highway is, however, perfectly safe as far as brigands are concerned,
the carrying of weapons is merely a custom which means little more than
the use of a walking-stick in our country. Several handsome Ossets,
as they pass, courteously salute us with the phrase, "May your path
be smooth!" a peculiarly appropriate wish in such a region. When we
go through a little village, pretty children run out to look at us,
but they never beg, indeed I never saw or heard of a Georgian beggar,
although there is much poverty among the people.
All along the road, wherever there is a coign of vantage one sees it
topped by the ruins of a four-sided tapering tower, standing in the
corner of a square enclosure; every foot of ground has its history
of bloodshed and bravery, a history now long forgotten, save for the
dim traditions of the peasantry.
The stage between Ananur and Pasanaur (21 versts), is the longest on
the whole road, and, although it presents no engineering difficulties
such as those which were met with farther to the northward, it is,
nevertheless, a toilsome journey for the horses, as it rises about
1300 feet. I shall never forget the pleasant emotions I felt on
making the night journey from Pasanaur to Ananur; although there
was no moon, the stars shone with a brightness that is unknown in
northern latitudes, and lighted up the strange, beautiful landscape;
the glittering snow-peaks behind, the silvery stream at our side, the
green forests and the lonely ruins made up a picture of surpassing
loveliness and weirdness. Fort Gudomakarsk is soon visible, and we
know that the station is not far off. I may as well say that almost all
the so-called forts between Tiflis and Vladikavkaz are insignificant,
neglected-looking places, merely small barracks; they formerly served
to keep the mountaineers in order, but now there is really very little
necessity for maintaining a garrison in them.
Pasanaur (which in old Persian means "Holy Hill") is situated in a very
narrow part of the valley, amid thick woods. The station is a pretty
one, and, like that at Ananur, so comfortable that the traveller who
has to spend a night there need not be pitied. The only building of
interest in the village is a modern church in the Russian style of
architecture, which looks as if it had been painted with laundry blue;
for ugliness it can compare with any church in Muscovy.
To the eastward of Pasanaur live the Khevsurs, Pshavs and Tushes,
peoples probably having a common origin, and speaking a language akin
to Georgian. Their number is variously estimated, from twenty to thirty
thousand. They live in a very primitive way, and the Khevsurs still
clothe themselves in chain armour and helmets; this circumstance, added
to the fact that they have long been Christians, has given rise to
the supposition that they are descended from a party of Crusaders who
lost their way in trying to return to Europe overland, and settled in
these valleys. Their country is among the wildest in the whole range,
and their villages are perched high up among the rocks, like eagles'
nests. The Khevsurs live chiefly on the scanty products of agriculture;
the Pshavs and Tushes are pastoral peoples, in winter they drive
their flocks down into Kakheti, and when the snow among the mountains
begins to melt they return to their native valleys. All these tribes
are wild and brave to the highest degree; from the earliest times
they have formed part of the Georgian kingdom, and have distinguished
themselves in many a battle against the infidel. The Christianity of
this region is not so elaborate as that of Rome or Byzantium, but I
suppose it is quite as reasonable as that of the Russian muzhik or
the English farm-labourer; they have made a saint of Queen Tamara,
and they worship the god of war and several other deities in addition
to the God Christ. Irakli II. tried to reform their theology, but they
replied, "If we, with our present worship, are firm in our obedience
and loyalty to the king, what more does he ask of us?" There are now
many Orthodox Greek Churches in the villages, but the people totally
ignore their existence.
After leaving Pasanaur the road bends to the westward, leaving on
the right a high table-shaped mountain of granite which has for a
long time seemed to bar our progress; we still keep close to the
Aragva, and the scenery becomes bolder, and the soil more barren;
here and there we see high up on the face of the rock a cluster of
Osset houses; from the valley they look like small dark holes in
the cliffs. Pushkin has described them as "swallows' nests," and no
happier name could have been chosen.
The Ossets call themselves Ir or Iran, the Tatars and Georgians call
them Oss or Ossi. According to official accounts they number over
100,000, about half of them being on each side of the Caucasus. The
majority of them profess the Christian religion, but 15,000 are
Mahometans, and a considerable number are idolaters. Their traditions
say that they came from Asia across the Ural, and used at one time to
dwell in the plain to the north of the Caucasus, but were gradually
driven into the mountains by stronger peoples. In the reign of Queen
Tamara most of them embraced Christianity, and Tamara's second husband
was an Osset; they remained tributary to Georgia until the beginning
of the present century, and a traveller who visited Tiflis about a
hundred years ago says that Irakli's bodyguard was composed of Ossets
"who never washed." The Ossets were the first Caucasian people to
settle down quietly to Russian rule, and they have never given any
serious trouble, if we except their share in the Imeretian rising
of 1810. The stories about the Ossets being a Teutonic people are
as absurd as the assertion that there are in the Crimea Northmen who
speak Dutch. They live in a wretched manner, in houses built of loose
stones, without mortar; but their physique is good, and their faces
are handsome and engaging.
After another long climb of 1300 feet we reach Mleti. Here, indeed,
we have come to the end of the valley--we are at the bottom of a deep
well with sides as bare and steep as walls, on the top glitters the
everlasting snow. The engineering difficulties which we have hitherto
encountered are as nothing compared with those before us. To our
right rises a precipice over three thousand feet high, up which the
road climbs in a series of zigzags.
Soon after leaving Mleti we saw the sun set behind the silvery peaks
to the west, and within half an hour it was dark; our driver was
drunk and fast asleep, and we had occasionally to seize the reins in
order to keep the horses from going too near the fenceless edge of
the abyss. The distance to Gudaur is only fourteen and a half versts,
but nearly the whole ascent has to be done at walking pace; slowly we
rose up the hillside, gazing silently now up at the glistening chain
above us, now down into the gloomy valley behind us, where a fleecy
waterfall shone in the starlight; we saw no wayfarers all the time,
and no sound came to break the stillness of the summer night.
At last we reached the tableland at the top, and were soon in the
station-house of Gudaur, almost 8000 feet above sea-level. Although
there were only patches of snow here and there on the ground near us,
the air was very cool; only a few days ago we had been simmering in
Tiflis in a heat of over 100° Fahr., and now we saw the thermometer
down at freezing-point. I knew that as far as comfort went Mleti was a
much better place than Gudaur to spend the night at, but I was eager
to enjoy the delightful intoxication of the mountain air as soon and
as long as possible, and I did enjoy it thoroughly.
After a very rough and hasty supper and a short walk on the edge of
the plateau, we entered the common room, and wrapping ourselves up in
our burkas, sought out the softest plank on the floor, and were soon
sleeping the sleep of innocence. Several travellers arrived during
the night, for when we rose at dawn we found the room full. Leaving
our companions to snore in peace, we ordered the horses, and were
soon on our way to the pass.
On the grassy plain were feeding large flocks of goats and sheep,
the latter with strange, large, fatty protuberances on either side
of the tail. To the right is a remarkable-looking green hill of
pyramidal shape, and beyond it an old castle looks down from an
inaccessible crag. The scenery of the pass itself is imposing,
but it is seen to better advantage when one comes in the opposite
direction, i.e. from Vladikavkaz to Tiflis; in that case one leaves
a scene of the wildest desolation for the luxuriant beauty of the
Aragva valley and Kartli; on the northward journey it is, of course,
the reverse. The road sinks very rapidly to a depth of almost 2000
feet; the long snow-sheds remind us that even at the present day
a winter journey over the Cross Mountain is a serious undertaking;
traffic is often stopped for several days at a time by avalanches,
and in spring the rivers sometimes wash away the bridges and large
pieces of the road. At the foot of the mountain we meet the foaming
Terek, a river almost as muddy as the Kura, and following its course
reach a vast plain, on the east side of which stands Kobi.
Near Kobi station there are two villages; the larger of the two
lies under the shadow of a perpendicular rock on the one side, on
the other side it is flanked by a rugged crag, on the top of which
may be seen the ruins of a church and a castle. By the roadside are
curious monumental tablets, painted with hieroglyphs of various kinds,
among which the rising sun generally occupies the chief place. All
round Kobi there are numerous medicinal springs of all kinds, and
the station-house is intended to accommodate a few patients. There
may come a day when Kobi will be as fashionable as Kissingen, but in
the meantime it is not the sort of place that one would recommend to
an invalid.
On the score of originality nothing can be said against the environs
of Kobi; when we looked round we could not help thinking of the phrase
"riddlings of creation," which we have heard applied to the Scottish
Highlands; it does, indeed, look as if some of the materials left
over after the creation of our earth, had been left here in disordered
heaps, to give us some idea of chaos. The road now follows the course
of the Terek, and the scenery is indescribably grand; straight before
us lies snowy Kazbek in all its rugged wildness, here and there are
ruined towers, and about the middle of the stage a turn in the road
brings us to an aul, or village, of mediæval appearance, by the side
of which is a little copse, a rarity in this bleak district. The
basaltic rocks present many fantastic shapes and colours to the
eye; in several places I saw what looked like huge bundles of rods,
reminding me of the Giant's Causeway. Before reaching the station
we were met by children who offered for sale all sorts of crystals,
pieces of quartz and other pretty geological specimens.
Kazbek station is a very comfortable inn, where one can dine well,
and is to be recommended as a place for a prolonged stay. The mountain,
generally called Kazbek, rises from the valley in one almost unbroken
mass, reaching a height of 16,550 feet above sea-level; the Georgians
call it Mkhinvari (ice mountain), and the Ossets, Christ's Peak; Kazbek
is really the name of the family who own this part of the country,
and is wrongly applied to the mountain. This peak, like Ararat, enjoys
the reputation of being inaccessible, and our countrymen, Freshfield,
Moore, and Tucker, who climbed to the top, without much difficulty,
in June, 1868, were not believed when they told the story of their
ascent. On the mountain the sportsman can occasionally get a shot at
a tur (aurochs, Ægoceros Pallasii); but if he is unwilling to expose
himself to the necessary danger and fatigue, he can for a few roubles
buy a pair of horns at the station.
Those who invade the realm of the mountain spirit should not fail to
visit Devdorak glacier, the easiest way of making the ascent; there
they will see a place where the native hunters make sacrifices of tur
horns to propitiate the spirit, who might otherwise throw blocks of
ice down on their heads.
There is a popular legend to the effect that on the summit of Mkhinvari
is the tent of the Patriarch Abraham, within which, in a cradle held up
by an unseen hand, lies the child Jesus asleep; outside there grows
some wheat of wonderful size, beside the tree of life; round the
cradle are heaps of treasures. Under the reign of King Irakli II.,
a priest and his son started for the summit in order to see these
wonders; the boy returned alone, bearing samples of the material of
the tent, some big grains of wheat, &c., the soles of his boots were
covered with silver coins which had stuck to them--unfortunately it
was found that the coins were quite modern!
As is well known, Mkhinvari is generally identified with the story
of Prometheus, although the mountain does not correspond with the
description given by Æschylus. Early travellers even went so far as
to assert that they had seen the very chains with which the hero was
bound, and there is a local legend to the effect that a giant still
lies there in fetters. When I approached the mountain from Kobi I could
not help being reminded of Prometheus. I saw a gigantic black space
of irregular form with snow all round it; an imaginative mind found
in this irregular tract a considerable resemblance to the human shape.
No traveller should leave Kazbek without making a pilgrimage to the
monastery of St. Stephen, which stands on the top of an isolated
hill about 2000 feet above the station. At sunset the view is
wonderfully beautiful. Tradition says that the monastery was built
by three kings, but does not give their names; in any case the
building is of considerable antiquity. Service is held in the church
three times a year. The interior has been spoiled by that fiend the
"restorer." From the church you look over a wide, uninhabited valley
to the giant mountain, and on turning round you see the river Terek,
on the banks of which are the station and village; on either hand
stretch dark cavernous-looking valleys. Beyond the Terek is the home
of the Ingushes, a people who frequently carry off the cattle of their
more settled neighbours, and give the small garrison of Kazbek some
amusement in hunting them down.
After leaving Kazbek, we see on our right the manor-house of the
princely family from which the place takes its name, a family which
has produced, and doubtless will yet produce, sons which will be an
honour to Georgia; the house is a fine two-storey edifice, and there
is a pretty chapel attached to it. In a few minutes we reach the Mad
Ravine, so called from a torrent of terrible impetuosity, which has
formed one of the most serious obstacles to the construction of the
road. We now enter Dariel, the pass from which the road takes its name,
one of the grandest spots on earth.
According to philologists, Dariel is derived from an old Persian
word meaning gate (cf. Der-bend, Thuer, door, Slav Dver, &c.), and in
fact it was here that the ancient geographers placed the site of the
famous Caucasian Gates; but surely there is something to be said in
favour of the local tradition which connects the place with Darius
I. of Persia. As for the gates, it is, of course, impossible to say
definitely whether they ever existed or not, at all events there
are several points where it would not have been very difficult to
construct them.
At the entrance of the ravine, on the left bank of the Terek,
stands a high rock, on which may be seen the ruins of a castle,
said to have been founded in 150 B.C., but doubtless having a still
longer history. This castle is always associated with the name of
a certain wicked Queen Tamara, a mythical creation of the popular
fancy, and Lermontov has written a very pretty poem based on the
legend. It is said that this Tamara (not to be confounded with the
good Tamara), was very beautiful, and that she used to invite all the
handsome young men who passed that way to come up and live with her,
promising them all the delights that heart could wish for; after one
night of bliss the unfortunate gentleman was deprived of his head, and
was then thrown down into the Terek, which bore away his body. If the
legend is not wrong in saying that the river carried away the corpses,
the frolicsome monarch must have been comparatively constant during
the summer months, or else the pile of wantons would soon have become
large enough to frighten all the passion out of intending visitors, for
in the month of June, Terek would not float a respectably-sized cat.
By the road-side is Dariel Fort, a romantic-looking place with
old-fashioned battlemented towers; a few Kazaks are quartered here,
and must find the time hang very heavily on their hands. When you
reach this fort it looks as if it were impossible to go beyond it,
a mighty wall stretches right across the path; but the road follows
the course of the river, indeed it is built in the river-bed, and
winds along between awful cliffs whose summits are lost in the clouds,
and whose flanks are seldom or never touched by a ray of sunlight. We
sometimes hear of places where a handful of men could keep back an
army, this is one of them; a touch would send down upon the road some
of the heavy, overhanging masses of rock, and effectually close the
pass. About fifty years ago an avalanche fell here, from the glacier
of Devdorak, and it was two years before the rubbish was all cleared
away. When the new road is blocked by snow or carried away by floods,
the old road, high up near the snow-line, has to be used.
The scenery of this pass has been described by Pushkin, Lermontov, and
many others, but it is one of the few places that do not disappoint the
traveller, however much he may have expected. It must not be forgotten
that the road through this narrow gorge is the only passable one that
crosses the Caucasian range; there are, it is true, one or two other
tracks, but they are not practicable for wheeled carriages.
In the most gloomy part of the defile the road crosses by a bridge
to the left bank of the Terek, and a few versts farther on we emerge
into comparatively open ground at Lars. I had, as usual, given my
podorozhnaia (road-pass) to a stable-boy, with a request to get the
horses ready without delay, and was sitting drinking tea, when I was
astonished to hear behind me the long unfamiliar tones of my native
language; I was still more surprised when I saw that the speaker
was the starosta, or superintendent of the station (the Government
inspector, or smatritel, is the real chief). He told me that he had
seen from my pass that I was English, and had taken the liberty to come
and have a chat with me. He spoke English fluently, and has spent five
years in London, has travelled in the United States, and is altogether
a very pleasant fellow; he had only been at Lars a year and a half,
and during all that time had not seen an Englishman. We parted very
good friends, expecting to meet again when I returned from Vladikavkaz.
The village of Lars, north of the post-house, is inhabited, among
others, by some of the Tagaur Ossets, descended from Tagaur, an
individual who at a remote period was heir to the Armenian throne,
and fled to the mountains for fear of his younger brothers. Their
royal descent leads them to think themselves superior to the poor
folk among whom they dwell, and they are cordially disliked by the
latter. Just outside the village is one of the towers which are so
common all along the road; it doubtless yielded a handsome revenue
to its owner in the good old days when every traveller had to pay a
heavy toll for the privilege of passing one of these fortresses.
We still keep close to the Terek, which comes rushing down from Dariel
with a fall of one foot in every thirty. Pushkin, comparing the Terek
with Imatra, in Finland, unhesitatingly declares the superiority of the
former in grandeur. Of course the surrounding scenery in the two cases
is quite different, but as far as the rivers themselves are concerned,
I must dissent from the poet, for I know no part of the Terek worthy
of comparison with the fall of the Wuokses at Imatra, which is the
very materialization of the idea of irresistible, pitiless power.
Although the valley is now a little wider than it was a few miles
to the south, the scenery still has the same grandeur and sternness
until we pass between the rocks that come down close to either
bank of the river, and come out into the plain in which stands
Fort Djerakhovsk, a rectangular edifice, about 120 feet long,
which is fully garrisoned. We are not quite clear of the mountains,
however, until we have passed Balta, and have got within five versts
of Vladikavkaz. Before us stretches a smooth, green plain as far as
the eye can reach; the contrast is most striking; it is as if we had
been suddenly transported from Switzerland to Holland.
Vladikavkaz, 200 versts from Tiflis, lies at the foot of the Caucasus,
at a height of 2368 feet. The best hotel is the Pochtovaya, at
the post-station; the Frantsiya is also good. Vladikavkaz means,
in Russian, "master of the Caucasus" (cf. Vladivostok, Vladimir,
&c.--root vlad is akin to German walt-en, Gewalt); the Cherkesses
(Circassians) call it Kapkai, "gate of the mountains." It has
a population of over 30,000 souls, chiefly Russians, Cherkesses,
Georgians, Armenians, Persians, besides a strong garrison. A fortress
was built here in 1784, but the town never became a trading centre of
much importance until the war with Shamil; even now one is astonished
to see how little activity them is in a place through which nearly all
the overland traffic between Europe and Western Asia passes. Several
chimney stalks bear witness to the existence of industry, but the
only manufactory of any size is a spirit distillery. The silver work
of Vladikavkaz is renowned throughout the whole Caucasus, and is much
used for dagger hilts and sheaths, belts, &c.
The city is built on the banks of the Terek, which is here crossed by
several bridges; the best quarter is on the right bank, where there are
cool, shady gardens by the waterside, and a very respectable-looking
boulevard. A few of the streets are fairly well paved, and there are
one or two comfortable-looking houses with pleasant grounds; but on
the whole the place is not one that anybody would care to settle down
in. Were it not for the frequency with which one sees Asiatic costumes,
and hears Asiatic tongues, and the fact that the frosty Caucasus may
be seen, apparently perpendicular, rising to its loftiest points,
it would be easy to imagine oneself in some provincial town not 100
versts from Moscow, instead of being 2000 versts from it.
When you have lounged in the gardens, and on the boulevard, visited
the cathedral, which is still in course of construction, the market,
the military school, and the old fortress, you have obtained all the
diversion that is to be had in Vladikavkaz, unless you are fortunate
enough to find the little theatre open, and the best thing to be
done is to take the morning train to the Mineral Waters station (186
versts in nine hours) for the town called Five Mountains (Pyatigorsk),
about twenty versts from the railway, which for almost a hundred
years has enjoyed the reputation of being the most fashionable inland
watering-place in the Russian Empire.