ARMENIA
TRAVELS AND STUDIES
BY
H. F. B. LYNCH
Nature's vast frame, the web of human things.
Shelley, Alastor.
Who can foretell our future? Spare me the attempt.
We are like a harvest reaped by bad husbandmen
amidst encircling gloom and cloud.
John Katholikos
Armenian historian of the Xth century Ch. CLXXXVII.
IN TWO VOLUMES
WITH 197 ILLUSTRATIONS, REPRODUCED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
AND SKETCHES BY THE AUTHOR,
NUMEROUS MAPS AND PLANS, A BIBLIOGRAPHY
And a Map of Armenia and Adjacent Countries
VOL. I
THE RUSSIAN PROVINCES
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
LONDON: 39 PATERNOSTER ROW
NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
1901
PREFACE
This book contains the account of two separate journeys in Armenia,
the first extending from August 1893 to March 1894, and the second
from May to September 1898. Before embarking upon them, I was already
familiar with the contiguous countries, having spent a considerable
portion of the years 1889 and 1890 in Mesopotamia and Persia. The
routes shown in my map from Aleppo to Diarbekr and down the Tigris,
and from Batum across Georgia and the Caspian to Resht, were taken
during the course of these earlier wanderings, and they contribute
no part of the ensuing narrative.
What attracted me to Armenia? I had no interests public or private in
a country which has long been regarded even by Asiatic travellers as a
land of passage along prescribed routes. One inducement was curiosity:
what lay beyond those mountains, drawn in a wide half-circle along
the margin of the Mesopotamian plains? The sources of the great rivers
which carried me southwards, a lake with the dimensions of an inland
sea, the mountain of the Ark, the fabled seat of Paradise.
With each step forward in my knowledge of the countries west of India
came a corresponding increase of my original emotion. Sentimental
were reinforced by purely practical considerations; and I seemed to
see that the knot of politics tightening year by year around these
countries was likely to be resolved in Armenia. I became impatient
to set foot upon Armenian soil.
When my wish was realised, my first experiences of the country
and of the Armenians in the Russian provinces exceeded my
expectations--fringed with doubt as these were by disappointment with
much I had seen in the East. So I passed over the Russian frontier,
struck across to the lake of Van, and spent the winter in Erzerum.
When I came to setting down on the map my routes in Turkish Armenia,
the scantiness of existing knowledge was painfully plain. I soon
realised that it would be necessary to undertake a second journey
for the purpose of acquiring the necessary framework upon which to
hang the routes. Meanwhile the events occurred with which we are
all familiar--the Armenian massacres, and the comedy of the concert
of Europe.
It was with difficulty that I was at length enabled to return to the
country. These later travels were almost exclusively occupied with
the natural features, our tents spread upon the great mountain masses,
whence plain and lake and winding river were unfolded before us like
a map.
Primitive methods were rendered necessary for transferring these
features to paper. One is not allowed in Turkey the use of elaborate
or obvious instruments, and miles of ground had to be crossed in full
view of Turkish officials before reaching the field of our work. But
I was able to transport to Erzerum a standard mercurial barometer,
which was duly set up in that centre and read several times a day
during our absence. We carried two aneroids, a boiling-point apparatus,
a four-inch prismatic compass, used upon a tripod and carefully tested
at Kew; lastly, a rather troublesome but very satisfactory little
instrument called a telemeter, and made by Steward. The measurements
were checked by cross-readings with the compass, and we found that they
could be relied upon. Once we were upon the mountains our operations
were not impeded, and, indeed, were assisted by the authorities.
I was accompanied on this second journey by my friend, Mr. F. Oswald,
who had been helping me disentangle the voluminous works of the great
Abich upon the geology of the Caucasus and Russian Armenia. The varied
talents of Oswald were of the greatest service to the work in hand,
while his society was a constant source of pleasure and repose. He
is now engaged with the geological results of this journey, and with
a well-considered study of the geology of Armenia as a whole. These
he hopes to publish before very long.
The illustrations are for the most part reproductions of my
photographs, being a selection from a collection which fills several
cases. On my first Armenian journey I was accompanied as far as
Erzerum by Mr. E. Wesson of the Polytechnic in London, who not only
developed the films and plates upon the spot, but rendered the most
valuable assistance in the photographic work. He also displayed the
qualities of a veteran campaigner before the journey was done. And
I was always missing him after his return home and during the second
journey, when the work devolved entirely upon myself.
My cousin, Major H. B. Lynch, now serving in South Africa, travelled
with us as far as Ararat and took charge of the camp. It is, I think,
a legitimate cause for satisfaction that, except for momentary lapses
on the part of the cook, not one of the party during either of the
two long journeys fell ill or became incapable of hard work. And on
both occasions the horses were sold at a small profit when the coast
was at length reached.
Why does one write a book? I find it difficult to answer the question,
which, indeed, demands a knowledge of human nature greater than any I
possess. There are societies and individuals who, I feel sure, would
offer a price if the potential author would agree to keep his material
to himself. The sum might probably be augmented by the contributions
of weary students; and a revenue could be collected from these various
sources far exceeding any royalties received from publishers. Moreover
the author would escape the foreboding of condign punishment, which
he is made to feel suspended over his head. On the other hand, there
is the fascination of feeling possessed by a subject, stronger than
yourself and elemental. And there is the joy and the impersonality
of the work reacting upon the personality of the writer.
The country and the people which form the theme of the ensuing pages
are deserving, the one of enthusiasm and the other of the highest
interest. It is very strange that such a fine country should have lain
in shadow for so many centuries, and that even the standard works of
Greek and Roman writers should display so little knowledge of its
features and character. Much has been done to dispel the darkness
during the progress of the expired century; and I have been at some
pains to collect and co-ordinate the work of my predecessors. In this
task I have been assisted by my friend, the Hon. Mrs. Arthur Pelham,
to whom the credit of the bibliography accompanying my second volume
is due.
In taking leave of the book--and it has been a long connection--the
mind rests with pleasure and gratitude upon the help given without
stint by fellow-workers in the same or in different fields. To my
friend, Mr. R. W. Graves, now Consul-General in Crete, I am indebted
for a lengthy spell of hospitality and delightful companionship in
distant Erzerum. I have borrowed freely from his intimate knowledge of
extensive regions in Turkish Armenia, as well as from that acquired
by my friend, Major Maunsell, now our Consul at Van, the principal
contemporary authority on Kurdistan. Geheimrath Dr. G. Radde of
Tiflis has rendered me valuable assistance on more than one occasion;
and it is also a pleasure to feel conscious in many ways of my
obligations to my friend, Mr. L. de Klupffell, formerly of Batum. At
home I have received much kindness from Mr. Fortescue of the British
Museum library, and from Dr. Mill, who has so long presided over the
library of the Royal Geographical Society, and whose recent retirement
from that office in order to devote himself to his scientific work
is keenly regretted by those whom he encouraged by his assistance
and advice. The book has brought me several new friends, among
them Mr. F. C. Conybeare of Oxford, the extent of my debt to whom,
in various directions, it would be difficult to estimate. Professor
Sayce has kindly looked over the sheets dealing with the Vannic empire,
and contributed several valuable suggestions. Prof. E. Denison Ross
has helped me with the Mussulman inscriptions, besides informing me
upon a number of obscure points.
A portion of the narrative of the ascent of Ararat has already appeared
in Messrs. Scribner's Magazine, reprinted in Mountain Climbing,
a book published by this firm. Parts of the concluding chapters of
each volume, entitled "Statistical and Political," have seen the
light in the shape of a series of articles in the Contemporary Review.
H. F. B. LYNCH.
The map which accompanies my first volume will be on sale separately
at Messrs. Stanford's in Longacre.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
The Coast and the Port 1
CHAPTER II
Ascent to Armenia 37
CHAPTER III
To Akhaltsykh 53
CHAPTER IV
To Akhalkalaki 72
CHAPTER V
At Akhalkalaki 86
CHAPTER VI
Prospect from Abul 92
CHAPTER VII
Gorelovka and Queen Lukeria 96
CHAPTER VIII
To Alexandropol 118
CHAPTER IX
At Alexandropol 124
CHAPTER X
To Erivan 133
CHAPTER XI
To Ararat 143
CHAPTER XII
Ascent of Ararat 156
CHAPTER XIII
The Heart of Ararat 179
CHAPTER XIV
Return to Erivan 200
CHAPTER XV
At Erivan 206
CHAPTER XVI
Edgmiatsin and the Armenian Church 228
CHAPTER XVII
To Ani and to Kars 316
CHAPTER XVIII
Ani, and the Armenian Kingdom of the Middle Ages 334
CHAPTER XIX
Kars 393
CHAPTER XX
Across the Spine of Armenia 409
CHAPTER XXI
Geographical 421
CHAPTER XXII
Statistical and Political 446
LIST OF PLATES
Ararat from Aralykh Frontispiece
Trebizond from above the Head of the Western Ravine
To face page 12
Trebizond: Hagia Sophia 24
Trebizond: Façade of Hagia Sophia on the South 25
Plain of the Rion from the Southern Slopes of Caucasus:
Kutais in the Foreground 46
View North from the Zikar Pass Back to page 52
View South from the Zikar Pass 53
Safar: St. Saba from the West 62
Safar: Porch of St. Saba 63
Akhaltsykh from the Road to Akhalkalaki To face page 65
Castle of Khertvis 76
Vardzia, the Troglodyte City 80
Mount Abul from Akhalkalaki 92
Summer Pavilion at Gorelovka 109
Alagöz from the Plain of Alexandropol 122
Alexandropol from the Armenian Cemetery 125
Ararat from near Aramzalu 153
Great Ararat from above Sardar Bulakh 165
Our Kurd Porters on Ararat 167
Akhury: The Great Chasm from Aralykh 179
Akhury: Inside the Great Chasm 194
Erivan and Ararat from the North 208
Erivan: Interior of the Kiosque of the Sirdars 216
Edgmiatsin: The Great Court and the Cathedral 243
Edgmiatsin: Ceremony of the Consecration of the
Katholikos--Anointing with Oil from the Beak of a
Golden Dove 254
Edgmiatsin: Interior of the Cathedral 267
Edgmiatsin: Exterior of St. Ripsime 269
Edgmiatsin: Exterior of St. Gaiane 270
Edgmiatsin: Exterior of Shoghakath 271
Talin: Mouldings on South Side of Ruinous Church 322
Walls and Gateway of the City of Ani from Outside,
looking East 369
Ani: The Cathedral from South-East 370
Ani: Niche in Eastern Wall of Cathedral 371
Ani: Apse of the Cathedral 372
Ani: Church of St. Gregory from the West 373
Ani: North Wall of the Church of St. Gregory 374
Ani: Detail of the Porch of St. Gregory 375
Ani: Mosque and Minaret 376
Ani: Detail of Doorway of Chapel near Citadel 379
Ani: Chapel of St. Gregory, East Side 380
Ani: Chapel of St. Gregory, Entrance 381
Ani: Interior of the Chapel of St. Gregory 382
Ani: Chapel of the Redeemer 383
Ani: Doorway of the Castle 384
Ani: Portal of the Church of the Apostles from the West 385
Ani: East Front of the Church of the Apostles 386
Khosha Vank: Pronaos 387
Khosha Vank: Exterior of Pronaos and Church from South-West 388
Khosha Vank: Hall of the Synod 389
Looking down the Valley of Kagyzman 417
A Rib or Buttress of Aghri Dagh 419
Pass over Aghri Dagh 420
ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT
Entrance to the Black Sea from the Bosphorus 3
Interior of Hagia Sophia 27
Banks of the Rion above Kutais 46
Road in the Forest 50
Georgians 51
Portrait of Ivan 59
Group of Villagers at Khertvis 77
Archimandrite and Deacon at Vardzia 82
Head Waters of the Arpa Chai 121
Byzantine Picture in Greek Church 128
Wedding Party at Alexandropol 130
Church of Marmashen from S.W. 131
Alagöz from the Head Waters of the Abaran 136
Ararat: Aralykh in the foreground 155
Our Cavalcade on Ararat 159
Our Encampment at Sardar Bulakh 163
Little Ararat from near Sardar Bulakh 164
Summit of Ararat from the South-East, taken at a height
of about 13,000 feet 180
Boulders near Akhury 191
Ararat from a house-top in Erivan 207
Alagöz from a house-top in Erivan 208
Entrance to Gök Jami, Erivan 213
Court with basin of Gök Jami, Erivan 214
The Temple, Gök Jami 215
Pilgrims' Court, Edgmiatsin 230
The Katholikos Mekertich Khrimean 237
The Lake at Edgmiatsin 246
Ararat from the Lake at Edgmiatsin 247
Armenian Nun 252
Interior of the Portal of the Cathedral 266
Episcopal Staves 268
Sculptured Stone 271
Village of Talin, with Mount Bugutu 322
Mouldings on North Side of Ruinous Church at Talin 323
Tartar Khan at Talin } 324
Pristav of Talin }
Priest of Talin 325
Tartar of Akhja Kala 326
Alagöz from the Plains on the West 327
Greek Girl of Subotan 331
Ani: Bas-relief on the Inner Wall of the Gateway 369
Ani: Sculptured Stone Moulding 373
Ani: Walled Enclosure and Chapel 376
Ani: Building on the Citadel 378
Ani: Pilaster in the Building on the Citadel 379
Ani: Landscape from the southern extremities of the site 380
Ani: The Castle 383
The Monastery of Khosha Vank: east side 386
Khosha Vank: Chapels in the Ravine of the Arpa Chai 387
The Citadel of Kars 406
Molokan Elder at Vladikars 411
House at Novo-Michaelovka 412
Aghri Dagh from the Araxes Cañon 414
Cliffs composing Northern Wall of Araxes Cañon 415
The Araxes near Kagyzman 416
Kara Vank on Aghri Dagh 419
Map of the Armenian Plateau 452
LIST OF MAPS AND PLANS
Plan of the Ancient Fortifications of Trebizond To face page 13
Trebizond and Surroundings 30
Plan of the Monastery and Churches of Edgmiatsin
Between pages 244 and 245
Plan of the Deserted City of Ani To face page 390
Kars and Surroundings 395
The Structural Features of Asia Between pages 422 and 423
Map of Armenia and Adjacent Countries Cover
CHAPTER I
THE COAST AND THE PORT
On four different occasions, both in summer and in winter, I have
sailed along the southern shore of the Black Sea almost from one
extremity to the other; yet I do not remember having seen the sky free
from heavy clouds during two consecutive days. As the ship speeds
eastwards along the mountains of Bithynia, a thin veil of haze will
blend the land outlines together; while, as the range grows in height
with every mile of progress, the vapour will collect about its upper
slopes in long, horizontal, black banks. Even when the sun of this
southern climate has swept the sky of every lingering film, when
the zenith and the water recall the hues of the Mediterranean--the
whole scale of brilliant blues--somewhere upon the wide circle of
the horizon will be lurking the scattered forces of the mist. But
the stronghold of the cloud is in the mountains of Akhaltsykh, at
the foot of Caucasus, in the extreme eastern angle of the sea. Can
there exist a more gloomy coast? There the sky is always lowering
above the inky water, and the forests of fir which clothe the range
from foot to summit wave darkly, like feathers over a pall. Such,
I think, are the impressions which the mind most closely associates
with the aspect of this sea and shore. What a contrast to the smiling
landscape of the Bosphorus, the strait through which we enter this
sad sea or leave it on our return home! The cold draught follows the
home-coming ship up the narrow channel between the wooded cliffs,
and frets the running tide into crisp little waves which sparkle in
the brilliant light. The dolphins leap from the blue water and dart
shining through the air. To the traveller who is returning from a long
journey in Asia and a tedious tossing on this grey sea, the Bosphorus,
always bright and gay and beautiful, may appear as the promised gate
of paradise beyond the world of shades.
The character of the coast cannot fail to be affected by this climate,
by this atmosphere. Just as the vapours gather thickest where the
mountains are most lofty, at the south-eastern angle of the sea,
so the vegetation increases in luxuriance and variety the further
eastwards we proceed on our course. The cliffs or rolling hills about
the entrance of the Bosphorus--the closing cliffs of the Greek legend,
which caught the tail-feathers of the dove--soon give place to the
belt of wooded mountains which rise from the immediate margin of the
water, and stretch from west to east along the entire seaboard to the
Phasis and Batum. Tier upon tier they rise from the narrow strip of
sand and pebbles, and grow both in height and in boldness of outline
as they stretch towards the east. The winds of the open sea, the cold
winds of Scythia, fly over the barrier of the range; and the ship
may often anchor in smooth water at a point where least protection
would appear to be offered by the configuration of the shore. But the
moisture of the air is arrested at the coast-line, and hangs about the
upper tiers of the mountains or clings to the fir-clad slopes. These
natural conditions are extremely favourable to vegetation, and the
larger grows the scale upon which they are operating, the more abundant
becomes the growth of trees and shrubs. When at last we have reached
the neighbourhood of the Phasis, where the wall of this range towers
highest above us on the one side, and the line of Caucasus closes the
horizon on the other, the shore becomes clothed with dense forests,
plants and creepers flourish with tropical exuberance; the traveller,
threading the maze of evergreen woodland, might be walking along the
banks of the Amazon or through the glades of Mazanderan.
August 13, 14.--Our ship is outward bound for the banks of the Phasis,
"the furthest point to which vessels sail." It was evening when we
hove anchor from Constantinople, and night had already closed as we
passed the cliffs of Buyukdere and opened the mouth of the strait
(Fig. 1). This morning we are skirting the Bithynian mountains,
our head well up towards Amasra, behind us the bluff of Cape Baba,
a promontory of twin hills. That cape hides the site of Heraklea,
one of the most important of the old Greek cities, now patched with
the relics of its former splendour, and shorn of the glory of its
statue of Herakles, with lion-skin, club, quiver, bow and arrows
all wrought of solid gold. The same lofty coast and bold headlands
accompany our course; in a few hours we double Cape Karembe, and
the sun has not yet set as we cast anchor off Ineboli, the outlet of
the rich districts about Kastamuni, and perhaps at present the most
prosperous of these western Pontic ports.
Herakli, Ineboli, Sinope, Samsun--the ships often stop at one or
two of these places; yet how little now remains of the old Greek
cities of the Argonautic shore! Step on land, and there are the
high-prowed galleys drawn up, quite in the ancient fashion, upon the
narrow strip of sand. But the hill to which we look for the ancient
akropolis appears bare of any building now, and it is only by careful
searching and diligent enquiry that you will find some faced stone with
a Greek inscription of the Roman period built into the buttress of a
modern bridge, or mocking the ruder masonry of a Turkish wall. Here at
Ineboli, indeed, half-bedded in the soil a few paces from the shore,
lies a shining fragment of white marble with sculptures in relief. A
line of white-faced houses with roofs of red tiles nestles beneath the
mountain wall. The Greeks live on one side, the Turks on the other;
and the intelligent man to whom you naturally address yourself is
an Armenian in European dress. Our ship does not call at Sinope
this voyage--Sinope of the open site and spacious roadstead, whose
walls seem to have resisted the general crumbling, and rise from the
water a still perfect model of a fortified mediæval town. During the
night we round the hump of Anatolia, and before mid-day we are lying
in the bay of Samsun, towards the centre of the long curve lined
with white-faced, red-tiled houses, beyond which the ruined walls
of ancient Amisus still emerge from the briars on the summit of the
hillside which closes the landscape on the north-west. But at Samsun
also destruction has been busy; I look in vain for the massive tower
of old acquaintance at the south-eastern extremity of the shore. I
recognise the spot where it stood at the end of the long sea-wall,
some parts of which still remain; but the foundations alone have
escaped demolition, and the few large blocks of stone which still
lie scattered on the ground testify rather to the carelessness of
the Turkish building-contractor than to any respect on the part of
his employers for the beauty and interest of their town.
The sites of these coast towns have been determined by the
characteristics of the range of wooded limestone ridges which rise
along the shore. Sometimes it will be a cleft in this latitudinal belt
of mountains, a transverse fissure in the grain of the range, which,
with its rustling river giving access to the interior, has attracted
a settlement. The eye rests with pleasure on the deep green of these
narrow valleys; the limestone towers high above them and protects the
rich growth of trees and shrubs. Or the range recedes from the margin
of the water, sweeping inland in the shape of a vast amphitheatre,
and curving outwards again to form a distant promontory of the bold
and sinuous coast. The first description will apply to the position
of Ineboli; the second may be illustrated in a typical manner by the
site of Samsun. There the open stage of the wide hemicycle is filled
with rolling hills and level expanses which yield abundant crops of
cereals. It is true that the estuaries of the two larger rivers,
Halys and Iris, present exceptions to the normal configuration
of the seaboard. These considerable streams form extensive deltas
which project far out into the sea. For awhile, as you pass them,
you almost lose sight of the mountains, and the view ranges across
low, marshy tracts, studded with trees. As we skirted the delta of
the Halys, we looked down upon such a wooded plain across a narrow
bank of sandy shore. It appeared as if inside that slender barrier
the solid land had sunk beneath the level of the waters upon which
we sailed. The delta of the Halys is as celebrated for its tobacco
as that of the Iris for its Indian corn, and Bafra and Charshembeh
are becoming serious rivals to the old Greek cities of the coast.
Indeed, even along this remote seaboard the flowing tide of Western
civilisation is surely setting eastwards again. How the conditions
of human life around these lonely waters have altered within the
last sixty years! Sixty years ago the first steamer drew her train
of smoke and foam past these forelands and bays of still uncertain
fame. The slave ships infested the harbours of the coast, and if a
sail rose upon the horizon it was likely to be a slaver's sail. Armed
bands still forayed into the recesses of Georgia for their loot of
beautiful boys and girls, and parents who wished to preserve their
daughters from the market would place them, when quite children,
in one of the numerous fortified convents which crowned the summits
of their native hills. Slowly the grip of law has fastened upon the
peoples of Caucasia, a stern force moving with the insistence of a
vice from distant Russia, from the north; while from the west, with,
perhaps, less system, less coherence of methods, European commerce
creeps along this Turkish shore of the sea, and extends ever further
into the inland country the solvent influences of her sway. Already
towards the middle of the century the Russians swept these waters
with their steam cruisers, while their police boats blockaded all
the coast of Circassia to guard against the import of arms. Only
when the season was most tempestuous, when the cruisers had retired
within their harbours and the Cossacks no longer dared to face the
open sea, the captain of the slave ship would venture out upon his
perilous voyage from some wooded inlet of the eastern shore. At the
present time this traffic has either ceased entirely or is conducted
through obscure and secret channels, where it would be difficult to
trace. To Russia belongs the credit of this achievement, which has
accompanied the extension of her empire down the eastern coast of the
Black Sea. To Europe and to the increasing intercourse with European
markets is due the growing prosperity of these towns of the Turkish
seaboard, and indeed the very appearance which they present. New
houses, in construction far more solid than their predecessors, are
transforming the aspect of the shore; burnt bricks or stone masonry
take the place of wood, and these materials are faced with a coat of
concrete, painted a pure white. The window apertures are large, and at
evening or morning a row of wide glass panes reflects the glow. Even
the Government can show some signs of progress; carriageable roads
have been constructed to the towns of the interior, from Ineboli to
the inland centre of Kastamuni, from Samsun to Amasia and Sivas.
August 15.--Weighing from Samsun at night, it is early morning as we
cast anchor off Kerasun--Kerasun with its castled rock thrown seawards
from the range, the lofty headland of the bay, from which the town
curves westwards and sinks to the waterside under the shadow of the
mountain wall. Were it not for the needle forms of minaret and cypress,
rising against the terraces of white walls and red roofs which mount
from the water's edge, we might be sailing on the Rhine, past some
grim old burgh, dominating the cluster of peaceful habitations which
cower at its skirts. In less than three hours the barges are emptied,
and we are proceeding on our course. Almost immediately we pass close
to a little island, a rare object along this shore. It is a mere fleck
of rock, picturesquely encircled by feudal walls and towers. The range
on our right hand is always rising in elevation; hard porphyritic
rocks are beginning to take the place of the crumbling limestone;
the ridges, clad with firs to the very summits, stand up one behind
another ever loftier and more abrupt. At the same time the lower
slopes increase in verdure; orchards and plantations clothe each
respite of open ground. Small settlements succeed one another more
closely, the houses peeping out with their white faces from the soft,
leafy background of green.
Such is the appearance of the shore we are skirting this morning--the
range growing in height, the vegetation increasing, the characteristic
beauties of the coast now, perhaps, for the first time imprinting
a lasting image upon the mind. Like the Mediterranean, this sea
is almost tideless--the narrow strip of sand, upon which the waves
plash, is unencumbered with those oozy beds of giant seaweed which,
scattered in fragrant streamers upon our English seaboards, whet the
freshness of our sea-breeze. Beyond this margin rise the first spurs
of the mountains, or immediately descend into the deep, clear waters
in the form of bold capes. If this coast yields to some in variety
of outline, and is wanting in those combinations of sinuous bays and
sea-thrown islands which lend such beauty to the landscapes of western
Asia Minor and to the European shore of the Mediterranean Sea, it
is surpassed by none in distinctness of character, in singleness of
effect. Day after day it is the same long belt of mountains always
following the shore, the same long series of parallel ridges rising
roughly parallel to the shore. The persistence of the range, the
regularity of the system, the many signs along the seaboard of an
ever-increasing development in the scale of the mountain walls which
lie behind--all contribute to the growing consciousness that this
foot of the barrier, the pleasing inlets of this shore, are but the
threshold of some commanding piece of natural architecture of which
we long to realise the plan. While the imagination is stimulated by
this largeness of feature, the eye also is pleased. Groves of lofty
fir trees clothe the slopes and climb the summits, standing out on the
undulating backs of the ridges against the light of the sky. Wherever
the soil favours, there are pretty orchards, and an abundant growth of
plants and trees. Nature strikes the first note of that "evergreenness"
for which the coast of Kolchis has been famed.
Towards mid-day we are holding up for a well-defined headland,
projecting towards the north. It is distinguished by bold bluffs,
breaking off in the form of cliffs before they reach the water's
edge, and by a succession of deep valleys which descend on either
side to the margin of the shore. It is the promontory of the "sacred
mountain"--Hieron Oros, now called Yoros, Ieros, or simply Oros--and it
forms the western border of that series of smaller indentations which
make up the beautiful bay of Trebizond. Platana, most picturesque
of little settlements, nestles well under the shelter of this cape
upon the west, when once you have doubled the points; while on the
eastern side of the bay, exposed to the strong north-westerly winds of
the seaboard, lies the site of the old city of Trebizond. From this
port starts the principal avenue of communication between Turkish
Armenia and the sea; and beyond the mountains, on the south of this
wild coast range, now traversed by a metalled road, lie the plains
of the Armenian tableland. The width of this mountain belt which
borders Armenia--this continuous chain of latitudinal ridges which,
rising one behind and higher than the other, lead up like a ladder
to the edge of the Armenian plateau--is on this section of the range
a direct distance of nearly fifty miles. When the roses are blowing
in the gardens of the seaboard, the Armenian rivers may be bound with
ice; an unbroken sheet of snow may dazzle the eyes of the traveller,
as he penetrates from this border country of parallel crests and
depressions to the open landscapes of the tableland.
Fifty miles of intricate mountain country, inhabited at all periods
by a sparse and little civilised population of doubtful or mixed
race! The fact goes far towards explaining the isolation of Armenia,
the remoteness throughout history of the great grain-growing plains of
the interior from the coast towns of the Black Sea. While the Greek
cities of the seaboard, sheltered behind the barrier of the range,
found a natural and almost uninterrupted connection with the main
currents of Western history and Western life, the Armenian country and
people, full exposed to the revolutions of Asia, belonged essentially
to the East.
Yet these crumbling walls and towers, emerging at intervals from a
leafy overgrowth of creepers and trees, claim a larger share of our
attention than a merely passing notice of the port of Trebizond. For,
in the first place, no traveller, about to enter the interior by
this well-known and well-beaten route, can fail to undergo the spell
which belongs to these ruins, or to feel his interest aroused by
the monuments which still remain here of an empire long forgotten in
the West. Nor will a mind which has been fed upon Western literature
ignore the importance of realising the events of Western history as
they touch this remote shore. The annals of Trebizond, while they
illustrate and in themselves to a great extent resume the fortunes of
these coast towns, were joined by a thread which was seldom severed
to the web of Western things.
August 16.--The morning is the time to arrive at Trebizond, perhaps
to wake when the ship lies secure at anchor, while a fresh land-wind
blows. The vessel coming from the west crosses the bay from Cape Ieros
to an answering headland in the east, and does not bring up till she
has doubled this lesser promontory and closed or almost closed the
wide bay from sight. The anchorage lies at the foot of the eastern
suburb of the city, now the most flourishing portion of the town, and
the suburb mounts the back of the little promontory, and descends to
the water on the opposite or western side. The inlet which recedes
from the cape is not deep or extensive, and the shelter which it
offers is so partial that in stormy weather a ship may be obliged to
run for Platana, and seek shelter under the lee of Cape Ieros, now
some fifteen miles away. This configuration of the shore may be said
to give two faces to the site of Trebizond. While the ancient city
with the ruins looks seawards and westwards, commanding the softer
landscape of the bay, to the anchorage belongs an easterly aspect,
and a view past the estuary of the famous river Pyxitis along the
wildest portion of the coast range.
Facing the anchorage, on the east of the white houses which climb
the western skirts of the rising land, a bold cliff towers up above
the water with abrupt walls of dark rock. The face of this cliff
is almost bare of vegetation; but the summit, which is flat, is
completely covered with a soft carpet of old turf. The elevation of
this lofty platform above the sea-level is 850 feet. East and west the
hill descends with gentler gradients, on the one side to the estuary
of the Pyxitis, and on the other to the little cape and to the town;
but whether you approach it from the city or from the river valley,
the slopes are no light matter to climb. On the south it joins on to
the half-circle of the coast range, which recedes from beyond the
river in a wide amphitheatre, embracing both the bays and all the
town. Thus the town itself is shut off from the level ground about
the river by this peninsula of table-topped rock; and while one road
climbs these slopes to unite the two valleys, the other winds outwards
along the foot of the cliff, following the curve of the shore.
I remember that, when for the first time I looked out upon the city,
I was at once impressed with the manner in which this bold natural
feature corresponded to the name of the town (Trapezous). Could
the shape which is denoted by the figure of a table be presented by
Nature in a more convincing manner than by this mass of rock, towering
up above the sea and from the valleys to a summit which is almost
perfectly flat? Yet the name does not appear to take its origin in a
justification at once so striking and so clear, but rather to derive
from the configuration of the ground in the western bay upon which
the ancient fortress was built. Still this platform is surely the most
impressive characteristic of the site of Trebizond. The Turks, who have
no antiquarian sympathies, apply to it the bald and undiscriminating
appellation of Boz Tepe, the grey hill, basing the name upon the colour
of the trachytic rock of which the hill is composed. The Greeks of
old knew it as the Mount of Mithros--Mithrios--from a statue of the
god Mithras which used to stand upon this elevated spot. It is not
easy to imagine a more delightful ground of vantage from which to
overlook the town and command the coast. You may step a distance of
some 500 paces by 200 on a level surface of springy turf, with no
object between you and the wide expanse about you, in air which is
at once full of sun and vigorous; and, if the day be clear, you may
descry beyond the endless stretch of water the faint blue line of
distant Caucasus closing the horizon in the east.
The anchorage of Trebizond receives the first flush of morning;
a mellow light is thrown upon the terraces of the eastern suburb,
circling seawards down the lower slopes of Mount Mithros to the point
of the little cape. Here and there among the buildings rows of tall
cypresses still hold the shadows of night; but the white faces of
the houses soon dispel the darkness, and their glass windows reflect
in a glow of dazzling splendour the lurid brilliance of the rising
sun. Nowhere else than in these landscapes of the Black Sea and the
Caspian is the dawn more essentially the "rosy-fingered," or the
sea at sunrise "the glass-green." As the rays commence to break, the
wind freshens and the black cypresses wave and sway. Down the coast,
beyond the dark cliff of Mithros, the mountains of the seaboard
are massed in savage parapets beneath the rising sun; the faithful
clouds cling to their slopes or float above them, a sky of cold,
silvery greys. Westwards, above the point of the little promontory,
under the immediate lee of which we lie, you just discern the softer
setting of the greater bay itself, as the outline of the range sweeps
in long undulations far out into the western sea. The day wakes; the
colours start; the world of pinks and opals disappears. The aspect of
the town is warm and genial, even in winter, when the background of
broken ridges look their wildest and the sparse fir trees stand out
darkly from the snow. Sunny meadows and flashes of green turf caress
the traveller, who may have journeyed through the long Eastern summer
and autumn in countries where scarcely a blade of grass grows. The
shore is soon astir, and the cries of the boatmen are carried down
the wind. Large, high-prowed galleys bear down upon us, the crews
racing for the first berth. We are surrounded by a swarm of ragged
human beings, shouting, scrambling, gesticulating, as their boats
and heavily laden barges drive against our tall iron sides.
The steamers anchor at some little distance from the shore, and
it takes a long pull, at a time when the wind is setting off the
land, to reach the little mole. The shore-boats are manned with
ill-miened youngsters, whose clamour never ceases from ship-side to
landing-stage. On the quay are arrayed the customs officers and their
assistants, motley groups in which the cast-off wardrobes of Europe
mingle with the coloured cottons of the East. What a relief to escape
from all this turmoil, to repose for a few minutes in a spacious
coffee-house, rising high above the harbour and the noise! A youth
is just completing his lustral service of the morning; the floor has
been swept and watered, the nargilehs are coiled--the peaceful figure
of Ion rises in the mind.
Our road leads up the hillside, at first by the town garden and wide
streets, lined with houses and shops built in European style, and then
through the narrow alleys which intersect the Christian quarters, a
labyrinth of winding ways. These streets of Trebizond have a width not
exceeding six or eight feet, and sometimes less, and are lined by the
dull walls of garden enclosures which shut out all prospect over the
town. A raised pavement runs along them, sometimes on both sides of
the way, and always on one. Here and there the fresh green leaves of
a fig tree overhang the walls, or the cherry-laurel with its clusters
of claret-coloured fruit, or the pink flowers of the oleander. The
houses are, for a great part, quite Eastern in character--blank,
featureless wall, broken only at mid-height by little windows with
gratings made of laced strips or mortised cubes of wood. But the
modern villa is rapidly taking their place.
What waifs of all the ages may be met within these alleys! Yet I
think, and our Consul, Mr. Longworth, seems inclined to agree with
me, that the Greek type prevails. Our conversation turns upon these
race questions; one can indeed never cease learning what fallacious
guides in such questions religion and nationality are. There are whole
villages on this seaboard whose inhabitants are Mussulmans, and would
resent being called by any other name than Osmanli; yet their Greek
origin is established both by history and by the traditions which
they themselves still in part retain. Thus take Surmeneh and Of,
two considerable villages on the east of Trebizond. These versatile
Greeks are as famous now for their theological eminence as they
were formerly under the Eastern Empire, with this difference, that
whereas in those days they supplied the Church with bishops, it is
now mollahs that they furnish to Islam. Yet, fanatical as they are,
they still hold to certain customs which connect them with the old
faith they once served with such distinction, and have, no doubt,
since persecuted with equal zeal. Under the stress of illness the
Madonna again makes her appearance, her image is again suspended above
the sick-bed; the sufferer sips the forbidden wine from the old cup of
the Communion, which still remains a treasured object with the whole
community, much as they might be puzzled to tell you why. As we are
talking, a little girl happens to pass down the lane, a child of some
ten years. Her limbs are scarcely covered by a loose cotton skirt,
although her complexion has not suffered from the sun. The waxen
texture of the flesh, the transparent colouring, and the rich setting
of auburn hair remind one of the favourites of Venetian painters and
of faces seen in North Italian towns. It is besides only natural that
the people of this city should possess a strain of Italian blood;
not so many centuries ago the Genoese controlled the commerce and
menaced the independence of Trebizond.
It is a long climb from the anchorage to the British Consulate, which,
although within the limits of this suburb of gardens, has an elevation
of at least 150 feet. Still, the site has the advantages of a middle
position between the old fortified city in the western bay below us
and the open walks around Boz Tepe. And if the mornings be devoted
to the town and the ruins, the evenings may be spent on that airy
platform or upon the lonely slopes of the adjacent hills.
There are many pleasant spots which, in the course of these rambles,
invite a view over the town. The landscape which you overlook is
that of the west--the vague succession of endless little capes and
inlets, disappearing and combining to form the single feature of a
wide and open bay. Below you lies the old city, mediæval walls and
towers, overgrown by a canopy of leaves, gently sloping to the sea
(Fig. 2). Yet, however beautiful in itself may be the scene that
expands before you, it is rather upon the thoughts and the memories
which it raises that the mind is inclined to dwell. The sea is not so
much the blue floor without limits to which the sinuous outline of
the coast descends, as the open thoroughfare which leads across to
Europe, joining Asia to the West. The fir-clad ridges, which close
the prospect towards the interior, are rather the first outrunners
of that wide belt of troughs and ridges in which so many armies
have become entrapped, than the background of sterner features which
supports the peaceful landscape in which the ruined burgh lies. The
scene itself is the same that brought tears to the eyes of Xenophon,
and which was associated in the mind of the Emperor Hadrian with his
first view of this shore and sea.
But the morning is not the time, nor is this the occasion for such
retrospective thoughts. Fresh from sleep, our first interest is the
ivy-grown ruins of Trapezus, which lie far below us in the western
bay. We descend from the slopes about Boz Tepe, by the neat villas
and garden enclosures of the eastern suburb, to the ravine which
separates this suburb, with the anchorage and commercial quarter,
from the site of the old fortified town. It is indeed a position not
readily forgotten and not easy to mistake. If the descriptions of
Trapezus which have come down to us portray in a defective manner the
many remarkable features which are characteristic of the place, they,
at least, leave no doubt as to the identity of the historical city with
the position of these ruins. At the foot of the precipitous slopes of
Boz Tepe, on the western side of that table-topped hill, the surface of
the ground is broken by two deep ravines, which, at a narrow interval,
descend from the interior to the seaboard about at right angles to the
margin of the shore. They represent the lower course of two of those
wooded valleys of which the landscape towards Cape Ieros contains a
succession, various in feature, but in character the same. Peculiar to
these two ravines is their close proximity to one another; the streams
which flow along them are only about 400 yards apart as they approach
the sea. Indeed, at one point, over 1000 yards from the coast, the
mass of rock by which they are separated forms a neck or isthmus of
which the top is less than 60 yards across. In this manner a site is
constituted which is bounded on three sides by natural defences--on
the west and east by the ravines, and on the north by the sea. Draw
a wall across the neck or narrowest portion of the rock, and you
at once enclose the figure of an irregular parallelogram, of which
the fourth side is the short cross-wall. These natural features,
so favourable for defence, have not escaped the ingenuity of man;
the cross-wall has been built in the shape of a massive tower and
citadel, while the inner sides of the ravines have been lined with
walls and castellations, which still frown above the leafy abysses
and the streams rustling through the shade.
In appearance the protected enclosure, with its flanking ravines,
has been described by some writers as a peninsular plateau, while to
others it has suggested the shape of a table and seemed to justify
the name of Trebizond (Trapezous). Neither likeness appears to me to
be quite happily chosen. Both contain in themselves the conception
of a disparity of levels, the plateau of a stage raised above the
surrounding country, the table above the surface of the floor. Such are
not the characteristics of the site. The metaphor of a table seems the
more inappropriate, inasmuch as the least one might expect of such an
object is that it should have a flat and horizontal top. This site
possesses neither of these qualities. On the one hand, the upper
portion, which supports the citadel, rises above the lower like
a dais or step; while, on the other, the plane of the ground is an
inclined plane, and follows the general configuration of the country,
shelving from the hills towards the sea.
Yet these images and the impressions from which they derive are no
doubt founded upon real conditions. The isolation of the figure,
together with its elevation--not indeed above the levels which
adjoin it on either side, but above the level of the sea--these
are the two factors which have supplied the real substance of such
impressions. The first of these features would appeal to the eye
with more distinctness, were it not for the thick growth of trees
and underwood which rises from the floors and up the slopes of the
ravines, and almost conceals the escarpment of their sides. The depth
of the gulfs may be gauged by the following measurement made at the
head of the western ravine. Standing at the bottom of the abyss, the
rock which supports the citadel and palace overtops you by about 150
feet at the highest point. The width across them, from cliff to cliff,
varies considerably, according as each gulf opens or closes in; the
length of each of the two bridges which span the ravines is about 100
paces. Both ravines tend to flatten as they descend towards the shore,
or in other words, to increase in width and diminish in depth. As for
the elevation of the enclosure, it is of course most considerable at
the narrow isthmus and the citadel. This highest portion, containing
the keep and palace, is about 200 feet above the sea.
It is plain from the description which has just been given that the
characteristic features of the site attain their greatest development
in that part of the enclosure which is most remote from the shore;
that it is there the protecting gulfs are deepest, and the rock
loftiest which they flank. Indeed, during the Byzantine and earlier
Comnenian periods the fortress was confined to this upper portion,
and the outer wall on the side of the sea was drawn from gulf to
gulf at a distance of about 460 yards from the present margin of
the shore. A few sentences may suffice to present the plan of the
fortifications, as it may be traced among the ruins that remain. At
the very head of the formation came the keep and citadel, the outer
wall being drawn across the narrow isthmus between the two ravines;
this was the weakest point in the whole circumference of the fortress,
and the works were strongest upon this side. Built into this outer
wall stands a massive square tower, which rises boldly above the
battlements and faces the approaches from the south. The ground
shelves upwards almost from the immediate foot of the tower to the
amphitheatre of hills which surround the bay. Thus the fortress
is commanded by the slopes upon the south, where already it is by
nature most vulnerable. It was from the south that its assailants
delivered their principal attacks: the Goths, the Georgians, the
Seljuks, the Turkomans, the Ottoman Turks. All the space inside the
wall and between the two ravines was filled up at this uppermost part
of the fortress, first by the keep, and then by the palace itself;
the citadel served as the kingly residence, and the wall with the
bold windows which rises along the edge of the western ravine was
alike fortress and palace wall. This uppermost fortress or citadel,
with the palace of the king, was separated from the lower but more
extensive portion of the site by a cross-wall, equal in height to the
walls along the ravines, and supported at either end by towers. So much
loftier is this upper stage than the stage which lies below it that,
whereas the palace, which occupies the most elevated point, towers
high above the battlements of the cross-wall, the base of this wall
itself overtops the highest buildings of the second and lower stage.
Below the cross-wall, with its massive double gate, lay that part
of the fortress which contained the cathedral and public buildings,
and formed the inhabited portion of the original fortified town. Like
the citadel, it was protected on two sides by the ravines, lined on
their inner edge by a lofty wall seven feet in thickness, with towers
at intervals. A second cross-wall, extending from ravine to ravine,
was its bulwark on the side of the sea, and constituted the outer
rampart of the enclosure as it existed in the ancient form. This outer
rampart followed the edge of a natural declivity in the surface of
the shelving ground, and presented a bold front to the lower levels
lying between it and the shore.
The third and lowest stage of the fortified enclosure filled the
space that yet remained between this outer wall of the city and the
immediate margin of the sea. The ravines open outwards as they approach
the seaboard, and the figure widens which they bound; but on the other
hand, the sides of these natural barriers flatten and take the surface
of the adjoining ground. Thus the plan of the lower fortress did not
display the same subservience to the natural features of the site,
and was protracted on the west beyond the outer margin of the western
ravine. Indeed, the area enclosed by this later work of the fourteenth
century was considerably greater than that of the ancient burgh;
and in proportion as it was deficient in natural defences, so it was
stronger in those of art. A wall six feet and a half in thickness,
with towers at irregular intervals, surrounded the new work; and,
except on the side of the sea, this rampart was flanked by a second
and lower wall with a moat on its outer side. But, although the lower
fortress formed a third and separate unity, overstepping the natural
limits of the site, it was connected in the closest manner with the
upper enclosure, and with the walls flanking the ravines. On the east
the new ramparts joined the old wall, and continued its direction
in a straight line to the shore, at which point they turned at right
angles, along the shore. Thus the old cross-wall was completely covered
by the new fortifications, and the principal gate of the old city,
leading through that wall and facing the sea, instead of standing at
the outer extremity of the fortress, now became situated in about the
middle of the fortified plan. The new wall along the sea was protracted
further westwards than the western extremity of the old cross-wall; it
was drawn across the mouth of the western ravine, and far overlapped
the parallel line of the old wall. Some little distance west of the
depression it again changed direction, and stretched up towards the
south, until it reached a point opposite to the bridge which leads
out from the middle fortress, and over 100 paces from the edge of the
ravine. From this point, which was emphasised by a rectangular tower
of extraordinary size, the line of wall was taken at right angles,
and met the margin of the ravine.
This threefold disposition of the walls and fortifications is
characteristic of the plan of the fortified city, and forms a
feature well noted in the descriptions of the topographers and still
distinguished in popular speech. Indeed, even at the present day,
when most of the great gates have disappeared, and houses with several
storeys obscure the plan, the hillside is lined by three complete
fortresses, each separated from the other and one higher than another,
yet all three welded closely into one. The appearance of the city
in the days of her splendour must have justified her reputation as
"Queen of the Euxine," and lent colour to her claim to be the capital
of a restored Roman Empire of the East. Between extensive suburbs,
filled with busy streets and markets, rising from the shore on either
hand, through a labyrinth of gardens and garden-houses, clustered
on the higher slopes, the two converging lines of massive parapets
and towers mounted slowly up the shelving ground. The further they
receded from the margin of the seaboard, the clearer grew the essential
features of the site--the ravines opening darkly at the immediate foot
of either wall, the walls closely following the irregular course of
the chasms, and now rising, now declining, along the uneven surface
of the cliffs. Near the head of the figure stood the royal palace,
raised high above the massive works of the citadel, deeply moated by
the sister gulfs on either side. Broad windows opened from the royal
reception hall of white marble to the varied prospects on every side,
while within, the vast apartment was adorned with rich paintings, the
portraits of successive holders of the imperial office, their insignia
and arms. On the east, beyond the abyss, the slope gathered gradually
to the side of Mithros, the table-topped hill, in which direction,
just opposite the palace, the church and fortified enclosure of
St. Eugenius crowned an almost isolated site which was flanked on
the further side by a third and lesser ravine. Towards the interior,
on the side of the narrow isthmus, the view ranged wide, above the
battlements, over the hills encircling the broad bay; while the
rising ground, opening upwards from the tongue of the isthmus, was
occupied by the theatre and by the extensive walled enclosure of the
polo-ground or hippodrome. A royal gate gave access from the palace
to these pleasure-places, the distance of a short walk from the wall;
and through this gate the imperial party and their brilliant court
would pass to their marble seats above the race-course, whence the
whole landscape of city and field and ocean lay outspread at their
feet. If the several divisions of the fortified enclosure may be
described as so many steps, or shelving terraces, rising one behind
another from the shore, then the race-course outside the walls will be
the fourth stage of the platform, the last and highest, and the fairest
of all. Indeed the prospect over the walls and towers of the city to
the distant sea beyond must at all times have been one of surpassing
beauty, whether seen from the windows of the Imperial residence, or
from these airy heights above the town. To the palace was displayed
the long perspective of the city architecture outlined against the
blue bay--the massive cross-walls cleaving the crowded quarters,
the domes of the churches glancing in the brilliant sunlight, and,
interspersed, quiet respites of shade and leafiness, where some portico
with frescoed walls and row of marble pillars recalled the habits of
the classical age. From the higher standpoint of the race-course all
the rich detail of this scene was blended and subdued; the eye would
follow the long line of parapets and towers descending by the side of
the sinuous streak of verdure which marked the course of the western
ravine. The palace windows, which still rise above the head of that
ravine, commanded the landscape of the west, the wide bay with its
peaceful setting of cultivated hillsides stretching seawards to the
distant cape.
Among the most pleasing and, perhaps, not the least striking feature
in the composition of these scenes must at all times have been the
luxuriance and variety of the vegetation which is natural to this
soil. The necessary moisture is provided, not by stagnant pools and
marshes, as in the country watered by the Kolchian rivers further
east, but by salubrious springs, bubbling from the surface of the rock
and collecting in rustling streams. The sun is indeed the fiery orb
of Eastern landscapes; but the climate is tempered by the chilling
winds from across the sea, bringing rain and mist in their train. The
outcome of these conditions is the simultaneous exuberance of the
trees and plants which flourish upon the coasts of the Mediterranean
and of the leafy giants of our Northern woods; side by side with shady
thickets of chestnut, elm, oak and hazel, groves of cypress, laurel
and olive grace the shore. The wild vine hangs in festoons from the
branches, and in sheltered places the orange tree, the lemon, and the
pomegranate thrive and yield their fruit. All our fruits are found
in the well-stocked gardens, while the fig of Trebizond is of old as
famous as the grapes of Tripoli and the cherry of Kerasun. Cucumbers
are cultivated, and heavy pumpkins, and tobacco, and Indian corn, with
its reed-like stalks and luscious leaves. The beautiful pink flowers
of the oleander may be seen rising above some orchard wall. In the
middle of the seventeenth century we are told of upwards of thirty
thousand gardens and vineyards inscribed in the city registers, and
at that time the slopes about Boz Tepe were completely covered with
vines. But it is on the western rather than on the eastern side of
the fortress that Nature has most freely lavished her gifts; and on no
spot with more abundance or greater effectiveness than on the western
ravine. The beauties of that valley, almost as we see them to-day,
have been described in glowing language by Cardinal Bessarion in the
fifteenth century, himself a son of Trebizond, and by the historian of
the Comnenian empire whose warm imagination was kindled by scenes which
recalled and intensified the graces of his native Tyrol. [1] A path
leads down from the suburb on the west into the shade and freshness
of the gorge, through thickets of lofty forest-trees, their leafy
branches laced together by wild vines. Even at mid-day, when the sun
hangs cloudless over the narrow vista, the rays scarcely penetrate to
the deep shadows of the evergreens--a luxuriant undergrowth of myrtle,
laurel and ivy, rising from the floor and up the cliffs. From the
highest point of the castle rock some 150 feet above you, amongst a
wild confusion of creepers and trees, the bold wall of the palace,
now reduced to an empty skeleton, still stands up against the sky;
and the broad windows which once opened from the emperor's apartments
still overlook the verdant scene below. Past mossy banks, upon which
the iris and primrose flourish, through leafy brakes, where trees of
laurel hide the ground, the little stream cascades into the laps of
the hollows or plashes over ledges of hard rock.
But we are anticipating on our walk, which has not yet brought us
further than the edge of the eastern ravine. We cross the bridge,
and at once find ourselves within the fortified enclosure,
which is traversed by a broad road. Following that road,
we are passing through the middle fortress--that part of the
site which constituted the inhabited quarter of the walled city
in its original form. Now as in ancient times it is crowded by
buildings, while a considerable portion is taken up by the Serai,
or Government House (No. 17 on plan of Trebizond and surroundings),
which is situated about in the middle of the space between the
ravines, on the south side of our road. Here the pasha will be
sitting within an inner room, a bundle of papers by his side on
the divan. Entering the court, you have on one side this palace,
thronged with applicants, and, on the other, the iron gratings of
a prison, banding the faces of the captives as they stare on the
scene below. Past the gateway of the Serai, a narrow way leads
up the enclosure, diverging at right angles from the road which
joins the ravines. It conducts us to the upper fortress through
a quarter filled by private houses, and inhabited exclusively by
Mohammedans. A walk of some two or three hundred yards brings us
to the foot of the lofty cross-wall, which is almost as fresh
to-day as when it was reared. By a steep incline we enter a
gateway into a hollow tower adjoining the outer wall on the east,
which constitutes the only passage into the citadel.
The massive ancient gate still rests upon its hinges,
its rusty iron plates riddled with bullets. A second gate,
placed at right angles to the first in the further wall, gives
issue from the tower. The citadel, like the middle fortress,
is occupied by modern houses; but they are less frequent, and
are almost confined to the spaces immediately neighbouring the
cross-wall. There is some difficulty in examining the extensive
ancient works which still in part remain upon the site. One of
the principal buildings is occupied by military stores, and is
forbidden ground. I contrive to effect an entrance, and find it
quite empty--a palpable reason for such exclusive measures. Then
the walls which enclose the gardens of the private dwellings are
no less the discreet protectors of the life of the harem than
the veil to hide the squalor of faded opulence. While one of us
is taking readings with the prismatic compass, the whole quarter
is raised by the protestations of a young minx, who will insist
that she is the object of his unmannerly stares. I have said that
the palace is now a mere skeleton; a rambling old house, with
a picturesque overhanging roof, fills a portion of the ground
plan of the royal apartments, where they overlooked the western
ravine. We are tardily given admission by a female voice. From
an embrasure in the massive wall of the fortress, just below the
row of eight arched windows, which stand up blank against the sky,
we feast our eyes upon the charming view over the western ravine,
following its sinuous outline into the background of leafy hills,
or resting upon the cypresses and minaret of the Khatunieh mosque
among the villas on the opposite margin of the abyss.
Within this outer wall, a little south of our standpoint, a square
tower rises above the outline of the battlements, displaying in
its upper storey the interior of a spacious apartment with windows
opening upon the landscape. The fragment of a wall juts out towards
us from beside the tower; and three large windows, of which two
are double, with slim dividing pillars, have been spared to it by
the ravages of time. Just north of us, three more windows rise from
the outer wall, on a higher plane than those above our heads. Both
rows are but the remains of much longer series, once the life and
pride of these grim parapets. They enable us to reconstruct the
ancient splendour of the imperial residence, which, day by day,
is slowly passing towards the world of unsubstantial memories,
to share the fate of sacred Troy and of King Priam, rich in flocks.
Above the palace, within the narrowing tongue of the
circumvallation, the space is occupied by the substructures
of the keep, over which we clamber to the parapets of the
outer wall. Beside us, the square tower at the extreme end
of the fortress frowns out upon the knife-like ridge between
the ravines. It is probable that this tower is composed of a
solid mass, for one cannot trace any sign of a passage in. The
battlements of the wall rise to a height of nearly 200 feet
above the western ravine. Just on the east of the tower is placed
the only entrance to the citadel from the side of the ridge. It
consists of a long passage, flanked by a parallel outer wall,
and abutting on a huge angular tower. But the inner doorway is
now walled up, and one is obliged to retrace one's steps to the
middle fortress, in order to pass without the walls.
The gate is situated just below the entrance to the citadel, in
the wall on the east. It too is furnished with double doors, which,
like their neighbours, have been riddled by musket fire. South of
this gateway there is just enough room between the wall and the
edge of the eastern ravine to permit of a narrow road. Leaving
the interior of the fortress, one is taken along this road,
with the wooded precipice on one hand and on the other the
ivy-grown battlements. Peasants, carrying baskets, pass by on
their way to market; and beneath a fig tree, teeming with fruit,
some Mussulman women, resting from their wayfaring, cower within
their veils as we approach. The colossal angular tower projects
from the head of the irregular wall towards the leafy abyss,
a large inscription gleaming white upon the wall which faces us,
the record of the conquest of Mohammed II.
But the point at which you pause is at the head of the
fortification, beneath the soaring escarpment of the square
tower. It is the same site upon which the peoples from the remote
recesses of Asia have stood with the lust of conquest in their
eyes. On the opposite bank of the eastern ravine the drum-shaped
dome of St. Eugenius rises from among a cluster of red-roofed
villas. It was there that the Seljuk sultan issued his threats and
insults, while the Greek emperor fasted and prayed. From within
the limits of that same sanctuary were heard the shouts of the
revellers, mingling with the voices of their concubines. And
a white minaret proclaims the event of the long and unequal
struggle between the full-blooded followers of the Prophet and
the emaciated children of the Cross.
The tower itself has evidently been built at a later period than
the wall from which it rises in a continuous face. The colour of
the stone is slightly paler, and an inscription, now much decayed,
attests it to be the work of the Emperor John the Fourth, the
last but one of the Comnenian dynasty. The ground widens like
a fan from the foot of this tower, and the ravines, which have
almost met, diverge and become great valleys, stretching into the
bosom of the hills. Within that ampler space, a few hundred yards
south of the fortress, one may still recognise the enclosure of
the hippodrome and the great gateway on its northern side. The
wall still rises in places to a height of from six to ten feet,
but all the interior structures have disappeared. A field of
tobacco grows upon the site. Adjoining the gateway, and facing
the palace, one is impressed by the shape and appearance of a
projecting tongue of land with a flat top. The theatre may once
have stood upon this spot.
The ancient churches of Trebizond, some converted into mosques
and others into public baths, are among the most interesting
relics which the town contains. Retracing our steps to the
middle fortress and to the road which joins the two ravines,
we have almost reached the bridge over the westerly depression
before attaining the old cathedral, sacred to the golden-headed
Virgin, of which the southern wall borders our road on the north
(No. 18). How bare and bleak it looks, shorn of its southern and
western porches, and covered with a thick coating of whitewash! A
little court, paved with flagstones, adjoins it on the east,
over which you pass to an entrance at the north-east corner which
has destroyed the side apse on that side. If you scrutinise the
outer wall of the principal apse, you may still distinguish
beneath the whitewash a design of figures in mosaic, one of
which perhaps represents the seated Virgin. Time has worn down
the few sculptured mouldings of which any trace remains. There
is little to attract the eye in this mangled group of gables,
surmounted by the drum of a duodecagonal dome. On the northern
side rises the minaret, adjoining the principal entrance which
has made use of the old porch on the north. Four marble pillars
with Ionic capitals, probably the spoil of some pagan temple,
support the roof of this spacious porch. We are about to enter,
when we are called aside to observe an old fountain in the court
on the east. It contains a marble slab with a Greek inscription,
which is illegible; and the water issues from a much-worn bronze
spout, representing the head of a serpent or dragon, which is
said to have belonged to a bronze model of such a monster, killed
by the spear of Alexius the First. Near the fountain is a tomb,
still maintained in good order, in which repose the remains of a
shepherd youth to whom the townspeople attribute the capture of
the fortress by the Ottoman Turks. The story runs that Mohammed
the Second, foiled by the strength of the citadel, had recourse
to a final expedient of which the result should determine the
alternatives of further effort or abandonment of the siege. A
number of shots were to be fired from a cannon at the chain
which supported the drawbridge. Should it be severed, it would
be a signal for a renewal of operations; in the contrary case
the siege was to be raised. The experiment failed; the sultan
broke up his camp and removed the bulk of his army, leaving,
however, the loaded cannon still in site. A young shepherd,
happening to pass by, was prompted by the hardihood of his years
to try his skill at the difficult mark. He discharged the gun,
and the drawbridge fell. This child of a short-lived future sped
to the camp of Mohammed, who was making his way up the valley of
the Pyxitis towards Baiburt. But his story was derided, and the
sultan, in a fit of anger, caused him to be killed. The rage of
the despot was turned to grief when the confirmation reached him of
this miraculous exploit. His return was followed by the fall of the
city; and he endeavoured to atone for his rash action by loading
his victim with posthumous rewards. Over the coffin one may still
see the ball suspended which decided the fate of Trebizond. And
the martyr is known by a name which repeats the sultan's sorrowful
exclamation: "Khosh Oghlan," or "Well done! Oghlan."
The interior of the mosque produces an effect of extraordinary
massiveness, with its bulky piers supporting the dome, with the
walls which join these piers to the walls of the church and screen
off the aisles from the open space beneath the dome. Except for
the two inner columns of the porch, not a single pillar is to
be seen. The aisles are narrow, and their ceilings low; they are
surmounted by a gallery, from which you look through low, arched
apertures into the nave. The Turks have placed a wooden stage in
the northern arm of the church, between the two walls which screen
off the aisle. This erection faces their altar, and is reserved
for their women; you reach it by a staircase placed inside the
building, in front of the north-east entrance. A doorway leads
from this wooden structure into the old gallery over the aisle,
through which you pass to the women's gallery in the original
design, which fills the space above the ceilings of the narthex
and exo-narthex on the western side of the mosque. Two lofty
vaulted openings display the interior to this gallery; while the
wall between narthex and exo-narthex is pierced by three arches in
a similar style. The door on the west in the storey below, which
in Christian times gave access through these outer spaces into the
body of the church, is no longer used, now that the religious focus
of the building has been changed from the apse to the southern
arm between the aisles. The exo-narthex has a width of 18 feet,
and the narthex of 9 feet 7 inches. The piers upon which repose
the vaulted ceilings of these courts are of such thickness that
the entire space, measured from the inner side of the outer wall
to the outer side of the wall of the nave, amounts to 37 feet
5 inches. The interior measurements of the church proper are a
length of 93 feet 6 inches from the commencement of the nave to
the head of the apse, and a breadth of only 50 feet 5 inches. It
is well lit from windows in the apse and along the walls; but the
twelve windows in the dome are small. Beautiful marble plaques of
various colours, and designs in mosaic, may still be admired in the
apse; but there is an almost total lack of ornament elsewhere. As
to the date of the building, it is ascribed by Texier to the
Grand-Comneni; with much less knowledge I hesitate to offer the
opinion that the design belongs to an earlier period.
From this mosque of the middle fortress, Orta Hisar Jamisi, the
ancient cathedral, it is but a few steps to the bridge over the
western ravine. Like its fellow on the east of the enclosure,
it consists of a lofty stone embankment, with a single narrow
arch through which the stream flows. The prospect on either side
is of great beauty, while the deep shadows of the vegetation,
rising from the floor of the ravine, rest the eye and refresh the
sense. Towards the south, beyond an irregular line of ivy-grown
parapets, and towers of varying features and size, the stately
works of palace and citadel rise against the sky; while in the
direction of the sea, where the depression flattens and is lost
in a maze of houses, the tiers of red-tiled roofs are pierced by
a double series of battlements and embowered forts. The wall of
the middle fortress is seen extending for some distance along
the uneven edge of its rocky support; but it is overpowered in
the landscape by the outer line of walls, which, starting from
the opposite side of the ravine, are drawn in a long perspective
to the shore.
Our goal is now the famous church of Hagia Sophia; it is
situated upon the coast on the west of the city, at a distance
of over a mile from the walls (No. 25). The bridge leads over
into the western suburb, and for a short space you follow the
outer wall of the lower fortress, stretching westwards at right
angles to the ravine. On the right hand this solid masonry and
a massive rectangular tower; on the left, a little further on,
the cypresses of the Turkish burying-field, the leaning white
headstones with their gilt Arabic inscriptions better disposed
and tended than is usually the case. We have passed the street
which turns upwards to the mosque Khatunieh (No. 20), the spacious
and still well-ordered mosque and medresseh which keeps alive the
memory of the mother of Selim the First. Like the middle and lower
fortress, this western suburb is inhabited for the most part by
Mohammedans--what a contrast to the bustling town on the east of
the city where the Christian quarters lie! There, busy streets,
lined with the broad-paned windows of offices and shops; here,
the silent graveyard and widely scattered dwellings which seem
to shrink from contact with life. A brighter aspect belongs to
the meidan or open place, to which we pass and which we cross
(Kavak Meidan, or plane tree square)--an extensive stretch of
green turf, resembling an English common, where in old times the
jerid or spear exercise was performed. Several tombs (kumbets)
are to be seen on this grassy lawn, but I do not know to whom they
have been raised. A little later we have left the last settlements
behind us, and are winding outwards towards the sea-shore.
The church of Hagia Sophia, or the Divine Wisdom, now converted
into a mosque, has been described as one of the most interesting
monuments of Byzantine architecture, sculpture, and painting
that time has spared. [2] This appreciation can only be partially
tested by the traveller of the present day, because the frescos
which once covered the interior of the building have been daubed
over with successive coats of whitewash. It is possible that
when the time comes for restoring the building to Christian
worship, or at least, as we may hope, for preserving it as a
relic to instruct an enlightened age, the scales may fall away
and disclose in some of their ancient brightness the solemn faces
and gorgeous robes of the Grand-Comneni as they looked down upon
the congregation of monks and pilgrims six centuries ago. In
the meanwhile we may consult those descriptions of the paintings
which have come down to us in the accounts of modern travellers
more fortunate than ourselves, for at some periods a portion of
the plaster has fallen and revealed the rich work below. Of the
sculpture and architectural merits we are able to judge on the
spot, for, although the Turks have introduced some alterations
in the structure, they are too clumsy to mislead.
The first view of the building, high-seated on the left hand
where the road debouches upon the sands, at once exhibits the
beauties which are peculiar to it: the choice of site and the
skilful grouping of the component parts (Fig. 3). A broad terrace
or esplanade, which is partly natural and in part supported by
an embankment and a wall, forms the summit of a gentle slope
which rises from the water beyond a fringe of cactus and leafy
shrubs. The surface of the platform is flat and even, and is
covered by a green carpet of turf. The prospect ranges wide
across the bay to Cape Ieros, and seawards without limit over
the waves. On the east, rising ground shuts out the city and the
suburb, while on the south, the open landscape of hill and valley
is felt rather than observed.
From the peaceful elevation of this pleasant terrace the
well-preserved remains of an ancient monastery look down upon the
shore. On the west, at the further extremity of the platform,
a lofty square bell-tower or campanile stands out alone, like
a sentinel, fronting the sea; just below it lies the church,
a cluster of roofs and gables centring in a drum-shaped dome. Of
the monastic buildings only one has been spared, a massive square
edifice at the south-western corner of the platform, which is
almost concealed by trees.
We mount the slope and reach the platform on the southern side,
with the church between us and the blue waters of the bay. A
custodian has been found in some hovel among the orchards, but
no meaner object breaks the grassy surface of the terrace from
which the building rises, the even masonry exposed from base to
dome. Against the plain grey spaces of the walls which lie behind
it, the rich façade of the southern entrance at once attracts the
eye (Fig. 4). It consists of a porch or lateral structure, which
once gave access to a door in the main wall of the church. Two
graceful marble pillars with Corinthian capitals supported the
façade; but the Turks have closed this entrance and walled up the
columns, which are only visible from the inside. The new work
does not rise much higher than the tops of the capitals, and
the openings of the three arches which spring from the pillars
have been filled with window glass. Of these, the central arch
is slightly pointed, and those on either side are round. A
pleasing feature of the design is the bold rounded arch which
spans the porch from one wall to the other, and envelops the three
lesser vaultings and their marble columns within a broad band of
unsculptured stone. On the outer side, a narrow beading of grapes
and vine-leaves accentuates the studied absence of all ornament
upon the masonry of the span; and the keystone is enriched by
the figure of the single-headed eagle of the Comneni, with open
talons and wings outspread. The space of wall which is framed in
this stately manner, and which is supported by the pillars of the
façade, forms a panel or panels which are admirably adapted to
receive that style of decorative treatment in which Byzantine
art excelled. About in the centre, the space is broken by a
quatrefoil window, above which, and on either side, plaques of
varied mosaic have been inserted into the wall. Below the window,
and from end to end, runs a frieze in low relief, surmounted
by an inscription in Greek, "Have mercy upon me, save me from
my sins, O succour me, Lord, God, Holy! Holy!" In the frieze
may be discerned among the shapes of plants and trees, rendered
with the highest skill and with much grace, human figures which
indeed have suffered mutilation, but which, like corresponding
works of the Romanesque style, appear deformed in size. Adam lies
asleep among the foliage of the garden; a serpent, coiled round
a leafless trunk, confronts the standing figure of Eve. Of the
mosaics two at least of the plaques have been removed or have
perished; you see the vacant oblong spaces on either side of the
quatrefoil. The largest panels contain geometrical patterns; but
the most beautiful and best preserved, if perhaps the smallest,
is composed of two doves and two sprays of pomegranate in white
on a black ground. This plaque has been placed just above the
window and below the talons of the royal bird.
The reader will have divined that the great charm of this façade
lies as much in the skill of the design--the wide span of the
arch above the lesser arches, and the pleasing combination of
these forms with the vertical lines of walls and columns, and
with the sharp angle of the roof--as in the decorative effect
of delicate mouldings and elaborate sculptures, and of rich
mosaics thrown on the grey stone. Porches of similar plan give
access to the interior, both on the western and northern sides;
but their tympana or panels are without ornament. The western
porch has an Arab niche with a deep honeycomb moulding from
which the outer arch springs, and this moulding is continued
in the form of imposts above the capitals of the columns. That
on the north is without any remarkable feature, except that the
capitals, which are of fresh white marble, appear to be of much
later date. They are without carving, but in each is cut a panel,
bearing the figure of a Latin cross.
A walk round the building confirms the impression which a first
view produced. It is the number of roofs at various levels, the
different grouping of the gables at every turn, that arrests and
pleases the eye. The walls themselves are of hewn stone, with
plain mouldings, of which the most delicate runs round the apse
and side chapels, above the windows, in a continuous band. On the
face of the apse itself you see the eagle of the Grand-Comneni,
set in panel in the wall.
The entrance to the mosque is through the porch on the west. It
is much shorter or less deep than its two counterparts, but,
unlike them, gives access through a marble doorway to a second
vestibule or outer court. This court or narthex extends the whole
width of the building, and is both lofty and well lit. A door
opens from it into the church proper, an airy interior of pleasing
proportions, into which the light streams from the twelve windows
in the circumference of the dome (Fig. 5). Four massive marble
pillars with carved Byzantine capitals support the pendentives
from which the dome springs; but the sharpness of the sculpture
has been obliterated by thick coats of buff and green paint. The
Turks have also introduced some structural changes. The southern
porch has been thrown into the body of the building, and an altar
(mihrab) placed between the two columns which properly belong
to the façade. In this manner the porch, with its orientation
towards Mecca, has become the religious focus of the mosque;
a wooden gallery, from which my illustration was taken, has been
erected against the opposite wall. The apse, which is lit by three
windows, is supplemented by two smaller apses or side chapels at
the extremities of the aisles.
Like most of the ancient churches we are about to visit during
the course of our journey south, Hagia Sophia is a building of
small dimensions according to modern ideas. The interior has a
length of not more than 69 feet from the inner door to the head
of the apse, with a breadth, excluding the side porches, of 36
feet. A building of this size is admirably adapted to the art of
the painter in fresco, while his work derives the greatest possible
advantage from the features of the design. The lofty vaulted spaces
of the dome and apse were once resplendent with bright effects;
and on the walls were depicted the richly-apparelled figures of
the princes of the Comnenian line. From the partial glimpses of
the paintings obtained by various travellers, it is possible
to realise, at least in some measure, the former splendour of
the scene. At the entrance above the door was seen the image
of Alexius, first emperor of Trebizond, surrounded by his court,
like Justinian at Ravenna; in his hands the golden globe of empire,
and on his forehead a white diadem. On the right of the same door
stood the first Manuel (r. A.D. 1238-63), the prince who was known
as "the great captain," and who, according to the description at
the side of the figure, was the founder of this monastery. The
emperor was without crown, but his forehead was encircled by a
cinglet with a double row of pearls. The front of the royal robe
was adorned on either side by a band of large circular medallions,
bearing the device of the single-headed eagle; a similar ornament,
engraved with the equestrian figure of St. Eugenius, hung upon the
royal breast. Many of the successors of these two princes were
without doubt represented on the remaining spaces of the walls;
while the portraits included those of saints and evangelists,
all attired in costliest style. The apse displayed a group of
three figures, of whom the central one appears to have designated
St. Paul; on his right hand St. James and on his left St. John
were identified by written scrolls. From the inner sides of the
arches, as from the vault of heaven, the faces of angels looked
down. The floor was paved by a rich marqueterie of marbles; you
admired in particular a design of geometrical character in which
the tracing was done in black marble on a ground of vivid reds
and pinks and greens.
But the impression which we should take away from this elaborate
interior would be one of sadness, perhaps of pain. The art, the
life, here represented, was an art in shackles, an expiring phase
of life. The peculiar wooden quality of these expressionless
faces may be gauged by the examples which have been preserved
for us by the care of Texier. Strict conventions had taken the
place of realities alike in life and in art; and how sad after
the unsurpassed beauty of Hellenic vigour are the gaudy get-up
and childish love of baubles which mark the declining years
of the Greek world! Vanished, or hidden from sight behind the
inexorable whitewash, lies the vivid evidence of that departed age;
repugnant alike to the spirit and to the mission of Mohammedanism,
this rich collection of Christian images must, from the first,
have courted effacement. At the time of our visit the walls had
been recently limed over to purify the edifice after the service
of State prison to which, during the prevalence of cholera in
the town, it had been temporarily assigned. In the upper storey
of the campanile, a later work of the fifteenth century, the
frescos are still exposed; but it is evident that they can never
have possessed much importance. The baptistery, which is said
to have been covered with such paintings, has been removed many
years ago. It stood near the edge of the terrace, on the north.
Before retracing our steps towards the city, it is worth while
to extend the excursion to the neighbouring ruin of Mevla Khaneh
(House of gods, No. 23), if only for the sake of a ramble through
the pleasant country lanes and a view over the peaceful landscape
of the bay. Against the background of the line of heights, at
a distance from Hagia Sophia of about three-quarters of a mile,
the scanty remains of a heathen temple emerge from a leafy brake
which fills a recess of the hillside. Portions of a tower and
doorway, the lower parts of two walls have escaped the ravages of
time. Small square niches are seen in the walls at close intervals,
said to have contained the statues of the gods. From the floor
of the temple rise tall elm trees, festooned with wild vine; and
an ancient laurel tree bends over the ivy-grown masonry. Rarely
do people pass this way; and, on the occasion of our visit, we
were the unwilling authors of a rather serious offence. Among the
lanes below the ruin we surprised a young woman, combing her long
hair on the margin of a stream from which she had just stepped out.
One may return to Trebizond by the old road towards Platana, which
has been replaced by a new chaussée nearer the shore. From the
Kavak Meidan, with its one fine plane tree, we proceed through
the quarter of Sotke towards the gate of the same name in the
wall of the lower fortress. The riparian quarters on the east of
the city are well worthy of a visit; they may be reached either
by crossing the crowded spaces of the fortified enclosure, or by
making the more pleasant circuit by the side of the sea. Choosing
the second alternative, we soon arrive at the angle of the wall,
and are treading the broad strip of sand. All the elements of the
picturesque are present in the varied scene--the line of walls,
the massive tower just on the east of the gate of Molos, the
broad-prowed ships drawn up on the shore, the groups of people in
motley attire. In the autumn large quantities of nuts are spread
out on the sand, awaiting shipment to France. The tower is flanked
on the west by the parapet of a modern battery, while on the east
it is adjoined by the vault through which the stream issues which
comes from the western ravine. In front of the vault there is a
little bridge. The submerged remains of a semicircular mole--a
work of the old Greek times--are indicated by a line of surf in
the sea. It is evident that the entrance to this harbour was on the
east. On that side too there is a tower, projecting into the waves
with the form of a wedge, and still joined to the north-eastern
angle of the fortress by the substructures of a massive wall.
It is through an opening in that wall that we pass from the
life of the sea-shore into the more intense and throbbing life
of the bazar. In old times one of the great gates gave issue
from the lower fortress to the important riparian quarters on
the east. This gate, the bazar gate or gate of Mumkhaneh (candle
factories), has been removed to give space to a broad street. The
stream from the eastern ravine, which passes outside the walls,
is taken by a tunnel through this crowded quarter. The bazars
adjoin the fortress; they are well stocked and extensive. The
more one walks in Trebizond, the more one is impressed by the
shyness of the women; nowhere in the East have I seen them more
ashamed to show the face. Nowhere does one realise more keenly
the loss of colour and gaiety which this muffling and veiling of
women entails. A fine example of an old Italian magazine may be
seen in this neighbourhood; it is called the Bezestan (repository
of stuffs, No. 16). Where the bazar is at its busiest, a massive
square building of stone and brick rises above the lines of booths
with their shadowed recesses. It is entered by four doors, of wood
plated with iron, one on each side. In the centre is a well; the
roof rested on four piers and sprang from vaultings at each angle
of the square. The piers and vaultings still remain, but the roof
is gone. The place is occupied by sellers of quilts, or coverlets
stuffed with cotton, which take the place of blankets in the East.
South of this building, beyond the large mosque of the quarter,
which is without architectural interest, are situated the two Greek
churches of Aivasil and Aiana, the first almost on the fringe of
the bazars. Aivasil (No. 14) has been rebuilt, or rather the site
of the old church has been covered by a modern and tasteless
erection. But a long stone, part of a frieze, containing an
inscription of Justinian, which belonged to the earlier edifice,
is still preserved as an historical relic in the body of the
church. Aiana (No. 13), its close neighbour, is, on the other
hand, quite intact, and remains a most interesting example of the
beginnings of Christian architecture. A small and unpretentious
building of stone, not too evenly put together, with the arches
over the little windows constructed of brick, it would almost
escape notice were it not for a large bas-relief in marble which
is inserted into the wall over the door on the south. Although
the stone is cracked and the sculpture has suffered mutilation,
one can recognise that there is represented a colossal seated
figure, with a smaller figure, holding a shield, at her feet. The
interior is built of brick, and consists of a nave and two aisles,
the principal apse being flanked by two side apses. [3] But there
is no dome; and the scanty light which falls on the withered
frescos comes from nine little windows in the walls. Each aisle
has two arches, the more easterly pair resting on piers, and the
more westerly on marble pillars with Ionic capitals. One remarks
the narrowness of the apse, in which is placed a primitive altar,
resembling those in the oldest Armenian churches. It consists
of a horizontal slab resting on a circular stone, and on the
side of the slab is a Greek inscription. Several of the frescos
remain with which the walls were once covered, the building being
still used as a church. Besides Biblical subjects, one observes
several portraits upon the wall on the west. The greater portion
of the space is filled with the pictures of saints and monks;
but on the north side there is represented a colossal figure,
of which the head has unfortunately been effaced. The figure is
attired in a purple robe, with bands of gold embroidered in black,
the same costume as that in which the Emperor Alexius III. is
depicted in the Bull at Sumelas. He holds a circular ornament
or emblem in his left hand. An inscription, partially effaced,
is seen on the wall below the figure. [4] Such is this relic
of the early city, with its spoils of still earlier temples,
bridging the periods of the old worship and the new.
Returning to the commercial quarter from the narrow alleys which
surround this building, we pass an old house which is an example
of a style of architecture now rapidly being replaced by the
modern villa. The exterior, with its projecting upper storey
and semicircular, roofed balcony, where the inmates would enjoy
the freshness of the afternoon, produces an impression at once
of somewhat costly solidity and of picturesque charm. The rooms
are panelled in wood, both walls and ceilings; and screens of
open woodwork, placed before the windows, preserve the privacy
of the life within. In the little niches and in the details of
the ornamentation the spirit is that of Persian art.
The magazines of the merchants are situated along the shore between
the fortified city and the point of Güzel Serai. Proceeding
eastwards, we need scarcely stop to visit the Greek cathedral
(No. 12), a large modern building of extraordinary ugliness on the
margin of the sea. On the south side of this pretentious church we
are shown the tomb of the last of the Georgian kings. A road leads
upwards through the crowded Christian quarter, Frank Mahalla, past
the wall and tower of Güzel Serai (No. 10). These buildings date,
I believe, from a comparatively recent period; but they occupy
the site of the famous fortress of Leontocastron, long in dispute
between the Comnenian emperor and the Genoese. The companion
fort of Daphnus, another Genoese possession, probably stood in
the bay on the west, where the quarter of Dia Funda, an Italian
corruption of the Greek name, faces the modern anchorage. The
walls of Güzel Serai overlook a park of artillery, drawn up on
a grassy platform at the point.
Our walk through the eastern suburb may be protracted to the slope
of Boz Tepe, where an ancient nunnery, famous for its frescos,
commands the landscape of the city from a well-chosen site just
outside its extreme fringe (No. 6). Adjacent to the building,
which presents the appearance of a fortress, was placed the
summer residence or pleasure-house whence the Grand-Comneni used
to survey their beauteous capital. I can well remember the ruin
of this palace, with its blank windows, such a pleasant frame
to the charming view which they overlooked. Alas! this fragment
has disappeared, to make room for an ugly guest-house which the
avaricious nuns have built in its place. The chapel of the nunnery,
dedicated to the Virgin, Panagia Theoskepastos, is built into the
side of the cliff, its inner end being, in fact, a cave. Damp
has blurred the frescos; but one may still recognise the royal
portraits upon the north wall. The upper portions of two kingly
figures, attired in purple robes, and on their right hand, side
by side, two queens with jewelled crowns, still colour the mouldy
side of the cave, and are almost hidden by a row of stalls. They
have been identified by inscriptions which, I presume, have become
effaced, as Alexius III. and his queen Theodora; as Andronicus
and Eirene, mother respectively and son of the first-named prince.
Nor should the traveller omit a visit to the church of St. Eugenius
(No. 19), although he may not have time to visit the grottoes in
the face of Boz Tepe, and to protract the excursion beyond the
embouchure of the Pyxitis to the site of Xenophon's camp. That
famous church is situated in the opposite direction, and has been
already mentioned in the description of the upper fortress. It
stands on the margin of the eastern ravine, almost opposite to
the great polygonal tower. The site is separated from the slopes
of Boz Tepe by a second and smaller ravine, which shows remains,
on the western bank, of walls and towers. Houses cluster round
the building, their horizontal outlines topped by its gables and
crowned by its polygonal, drum-shaped dome. St. Eugenius dates from
the period of the Grand-Comneni; but the frescos on the western
wall, which some travellers have noticed, are now nothing more
than patches of colour. It is a somewhat larger edifice than
Hagia Sophia, which, although less graceful, it resembles in
some respects. The dome rests upon two fluted columns on the
west side, while, on the east, it is supported by piers. A
flood of light fills the interior, which is plain and bare,
the church having been converted to the service of Islam by the
Ottoman conqueror. It was here that Mohammed II. is said to have
worshipped on the first Friday after the capture of the city by
his troops. The event is commemorated by the name of New Friday
(Yeni Juma) under which the mosque is known.
One is fortunate if it be possible to spend the later afternoons of
days devoted to the study of the town among the restful surroundings of
the pleasant country-side, upon the slopes of the adjacent hills. Such
was my privilege in 1898. Our tents were pitched on the lofty plateau
north-west of the city, the view ranging on the one side to the rocky
cliffs of Boz Tepe, and, on the other, to the distant promontory
of the sacred mountain. The crowded impressions of the day would
take proportion and perspective. One saw a city which, in spite
of the modern aspect of certain quarters, has lost little of the
romance of the Middle Age. The earlier imprint upon its buildings
is that of the era of Justinian; [5] their actual appearance is
due to the Grand-Comneni; a great sleep has bridged the interval
to the present time. Yet the life of the place, such as it is,
pursues the old channels, and the throng in the streets is to-day
not less heterogeneous than it was four centuries ago. The French,
the Austrians, and the Russians conduct the carrying trade with
Europe, reviving the function of the Genoese. The wares they bring
are largely of British origin, and are largely imported by British
merchants trading in Persia. Strings of Bactrian camels may be seen
in the streets, about to start on the long stages which separate the
seaport from Erzerum and Tabriz. The various peoples of Asia and of
Europe still meet in the bazars. [6] But the romance of the city can
never have equalled the romance of her surroundings, Nature being
the subtlest weaver of mysteries, the mother with unending fables in
whom the romantic spirit finds the only wholesome refuge from the dull
realities of daily life. The most permanent memory which the traveller
may take away from his visit may be the fruit of those half-hours
between daylight and night which he spends in his encampment above
the town. When once the sun has set there ensues a period of twilight,
in which the glow of the south appears to be blended with the gorgeous
effects of northern latitudes. Indeed, the view over the sea by day
recalls the colouring on our English coasts; and the little silken
Union Jack which fluttered over the tent of my companion, who was
acting as consul, would often seem to wave on a field of its native
blue. But in the evening there is produced a combination of elements,
at once much softer and much sterner than the setting of our English
scenes. The spirit of Scythia, of the frozen North, meets the languid
Mediterranean spirit, and spreads a robe of fire and paleness over
the sea. Only the cypresses and the luxuriant foliage preserve the
identity of the sinuous bays; and the succession of meridional ridges
which feature the coast towards Cape Ieros are clothed with a forest
of trees, fretting the splendour of the western sky.
SUPPLEMENTARY NOTE
For the topography and antiquities of Trebizond I would refer the
student who may be desirous of going more closely into the subject to
the following works:--Ritter, Erdkunde von Asien, vol. xviii. pp. 852
seq.; and in particular to the following authorities, cited by Ritter,
viz. Travels of Evliya, translated by von Hammer, London 1850,
vol. ii. pp. 41 seq.; Tournefort, Voyage du Levant, Paris 1717,
vol. ii. pp. 233 seq.; Hamilton, Researches in Asia Minor, etc.,
London 1842, vol. ii. appendix v. p. 409 (inscription No. 49, over the
gateway); Fallmerayer, J. P., Fragmente aus dem Orient, 2nd edition,
Stuttgart 1877, with which should be read the Original-Fragmente of
the same author, published in the Abhandlungen of the Academy of Munich
(Hist. Classe), vols. iii. and iv., 1843-44. Fallmerayer was the first
to investigate the subject in an adequate manner; his descriptions
are charmingly written; and, while I have availed myself freely in
composing a part of this chapter of the results of his researches,
I must also acknowledge having come under the spell of his personality
(for a slight biography of the historian see Mitterrutzner, Fragmente
aus dem Leben des Fragmentisten, Brixen 1887).
Among those who have advanced our knowledge of the place since Ritter
wrote I would cite the following:--Texier, 1839, Description de
l'Arménie, etc., Paris 1842, two vols. folio, with plates (see also
the magnificent work by Texier and Pullan, L'Architecture Byzantine,
London 1864); Pfaffenhoffen, Essai sur les aspres Comnénats ou blancs
d'argent de Trébizonde, Paris 1847; Finlay, Mediæval Greece and the
Empire of Trebizond (vol. iv. of History of Greece, revised edition,
Oxford 1877); Tozer, Turkish Armenia, London 1881, pp. 450 seq. I
have also had access to a book in Armenian which was shown to me at
Trebizond, and which is entitled: History of Pontus, by the Rev. Father
Minas Bejeshkean (Mekhitarist), a native of Trebizond, Venice 1819. [7]
The plans which accompany this chapter were made at the close of my
second journey by kind permission of the Turkish Government, and after
I had already perused the accounts of my predecessors. There is one
point in connection with the topography which one would like to feel
sure about, namely, upon what eminence in the neighbourhood the statue
of Hadrian was set up. I fancy it must have been erected on the Karlik
Tepe, a bold peak about four miles south of the town, commanding a
magnificent view. A small chapel now stands upon the summit.
The history of the empire of the Grand-Comneni of Trebizond forms
a most instructive episode in the immemorial struggle between the
East and the West. It was Fallmerayer who may be said to have given
this history as a new possession to knowledge in his admirable
Geschichte des Kaiserthums von Trapezunt, Munich 1827, followed by
the Original-Fragmente, cited above. These sources have been utilised
by Finlay in his History of Greece and Trebizond; but it is to be
regretted that Fallmerayer himself did not rewrite his Geschichte after
his later discoveries of new and important material. The outline of
the subject may, perhaps, be presented in the following brief notice.
The further one pursues one's studies of the countries west of India,
whether in the camp or in the library, the larger looms the stately
fabric of the Roman Empire of the East, and the more is felt the
need of a work dealing comprehensively with this great subject. Our
historians have allowed their interest to be absorbed by Europe; upon
Asia and the rule of the Cæsars over some of the fairest portions
of her vast territories for a period, which, commencing with the
Roman Republic, may be said to extend down to the suppression of the
despots of Trebizond by the Ottoman Turks in the latter half of the
fifteenth century, they have scarcely bestowed more than an impatient
glance. The period covers the bloom and fall of at least six great
Asiatic dynasties--the Arsakids, Sasanians, Arab caliphs, Seljuk Turks,
shahs of Kharizme, Tartar khans. It comes to an end among the ruins
of Asiatic prosperity, when the Turkomans are pasturing their flocks
among the débris of civilisation, and the Ottoman sultans, deriving
their origin from a nomad Turkish tribe, are being carried to their
zenith by the former subjects of the Cæsars, severed in the corps of
Janissaries from their Western culture and Christian religion, and
living only with the breath of their Mohammedan and Oriental king. This
startling revolution in the political and economical condition of Asia,
the effects of which are operative at the present day, may be traced
back to the decisive blow which was struck at the Roman Empire of
the East by the victory of the Seljuk sultan, Alp Arslan, over the
Cæsar Romanus near Melazkert in Armenia in the year 1071. The three
centuries of imperial rule in Asia which succeeded this event reveal
few and spasmodic interruptions to the inclined plane of Western
relapse. Then the darkness finally closes in; Constantinople falls
(1453), and Western commerce is expelled from the Black Sea.
The empire of Trebizond takes its place in this great tragedy of
history when the end is already in view. In the same year and the
same month in which the Latins took Constantinople and the nobility
of the imperial capital fled to the cities of Asia (April 1204),
two youthful scions of the illustrious House of Comnenus appeared
at the head of a body of Georgian mercenaries before the gates
of Trebizond. The Comneni, whose name perhaps reveals an Italian
origin, emerge into the light of history in the latter part of the
tenth century, from a private station among the Greek nobility of
Asia, where their hereditary estate was situated near Kastamuni,
a town in the interior, which one may reach at the present day by a
carriageable road from the port of Ineboli on the Black Sea. Manuel
Comnenus, the first to bring fame to the family, was prefect of all
the East under the Cæsar, Basil the Second (in 976); and his son, the
scholarly Isaac Comnenus, was chosen by his contemporaries to occupy
the imperial throne. The nephew of Isaac, the Emperor Alexius Comnenus
(r. 1081-1118), is well known for the part which he played during
the crusading era; and he was followed on the Byzantine throne by
two of the most martial figures of that age of heroes, Kalo-Joannes
(r. 1118-43) and Manuel (r. 1143-80). Manuel was succeeded by his
cousin Andronicus Comnenus (r. 1182-85), an emperor who did much to
purify the corrupt provincial administration of the Byzantine monarchy,
and who perished in a domestic revolution, due to his severe measures
against the high nobility. The murder of this prince was followed at
no long interval by the Latin conquest of the capital; and the two
Comneni who came to Trebizond in 1204 were sons of Manuel, son and
heir to Andronicus, who had also perished in the aforesaid revolution.
Their names were Alexius and David; and they were assisted in their
enterprise by their paternal aunt, Thamar, the offspring of their
grandfather and a Georgian lady. The political condition of Trebizond
during the interval between the murder of Andronicus and the Latin
conquest of the capital is not definitely known; but the Greek city was
probably feeling the pressure of the neighbouring kingdom of Georgia
at the time of the advent of the two Greek princes. The prospects
of relief, on the one hand, from this pressure, and, on the other,
from dependence upon the rotten court of Constantinople under the
hopeful rule of an illustrious family, must have operated as powerful
inducements to the townspeople to welcome the new régime. Alexius
Comnenus is accepted as master of the city, and his rising fortunes
attract to his victorious standard some of the noblest of the refugees
from the capital, flying into Asia before the Latins. Others range
themselves round the person of Theodore Laskaris in Bithynia; and two
rival Greek or Roman empires are established upon Asiatic soil, that of
Nicæa, or Nice, the capital of Bithynia, and the empire of Trebizond.
The successors of Laskaris fought their way back to Constantinople,
which was recovered from the Latin barons in 1261. A much less splendid
fate was reserved for the family of Alexius Comnenus; yet the little
empire on the Black Sea survived the restored Byzantine Empire; and
a space of nearly a hundred years separates the fall of the last of
the Greek cities of the interior (conquest of Philadelphia by the
Sultan Bayazid in 1390) from the overthrow of the rule of the Comneni
at Trebizond (1461). During a period of over 250 years these petty
Greek princes contrived to elude the storms of Mussulman conquest
behind the wall of mountains interposed between the interior and
the coast. Sometimes as vassals of the Oriental dynasties, at other
times in a state of independence, they ruled over the beautiful city
and a narrow strip of seaboard of varying extent. Their possessions
even included a part of the Crimea, of which the tribute was conveyed
across the expanse of waters in the imperial galleys. Proud of their
pompous titles of Grand-Comneni and Emperors of the Romans, or lords
of all Anatolia, Georgia, and the Transmarine, they supplied their
deficiencies in real power by elaborate ceremonials, and substituted
the gorgeous cult of their patron saint, Eugenius, for the devotional
exercises of the Christian religion. They might be consigned without
regret to the limbo of history, were it not for the cause of which they
were the late and debased representatives, but which, nevertheless,
they contributed to sustain. Their territory afforded a home and
holding ground to commerce; and, when the land routes through Asia
Minor fell into disuse owing to the increase of anarchy, Trebizond
became an emporium of the trade with the further Asia, diverted to the
more secure avenue of the Armenian plains. This trade was conducted
with great spirit by the Genoese from their factories at Trebizond,
until Grand-Comneni, Italian merchants, and all the apparatus of
civilisation were swept away by the Ottoman sultan, Mohammed the
Second (1451-81). This type of Oriental exclusiveness came marching
across the mountains some years after his conquest of Constantinople
(1453). The citadel of Trebizond was given over to the Janissaries,
the palace to a pasha; the last of the Comneni was transported to an
exile in Europe, whence, not long afterwards, he was summoned to the
capital and commanded to abjure the Christian faith. The firmness of
his refusal and the dignity of his martyrdom cast a parting ray of
glory through the shadows which had already closed upon his House. His
body and those of the princes who died with him were thrown to the dogs
beyond the walls of Constantinople. Only one-third of the inhabitants
of Trebizond, and these the dregs of the populace, were suffered to
remain in their native city. The remainder were compelled to emigrate,
and their estates were confiscated. In 1475 the policy of expulsion
of all Western influences was crowned by the Ottoman occupation of
Caffa and Tana, the more northerly depôts of the Genoese in the Black
Sea. European ships were expelled from these waters; where trade was
banished ensued barbarism; and for three centuries these shores were
forgotten by the West. A new era found expression in the Treaty of
Adrianople (1829), which secured the free navigation of this sea. The
first steamer made her appearance in 1836, and since then commerce
has steadily increased. It flows along the shore, to be distributed
throughout the interior, until it reaches the solid barrier of the
Russian frontier. It is carried across Asia just outside that barrier
on the backs of camels and mules. On the far side of the wall is heard
the whistle of the locomotive, and the rumble of a train which not a
bale of the hated products of European industry is permitted to invade.
Let the progressive states of modern Europe take heed lest their
domestic rivalries result in the conversion of the Black Sea into a
Russian lake, and the re-establishment of the old and melancholy order.