AKHLAT
July 15.--We have spent eight days at Akhlat. They have been days
which we shall always remember with delight. Our surroundings, our
occupations, the little comforts of our daily life, have been all
that we could desire.
We are encamped in an orchard by the side of the lake. The water
plashes against rocks, at the foot of a well-defined bank, some twenty
yards from our tent. We look across a floor of green, dappled with
shade and sunshine, through the varied intervals of the grove of fruit
trees, beneath the perfect foliage, to a field of light, with changing
colour and ever-changing appearance, whence a freshness is wafted
towards us across the flowering grass. Such oases are not, indeed,
infrequent in Asia, where they derive enhancement not only from the
contrast which they offer to the general treelessness of the land,
but also from their special climate--the soil cooled by irrigation,
and the leaves developed to a perfection with which we are unfamiliar
in the West. Luscious clover, white and red, purple vetch with a
delicate perfume, the long, trailing stalks and pale mauve flowers
of chicory, luxuriate on the damp soil. The cherries were small and
yellow when we arrived; now they hang in bright red clusters before
our tent. An old walnut tree protrudes its gnarled branches and thick
foliage over the water on the margin of the grove; and two rollers,
which have built their nest in an inaccessible crevice of the trunk,
flit to and fro, in search of food for their young. The hues of
the lake are repeated on their breasts; while on their backs and in
their wings this azure blue is subdued and softened by rich browns,
resembling the branches where they repose. [234]
Our little horses are picketed in the deep trench which divides the
orchard from the sterile ground on the north and east. They forget
the road beneath the shade of flowering olives, of which the strong
scent reaches to our tent. The cook, who has so often mutinied and
repented, is now all alacrity and zeal. Our luxuries have been a
turkey, some French beans of exquisite flavour, and little cakes
of bread, in which our cook excels. The cherries are of the wild
species--for the people are too lazy to graft; but, when stewed, they
afford a delicious dish. No steamer disturbs our repose; no discordant
note is uttered from morn to eventide. We are self-sufficient, mobile,
always at home. The world is our house, and we move easily from room to
room. It never rains; the moisture is controlled by man, who directs
it whither it pleases him and for as long. The air is so dry that,
with very little care, all danger of malaria can be kept at bay.
But the old imam, who owns and appears to live in this garden, turned
the water one early morning into the channels. He must have known that
it would deluge our tent. He might have warned us to surround it with
a shallow trench. I took revenge by cutting a trench to the lake. The
wizened old thing did not display the smallest resentment. They say
he is mad. He sits in the garden all day long, smoking cigarettes
of his own manufacture, muttering to himself, his eyes fixed upon
the lake. When night arrives he goes to sleep in the grass. He has
never worked; but nobody works. The idea of work is not repugnant;
it is simply an idea which they do not possess.
Man is here a shadow--a mournful presence. And the women appear
conscious of some immense and inexpiable sin. The children are seldom
gay; you never hear laughter. Their poor little naked bodies are burnt
brown by the sun, and their stomachs are distended by indifferent food.
Each morning we bathe in the lake. The water is delicious to the
skin, bracing and at the same time soft. A certain soapiness in
its composition produces a cleansing effect; yet to the eye it is
transparent as crystal. Swimming out into deep water, the thermometer
registered 68°, or exactly the temperature of the shade at 6.30
A.M. The rocky shore shelves down with a measure of abruptness, so
that in breezy weather the waves do not break until they reach the
ledge. The bather is soon across this fringe of surf.
And the colouring of the water! Riding early to the ruins, or returning
towards sunset to our camp, it is always a new effect, or a fresh and
startling combination, differing from anything either of us have seen
elsewhere. When the surface of the expanse is ruffled, the restless,
sparkling water is at once intensely green and intensely blue; an
aquamarine so vivid that it must be overpowering, an ultramarine so
deep that it may not yield. Twilight lasts but a little time; yet
the brief space is many times multiplied by the number and variety
of dissolving tints. The landscape of sea and mountain is overtaken
by complete stillness. The lake becomes the colour of an iridescent
opal, green, blue, and pearly white. The mountains are lightly tinged
with delicate yellows and warm greys, faintly shaded in the recesses
of the chain of peaks.
The latest aspect of the scene is at once the richest and the most
mysterious. All blue has passed from the sky and from the face of
the sea, except here and there, under a lingering breath of wind. A
dull golden tint is spread over the waters, cloaking the underlying
green. In the distance, towards Van, great shadows of indigo lie
on the lake, and envelop Varag to half height. From these emerges
the crested ridge, a pink madder. Varag rests against a background
of vague clouds, purplish-blue, the only touch of redness in the
landscape.... Such effects are no doubt enhanced by the sublimity of
the surroundings--the wide sea, the Kurdish mountains, Sipan, Nimrud;
but they may derive a special quality from the character of the water
and from the great elevation of the lake (5600 feet). Its pallor,
combined with its blueness, is perhaps the particular characteristic
which becomes imprinted upon the mind.
Our only regular visitor is the Kaimakam--Mohammed Fuad Bey--a
Circassian of middle stature and in middle age. A frock coat,
of black cloth and European pattern, displays the litheness of his
figure. His face is remarkable for the brilliancy of the small eyes. He
is the hero of a recent adventure with the Kurds. The other day some
Hasananli carried off from an Armenian village a considerable body
of cattle. The Kaimakam despatched after them a contingent of regular
soldiers, with instructions to pursue a prescribed route. He himself
followed, accompanied by a single zaptieh. The soldiers appear to have
lost their way; and the Kaimakam was alone when he fell in with the
marauding band. He rode straight up to them, pointed to the cattle,
and ordered them in the name of the Government to give them up. He
added that his own honour was at stake. The Kurds of course refused,
seeing one unarmed man and a zaptieh opposed to their own numbers
and arms. Whereupon the Kaimakam proceeded to drive off the cattle,
calling to his attendant, who, however, was too much terrified to
be of use. The Kurds at once opened fire. One bullet entered the
open overcoat of the official, and came out through the opposite
flap. Another pierced the frock coat which he habitually wears. His
horse was shot in two places, but was not disabled. This occurred
before the Kaimakam could draw his pocket revolver, which he at once
aimed at the nearest Kurd. The man fell; his companions gathered
round him, and almost immediately made off, carrying the body with
them. They appear to have regarded the Kaimakam's as a charmed life,
and to have explained to themselves his courage in this way. The
cattle were quickly driven home and restored to the Armenians. This
exploit is the principal topic of conversation at Akhlat. The Kaimakam
has received neither thanks nor reward. The loss of his horse, which
died shortly after from its injuries, has not yet been repaired. The
Palace no doubt deplores the loss to the Empire of a Hamidiyeh brave.
I was anxious to visit Akhlat during the course of my first journey;
but the lateness of the season compelled me to push on. The project so
long deferred is at length realised. The conception of the place which
was present in my mind, before we commenced to investigate the ruins,
may be expressed in a few words. A number of beautiful mausolea,
illustrating the best traditions of Mohammedan art in a manner by
far surpassing the similar buildings we had seen elsewhere--a ruined
city with mosques and minarets standing on the margin of the lake,
and backed by the remains of a still older city, which perhaps dated
from the period of the caliphs--such was the idea, so full of promise,
which I had gathered from the oral accounts of travellers or formed
from conversation in the country. Not much more is to be gleaned from
books. [235] Writing now that we have completed our plan of the place,
examined the monuments, and copied the inscriptions, I propose, in
the first place, to submit a few general remarks, and then to resume
the experiences of our several excursions, blending them into one.
Akhlat is the name of a district, comprising a number of oases, on the
northern shore of the extensive bay which is bounded on its southern
side by the long promontory of Zigag. This district is divided for
administrative purposes into five distinct quarters. The first is
Erkizan, the seat of government for district and caza, where the
Kaimakam resides and where we are encamped. The second is Iki Kube,
or the two mausolea--so called from a pair of tombs which stand close
together in the desert, some distance west of Erkizan. This district
comprises the walled city on the shore, as well as the village of
Kulaxis, situated in a ravine, a good walk in a northerly direction
from the two tombs. The third quarter embraces the area of the older
city, and is called indifferently Kharaba and Takht-i-Suleyman. The
remaining two are outlying, Tunus, on the east of Erkizan, at an
interval of about half-a-mile; and Kirklar, in the opposite direction,
west of the quarter of Kharaba and the ravine in which the older
city lies. The population of the entire district cannot much exceed
6000 souls, of whom the majority inhabit the quarter of Kharaba or
the gardens of Erkizan. Of this number only 200 would appear to be
Armenians, residing about the ravine of the older city.
The block of limestone hills which we crossed from Melazkert extend
from Adeljivas along the shore. In the neighbourhood of Akhlat they
recess away towards Lake Nazik, leaving an extensive margin of fairly
level land. But the coast itself, between Erkizan and the delta of
the streams below the older city, has the character of rounded cliffs,
shelving to the lake. The soil is composed of purplish sandstones and
conglomerates, which, as you approach the older city, are overlaid with
lava and pumice. Both the sandstones and the pumice tend to arid, dusty
ground; while the yellow pumice reflects an overpowering glare. Yet
this ground, when thoroughly watered, becomes extremely fertile; and
it is characteristic of Akhlat that the oases are the most luxuriant,
and the intermediate spaces the most sterile of all these shores. Thus
Erkizan is a deep belt of shady orchards, while the walled city
is surrounded by powdery waste. Groves of aged walnut trees clothe
the ground on either side of the ravine of Takht-i-Suleyman; but,
if you ride from the walled city towards Kulaxis, the light streams,
and the dust rises in clouds. In such a waste the number of rivulets
is surprising; and they flow with a vigour which is not less strange.
It is probable that the more ancient city was surrounded by
suburbs. The mausolea are spread over a considerable area; and, even
in Erkizan, the houses are built up with the faced stones which are
characteristic of the ancient masonry. In this quarter we remark,
beside the base of a tomb, a capital, enriched with an Arab ornament,
and a large stone, elaborately chiselled. Both these objects are
observed at random, lying unheeded on the ground. The Government
house is a solid stone building; the graceful pointed arch which we
notice over a doorway would seem to indicate that the influence of
the monuments is still alive. Adjoining it is placed the prison. There
are two or three shops, with deep verandahs over the shop, the whole
surmounted by the roof. The dwellings are widely scattered; and,
if window glass were universal, they would present an appearance
both of solidity and of comfort. Little lanes intersect the gardens;
the murmur of water and the scent of the flowering olives fill the
air with sweetness and pleasant sounds.
Such are some of the notes one makes when on a day of midsummer we wend
our way on horseback through the straggling settlement of Erkizan with
the purpose of exploring the ancient sites. As we pass the prison,
an old Armenian protrudes his head from one of the windows, and begs
us to intercede on his behalf. On the outskirts of the oasis we are
met by the Kaimakam, mounted on a white mare, with black and yellow
trappings, and with a two-months-old foal at foot. In his company,
and in that of a green-turbaned khoja, whom he employs as writer,
we pass an old mulberry tree on the fringe of the fertile zone,
and enter the waste on a westerly course.
A ride of twenty minutes, walking our horses, brings us to the iki
kube, or two tombs (Fig. 181 and see the plan, Nos. 1 and 2). They
are separated by an interval of about ten yards. Let me describe,
once for all, the design of such edifices, known in the country by
the name of kumbet. A circular, or drum-shaped structure rests on
a deep pedestal, which slopes outwards to a square base. But the
four angles of the pedestal are cut away in the shape of a wedge,
the point of the wedge resting on the base. The whole is surmounted
by a conical roof. On the level of the ground, an arched aperture
gives access to a chamber, built in the hollow of the base. In this
chamber, or beneath its floor, was presumably placed a coffin; but
the catafalques, if such existed, have disappeared. The ground, too,
has buried the base in most cases, so that you can only just crawl
through the top of the arched aperture. On the other hand, the floor
of the circular structure, resting on the pedestal, is high above
the ground; and, in the absence of any stairs, you are obliged to
clamber up the face of the pedestal, making use of little crevices
in the stones. Four open doorways, placed at regular intervals in
the circumference, at once serve as entrances to the upper chamber,
and as windows, through which the landscape expands on every side.
It is supposed that the prospective occupant of the tomb, or the pious
visitors to this place of burial, would sit and rest within this cool,
circular chamber, beneath the lofty roof, enjoying the views of the
country around. They would, however, have needed a ladder to reach the
entrances. The interiors are quite plain; in one instance (No. 1) we
observed traces of plaster; but, as a rule, there is neither ornament
nor covering of the surface of the masonry, in which one admires
the even joints of the blocks of faced stone. The material of these
tombs is stone throughout--a pink volcanic stone. All the resources
of the decorative sculptor are lavished upon the exterior, especially
about the doorways, the four niches in the intervening spaces, and
the cornice beneath the roof. In some cases raised stone mouldings
enrich the surface of the roof. Sometimes a frieze is carried beneath
the cornice, the most effective being hewn out of white marble. [236]
They are inscribed with sentences from the Koran. The beautiful Arabic
letters vary the effect of the elaborate geometrical patterns in the
decorated spaces of the walls beneath. The personal inscriptions are
usually found over the doorways; and, in some instances, are engraved
upon white marble slabs. The two tombs which we are now visiting
both possess such inscriptions; the khoja copied them; they are in
Arabic prose. Those on the first tomb (No. 1) record that it is the
burial-place of a great Emir, by name Nughatay Agha, and of the lady,
wife to Nughatay. The date of his death is given as A.H. 678, or
A.D. 1279. The second tomb is described as that of Hasan Timur Agha,
son of this Nughatay, who died in A.H. 680 or A.D. 1281. [237]
Quite close to the iki kube, in a north-westerly direction, is
situated a third tomb, which is still erect (No. 3). It is less
richly decorated than the preceding, and is without any commemorative
inscription. Making westwards, we at once enter one of the shadiest
of the oases, passing a fourth mausoleum within its fringe (No. 4). A
much less tasteful structure than the others, it is also of different
design. Within the chamber are ordinary graves, with marble headstones;
the inscriptions on the headstones, and on a marble slab in the wall
outside, indicate that it was the burial-place of some Kurdish princes
of Modkan in the first quarter of the eighteenth century. Almost
opposite this tomb, which is without architectural merit, a most
curious edifice, quite ruinous, is observed upon some waste land
(No. 4b). Built into a pile of massive masonry are some slabs or blocks
of stone, of Cyclopean character. The largest has the appearance of a
lintel; it is twelve and a half feet long and three in thickness. The
recess behind the slabs, upon which it rests transversely, is blocked
up by a wall. A portion of a grinding stone is seen lying on the
ground, perhaps belonging to a linseed press.
The oasis belongs to the quarter of Iki Kube, and the gardens contain a
number of modern dwellings. It is remarkable for the size and leafiness
of the walnut trees. The remains of several ancient edifices rise from
among the foliage, or are strewn upon the grass. The most notable is
a square building of some size, with an octagonal and conical roof
(No. 5). The walls are featured by square windows; but the architecture
is plain and without ornament, and the appearance is stumpy and without
grace. Perhaps it was a tomb like the rest. A smaller mausoleum of
similar design is seen by the wayside (No. 6). It is almost buried
beneath the ground. Before we leave the oasis, to visit the walled
city on the shore, we are shown a subterraneous and vaulted chamber,
now used as a store for hay.
We now change direction and cross a zone of desert between the oasis
and the walled city. When close to the north-western tower, we pause
to admire the site, which commands the whole expanse of the lake. The
view is only bounded by the distant ridge of Varag, which rises behind
Van. The walls describe the figure of a parallelogram, of which the
two long sides have a length of about a quarter of a mile, and descend
in a south-easterly direction to the margin of the lake. The breadth
of the figure, along the shore, is about half its length. The slope,
although gradual, is not inconsiderable; the north-western tower is
130 feet higher than the level of the lake. The wall on the south
overlooks a shallow ravine, through which trickles a little stream.
The character of the walls may be described as a single rampart, with
hollow towers at intervals, some round, and others pentagonal. The
rampart has a thickness of about six feet, and consists of a pile
of stone, faced with hewn and jointed blocks after the manner of
the old Armenian masonry. But the greater part of this facing has
fallen away or been stripped off, displaying the raggedness of the
pile within. We could find no evidence of breaches having been made
in the enclosure; nor were there any visible traces of its having
undergone a siege. The wall along the shore has long since disappeared;
[238] and the lake has encroached upon its rocky bank. About halfway
down the more southerly wall is situated the inner walled enclosure
of the palace or citadel. This inner fortress comprises an area
which is roughly rectangular, and which is of no great extent. It
is flanked along the three inner sides by a rampart and towers, but
the city wall is at the same time the wall of the citadel along the
fourth or outer side. The site is signalised by a slight projection
of the fortification, and by the greater propinquity of the towers
to each other. From the tower at the north-eastern angle of the
citadel a cross wall is carried down to the sea. The upper portion
of the principal enclosure, as well as the space within the citadel,
is now completely bare. Nothing but the foundations of houses and
buildings can be discovered within that area. The few modern houses
are collected in the south-east corner, and have been built from the
material of the old fortress. Their inhabitants resemble phantoms
rather than human beings; but the orchards, which are confined to
this lower part of the enclosure, enhance the picturesqueness of the
old kala, sloping down the hillside to the blue water.
Three gateways, from which the gates have disappeared, give entrance to
the enceinte, two in the rampart on the north, and one in that upon the
south. The upper gate in the north rampart is in a ruinous condition,
the plinths having been broken away. The lower entrance is situated
about opposite to that in the south wall; a road extends between
the two through the cross wall. Both these gateways are surmounted by
inscribed slabs. The legend over the first is written in Persian verse,
and recounts that the fortress was built by order of Sultan Selim. The
date is given in a chronogram as A.H. 976 or A.D. 1568. The inscription
upon the second is in Turkish verse, but the chronogram is obscure. It
sets forth that the kala was built or restored by Sultan Suleyman the
Second (A.D. 1687-1691). The citadel is entered by a handsome gateway,
facing towards the sea. This entrance consists of a pretentious piece
of architecture, flanked on either side by a tower. The doorway
leads into a vaulted chamber, where the passage into the citadel
is placed at right angles to the outer door. The inscription above
this entrance is in Arabic prose, the characters being relieved by
a ground of enamel in various colours. It is to the effect that the
fortress was built by Sultan Suleyman, son of Sultan Selim. Suleyman
is styled, in the pompous language of the East, the Alexander of his
time. It would therefore appear that the citadel is due to Suleyman
the First, surnamed the Great, who came to the throne in A.D. 1520;
and that other portions of the fortifications were undertaken under
subsequent Sultans, notably Selim II. and Suleyman II.
The only buildings of any importance within the enceinte are two
mosques, which are rapidly falling into ruin. The largest (No. 18)
is placed just opposite the gateway of the citadel, and is of charming
proportions and design. The entrance is approached through a spacious
portico, which extends the whole length of the wall. The piers or
columns, which must have supported the roof of this structure, in the
form of a façade, are no longer in their place. But one still admires
the vaulted and groined ceilings, the vaulting being done in brick. And
through the openings in the side walls, with their ogee arches,
pleasant prospects are obtained. The face of the main wall, against
which the portico rests, is decorated in a simple and efficacious
manner by means of an alternation of bands of white marble with bands
made up with blocks of black and of pink lava. The main doorway, which
gives access through this wall into the mosque, is surmounted by a
pointed arch. A slab of white marble over the door is inscribed with
a legend in Persian verse. It relates that the mosque was erected by
Sikandar or Iskandar Pasha; a chronogram gives the date of A.H. 976
or A.D. 1568. On either side of the doorway, as well as above it,
openings with ogee arches admit light into the interior. In front of,
but contiguous with, the portico on its south-west side, a massive
circular minaret rises into the sky. It is seen, like a landmark,
from afar. It does not taper perceptibly; but the honeycomb cornice
which supports the balcony is surmounted by a second tower of smaller
diameter. The cupola has fallen from this uppermost shaft. A band of
white limestone, and two bands of black lava encircle the even masonry
of pink lava. A heart-shaped stone, high up, is engraved with Arabic
characters, setting forth the name of the founder, Sikandar Pasha,
and giving the date as A.H. 978 or A.D. 1570.
The interior of the mosque is of extremely pleasing design--a circle
described by eight pointed arches, springing from a square ground
plan. Four of these form recesses at the angles of the square; the
remainder rest against the walls. The members of the arches are built
of stone; but the walls are lined and the vaultings constructed
with narrow bricks. The dome rests on the points of the arches,
encompassing the interior with its beautiful curves. From the outside
it is octagonal in shape. In the south wall are three apertures
which serve as windows; two are of fair size. The dimensions are
a square of 42 feet 6 inches. The altar is built of white marble,
and the masonry throughout the building is carefully faced and joined.
The second mosque, situated just outside the cross wall, is smaller,
but of similar design. The portico is still perfect, the cups of
the three ceilings being supported by pointed arches, resting on two
columns with uncarved capitals. But this mosque is built throughout of
stone, marbles of various hues being introduced. A legend in Persian
verse above the doorway is to the effect that it was constructed by
the Kazi, Mahmud, in A.H. 996 or A.D. 1587.
Such is the kala or Ottoman fortress, and what it contains. The
architecture, although careful, and, in the case of the mosques,
pleasing, displays a distinct decline in the arts. The admirable
traceries in stone of the so-called Seljuk buildings are nowhere to
be found. Persian influences make themselves felt.
We proceed from the kala in a south-westerly direction, on a course
about parallel to the outline of the shore. The high ground, shelving
to the water, is barren and stony. At a distance of nearly a mile we
arrive at an isolated tomb, of which the site is a little headland
of the coast, commanding the inner curves of the bay of Akhlat. It
is the most beautiful of all the mausolea, in fact the only object
of excelling beauty at Akhlat (No. 7, Fig. 182). It stands as
a surpassing monument of Arab architecture, engrafted upon the
Armenian style. Its masonry is fresh as upon the day when it was
completed, six centuries ago. But the ruins of a companion building,
which stood not far behind it, and which collapsed, according to my
informant, about two years back, are ominous of a dissolution which
is perhaps nearer than we might expect. I have therefore reproduced
its features in a careful photograph, and have endeavoured to invest
them with the hues of reality. I do not know that I need add much
to the general description already given of similar edifices. But
in this tomb all the merits of the style are seen to culminate;--in
none do the proportions attain such exactitude, or the ornament such
a combination of extraordinary elaboration with the simplicity and
stateliness of the highest art. Tradition relates that these companion
tombs are the burial-places of two brothers, and the work of a single
architect. For the elder brother was designed the structure which has
now fallen, and which is said to have been greatly inferior to that
which stands. This individual lived to see the more finished monument
erected, and to brood over the invidious contrast between his own and
his brother's tomb. His anger was visited upon the daring architect,
who was condemned to lose his right hand. The story sounds plausible,
for there exists no personal inscription upon the beautiful tomb. We
ignore the name of the personage for whom it was built. On the other
hand the fallen structure possessed such an inscription, which our
khoja had fortunately copied before it succumbed. It commemorates the
great and noble Emir, Shadi Agha, son of the great Emir, Saughur Agha,
son of Khaghan Agha. The date is A.H. 672 or A.D. 1273. The language
is Arabic prose.
Although the appearance of the kumbet does not suggest size, the
dimensions are about the largest of all these tombs. The upper
and circular chamber has a diameter of 22 feet; and each side of
the square base which supports the structure is close upon 30 feet
long. Although the floor of the lower chamber is partially silted up,
it has a height of 16 feet. Beneath the deep cornice runs a frieze
of white marble, with an inscription from the Koran. The body of the
building is composed of the usual pink volcanic lava. The interior
displays no trace of plaster, nor is it ornamented in any way.
Between the isolated tomb and the ravine of the ancient city, the
ground is covered by the headstones of an extensive cemetery, a kind
of Kensal Green or Père Lachaise. But our European pattern of marble
slabs, with thin incisions, are pale and paltry when compared with
these. The fact that a majority of these headstones are still erect
attests their extraordinary solidity. In all, or almost all, cases they
have the form of a pilaster, surmounted by a honeycomb frieze. The
silhouettes of these friezes are extremely picturesque against the
lights of the sky. The stone has weathered brown and carries a little
lichen. The head of the dead man is placed towards Mecca, turned
upon his right shoulder. The headstone faces the feet and the rising
sun. The face bears the inscription in Arabic character; on the reverse
the ornament, which forms the subject of the accompanying illustration
(Fig. 183), is an almost universal feature. Some of these graves are of
the same date as the kumbets, or even earlier, while some are rather
later. They represent a comparatively high standard of civilisation,
in which the arts were cherished and extensively practised.
Continuing our course along the shore, but still high above the lake,
we come to the point where the headland breaks away to the alluvial
flats of an extensive delta. This delta constitutes the inner recess
of the bay, screening a lagoon of some size. It is formed by the
deposits of two streams, which meet close to us, and of which the more
easterly flows from the ravine of the ancient city. Yet a third stream
enters the shallows some distance further west. The strip of alluvium
in front of the lagoon extends from this headland to the opposite
curve of the bay. It is probable that the gradual rise in level of
the lake has caused these little streams to deposit a quantity of
sediment out of proportion to their volume. So narrow is the strip
of soil, that a peasant is digging a trench across it with nothing
but his hands. He is wanting to let out the surplus water from the
lagoon. Several tall willows are growing within the delta, to which
we immediately descend. From a bush at our side a young cormorant
takes wing, and falls clumsily into the lake below. Reversing our
direction, we ride up the principal valley, at first over the soft
sand. Again commence the orchards, and again the air is scented by
the flowering olive trees. The valley becomes a glen, and the bed of
powdery silt gives place to slabs of rock. The stream cascades beside
us, from one ledge to another, beneath the shade of walnuts, willows,
and poplars. Some little children are bathing in the deeply-shadowed
water; a tiny calf stands on the shore. And a little further, behind
the sparkle and effervescence of a waterfall, the site of the city
comes to view. Beyond the single pointed arch and little battlements
of a stone bridge, you see the sharp end of a wedge-shaped platform,
rising above the detail of the luxuriant valley like the prow of a
gigantic ship. It cleaves the valley into two (Fig. 184).
The situation of old Akhlat resembles that of Bitlis; but it is Bitlis
shorn of its castle, and without the lofty mountains towering above
it on every side. It is nothing more than a valley, cut by water
deep into the lava, with a long spit of columnar lava rising up from
the valley floor. The direction of this valley is roughly north and
south. Of its two branches, that on the east of the citadel is wider
but less deep; while that on the west is narrower but more profoundly
carved. These side ravines unite at both ends of the citadel; although
on the north the junction is less obvious. There is no stream in the
eastern ravine. The platform, which supported the citadel, is both
highest and most broad towards its northerly end. Its greatest width
is about 100 yards, and its length, from end to end, less than 500
yards. Its height above the stream is some 200 feet. The top of the
platform is flat; all buildings have been razed; the tread sinks in
the powdery soil. It is crossed by two depressions, which must have
always been a source of weakness. The almost demolished remains of
immensely thick walls still rise in some places from the upper sides.
The ascent to the platform is from the valley on the east; on our
way we pass a line of miserable shops and a cluster of houses, built
of stone. Caves in the side of the basaltic lava have probably been
utilised in the construction of these tenements. The inhabitants
have an emaciated and sickly appearance, being in fact extremely
poor. A track leads up the cliff to the head of the platform, whence
a fine view over the adjacent ravines is obtained. That on the east
is almost treeless, but the higher levels of the western ravine are
thickly clothed with trees. The verdure descends the clefts in that
opposite parapet, which towers above the citadel. Stone houses nestle
among the foliage. It is surprising how little remains of the ancient
city. On the slope of the eastern valley, which is, comparatively,
a low gradient, a portion of the wall of some considerable edifice is
still erect, and fairly well preserved. It is an extremely lofty wall,
being flanked by buttresses; the masonry is of jointed and faced
stone. Below it are observed some remnants of a vaulted edifice,
possibly a bath. Beyond the fragment of a wall, and on the surface
of the high ground, rises a ruinous round tower. In that direction
we notice traces of a rampart.
In the opposite quarter, beyond the western ravine, the standing
portion of a ruinous kumbet emerges from the trees on the summit of
the cliff, and forms a landmark from afar (No. 9). It is the tomb
of the "lord of Emirs"--so runs the inscription--Hasan Agha, son of
Mahmud. The date of his death is given as A.H. 672 or A.D. 1273. On
the same summit the bases of two large and similar buildings may be
discovered among the orchards.
Descending from the platform, we endeavour to trace the line of the
walls, which enclosed a considerable area on the east of the citadel,
and were brought down into the ravine. The result of our labours
is shown on the plan. The round tower, already mentioned, which has
an inside diameter of fifteen paces, evidently stood at one of the
angles of the line of walls.
Just outside, and on the east of this line of fortifications is
situated a little mosque, in pink volcanic stone, and by its side
a tomb (No. 8). This kumbet differs in style from all its fellows,
the circular structure, which is supported by the usual form of
pedestal, being open upon the side that faces away from the wall of
the mosque. On that side the conical roof rests on ten short columns,
with honeycomb capitals. These columns rise from the lower portion
of the drum, which is richly decorated. Above them, and below the
roof, runs a frieze with an inscription. In the side opposite the
wall of the mosque is an aperture or entrance, set within a recess
with honeycomb ornament. The interior of the tomb has a diameter of
fifteen and a half feet. [239] The inscription, which is the longest
of all these personal records, and, indeed, usurps the position which
in the remaining mausolea is reserved for verses from the Koran, may
be briefly summarised as follows. It is in Arabic prose. "This tomb
preserves the remains of the great and laudable king, honoured among
the sultans of the world for his valour in war, and for his zeal in the
propagation of the Faith--Mubariz-ud-Din, Bayindar Bey, son of the late
Rustem Bey. Under the auspices of his royal banner were vindicated the
rights of sovereignty and the ordering of government. During his life
he triumphed over his enemies with the aid of his victorious armies. He
died in A.H. 886 (A.D. 1481). Here also was buried Zen Mohammed, his
son, who died in A.H. 894." The inscription upon the mosque refers
to the same personage, as having erected it. But Bayindar is styled
"the ransomed emperor" and "the master of the sword and of the pen,
the author of the book Majmu-ul-Makarim."
Having visited these meagre relics on either cliff of the volcanic
valley, we descend to the western ravine. The stream is flowing
beneath the deep shade of trees, and prattling over ledges of
rock. This portion of the ravine is termed Takht-i-Suleyman, or
Solomon's throne, from the appearance of the lofty platform which it
skirts. Just north of the citadel the valley narrows, and becomes
a deep gorge. We make our way along the side of the cleft. It was
once spanned by the single arch of a stone bridge. A little distance
further, the stream from Kulaxis joins our stream, coming in on the
left bank through a ravine and by a cascade. Pursuing our course up
the glen, for the space of half-an-hour from the confluence, we reach
the Armenian village of Madavantz.
Madavantz is a semi-troglodyte village, which reminds one of Vardzia
(Vol. I. Fig. 18, p. 80). The dwellings are only partially built
out from caves in the face of the lava. The place seems as old as
the hills. The valley has become extremely narrow, and the cliffs
rise with considerable steepness on either bank of the little
stream. The village of caves overhangs the right bank. On the left
bank is a little church, of which the interior chapel and altar are
sunk into the rock. The main body is built out, and is supported on
stone columns. The priest informs us that the chapel was built by the
Apostle Thaddeus, who also preached at Madavantz. However this may be,
it evidently dates from a hoary antiquity, and it is by far the most
ancient building in the whole district. [240] It is dedicated to the
Mother of God--Astvatsatsin.
Let me review, for the sake of the reader who may not have leisure to
pursue the excursions which are embodied in the above description,
the results and impressions of our visit to these ruins. There are
two distinct sites of cities which once were prosperous, but which
now harbour a mere handful of miserable human beings. There is the
walled fortress on the shore, a work of the sixteenth century, built by
order of Ottoman Sultans. It is usually termed the kala, or fortress;
while the more ancient site in the ravine north-west of this kala
is generally alluded to as the kharab-shehr, or ruined city. In the
case of the Ottoman stronghold the walls and two mosques, one with
a fine minaret, are still erect. But it is rather the happy choice
of situation that impresses the traveller, than any special merit in
the architecture. If Akhlat should ever recover her former position,
let us hope that the new city will grow around this site. At the
present day, even the seat of administration for the district has
been removed from the kala to the suburb of Erkizan.
Of the older city in the ravine scarcely a remnant remains, although it
is still possible to trace the foundations of the walls. On the other
hand, several of the mausolea are still erect, and are distributed
over a considerable space of ground. These, and extensive graveyards,
are the monuments of that ancient city which have been spared by the
ravages of war and the lapse of time. Among the tombs, there is one of
particular excellence, reproduced in my illustration (Fig. 182). It
would do honour to any school of architecture. It is one of the fine
things in the world. A glance at the illustrations of the circular
chapels of Ani (Vol. I. Ch. XVIII. Figs. 85, 86, 88), and at some of
the elaborate stone traceries of the Armenian style (ibid. Figs. 73
and 77) will throw light upon the source of the inspiration which
produced it, or contributed thereto in the greatest degree. This and
the several similar tombs at Akhlat are all works of the latter portion
of the thirteenth century. A later and less pleasing development is
the tomb of Prince Bayindar, erected at an interval of two centuries.
But who was Bayindar, and who the persons with the cacophonous
names to whose memory these mausolea were built? The East, which
ever opposes the type to the individual, leaves so little for busy
History to explore. At a time when Dante was composing the Divine
Comedy, and when the Italian cities were commencing to throb with a
new life of which every impulse is reflected both in literature and
in art, architects, whose names soon perished, were erecting these
monuments to princes of whom the names alone remain. What little may
be gleaned from the sources at my disposal of the history of Akhlat,
may be summarised in the following short account.
The place is first known under the name of Khlath, and as an important
Armenian town. Literature thus confirms the surmise which is readily
suggested by the little chapel in the gorge at Madavantz. Indeed,
one feels that this village of caves is perhaps the oldest of these
ancient sites, like the crypt upon which in Europe has risen the
edifice of some Gothic cathedral, but which once served as a Druids'
shrine. The shrine still remains; but the churches and monasteries have
disappeared which, even as late as the end of the thirteenth century,
were flourishing at Akhlat. [241] But the city does not appear to
have again come into Armenian possession after its conquest by the
Arabs during the era of the caliphs. Its close vicinity to the Kurdish
mountains and to the passage of Bitlis explains the long sequence of
Mussulman rule.
The Byzantine Empire, however, was successful in wresting it from the
Mohammedans, but only for a short time. It paid tribute to Leo VI.,
a successor of the Cæsars (A.D. 886-911); [242] and it was annexed
to the Empire under Basil the Second (in 993). But it fell to the
Seljuk Turks in the eleventh century, from whose hands it passed
into those of the Merwanids, a line of Kurdish princes which had
arisen from the debris of the caliphate, and whom the Seljuks had
dispossessed of their seats about Diarbekr. [243] The rule of these
Kurds appears to have been so harsh that they were driven out by the
inhabitants; a warrior of Turkish descent, who had been the slave of
the Seljuk governor of Marand in Azerbaijan, was called in as their
Prince. This individual, by name Sokman, founded a so-called Seljuk
dynasty, which, under the pompous title of Shahs of Armenia, reigned
at Akhlat for upwards of a hundred years (1100-1207). [244] They
were succeeded by the Ayubids, descendants of the renowned Saladin,
and of Kurdish extraction. The great siege of Akhlat by the Sultan of
Kharizme (Khwarazm) falls within this period. The event still forms
the centre of the slight historical knowledge which is possessed by
the least uneducated of the present inhabitants. They attribute to
it the present condition of the walls. After two attempts which were
unsuccessful, the sultan made desperate efforts to reduce this strong
place. Twenty siege machines were brought against it from the side
of the sea; and, so complete was the investiture, that the besieged
were compelled to kill their dogs for food. It was at last taken
by storm (in A.D. 1229). But the triumph of Jelal-ud-Din was not of
long duration; his successes aroused the alarm of the Seljuk sultan
of Iconium; and the bloody battle of Akhlat at once decided the fate
of his prize and sounded the death-knell of the Kharizmian empire.
The overthrow of that empire by the Mongols afforded a passage to
these savage hordes towards the south. They became masters of the
city in 1245. We are informed that they made it over to a Georgian
princess, who had married a son of one of the Shahs of Armenia. [245]
To this period are due the mausolea which we still admire, and
some of which appear to have been erected to princes of Mongol
origin. My authorities throw no light upon the point. I am not aware
that Nughatay, or Hasan Agha, or the son of Saughur are known to
history. They preserve equal silence upon the period which produced
the tomb of Bayindar, master of the sword and of the pen. But we can
scarcely doubt that he was a chieftain of the Turkoman horde of the
White Sheep into whose possession the greater part of the country
had passed during the progress of the fifteenth century. [246] Akhlat
was incorporated in the Ottoman dominions under Sultan Suleyman the
First in A.D. 1533-1534. [247]
That the place continued to prosper after the catastrophe of the
great siege by the Sultan of Kharizme is attested not only by the
monuments which have been described, but also by the evidence of
books. It was known to Abulfeda at the end of the thirteenth century
as a flourishing town, which he compares to Damascus. A century
later, it is described by Bakoui as one of the principal cities of
Armenia. Its decline appears to date from the commencement of the
sixteenth century, though the district no doubt derived a certain
glamour from the erection of the fortress on the shore. [248]