My stay in Kakheti was so pleasant that I found it very hard to
leave. My good friends there insisted that I should marry a Georgian
lady and settle down as a country squire, to grow wine and drink
it among them for the remainder of my natural life; when I finally
decided upon the day for my departure they pressed me to stay, at
least, until the vintage-time, but I still had much ground to go over,
and I had made up my mind to return to England before winter set in.
One morning in July I said good-bye to Signakh, and set out in a
post-cart for Telav. As far as Bakurtsikhe the road was quite familiar
to me; it had never seemed so beautiful as it did when I said farewell
to it. Then came Kalaki, which like Bakurtsikhe, is full of members
of the Vachnadze family, and Gurdjani, one of the villages belonging
to the Andronikovs. The Andronikovs are descended from a Byzantine
prince who fled to Georgia during the reign of Queen Tamara; they
have always been distinguished for bravery and munificence, the two
virtues which are most appreciated in this country; in the present
century they have produced a general worthy to rank with any who have
ever served the Tsars. I may say, in passing, that it is astonishing
to find what a large percentage of the great military leaders in the
Russian army have been and are of Georgian birth. Another curious
circumstance is that some of the best families in Georgia are of
foreign origin; the Bagrats, the royal family, were once Hebrews, and
claim to be descended from David, the son of Jesse; the Orbelianis,
the second family in the kingdom, came from China; the Andronikovs,
as we have just remarked, were originally Greeks.
Near Gurdjani is Akhtala, a muddy hollow in which are slime baths,
resorted to by persons suffering from rheumatism, scrofula, and
many other diseases; the baths are simply round holes full of mud,
in the middle of which an evil-smelling gas slowly bubbles up;
the largest bath of all is reserved for cattle. I need hardly say
that all the bathing goes on al fresco, for nobody has thought of
building a hydropathic establishment in this remote corner of the
Caucasus. Akhtala has, of course, its legend. It is said that a farmer
was once working in his vineyard on the Feast of the Transfiguration,
when a passer-by asked him why he was not at church on so holy a
day. The scoffer replied that he had seen enough of transfigurations,
he and his wife had been transfigured into old people, and their
children into men and women; the wayfarer, who was none other than
our Lord, said, "Well, you shall see yet another transfiguration,"
whereupon the ground opened, and belched forth a liquid mass, which
swallowed up the vineyard, with the sinner and all his household.
The road continues to run parallel to the Alazana, and the next
station is Mukuzani, seventeen versts from Bakurtsikhe, near which is
the flourishing town of Velistsikhe. All this region is a fertile,
well-cultivated plain, and there are many villages renowned for
their wines; the peasants of the Telav district are much wealthier
than those near Signakh. Akuri, fourteen versts from Mukuzani, is
the last station. The city of Telav is now visible on the top of a
hill straight in front, and it has a very picturesque appearance.
About half a dozen miles beyond Akuri, in a beautiful valley, is
Tsinondal, formerly the home of Prince David Chavchavadze, but now the
property of Alexander Alexandrovich, Autocrat of all the Russias, for
whom a vast palace was being built at the time of my visit. The Tsar
would be far safer here than at Gachina, for there are no anarchists
among the Georgians, and I cannot account for the rumour that it was
proposed to exile a large number of the young nobles, in order to
assure the monarch's safety during his sojourn in the Caucasus.
Tsinondal is famous as the scene of one of the most dramatic
incidents of the war with Shamil, viz., the capture of Princesses
Chavchavadze and Orbeliani in July, 1854. On account of rumours of
Lesghian raids the Chavchavadze family had not left Tiflis for their
estates until the month of July. They arrived safely at Tsinondal,
and were soon joined by Nina Chavchavadze's sister, Princess Varvara
Orbeliani, whose husband had just been killed while fighting against
the Turks. They were but newly settled in their summer quarters,
when Prince Chavchavadze received orders to go and take the command
of a fortress some distance from home. Before leaving, he reassured
his family by telling them that reinforcements were about to be sent
to Telav, and that the Alazana was so high that the enemy could not
cross it. In a few days the prince wrote to his wife to say that he
was besieged by a force of five or six thousand Lesghians, but had
no fear of the place being taken; if he thought it advisable for his
family to leave Tsinondal, he would let them know.
Meanwhile the Lesghians were nearer than was imagined, and the flames
from burning villages in the neighbourhood soon warned the family that
no time was to be lost. First of all the peasants came and begged
the princess to fly to the woods with them; then the gentry of the
district offered their aid for the same purpose, but these offers were
declined; her husband had told her to stay there, and there she would
stay. At length, the advance of the enemy had proceeded so far in the
direction of Tsinondal, that the princess consented to have all her
plate and jewels packed up one night, ready for flight on the morrow;
but it was too late. Soon after dawn the Lesghians were in the gardens
of the castle. The family doctor and a handful of servants gallantly
held the gate for a few minutes, but they were soon shot down, and
the place was in the hands of the wild men of the mountains.
The women and children sought refuge in a garret, whence they heard
the smashing of mirrors, pianos, and other furniture. A few Lesghians
soon discovered the hiding-place of the terrified family, and each
seized a woman or child as his share of the booty. As they bore away
their prisoners the staircase broke under their weight, and all fell
in a confused heap on the lower floor. Then there was a murderous
fight for the possession of the ladies; their garments were torn to
shreds, and some of them were wounded. The conquerors picked up the
senseless victims from a heap of dead Lesghians, and forced them to
mount on horseback behind them.
The passage of the Alazana was accomplished with great danger, and when
they reached the other side the half-naked ladies were wet, chilled,
and miserable. Strange to tell, Princess Baratov, a beautiful girl of
eighteen, had not lost any article of dress, and was as richly attired
as if she had been on her way to a ball. But poor Mdme. Drançay,
the French governess, had nothing left but a chemise and a corset. A
handful of Georgians attempted a rescue; the Lesghians mistook them
for the skirmishers in advance of an army, and fled. Princess Nina
Chavchavadze had an infant in her arms, and after riding for some
distance she was so wearied that the baby fell and was trampled under
the horses' feet. She would have leaped after it, but her captor held
her fast, and another man coolly cut the child's throat.
Finding the number of prisoners too large, the Lesghians killed sixty
of them on the road. All the villages on the way were burned, and their
inhabitants butchered. Then they mounted through a thick forest and
up among the mountains to Pokhalski, where Shamil was staying with an
army of ten thousand men. There they were joined by a new prisoner,
Niko Chavchavadze, who, with thirty Georgians, had held a castle for
three days against five hundred Lesghians, and only surrendered when
he had not a cartridge left. Shamil ordered the princess to write to
Tiflis saying that all the prisoners would be handed over to Russia in
exchange for his son, Djemal Eddin, and a fair ransom. In the meantime
the ladies had to make themselves veils of muslin, and they lived in
the harem of Shamil. They were, however, treated honourably, and they
always had the highest respect for the great warrior and prophet.
Eight months elapsed before the negotiations were concluded, and on
the 10th of March, 1855, the exchange took place at Kasafiurte. Djemal
Eddin, Shamil's son, had since his early youth been held as a hostage
at Petersburg. He was a most amiable man; had become perfectly Russian
in his way of life, and spoke Russian, French, and German fluently;
he was colonel of a regiment, and aide-de-camp to the Tsar. It was
with deep regret that he left civilization to return to the wild life
of his native mountains, and in 1858 he died of a broken heart.
Mounting the sloping Tsivi hills, the road enters Telav by the
Boulevard, at one end of which is the inn; but on my applying for
lodgings I was told that the house was under repair, and travellers
could not be entertained. I was recommended to go to "The Club." At the
Club the room offered me was so dirty and cheerless that I decided
to make the post-house my headquarters. It was only one o'clock
in the afternoon, and I determined to have an early dinner. In a
town like Telav, thought I, it will be possible to get something
to eat. I first addressed myself to the postmaster, who replied
that boiling-water was the only refreshment he could offer me, but
held out the hope that I might get dinner in the town. I wandered
up and down the streets for an hour, hungry, thirsty, and hot, and
then found a dirty eating-house where I refreshed myself with vodka,
eggs, wine, and bread. It took three quarters of an hour to boil the
eggs! I leave the reader to imagine whether my first impressions of
Telav were favourable or not. I returned to the station and slept.
It was beginning to get cooler before I went to examine the objects
of interest in the town. Telav, the capital of the ancient kingdom of
Kakheti, lies in a very strong position on two hills, about 1400 feet
above the Alazana. It was founded by King Grigal I., first king of
Kakheti, destroyed by the Persians under Shah Abbas in the sixteenth
century, and rebuilt by Irakli II. The present population is about
eight or nine thousand. In going from the post-house to the centre
of the town I passed through a gateway in the old wall, which used
to surround the whole city, and is of great antiquity. On the left
is the palace of Irakli II., now used as a grammar-school for young
gentlewomen, and in it may be seen the room where the old hero died,
on January 11th, 1798. There are a couple of interesting old churches,
containing curious pictures and ornaments of a certain artistic
value. The main street is well paved, and has a long arcade under
which are the chief shops. Telav is much more cheerful than Signakh,
although the population is smaller, and there are comparatively
few Armenians. From a low bridge across the dry bed of a torrent,
one gets a splendid view over the Alazana to the Caucasian range and
the country of the Tushes.
When I had seen all the sights of Telav, I felt bored to death, and
was just preparing to leave the Boulevard for a walk in the country,
when a handsome boy of fourteen, in a cadet's uniform, ran up and
welcomed me effusively. It was young Prince M----, whom I had met in
Tiflis. He was soon followed by his father, a retired colonel, who
has done good service for the great white Tsar, and has been wounded
more than once. Although I had only seen him once or twice before,
he reproached me for not coming to take up my quarters at his house,
and repeatedly urged me to stay a few days with him. But I had made
up my mind to leave for Tiflis early on the following morning. We
took a walk in the park called Nadikari, given to the town by the
Vakhvakhovs, and enjoyed enchanting views of the Alazana dale and
the mountains. Returning to my friend's house, we supped, and sat
over our wine until past midnight. When I left for the post-house
the grey-headed warrior and his pretty son embraced me and wished me
every good thing. They insisted upon sending with me a servant who
carried wine and bread for my journey.
At four o'clock on the following morning I left my wooden couch,
and seated myself in the stage-coach for Tiflis. I only had two
companions, an Armenian trader of the most objectionable description,
and a Georgian schoolmaster on his way to Odessa for a holiday. The
latter was a very jolly fellow, and intelligent withal. He was an
ardent champion of the doctrines of the First Revolution, and of the
modern principle of nationality. He soon entered into conversation with
me. My unmistakably foreign accent immediately roused his curiosity,
and when I told him that I was English he steadfastly refused to
believe me, asserting that I was a Mingrelian. The road passes through
a few villages, and then, as it mounts by the side of the river,
the houses become scarcer. On the right are many square holes in the
face of a steep cliff; they are said, like those between Tiflis and
Mtzkhet, to have been used as places of refuge in time of war, and
they are approached from a monastery on the top of the hill. On the
left is the monastery of the Mother of God, a favourite resort of the
people of Telav. The track then runs along the bottom of the valley,
on the right bank of the river Turdo, amid rich woodland scenery.
It takes a long time to mount to the summit of Gambori. This
winding road had only recently been opened to traffic, and there is
no posting yet. The best means of conveyance is the daily coach,
and it is a slow and uncomfortable vehicle. I had been advised to
make a good meal at Gambori station, and, as the coach waits there
for half an hour, I entered the dukhan, or wine-shop, with this
object in view. Alas! nothing was to be had but vodka, tobacco, and
matches! Beyond Gambori the scenery becomes quite English-looking
for a time. There is abundance of game of all kinds, and I saw two
fine deer run across the road behind us. Climbing to a grassy knoll,
bare of trees, we arrived at length at the Pass of Gambori, deservedly
called Cold Mountain (6044 feet above sea level, and thirty-four versts
from Telav), and, leaving Kakheti behind us, descended into the valley
of the Iora and the province of Kartli. Passing the ruined castle
of Verena, built in the fifth century by King Gurgaslan, we enjoy an
ever-changing view of indescribable loveliness all the way to Lager.
Lager, as the name indicates, is a military post, and is of some
importance on account of its position, about half-way between Tiflis
and Telav; it is the summer quarters of a brigade. The garrison was
not at that time very large, but there was some talk of increasing it;
indeed, we met a couple of hundred men and half a dozen guns only a
few versts beyond the village. The heat was terrible, and we could
not help pitying the poor soldiers, who were cursing and sweating
as they toiled up the mountain side. The radical schoolmaster began
to descant on the advantages of universal disarmament, but he was
interrupted by a good little peasant woman from the Russian colony
at Lager, who replied that it was certainly very hard, but "if we
had not a large army the English would come and make slaves of us all."
The next station was Udjarma, a fortress of great importance from the
third century to the fifteenth, but now an uninteresting place, chiefly
remarkable for the fact that the village graveyard is on the top of
a very steep, isolated hill. From this point the road becomes dull;
it crosses a bare, windy plain, and is as wearisome as the Signakh
road, which it meets near Vaziani. The white church of St. David's
was soon seen glittering in the sun; then Orkhevi was passed, and not
long after sunset we entered Tiflis, hot, dusty, tired, and hungry,
after our journey of 70 versts. I spent two days in Tiflis, where
the heat had by that time become stifling; then I regretfully doffed
my Circassian garb, and again submitted to the bondage of the stiff
linen collar. On the afternoon of the third day I was in Baku.