DOWN THE MURAD TO MELAZKERT [226]
The perfume of a hayfield, in which the mowers were busy, greeted our
approach to the town of Tutakh. It came as a refreshing change after
the dreary lava-sheets overgrown with fennel, and the stony paths,
down and up, across the valleys. Great rivers impress their dignity
upon their surroundings; and, although we failed to discover the
Murad until we were close upon it, the larger folds of the down-like
country, and the growing sense of space, appeared to indicate that we
were already near our goal. Twenty minutes before our arrival on the
outskirts of the settlement, the white waters were seen winding far
below us, at the foot of the hills. In the bare brown mountains from
which they had issued, curving towards them from the outlines in the
north, we recognised the distant horn of the crescent to which they
had pointed at Alkhes as the heights overlooking Tutakh.
Those brown slopes indeed belonged to the barrier which the Murad
pierces upon its egress from the plain of Alashkert. No trace of
stratified rock could be detected upon them; nor was Oswald, on the
following day, when he examined a section of the bank of the river,
successful in finding among the pebbles, embedded in the side of the
cliff, any examples which were not derived from an eruptive origin. The
face of the plain itself, through which the river wanders towards
the basin of Melazkert, has been flooded with sheets of lava, which
have probably flowed in a southerly direction, and which extend at
least as far as the right bank. Along the opposite margin rise grassy
heights, volcanic in character, and placed like an outer buttress in
front of the ridges of the Ala Dagh. These are succeeded by the lavas
of the Kartevin. Just below Tutakh the Murad enters a low gorge;
but the remainder of its course is spent in a wide, alluvial bed,
at the foot of rounded eminences on either shore. Almost exactly at
the point where the troubled ridges of the Kartevin Dagh commence
to sink into the plain of Melazkert, the heights on the right bank
roll away. And, a little lower down, the river reaches the trough
of the basin, which is about 450 feet lower than the level of Lake
Van. [227] There it changes direction with almost startling abruptness,
and flows off westwards through an expanse of even ground.
The country upon the right bank of the Murad, over an area which is
roughly limited by the town of Tutakh on the north, and by the villages
of Dignuk and Murian (on the Gopal Su) upon the south and west, would
appear to present features which do not widely differ from those of the
higher region we had just crossed. As we overlooked a portion of that
area from some of the loftier eminences which border the left bank,
we were confronted by the familiar shapes of grassy, treeless downs;
of terraces of lava or tuff sloping towards the river, of valleys
deeply cut in the barren soil. The single river which effects a
confluence through that region is the Kersik; it enters the Murad at
the foot of lofty cliffs. But the flowering yellow fennel was either
absent or less conspicuous; and its place was taken by a purple vetch,
of restful hue and delicate petals, climbing the hillsides, like a
heather, yet more intense.
It is interesting to compare this impression of the country, formed
during our journey along the river, with the conception of its
character already present in our minds before we had reached Tutakh. It
was while descending from the upland plain above the left bank of the
Kersik, as far north as the village of Alkhes, that we had for the
first time obtained a prospect from a comparatively low level over
the expanse in the direction of Sipan. We stood nearly at the bottom
of a wide valley through which trickled a little stream. Yet the view
towards that landmark was almost uninterrupted; we appeared, indeed,
to be crossing a gulf-like extension of the great plain from which
the mountain soars. As often as we became involved in the intricate
down country, while pursuing our easterly course to Tutakh, so, not
less often, we emerged upon similar openings, where the downs seemed
to tongue into the plain. The Kartevin Dagh was the only eminence
which in part screened the volcano; but it did not extend beyond a
portion of its westerly slopes.
A fierce sun had already browned the scanty herbage of the hillsides,
and at noon the thermometer registered 85° in the shade. We were
constrained to abandon our tent, and to seek the shelter of a stone
building, one of the few above-ground edifices in Tutakh. A spacious
room was placed at our disposal by the authorities, with thick walls
and a lofty ceiling, constructed of logs. A carpet of thick felt and
the gay trappings of the divan added an appearance of comfort to a
sense of coolness. But the carpet was overlying a layer of filthy hay,
and the divan was nothing better than a stage of mud and straw. The
place was indeed a hotbed for noxious insects; legions of fleas
continued and intensified the torments which had been interrupted
at the approach of night by swarms of flies. Our visitors in the
apartment--one might almost say our companions--were an officer
of police, a most intelligent individual, and the Colonel of the
Karapapakh Hamidiyeh. The former informed us among other matters that
the post to Erzerum is always carried by way of Karakilisa. Caravans
proceed in summer across the Kilich Gedik to Zeidikan, and so by Pasin
to Erzerum. Between Tutakh and Melazkert one has the choice of two
ways; one may follow either the left or the right bank. But the fords
lower down are said to be less reliable, and we were recommended to
proceed by the left bank. The colonel of Karapapakhs was attired in a
Circassian dress and spoke Russian fluently. He told me that his people
had emigrated from Zarishat (in the Kars-Kagyzman district) after the
last Russo-Turkish war. Their earlier seats had been in Daghestan. By
remote origin he asserted that they were pure Turks. They contribute
altogether three regiments to the Hamidiyeh, of which two are furnished
by Tutakh and by Karakilisa, and the third by the tribesmen of Sivas.
July 2. --The Murad opposite Tutakh had a width of a hundred yards;
but it was not deeper than two and a half feet. After crossing the ford
we proceeded along the left bank, sometimes winding over the westerly
slopes of the grassy eminences which screen the Ala Dagh, at others
following the alluvial flat in the bed of the river. Lavas, tuffs,
and dark volcanic sands were conspicuous on the heights and in the
valleys. Oswald observed the frequent introduction of a conglomerate,
consisting of well-rounded pebbles or blocks of lava, interbedded with
volcanic sands. It may denote that the lake, which filled the basin
of Melazkert, extended at one time to this region. A new landmark
rose in the north--the magnificent dome of the Kuseh Dagh; while,
among our old companions, Khamur could still be seen, and we were in
full view of Sipan and Bilejan. But neither the dreary downs on the
right bank of the river--our only prospect of any extent--nor the
bed of the river itself, with its pebble-strewn flats of alluvium,
afforded any refreshment to the eye. No restful groves cast shadows
across the sheen of the water, where, here and there, a flock was
browsing on the scanty herbage, or a herd of buffaloes wallowed in
the oozy mud. I was reminded of the bed of the Tigris below the town
of Diarbekr; and, indeed, the Murad flows through these plains of
Armenia with much the same appearance as that of its companion at
the head of the Mesopotamian plains. It is a slowly-flowing river;
[228] and it might, I suppose, be made navigable from Tutakh as far as
Karaogli. Locks would be required; but the lower region is so fertile
that, with better government, such works might prove remunerative.
We passed through several villages; but they are, for the most part,
mere hamlets. One of the largest was Gargalik. With the exception of
Baïndir, a Karapapakh settlement, they are inhabited by Sipkanli and
Hasananli Kurds. We did not meet a caravan; there were few wayfarers;
but from time to time an ill-miened Kurd, armed with a muzzle-loader,
rode by, taking stock of us as he passed. At Gargalik, where there is
a ford between two villages of this name, we were ushered into the
largest of the ant-hill tenements. A burly figure, richly dressed,
could just be discerned in the dim light, suffused over the cavernous
chamber from an aperture in the roof. The figure was seated on the
little daïs which, in such dwellings, divides the chamber from the
stable, and from which rise the wooden pillars that support the
roof. A strong odour from the horses and cattle, almost beside him,
vitiated the air. We waited for some little time while the devotee
bowed and muttered, or, with head upraised and lifted voice, uttered
the climax of his profession of faith. Then, after a brief silence,
he approached us, and received our hands, and welcomed us to his
abode. It was Ali Bey, son of the defunct Yusuf Pasha, and chief of
all Sipkanli Kurds. [229] It was evident that he had been apprised
of our approach, for he displayed three imperial decorations on
his breast. And he showed us a cigarette-case, of gold encrusted
with jewels, the gift of the Sultan, accompanied by an autograph
letter. As far as the Kartevin the inhabitants are Sipkanli; lower
down the villages are peopled by Hasananli Kurds.
A heavy shower--which was a rare occurrence--and the approach of
night decided us, when we were opposite the village of Hasuna, to
take shelter there and encamp. It is inhabited by Hasananli, who
described themselves as raya, or cultivators, and it is surrounded
by patches of cereals. Each head of a family owns his patch and his
animals. The men stand about and loiter in the grove of willows;
the women work incessantly from morn till night. On the following
day we mounted to one of the peaks of the Kartevin Dagh, which rises
immediately above the village. The purple vetch, and a shower of tiny
blossoms from the white gypsophila, varied the monotony of the arid
slopes with their boulders of lava. Flowering flax, the vivid green
of wheat, already in ear, softened the base of the ridge up which
we climbed. Nearing the summit, we came upon the yellow immortelles;
a little apple tree, bush-high, rose from the crevices in the crags
of the peak. This crest had an elevation of 7580 feet above the sea,
or of 2400 feet above the village. But the ridges on the north attain
a greater height, perhaps of several hundred feet. The Kartevin Dagh
appeared to us to be a radial mass, with a number of bold ridges and
deep valleys. It is entirely of eruptive volcanic origin.
The basin of Melazkert, with the plain at the foot of Sipan in the
direction of Patnotz, was unfolded, mile after mile, at our feet. From
the parapet upon which we stood a sharp ridge, with precipitous sides,
plunged at right angles into the level expanse. At its extremity
lies the village of Karakaya, on the right bank of a little river,
which loops along the plain, coming from Patnotz. We see it joining
the Murad; and we see the bend of the Murad, which, after receiving
this, the second of its considerable affluents below Tutakh, turns
westwards, and is soon lost to view. A dark speck, almost in the
foreground, at a little distance from the larger river, is recognised
as Melazkert. The plain of Patnotz is continuous with the plains of the
Murad, and both were covered by a single lake in no remote geological
period--a lake extending into the plain of Khinis. The appearance
of the expanse is not untrue to its origin; and it would seem as if
the waters had but recently receded from these gently-shelving and
boulder-strewn tracts. Around them rise the great volcanoes: Sipan,
seen from base to summit, and still robed in a mantle of snow;
Bilejan, the black mountain, with here and there a fleck of snow,
with the outline of the Nimrud crater emerging behind; Khamur, above
the region towards which the river is flowing; behind Khamur the
snow-field of Bingöl. We observe the low, white hills which join the
outlines of the two first-named masses, and which screen the lake of
Van. The marble peaks of the Akh Dagh rise with startling boldness;
and, further round, we follow the outline of the Mergemir. In that
direction the fields of lava with their yellow fennel are conspicuous
features in the scene. The circle is completed by the ridges of the Ala
Dagh, capped with shining snow. And, turning again towards the south,
we admire a small blue lake, reposing at the feet of Bilejan. The
snows of Taurus just emerge beyond Nimrud.
After regaining our encampment, we resumed our journey in the late
afternoon. Almost opposite the village, the heights on the right bank
recede, and describe a line of cliffs at right angles to their former
course. The country opens to the plain; but the site of Melazkert
was hidden by an escarpment on the left bank of the Patnotz river,
where a bed of lake-deposits falls away to the alluvial flats. The
track is seen winding over the crest of the bank, made conspicuous
by the white soil. The evening was far advanced as we approached
this high ground from the floor of fine sand, overgrown by bush and
clusters of iris, which fills the area between the two rivers. The
affluent, which we forded, was perhaps not wider than fifteen yards;
but the water was almost uniform in depth, and reached to our horses'
knees. Mounting the little ridge, we made our way over powdery soil,
and soon overlooked the dark mass of Melazkert. The light was failing
as we passed through the broken lines of ancient walls, near some
barracks alive with bugle-cries.
We were ushered into the principal room of a single-storeyed stone
building, through a dark passage, in which we groped our way. The
light of candles fell upon the cushions of a broad divan, and upon the
hale complexion of an old man with snow-white hair. He came towards
us with outstretched hands, while the chief of our escort introduced
us to the Kaimakam of Melazkert. His zaptiehs, to the number of six,
had already accompanied us for some distance; we had met them ranged in
line and presenting arms. Our host informed us that he was seventy-five
years of age, and that a new front tooth was coming in place of one
he had lost. He was a native of Bitlis. His sorrow was sincere that
he could not lodge us; the town did not possess a suitable house. He
therefore begged us to erect our tents in the ancient citadel, where
there was a fine site for a camp. We were soon proceeding thither,
over ground which sloped upwards to a ruinous cross-wall. The jet of
a fountain shone in the twilight from a recess beside the entrance,
whence we mounted to a spacious platform, backed by a tower and
encircled by walls. Tower and walls alike were massively built.
The moon rose above the tower, which screened the ghost-like Sipan,
from a richly mottled bed of cloud. It was a full moon, casting the
parapets into darkness, and whitening the roofs of the houses at our
feet. A little later, as we were preparing for sleep, the pale gold
surface of the orb displayed but a tiny crescent of light. It was
the shadow of our globe which was passing across the moon; but the
vision was rapidly lost in the bed of cloud.
It had scarcely become day when the deep voice of the venerable
Kaimakam was heard beside our tent. He had come to enquire after our
needs; and he promised to endeavour to obtain a turkey from one of
the Circassian villages in the plain. But when I asked whether he
were acquainted with some educated person, capable of indicating to
us the various objects of interest, and perhaps of connecting them
with the history of the town, his face became a blank, and he was
emphatic in declaring that, by Allah! no such individual existed in
Melazkert. But was there no school, no Armenian teacher? I pressed him,
but he spoke the truth when he answered in the negative. He added:
"All the people here are very little people, occupied by the pressing
needs of daily life. They have already forgotten what happened forty
years ago, and they will remember your visit for forty years. Beyond
these limits they have no knowledge whatever."
The Kaimakam was right; Melazkert is a heap of ruins, from which some
pygmies have collected the stones and built tenements. A squadron
of cavalry, quartered in the town, may lend a semblance of life;
but it is a deceptive semblance, for the place is dead.
We descended from the citadel at the eastern extremity of the town,
resolved to conduct a careful search. Let me enumerate in order,
proceeding from east to west, the ancient edifices that still
remain. All are built of the same black, basaltic lava which forms
the material of the towers and walls; but, as this lava is highly
scoriaceous in character, the stone cannot be properly dressed. The
architect has therefore had recourse to a more suitable agent for
the enrichments of his design; a calcareous rock has been brought
from a distance and inserted in the dark walls. In such calcareous
stone is carved the honeycomb ornament which fills the apex of the
arch in two niches on the southern front of a spacious but deserted
khan. It is a building in the fine old style, with a lofty and vaulted
roof; a square aperture in the centre of the roof admits light and
air. Adjoining the khan upon the west are placed the remains of the
most interesting monument, the church of Erek Khoran Astvatsatsin.
Its name, the three altars, is evidently derived from the three apses
which are a feature in the design. Yet most old Armenian churches
are built upon this pattern, if the name apse may be extended to the
lateral chapels. In the present case these chapels are almost as large
as the apse proper. The nave is separated from the broad aisles by two
rows of three pillars apiece; from the pillars spring pointed arches,
which appear to have supported a vaulted roof. But the roof has fallen
in; we could find no trace of a dome or tower; and the pillars on the
north side were strewn in pieces on the floor. The basal stones of
two of the columns are octagonal, and were probably taken from some
edifice of earlier date.
The interior has been faced with calcareous stone, admitting of fine
chiselling. A frieze of honeycomb pattern, and two niches with the
same ornament have been introduced into the apse. The floor of the apse
is, as usual, raised above the floor of the nave, and the face of the
daïs, so formed, is enriched with a relief of little arches, composed
of mouldings with geometrical designs. In the centre of each arched
space is the figure of a cross. Carved mouldings also adorn the font,
adjoining the more northerly of the two chapels. The exterior, which
displays the usual black lava, is without any interesting feature.
It was evident that the walls had once been covered with frescos;
traces of this form of decoration were found on the capitals, and a
few of the larger subjects might still be recognised. In the apse is
portrayed the figure of Christ receiving baptism from St. John. The
faces of the walls dividing the apse from the lateral chapels are
devoted to secular subjects. On the one we discovered the head, and
part of the figure of a king, wearing a gold crown. His left hand
rested on the richly-chased scabbard of his sword; his right supported
a sceptre with a globe. The fresco on the other face was almost
obliterated; but a crown and a portion of a head, probably that of a
queen, were conspicuous among the faded colours. Both heads rested on
golden halos. One can scarcely doubt that these portraits are those of
the founders of this church, which was evidently the royal chapel. I
copied with difficulty the following almost illegible inscription,
placed by the side of the king:--[Old Armenian Inscription]. Such is
all that remains of this pleasing piece of architecture; the interior
has an extreme length of sixty-five feet and a breadth of a little
over forty feet.
An almost similar edifice is that which is named Surb Sargis; it
may have been the general town church (length of interior, sixty-six
feet; breadth, thirty-nine feet). It is situated in the portion of the
fortress furthest removed from the citadel, and not far from the south
wall. It is still employed as a place of worship, but is maintained
in a filthy state. The two rows of three pillars are still standing;
and one of the pillars is composed of a slab-shaped monolith, engraved
with an elaborate Armenian cross. It is evident that it was imported
from some other place. The present roof is a rude structure of logs,
quite flat, and concealing the features of the former design. The
altar-piece in the apse appeared to us to be the old one; but its
effect was spoilt by daubs of staring colour. An altar of primitive
pattern, composed of a slab of stone, resting horizontally upon a stone
column, was standing in the southern side chapel. A little sacristy
adjoins the similar chapel on the north, projecting from the outer
wall of the church. Abutting on the western front of this sacristy,
and extending along the remainder of this outer wall, is placed a
small and independent chapel, which repeats the same design. It is
known under the name of Arab Kilisa, or church of the Arabs; by which
term I presume that the Nestorian Christians are denoted. It is now
a mere ruin.
A building of later date than these churches, but no doubt the
outcome of a period of comparative prosperity, is the mosque which
is placed just beneath the citadel, and which reminds one of similar
structures in Bitlis. A nave and two aisles, with two pillars apiece;
a low central dome, pointed arches and vaulted ceilings--such are
the features of a design which is evidently, to a large extent,
a copy by Mohammedans of the Christian architecture. The interior,
as well as the pointed arch over the entrance, is built of blocks of
pink and black volcanic stone; the outer walls are of faced lava. The
recess of the altar is inlaid with white marble. Adjoining the mosque
is a medresseh or college. The mosque is well kept up.
We spent nearly two whole days in Melazkert, visiting the remains
of the former splendour of the place and occupied by drawing out
the plan which accompanies this chapter. We estimated the length
of the city at 750 yards, and its breadth at 500 yards. The former
measurement was taken from the tower in the citadel to a tower in the
walls at the opposite extremity. Both the site, and the character and
disposition of the fortifications remind one strongly of Trebizond;
and it would be a matter of great interest to determine the nature
of the connection to which the similarity of design may have been
due. Melazkert is built upon a flow of lava, a feature of little
importance in the general configuration of the plain; but this lava
sheet descends to the alluvial flats about the Murad in much the same
manner as the site of Trebizond shelves to the sea. Like the city by
the Euxine, the Armenian fortress is flanked on two sides by ravines;
these ravines are indeed flatter than those of its counterpart;
but the platform which supports the citadel and palace is 100 feet
higher than the trough of the ravine on the north. There are similar
little streams trickling along in either hollow; and a similar double
line of walls, with towers at intervals, encircles the area of the
fortified town. Suburbs there may have been; but they have long since
disappeared; the cemeteries are placed outside the walls. The solid
octagonal tower at the extreme south-east end of the citadel may quite
probably have served as the model for the tower of John the Fourth,
at Trebizond. Indeed, could we see this site under the luxuriance of
the Kolchian foliage, the resemblance would at once appeal to the
eye. The only trees at Melazkert are a few willows; but springs of
cold, clear water well up from the ground.
So far as we could judge from a hasty examination, the Murad may at one
time have flowed quite near the walls; but the bridge of the mediæval
city is at least two miles west of the town. The road is taken over low
and marshy ground, and crosses a side torrent of considerable volume,
when quite near the bridge. This torrent is said to be derived from
springs in the plain; it eats its way through a lava stream. The
gorge is spanned by the single pointed arch of an ancient bridge--a
structure so massive that it has resisted destruction, and still rears
intact its elegant facing of pink and black volcanic stone. Worse
fortune has attended the noble structure which once joined the banks
of the Murad. Of its thirteen or more piers only four are standing;
some have rolled over and compose masses that defy the stream. On
those that remain you admire the exquisite masonry, and the skilful
variation of black with pink stone. The arches are much pointed,
and are close together; the bridge describes a curve down stream. On
the opposite margin we remarked the foundations of an ancient road,
underlying the grass on the hillside. At the present day a road does
not exist in the country, and the river is crossed by fords.
Indeed the city presents a strangely pathetic spectacle of fallen
greatness, of a culture which has disappeared--more touching by
the contrast with the blank of the present, by the sufficiency and
eloquence of the monuments that remain. We are by them enabled to
reconstruct the splendour of the citadel, which was perhaps the palace;
the stateliness of the double walls with their picturesque towers;
the frescos of the churches, the magnificent bridge, the broad, paved
road. An Armenian genius produced these works, and a Turk destroyed
them. Now only some forty Armenian families grovel among the ruins of
a past which they ignore. A few small shops, some kept by Armenians,
a few by Kurds, dispense Manchester cottons and some of the necessaries
of life. There is not a house that is not built out of the remains of
the old town. The little windows are screened with paper or bits of
calico. The Kaimakam cannot tell you the number of the inhabitants. His
clerk is ill, and he himself has no idea of the number; yet they are
not so very many to count. It is possible that he is dissembling; yet
he is very ignorant; he laughs at our notion of climbing Sipan. He
says that, years ago, during the course of an exceptional season,
when the summit had become almost free of snow, one man was said to
have reached the top. One can see that it is the snow which appeals
to their doubts and raises their fears. What life you see around you
is feeble and squalid--wicked, even, in a small way. And it seems as
if the storks, which lend sanctity to the decaying towers, were the
incarnation of the grave, sad thoughts that rise in the mind.
The history of Melazkert, such as we see the city in these ruins,
appears to be little better than unknown. We turn in vain to the
pages of Saint Martin or of Ritter even for a few cardinal facts. If
the story of the empire of the Grand Comneni, as unravelled by
the labours of Fallmerayer, still remains in the vivid language of
its illustrious exponent a phantom picture, lacking the reality of
life, then the mediæval kingdom of the Armenian kings who reigned
in Melazkert may be described as but the shadow of a shade. Their
capital occupied the site of one of the oldest of Armenian cities,
and derived its name from Manavaz, the son of the mythical Hayk. [230]
It was possessed by princes of this name during the Arsakid period,
tracing their descent to the progenitor of the Armenian race. [231]
Melazkert was known to the Byzantines as an independent city; but,
like Ani, it fell during the eleventh century to the arms of Alp
Arslan. The same century witnessed the defeat of the Byzantine Cæsar
by the Seljuk conqueror in the neighbourhood of its walls. The fate
of Ani appears to have been repeated on the banks of the Murad, for
the city can never have recovered under its Mohammedan rulers. At
the present day the Armenians, to whom it owed prosperity, have been
almost driven away from the neighbourhood. At Hasuna we observed one of
their deserted graveyards; and again another between that village and
the town. These and the crumbling towers and churches of the ancient
fortress are the melancholy landmarks of the progressive ruin of the
Armenian inhabitants. [232]