FROM BITLIS TO MUSH--MUSH
At twenty minutes past eight o'clock on the morning of the 25th of
November we set out for the neighbouring town of Mush. It is the
capital of a sanjak, or larger administrative division, belonging
to the vilayet of Bitlis. It is situated on the further side of the
wall of mountains which divide the watersheds of the Tigris and the
Euphrates, and at a distance by road from the provincial capital of
rather over fifty miles. You retrace your steps towards the valley
of Bor and the telegraph wires, in order to cross by an easy and
almost imperceptible ascent to the volcanic plateau on the western
side of Lake Van. The lavas from Nimrud, and perhaps from lesser
volcanic fissures near the base of the Kerkür Dagh, have levelled
the inequalities of the ground in this direction, and have risen,
as it were, to the rim of the basin in which the tributaries of the
Tigris have their source. Indeed, as you diverge from the valley on
a northerly course through a side valley or opening in the hills, you
skirt the margin of a shallow stream, an affluent of the Bitlis Chai,
which has its origin on the very lip of the volcanic plateau. We made
our way up the current babbling over the rocks, through a bleak but
comparatively open scene. On our right was an ancient khan in a ruinous
condition, of lesser dimensions than the one on the road from Van to
Bitlis which we had already passed. In its neighbourhood the track
bifurcates, one branch maintaining a northerly direction, and the
other inclining a little eastwards in the direction of Tadvan. Sipan
now came in view on our right front, seen from the summit to the
middle slopes above the outline of the plateau. A little later, we
stood upon the actual floor of this table surface, at an elevation
of 800 feet above the higher quarters of the town of Bitlis.
It was ten o'clock. I called a halt, and took a photograph of the
Kerkür Dagh, which rose in front of us, hiding Nimrud (Fig. 150). You
just obtain a peep of the crater of the giant volcano on the west
of that bold elevation. We could not discover traces of a crater on
Kerkür, which appeared to compose an isolated mass. The level ground
upon which we stood extended in both directions, towards the west and
towards the east; but the configuration of this high land was such
as to conceal completely the waters of Lake Van. We now commenced a
more westerly course, and in another hour had passed the Kerkür Dagh
and were in full face of Nimrud (Fig. 151). The heights of the Kerkür
are seen on the extreme right of my illustration, descending by bold
bastions to the steppe. After a second halt we arrived upon the edge of
the plateau, where it overhangs the great plain of Mush. We had been
walking or trotting along for a space of nearly an hour, excluding
stoppages, from the point at which my first photograph was taken.
The prospect from this position was at once far-reaching and
instructive. On our right hand, a few miles off, rose the caldron of
Nimrud from the table surface upon which we stood. Behind us there was
nothing but the undulating steppe. Our barometers were now sensible
of a slight decline in elevation--a decline of about 350 feet. We
were placed at a level of 5500 feet; abruptly before our eyes the
ground fell away to the head of the plain, 1000 feet below. The
appearance of the plain of Mush recalled our view from the slopes
of Aghri Dagh over the district of Alashkert. Both depressions are
in fact the beds of former lakes, to which the mountains descend
in bold promontories. On that occasion we were overlooking the
breadth of an even area; to-day we were commanding the length. And
what a curious commencement of the plain that feeds the Euphrates,
this colossal dam, 1000 feet in height and several miles across! The
boundaries of the depression are, on the north, the train of Nimrud,
which extends for a short distance towards the west. Further on, the
line is continued by a range of lofty hills, which, as we looked,
extended across the horizon, their summits topped with snow. The
Kurdish chain contributes the southern and continuous barrier. Our
course was indicated by a distant headland of that southern border,
bearing about west-north-west.
The descent to the plain occupied nearly an hour, and it was one
o'clock before we were again on level ground. The first steps of the
declivity led us past a little village, and along a torrent which
contributes its waters to the Euphrates. The name of Morkh is applied
both to the hamlet and to the stream. Looking backward, we observed
a little conical crater on the flank of Nimrud, resembling a boil,
and facing the Kerkür. Eruptive volcanic stones were strewn upon
our path. Lower down we threaded our way through some low bush of
oak. When we reached the head of the plain, a hill mass of no great
height, and evidently of volcanic origin, rose between us and the
descending train of Nimrud. We could see the trees of the Kurdish
village of Norshen, beneath the mountains of the southern border,
and scarcely more than half-a-mile away.
In less than half-an-hour we arrived at a handsome mausoleum, standing
in the midst of an ancient cemetery, and now fallen into a ruinous
state. It was circular in shape. I was not aware at the time of the
existence in this neighbourhood of the spring of which Mr. Ainsworth
speaks. [145] But at Erzerum I learnt that I had passed by it, and was
made acquainted with an interesting theory of its origin. It is said
that a shepherd, pasturing his flocks on the slopes of Nimrud, happened
to lose his staff, which was weighted with a purse, in the waters that
collect in the caldron of that great volcanic mass. A little later the
same staff was found on the bank of the stream which issues from this
well. Such an occurrence is not improbable on a priori grounds. It
is only necessary to recall the connection generally accepted as
subsisting between the pool on the summit of the Little Ararat and
the Sirdar's well in the valley at its feet. While in Erzerum I was
also given a copy of the Arabic inscription on the mausoleum just
described. It records that it is the tomb of a certain emir, Karanlai
Agha, who died in the year of the Hegira 689, or of our era 1290. [146]
Our mid-day stage was the Kurdish village of Gotni, which we reached
at two o'clock. It is situated at the foot of the southern border
range. With the greatest difficulty we obtained some hay for the
horses and a little milk for ourselves. My Swiss had gone in pursuit
of the grey colt with the baggage and provisions, and had ended by
losing his way. He did not appear before we were all very anxious
about him; but the Dutch cheese and white loaves, a present from the
missionaries, were not less relished because they arrived after our
scanty meal. This was the first village inhabited by Mohammedans
in which I was allowed to photograph the women. I obtained this
favour by dint of considerable cajolery and judicious presents to
the elders and to the ladies themselves. But my success cost me dear
during the subsequent journey, and was one of the causes of our bad
treatment at Mush. One of my models was a damsel of no little beauty--a
full-blooded, strapping girl. It was evident that she was the belle
of the whole settlement, and she was certainly an exception and a
contrast to the lank creatures who were her comrades (Fig. 152). [147]
The zaptiehs spoke of the women of Gotni as little addicted to prudery,
and, indeed, as amiable sinners. They told me that in exchange for a
mirror or kerchief, purchased for ten paras in the bazars, they were
in the habit of receiving the supreme favours of these fair ones; and,
once contracted, the alliance could always be resumed. A feature of
the bargain, upon which they did not fail to lay emphasis, was that
their companion provided them with food during their stay.
Proceeding at four o'clock, we arrived in half-an-hour at the
promontory which had been our point of course. We were obliged to
cross the neck of this rocky cape, in order to avoid a marsh. Nor was
the surface of the plain less boggy to which we descended--such is
the neglect or inability on the part of the natives to profit by the
natural advantages so lavishly bestowed. We were obliged to hug the
headlands of the southern barrier for some considerable time. When at
last we struck into the open plain on a more north-westerly course,
the village which was our goal proved to be completely destitute both
of barley and of hay. We were therefore escorted by a peasant to a
neighbouring settlement, in the recesses of the spurs. It consisted
of some thirty miserable tenements, of which ten belonged to Armenian
families and twenty to Kurds. No grain was possessed by this village,
but, after much wrangling, a little barley was produced. This sufficed
to feed the horses, and we decided to spend the night there; the name
of the place was Zirket.
But which of these underground hovels was the least repugnant as
a lodging for the night? The first I entered displayed the flicker
of a fire of dried manure, and was almost filled by the dim forms
of cattle. But I could hear a human cough and the wheezing of sick
people; and, as I advanced, I stumbled upon a prostrate figure. It
was muffled in a ragged shawl, and I could not see the features;
when I touched it on the bare feet it did not move. No better fortune
attended a visit to a neighbouring hut; it was more lofty, but it was
tenanted by a huddled group of women, one of whom was unable to move
from the ground. Returning to my first choice, I ordered the cattle
to be ejected, and the sleeper to be taken to an adjacent stable. We
slept beside our horses and were attacked in force during the night
by a formidable army of minute enemies.
The ride to Mush on the following day occupied four-and-a-half marching
hours. Our average course was a little north of west. The plain in
the neighbourhood of our station was some five to six miles broad,
and villages became both larger and more frequent. The same line
of high hills still composed the northern barrier, and the Kurdish
mountains that on the south. Ice lay upon the puddles during the
early morning, but was soon melted by the sun. The marshes continued
but were less obstructive; they afford food to large flocks of
wild geese. The villages in the plain appeared to be for the most
part Armenian, but some Armenian villages are in part inhabited by
Kurds. [148] We halted for a meal in one of the largest of these,
the Armenian settlement of Khaskeui (Fig. 153). It is a typical
Armenian dwelling-place, resembling a series of ant-hills; but my
illustration does not comprise the knot of venerable trees which
adjoin it, an unwonted landmark in the expanse. In Khaskeui there are
no less than 300 houses and 2 churches, besides ruins of more ancient
sanctuaries. But the school had been closed by order of Government,
and only one per cent of the peasants could read or write. I found the
priest an ignorant man;--poor fellow, he had been lately imprisoned
on a summons for withholding taxes. If only Armenian patriots would
see to the reform of the rural clergy, what an inestimable harvest the
race would reap! The inhabitants of this village were a good example
of Armenian peasantry--such broad shoulders, and massive hips! They
were fairly well-to-do, some in easy circumstances (Fig. 154). One
is impressed by their resolute look.
Khaskeui has an open site on the floor of the spacious plain, while
Mush nestles under the wall of the southern range. Our course was
again directed to one of the headlands of the barrier, bearing about
west-north-west. Proceeding at a rapid trot, we reached our landmark
in three-quarters of an hour, and, after doubling it, turned due
west. We were riding across the fork of one of the deepest and
most spacious of the valleys formed by the spurs descending from
the chain. High up on the hillside above the head of this opening
we admired the position of the famous cloister of Arakelotz Vank--a
walled enclosure surmounted by a conical dome. [149] The windows of
that eyrie must command an immense prospect, for the chain of hills
had declined to less significant proportions on the opposite margin
of the plain. We ourselves could see the shining summit of Sipan
above their long outline. They almost die away at a point about due
north of this position, but are soon succeeded by a still more lofty
and snow-capped range. The valley is dotted with several villages,
and gives issue to a stream called the Arakh. Where we crossed it,
the water was trickling over a stony bed which must have been nearly
a quarter-mile broad. As we closed the view of this valley, we passed
the large Armenian village of Tirkavank, on the side of the hill.
But this recess was no sooner passed than it was succeeded by another
inlet of this coast of hills, backed by snow-clad heights. Scarcely
less spacious and not less fair than the valley of the Arakh, that
of the Garni Chai is enclosed by two protecting promontories, opening
towards the expanse of plain. At the head of the western arm, a rocky
spur projects into the bay at an angle from the promontory. Increasing
in height as it proceeds, it takes the appearance of a rounded
hill, rising isolated from the floor of the valley. Screened by
the headlands from the winds, yet in full possession of the plain,
it is indeed an enviable site. The hill is encircled by tiers of
houses--horizontal lines of flat mud roofs--which lead up the eye,
like steps, to the vaulted summit. In former times a castle rose
from that proud eminence--probably a work of the Armenian Middle
Ages. It has been razed to the ground, and the simple houses usurp
the space once embellished by the city's crown. We were soon within
the precincts of the town of Mush.
It was evident that our arrival had been expected. Groups of people
were collected in the street up which we passed, and were occupying
posts of vantage along the route. I have little doubt that their
interest in us was due to the attitude of the authorities towards
our visit, rather than to curiosity on the part of such semi-animate
individuals to see a European enter their town. The presence of the
chief of the police, attired in a new greatcoat, from the brass buttons
of which flashed the device of the crescent, was alone sufficient
to attract a crowd. He stood in front of his office, facing the main
street, and saluted us gravely as we wound up the steep ascent over
an irregular pavement towards the central bazar. In the foreground
of the picture before our eyes rose a massive minaret with a spacious
gallery; and we admired the rambling design, composed of the admixture
of yellow and brown blocks of stone, which varied the surface of
the circular column of masonry. It belongs to the mosque of Aladdin
Bey. The humble houses straggle down the side valleys, from which the
stalk-like trunks of poplars rise. Looking backwards, the eye rests
upon the green of tobacco fields in the main valley; and we noticed
that the large leaves had already been gathered, leaving the stems
of the plant almost bare. The gaunt sticks were preparing to wither
under the first severe frost. Little foliage remained upon the trees
in the gardens, and the poplars were already stripped of leaves.
The dwellings are constructed of rubble-stone, faced with mud. Some are
whitewashed; but in the case of the greater number lapses of the mud
coating reveal the rudeness of the structure behind. The flagstones in
the bazar were swimming in filth of every description as we picked our
way through the accumulation of heterogeneous objects--bullock carts,
piles of straw, the skins of slaughtered animals with the entrails
gathered up within the skin. The bazar of Mush is a mere aggregate of
miserable open booths, clustering about the base of the minaret. The
richest merchant--an Armenian--owned a stall which was not much larger
than that of a costermonger. In this booth we observed the figure of a
general in blazing uniform, squatted on the boards and gossiping with
the shopman. It was none other than the Commandant of the troops. The
place was crammed with sightseers, clad in red and blue cottons; their
loose shirts, open to the waist, revealed the breasts of the men and
the bosoms of the women, in whom bad diet, unwholesome tenements, and
ceaseless toil had destroyed the graces natural to their sex. It was
painful to see such a collection of miserable human beings; and the
lank features and dishevelled locks of the old women haunted us for
many a day. From the bazar we were escorted to the government house,
in order to be received by the Mutesarrif or chief civil official of
the sanjak of Mush.
A wooden staircase, reeking with filth and scattered with the debris
of the tumble-down edifice, gave access to the first floor. A
vagrant, nondescript crowd thronged the stairs and landing, from
which a thick curtain, drawn aside, allowed us to pass into an inner
apartment. Seated on the divan before us were several figures, to one
of which--a fat old man with a fez and a shabby European coat--we were
introduced as being the Mutesarrif. His coarse features, abnormally
large ears, and the heavy lobes of the wrinkled under-lids of his
dull eyes, prepossessed us against him at first sight. His stomach had
become distended with continual sitting, and the scanty hair upon his
head was quite white. A smart young man, wearing a fez, was seated upon
his left hand, and a mollah with a white turban and dark robes upon his
right. The first was his secretary; and the second--a thin-featured,
little man, who never moved a muscle during the whole interview--was
no less a dignitary than the Mufti of Mush. On either side of this
central group were serried the other notables, members of the Mejlis.
Even the Mutesarrif himself appeared afraid to utter a word. No topic
of conversation would unloose their tongues. Why had we come? What
untowardness would result from our visit?--that was the question buried
in those gloomy souls. I elicited the interesting fact that not one of
them had ever heard of the code of Napoleon. When I mildly remarked
that it was said to be the civil law of Turkey, the Mutesarrif broke
in with the observation that he now remembered to have been told that
there was such a code.
Bystanders eyed us curiously as we issued from this visit, and I quite
expected to be escorted to the jail. We were agreeably surprised to
be conducted to the best house in the place--standing by itself in
a sunny situation overlooking the valley on the east. I expressed a
desire to go to the bath. The answer was that in a couple of hours
it would be at our disposal. When we arrived, there was not a single
soul within the building except a couple of attendants. Incense had
been burnt in the really spacious and comfortable chambers, which
were newly swept and fragrant and clean. We were ministered to by an
Armenian boy of unusual comeliness--the curves about his sash made
it difficult to distinguish him from a girl. When we stepped forth
into the night we were awaited by a muffled policeman, who took us
home and joined in the circle of our visitors until we retired to rest.
The chief commissary of police with the new coat and the brass
buttons--office and uniform modelled on a Russian pattern--had a busy
time during our stay. Happily he was by nature an agreeable man; but
he was fresh from Constantinople. His poor brain had been crammed
with all those irksome regulations which have been spread over the
Russian Empire and a great part of Europe, presumably from a Prussian
source. An Englishman, it is true, should perhaps endure them with
complacency; for does he not owe his wealth and his colonies to
the prevalence of this cancer among his neighbours, and to his own
complete freedom from the disease? Passports were examined at Mush
for the first time since our arrival in Turkey--a country in which
the traditionally liberal treatment of travellers is gradually giving
place to measures of exclusion. My letters of introduction were read
with mingled feelings--disappointment that they rendered necessary
very special and delicate treatment, and relief that they clearly
placed the responsibility for our visit upon officials in a high place.
We were rarely left alone--not even in our own apartment; for we
slept and ate in the principal room of the residence allotted us,
from which it was impossible to exclude the master of the house
and his companions; and the presence of a single visitor was always
accompanied by the entrance of the commissary or his adjutant. One of
the two was never absent from our side. The anxiety of such a novel
charge sat heavily upon both of them; both looked quite worn out by
the time we were ready to depart.
Early on the morning following our arrival we were quite ready to
sally forth; but the lesser official was already astir, and besought
us to postpone our walk until he should have apprised his chief. The
commissary was not long in coming, his toilette half completed; and
no sooner had he saluted us than his sleepy eyes fell on the camera
case, and he enquired what it might contain. A camera! had we received
an iradeh from the Sultan to take photographs of what we saw? All
photography was forbidden unless such a permit were forthcoming. So
we abandoned the camera with good grace.
Well, whither shall we direct our steps? Let it be to the
Rushdiyeh--the Turkish official school. We are informed that the
building is under repair. It is actually in a ruinous condition,
and no such institution really exists. Then to the remains of the
old castle.--There is no such thing as an old castle.--Well, to
the site upon which it stood. The climb through the town is really
quite worth while. The view from the summit of the hill is extremely
pleasing--the bold walls of the valley expanding to the level plain,
the mountainous background soaring upwards and white with snow, and
in the folds of this expanse the little hill of Mush--a mere button
upon which you stand. The neck which connects this eminence with the
arm of the main valley is dotted over with the headstones of deserted
graveyards, seeming from a distance like bleaching bones. You look down
into the glen between the two elevations through which trickles the
Garni Chai. In its lap lies a white edifice which is indicated as the
barrack, and towards its head you admire the form of a second minaret,
resembling its companion in the bazar. The summit of the hill is flat;
and, although the houses rise up to the margin, the platform itself is
still bare. The debris of the old castle are strewn upon the grass,
but not one stone remains upon another. Most have been taken away as
building material.
Let us proceed to the school of the Armenian Catholics.--Yes,
certainly, if such be our desire.--We wind down the town towards the
valley on the east, and arrive before the enclosure of a newly-erected
church. That is the Catholic Church;--but where is the school? It is
situated just opposite;--oh! but it is closed.--Certainly, the school
is closed.--The church at least is open; let us pass in.--Certainly,
and we enter the building. The first to enter is the commissary,
followed by four policemen in military dress. The bleak walls of the
brand-new edifice echo the clank of their boots. A single figure is
present--the black-robed figure of a priest; and it crouches on the
high altar, visibly trembling, such as we may imagine some male Hypatia
of olden times. While I greet the priest from the doorway, a soldier
walks across, and dares the wretched creature to address a word to
us. On our part there is nothing to be done but to keep our tempers.
A very interesting church!--Now let us visit the remaining
churches. That building close by is the principal church of the
Gregorian Armenians; it is withal a very poor place. The door is open;
we have been expected; not a soul is present. Pursuing our way, we
meet an Armenian priest--a young, broad-shouldered, open-faced man. He
seems inclined to speak, so we ask him how many churches there may be
in Mush. He answers, seven; but the commissary had said four. A soldier
addresses him in Kurdish; the poor fellow turns pale, and remarks that
he was mistaken in saying seven; there cannot be more than four. I
turn to the commissary and ask him to take us to the teacher in the
school of the United Armenians--a philanthropic institution with
some schools in the provinces and headquarters in the capital. The
reply comes that he is absent from town. The school is enjoying a
holiday. There can be no doubt that they have all received orders to
close their schools; but it is not probable that many schools remain
in such a place. The Protestants have closed theirs.
Such are a few of our experiences during our short sojourn at Mush. We
were not merely shadowed by the police, but prevented from enjoying any
of the profit and pleasure which a traveller seeks in return for all
his trouble and expense. To protest to the Mutesarrif would have been
worse than useless; and the policy of the British Foreign Office is so
weak in these countries that we lose the advantages of our Consular
system. When I called upon the chief official to take farewell, I
congratulated him upon the possession of such an energetic commissary,
and begged that he would recommend him in the despatch which no doubt
he was preparing for a suitable reward. His efforts had, indeed, been
completely successful; we had scarcely communicated with a single soul
in Mush. I thanked him for the politeness with which our seclusion
had been effected; and the old man rose, and accompanied me to the
door.... What iniquities had they been committing and were desirous
of screening? Terror, the most abject terror, was in the air. We
drank it in from the very atmosphere about us--a consuming passion,
like that of jealousy--a haunting, exhausting spectre, which sits
like a blight upon life. Such a settled state of terror is one of the
most awful of human phenomena. The air holds ghosts, all joy is dead;
the sun is black, the mouth parched, the mind rent and in tatters.
Mush is the most mis-governed town in the Ottoman Empire. Ever
since the inauguration of closer relations between Europe and these
countries, the testimony of the few Europeans who have realised and
noted such facts bears out this judgment almost to the letter. It is
less easy to assign any definite cause. The disease has become chronic;
and its symptoms are so familiar that the inhabitants have grown
callous to their condition. It is only Damadeans, and such imported
members of the community, that such deeply-rooted evils impress.
The Mussulman majority are probably almost all of Kurdish origin;
and since the enrolment of the Hamidiyeh irregular cavalry they
openly profess the name of Kurd. The slopes of the hills around Mush
are covered with vineyards and gardens; and in each garden there is a
small, two-storeyed house, resembling from a distance a scattering of
bathing-machines. The Mussulmans retire to these gardens during summer,
and superintend their cultivation. The whole winter through they sit
idle in Mush. There they consume a great quantity of tobacco; and all
this tobacco is contraband. It is their custom to buy their wives,
the best-looking and best-born women sometimes fetching not less
than a hundred pounds. All are obstinate in their belief that it was
the Prussians who enabled the Russians to conquer Turkey in the last
war. Their hope is that this assistance will not be forthcoming in the
future, and they are therefore confident of success in the conflict
which they foresee. And they pit their Hamidiyeh against the Cossacks.
The Armenian minority are artisans, smiths, makers of everything that
is manufactured in Mush. They are carpenters, plasterers, builders. All
the keepers of booths which we passed in the bazar plainly belonged to
this race. I am unable to supply any reliable statistics for the town
itself; but my impression was that the population was certainly less
than 20,000 souls. In the cloister of Surb Karapet it was believed
that Mush contained nearly 7000 houses, of which 5000 were occupied
by Mussulman and 1800 by Armenian families. Although this estimate
is certainly too high, it would appear that the population has been
increasing. In 1838 Consul Brant speaks of 700 Mussulman families
and 500 Armenian, which would give a total of not more than some
6000 or 7000 souls. [150] Thirty years later, Consul Taylor, who also
visited the place, computed the inhabitants of Mush and the vicinity,
not including the plain, as numbering 13,000 souls, 6000 Armenians
and the rest Mussulmans. [151] In the plain of Mush the Armenians are
in a large majority, the official figures for the caza allowing them
a total of 35,300, as against 21,250 Mussulmans. Some 2500 of their
number are Catholics and about 500 Protestants. [152]
The origin of the name of Mush is wrapped in obscurity. [153] It
formed the capital of the old Armenian province of Taron under the
rule of the princely family of the Mamikoneans. [154] At the present
day it contains two considerable mosques with minarets, four churches
of the Gregorian Armenians and one of the Catholics. The Gregorian
churches are named Surb Marineh, Surb Kirakos, Surb Avetaranotz, and
Surb Stephanos. None are of any size or of much interest. There are
three fine khans in the neighbourhood of the bazar. Our host informed
us that not less than thirty-six Hamidiyeh regiments had been enrolled
in the sanjak; but he added that none had yet been constituted in
the sanjaks of Bitlis, Sert and Genj. These four sanjaks compose
the vilayet of Bitlis. The first portion of his statement was almost
certainly false, even on a nominal basis.