The Consulate at Erzeroom.--Subterranean
Dwellings.--Snow-blindness.--Effects of the severe Climate.--The
City: its Population, Defenses, and Buildings.--Our House and
Household.--Armenian Country-houses.--The Ox-stable.
We were hospitably entertained at the British Consulate till the Pasha
could get a house prepared for us to occupy during our stay; but, as
Mr. Pepys says, "Lord, to see!" what a place this is at Erzeroom! I
have never seen or heard of any thing the least like it. It is totally
and entirely different from any thing I ever saw before. As the whole
view, whichever way one looked, was wrapped in interminable snow, we
had not at first any very distinct idea of the nature of the ground
that there might be underneath; the tops of the houses being flat, the
snow-covered city did not resemble any other town, but appeared more
like a great rabbit-warren; many of the houses being wholly or partly
subterranean, the doors looked like burrows. In the neighborhood of the
consulate (very comfortable within, from the excellent arrangements of
Mr. Brant) there were several large heaps and mounds of earth, and it
was difficult to the uninitiated to discriminate correctly as to which
was a house and which was a heap of soil or stones. Streets, glass
windows, green doors with brass knockers, areas, and chimney-pots,
were things only known from the accounts of travelers from the
distant regions where such things are used. Very few people were
about, the bulk of the population hybernating at this time of the
year in their strange holes and burrows. The bright colors of the
Oriental dresses looked to my eye strangely out of place in the cold,
dirty snow; scarlet robes, jackets embroidered with gold, brilliant
green and white costumes, were associated in my mind with a hot sun,
a dry climate, and fine weather. A bright sky there was, with the
sun shining away as if it was all right, but his rays gave no heat,
and only put your eyes out with its glare upon the snow. This glare
has an extraordinary effect, sometimes bringing on a blindness called
snow-blindness, and raising blisters on the face precisely like those
which are produced by exposure to extreme heat. Another inconvenience
has an absurd effect: the breath, out of doors, congeals upon the
mustaches and beard, and speedily produces icicles, which prevent the
possibility of opening the mouth. My mustaches were converted each
day into two sharp icicles, and if any thing came against them it
hurt horribly; and those who wore long beards were often obliged to
commence the series of Turkish civilities in dumb show; their faces
being fixtures for the time, they were not able to speak till their
beards thawed. A curious phenomenon might also be observed upon the
door of one of the subterranean stables being opened, when, although
the day was clear and fine without, the warm air within immediately
congealed into a little fall of snow; this might be seen in great
perfection every morning on the first opening of the outer door,
when the house was warm from its having been shut up all night.
Erzeroom is situated in an extensive elevated plain, about thirty
miles long and about ten wide, lying between 7000 and 8000 feet above
the level of the sea. It is surrounded on all sides with the tops of
lofty mountains, many of which are covered with eternal snow. The city
is said to contain between 30,000 and 40,000 inhabitants, but I do
not myself think that it contains much more than 20,000; this I had
no correct means of ascertaining. The city is said to have been, and
probably was, more populous before the disasters of the last Russian
war. It stands on a small hill, or several hills, at the foot of a
mountain with a double top, called Devé Dagh, the Camel Mountain. The
original city is nearly a square, and is surrounded by a double wall
with peculiarly-shaped towers, a sort of pentagon, about 20 towers on
each side, except on the south side, where a great part of the walls is
fallen down. Within these walls, on an elevated mound, is the smaller
square of the citadel, where there are some curious ancient buildings
and a prison, which I must describe afterward; a ditch, where it is
not filled up with rubbish and neglect, surrounds the walls of the
city; and beyond this are the suburbs, where the greater part of the
population reside. Beyond this, an immense work was accomplished as
a defense against the Russian invaders. This is an enormous fosse, so
large, and deep, and wide, as to resemble a ravine in many places. It
was some time before I was aware that this was an artificial work. As
there are no ramparts, walls, or breastworks on the inner side of
that immense excavation, it can have been of no more use than if it
did not exist, and did not, I believe, stop any of the Russians for
five minutes. They probably marched down one side and up the other,
supposing it to be a pleasing natural valley, useful as a promenade
in fine weather, and the prodigious labor employed on such a work
must have been entirely thrown away.
The palace of the Pasha, that of the Cadi and other functionaries,
are within the walls of the town. The doorways are the only parts of
the houses on which any architectural ornaments are displayed; many of
these are of carved stone, with inscriptions in Turkish beautifully
cut above them. There are said to be seventeen baths, but none of
them are particularly handsome, though the principal apartment is
covered with a dome, like those in finer towns. The mosques amount,
it is said, to forty-five: I never saw half so many myself. Many of
them are insignificant edifices. The principal one, or cathedral,
as it may be called, is of great size, its flat, turf-covered roof
supported by various thick piers and pointed arches. The finest
buildings are several ancient tombs: these are circular towers,
from twenty to thirty feet in diameter, with conical stone roofs,
beautifully built and ornamented. There must be twenty or thirty of
these very singular edifices, whose dates I was unable to ascertain;
they probably vary from the twelfth to the sixteenth century, judging
from a comparison of their ornamental work with Saracenic buildings
in other parts of the world.
The most beautiful buildings of Erzeroom are two ancient medressés
or colleges, or perhaps they may be considered more as a kind of
alms-houses, built for the accommodation of a certain number of
Mollahs, whose duty it was to pray around the tomb of the founder,
adjoining to which they are erected. One of these stands immediately to
the left hand on entering the principal gateway of the town; above its
elaborately-sculptured door are two most beautiful minarets, known by
the name of the iki chífteh. These are built of an exceedingly fine
brick, and are fluted like Ionic columns, the edges of the flutings
being composed of turquoise-blue bricks, which produces on the capitals
or galleries, as well as on the shafts, the appearance of a bright
azure pattern on a dark-colored ground. The roof of this very beautiful
building has fallen in, but the delicacy of the arabesques, cut in many
places in alto-relief in a very hard stone, would excite admiration in
India, and equals the most famous works of Italy. The other medressé
is in a still worse condition, a great cannon-foundry having been
erected in the middle of it. The whole building is broken, smoked,
and injured; still, what remains shows how fine it must have been.
There are one or two Greek churches and two Armenian churches here,
both very small, dark, cramped places, with immensely thick walls
and hewn-stone roofs. They appear to be of great antiquity, but can
boast of no other merit. Adjoining the principal one, in which is a
famous miraculous picture of St. George, they were building a large
and handsome church, which is now completed, in the Basilica form,
with an arched stone roof. Cut stone being very expensive, and indeed,
from the want of good masons, very difficult to procure, the priests
bethought themselves of a happy expedient to secure square hewn stone
for the corners, door-way, windows, &c., of the new cathedral. They
told their flock that, as the ancient tomb-stones were of no use to
the departed, it would be a meritorious act in the living to bring
them to assist in the erection of the church. They managed this so
well, that every one brought on his own back, or at his own expense,
the tombstones of his ancestors, and those were grieved and offended
who could not gain admission for the tomb-stones of their families to
complete a window or support a wall. The work advanced rapidly during
the summer, and any large, flat slabs of stone were reserved for the
covering of the roof. It promised to be, and I hear now is, a handsome
church, strong and solid enough to resist the awful climate, and the
snow which lies there for months every year. The Armenian inscriptions
and emblems on the stones have a singular effect; but I think, under
the circumstances, the priests were quite right to build up with the
tombstones of the dead a house of prayer for those about to die.
In course of time a house was ready for our reception: though not
so large as those of some of the great authorities, it was one of
the largest class of houses in Erzeroom, and a description of its
arrangements will convey an idea of what most of the others were. It
was situated in a very good position on the top of a hill, close to
the house of the Russian commissioner, and on the same side of the
town as those of the English and Russian consuls. From its small,
doubly-glazed windows we looked, over a narrow valley covered with
houses, on the walls and tower of the citadel, which stood on the hill
directly opposite. The walls and towers, and the principal gateway
of the town, with its two graceful minarets, to the left hand, and a
distant prospect of the great plain and the River Euphrates, and the
mountains over which we had traveled, to the right, completed our view,
which was, perhaps, the best enjoyed by any house in the place. Our
house, like most of the others, was built with great solidity, of
rough stone, with large blocks at the corners; the roof was flat,
and covered with green turf. The windows were small, like port-holes,
but the door was a large arch, through which we rode into the gloomy,
sepulchral-looking hall, out of which opened the stables on the right
hand, the kitchen, and offices, and some other rooms on the left,
while in front a dark staircase of square stones and heavy beams
looked as if it had tumbled through the ceiling, and gave access to
the upper floor. There was a little garden or yard under the windows,
where we planted vegetables, and in one part of which several English
dogs, two Persian greyhounds, and an Armenian turnspit, walked about
in the daytime. The railing between this and the garden part of the
yard was a triumph of art, accomplished by a Turkish guard, who turned
his sword into a plow-share when not wanted to look terrific. We had
also nineteen lambs, who grazed on the top of the highest part of the
house, where they were carried up every morning, except occasionally
when there was such a wind that they would be in danger of being blown
away. We had I know not how many sheep with large tails; these took
a walk every day with a shepherd, who led out all the sheep belonging
to the inhabitants of that part of the town. Every house having a few,
they are marked, and all come home every evening to their respective
houses, and go out again the next morning, and eat what they can get
upon the mountains. Our household contained, besides ourselves and
servants, one white Persian cat, with a spot on his back, and his tail
painted pink with hennah (this race, with long, silky hair falling to
the ground as it walks along, comes from Van); five pigeons, and one
hen, the rest having fallen victims to the rapacity of mankind; and a
lemming, [3] who lived in a brass foot-tub and ate biscuits. This last
beast was sadly frightened by a mouse which I put into his habitation
one day, and which made use of his back to jump out, after receiving
a severe bite in the tail. He generally slept all day, and took a
small walk in the tub in the evening.
All the building except the hall and stable had a garden on the roof,
that part only being two stories high. The kitchen and some of the
other rooms were lit by a skylight, the earth at the back of them
being on a level with their ceilings. The walls of the upper floor
were not exactly over those below, but were supported by immense beams,
some of which had given way, and the principal room leaned over to the
left frightfully. Those rooms which are lit by windows have two rows
of them one above the other, except the dining-room and ante-room,
which had only one row, too high from the floor to look out of,
but very convenient for looking into, from the upper garden and the
terrace of the next house. The rooms had all white-washed walls,
wooden flat ceilings curiously carved and painted. On the floors
there was blue cloth instead of carpets, and divans of red cloth. A
few chairs, and some lumbering deal tables, with covers on them,
at which we wrote, concluded our list of furniture and "genuine
effects." The great difficulty was the eating and drinking part of
the arrangements. Every thing except bread and meat came on horses
from Constantinople, and about one third of the bottles brought from
thence were usually broken. Glass, for the windows, was a curious and
expensive luxury, oiled paper being generally used, with a little
bit of real glass to peep out of in each, or sometimes only in one
window. Wood also was very dear, as there were no trees within a
distance of thirty hours. The climate is not too cold for the growth
of timber, I should think, for there were a few poplars in the yards
near the houses, but the people are too improvident to plant trees,
and, except some prodigiously large cabbages, horticulture is not
much practiced near the town.
The country houses of Armenia are constructed somewhat differently
from those of the towns. When a man wishes--I can not call it to
build a house, or erect a house, or set up a house, as none of these
terms are applicable--but when a house is to be constructed, the
following is the way in which it is set about. A space of ground is
marked out, perhaps nearly an English acre in extent; then the whole
space is excavated to the depth of about five feet: one part of the
excavation is set apart for the great cow-stable; this may be fifty
or one hundred feet long, and nearly as wide. Having got so far,
some trees are the next requisite; these trees being cut down, the
trunks are chopped into lengths of eight or nine feet, the general
height of the rooms, and are placed in two or four rows, to be used
as columns down the great stable; the larger branches, without being
squared or shaped, are laid across from pillar to pillar as beams;
the smaller branches are laid across these, the twigs on the top,
till the entire trees are used up; the twigs are sometimes tied
up in fagots, sometimes not: over this is spread some of the earth
that was excavated from below; this is well trodden down, then more
earth is added, and on the top of all is laid the turf which formed
the surface of the soil before it was moved. Round the stable, in
no particular order, smaller rooms are formed; if they are large,
their roofs are supported by columns like the stable. In a large
house there are often two stables. The space of ground taken up by
a rich man's house is prodigious, the turfed roof forming a small
field. The lesser rooms in this subterranean habitation are divided
from the stable and from each other by rough stone walls well filled up
with clay or mud; their ceilings are contrived by laying beams across
each other, two along and two across, in the form of a low pyramid,
so that the ceiling is a kind of low square dome: the smaller rooms
form store-rooms and apartments for the women. Each room has a rough
stone fire-place opposite the door; and in the roof, generally over
the door, there is one window about eighteen inches square, glazed
with a piece of oiled paper. Outside, these windows look like large
mole-hills, with a bit of plaster on one side surrounding the oiled
paper, or glass, which transmits the light. Inside, the window is
perceived at the end of a funnel, widening greatly toward the room,
and contrived so as to throw the light to the centre of the apartment,
opposite the fire-place, where a fire of tezek, or dried cow-dung
and chopped straw, is constantly smouldering. Over the chimney-piece
hangs an iron lamp of simple construction, which, with the help of
the fire, produces a dim light in the long nights of winter. There is
a divan, usually covered with most beautiful Koordish carpets, which
last forever, on each side of the fire-place; and large wooden pegs,
projecting from the walls, serve to hang up guns, pistols, cloaks,
and any thing else. Some of these rooms are rather roughly pretty
in appearance; the floors are covered with tekkè, a thick gray felt,
and, among smart people, Persian carpets are laid over the felt, their
beautiful colors producing a rich and comfortable effect. About half
way up the chimney is a wooden door or damper, which is opened and
shut by means of a string; and when it is very cold weather, and they
want to be snug and fusty down below, this door is shut, and the room
becomes as hot as an oven; the chimney does not rise more than two feet
above ground, and has a large flat stone on the top to keep the snow
from falling in, as well as the lambs and children; the smoke escapes
by apertures on the sides just below the coping-stone. The chimneys
look like toadstools from the outside, rising a little above the snow
or the grass which grows upon the roof. These subterranean habitations
are constructed, not on the side of a hill, but on the side of a gentle
slope; and all the earth excavated for the house is thrown back again
upon the roof in such a manner that on three sides there is often
no sign of any dwelling existing underneath. The entrance is on the
lower side of the slope, and there the mound is often visible, as it
is raised four or five feet above the level of the hill-side. There
are no fences to keep people off the roof, which has no appearance
different from the rest of the country. It is often only the dirt
opposite the doors, the cattle, and people standing about, which gives
information of a small village being present, particularly during the
eight months of snow, and ice, and intense cold, when no one stirs
abroad except for matters of importance. When a house is ruined and
deserted, these holes are sometimes rather dangerous, as the horse
you are riding may put his foot into an old chimney and break his
leg, there being very frequently no appearance of a habitation below,
while you are passing through the open, desolate country, of which the
roof seems to be a part. There are stories, perhaps founded on fact,
of hungry thieves lifting the flat stone off the top of the chimney,
and fishing up the kettle in which the supper was stewing over the
fire below with a hooked stick--a feat which would not be at all
difficult if the cook was thinking of something else, as sometimes
will happen even in the best-regulated families.
The most curious and remarkable part of the house is the great
ox-stable, which often holds some scores of cattle. Out of this
stable they do not stir, frequently, during the whole winter season,
and it is the breath and heat of these animals which warm the house;
besides which, they manufacture all the fuel for the establishment:
they are fed upon straw, bruised to small bits by the sledge which
is driven round the threshing-floor to separate the corn from the
husk after harvest time. In one corner of this huge, dim stable,
near the entrance door, a wooden platform is raised three feet
from the ground; two sides of it are bounded by the stone wall of
the house, in one of which, opposite the door, is the fire-place;
the other two sides of the square platform have open wooden rails
to keep off the cows. This original contrivance is the salemlik, or
reception-room, where the master sits, and where he entertains his
guests, who, as they stumble into the obscure den from the glare of
the sun shining on the snow outside, are received with a yell by all
the dogs, who live under the platform. This place is fitted up with
divans and carpets; arms and saddles hang against the walls; the
horses of the chief are tethered nearest to the rails, the donkeys
and cows further off. Among the horses there is always an immense
fat tame sheep; this is a universal custom in every stable in Turkey,
under or above ground. Among some of the Koordish tribes, a young wild
boar is kept in the stable with the horses--a remarkable custom among
Mohammedans, who consider the whole race of swine as unclean beasts;
this is the only case in which they are tolerated. A small flock of
other sheep are sometimes scampering about, or kept from doing so,
among the cows; chickens peck in the litter, and several grave cats
have their allotted places on the divans of the chief, his wife,
and others of his family. A vacant, that is, cowless space, is left
between the steps leading up to the platform and the entrance door
of the house; this part answers to the entrance hall, as man and
beast pass through it on coming in or going out, immediately before
the eyes of the master of the house. From hence a sloping passage,
about six feet wide, leads to the open air; it has an outer door at
the upper end, and an inner door below: this passage may be from ten
to twenty feet long. The outer door is a common strong wooden one,
but the inner doors all over the house are as singular as the rest of
the arrangements. The house-door is of the usual size for the cows and
horses to pass through, the others are not more than five feet high;
they are constructed in the following manner: the bare wooden valve
is first covered with ketché or felt, and on the inside the skin of a
sheep, with its legs and arms on, just in the shape in which it came
off the animal when it was skinned, being dyed red, is nailed over
the felt. On the other side of the door, down the middle, is a long
square pipe or box, in which hangs a heavy log of wood, attached to a
cord fixed to the upper part of the door-case, which keeps the door
shut, as it swings to again after it has been opened, and keeps out
the drafts, and keeps in the warm air generated by cows, fires, and
lamps, so that the atmosphere is always temperate within, while the
cold is such without that men are frozen to death if they stand still
even for a short time in the rigorous climate of an Armenian winter.