TO AKHALTSYKH
Where else except in London will you see clever driving? Is not England
the only country where you can trust your coachman to shave his corners
and keep his team in hand? With four horses abreast the process is
perhaps not easy, especially down a fairly steep incline. We were
pursued by a landau which contained some Russian officers who had
been spectators of our photographic and hypsometrical operations on
the summit of the pass; our driver became inspired with the spirit
of rivalry, and within a few minutes the trot had developed into a
canter, the canter into a headlong career. On the left hand a deep
abyss, on the right a mossy bank, and the post of danger occupied
by our plump little dragoman who sat on the left-hand box seat! The
carriage grazed the bank and, before we had time to pull the Armenian
to us, struck and overturned. No damage to the horses or to the rest
of the company, but the unfortunate dragoman, moaning and sobbing on
the road! Happily his contusions were not serious, and a draught of
brandy almost restored him to the possession of himself. Assisted by
our kind acquaintances, who were the unwitting cause of the disaster
and who had hurried to the scene, we conveyed him down the slope to
where a gay picnic party were regaling themselves with cakes and tea
and a variety of strong liqueurs. At once the ladies busied themselves
with the bruised and dust-covered youth, whose numbed senses quickly
revived under their care. But the incident delayed us, and it was
night before we arrived at the outskirts of Abastuman, situated in
the pine woods some ten miles south of the pass, at an elevation
of 4278 feet. We were tempted to pitch our tents above the village,
on the banks of a pleasant stream; but the darkness as well as the
lateness of the hour decided us to have recourse to a crowded hotel.
We were again in the midst of wealth and luxury--an oasis strangely
incongruous with the solemn character with which these vast and lonely
landscapes are impressed. The strains of music floated on the air;
a dance was proceeding, to which after a hurried meal my cousin and
myself repaired. All that was most brilliant in the official world
of the Caucasus was gathered in the bright ball-room; and as we made
our way there through the garden we met a group of returning guests
gathered about a slender and youthful figure, to whom all appeared
to defer. It was the Grand Duke George of Russia, since Tsarevich,
who was residing in this lofty station alike in winter as in summer
for the benefit of his health. In the afternoon of the following day,
which was devoted to work and to preparations, came a message from
His Imperial Highness inviting us to mid-day dinner; so we deferred
our start from early morning to a later hour. His villa was situated
just above the street of pleasure-houses among the fir trees which
clothe the valley from trough to ridge; and on the opposite side of
the road the slope had been converted into a park, which contained
living specimens of the big game of the Caucasian wilds. The dinner
was al fresco in the garden of the villa; the Grand Duke welcomed
us in perfect English and placed my cousin on his right and myself
on his left hand. Opposite me and on my cousin's right sat the Duke
of Oldenburg, a practised sportsman and a charming personality,
whose lively humour made the talk flow. On my left I had a graver
but extremely well-informed gentleman whose conversation impressed
me, but whose name I forgot to record. M. Asbeleff of the suite of
His Highness was also of the party, and most kindly provided us with
introductions which were of great service to us at a later stage of
our journey. Quite a respectable number of guests were gathered round
the circular table, the majority clad in the white cotton tunics
which are the summer uniform of the official class.
A purée or thick soup was served, which I thought delicious, but
which brought a twinkle from the playful eye of the Duke. As each
successive dish of this dinner à la Russe made its appearance a smile
came from across the table, or "Isn't it nasty?" or some even less
mildly deprecating words. I ventured to demur to his good-humoured
criticism and to submit that, if the French alone possessed the art of
cooking, the Russians succeeded, where the English failed signally,
in making things taste nice. The champagne came in for a particular
share of attention, having been produced by the Duke from his vineyards
at Kutais. My cousin let out the secret that we had already made its
acquaintance: that we had visited his cellars and had been greatly
interested in his enterprise, especially on the evening at the
hut of Zikari, when we had regaled ourselves with a bottle of his
sparkling wine. He now insisted on our taking a little case with us,
and promised it should be dry to suit what he said he knew to be our
taste. My companion on the left discussed the objects of our journey,
and was of opinion that we might succeed in reaching the slopes of
Ararat before the first snows commenced. I told him that we were also
anxious to study the condition of the country, and the conversation
turned upon the limitations which he said were imposed in India upon
foreigners travelling with similar aims. Can there be anything more
fatuous than such restrictions? We both agreed that it was perfectly
possible to guard against political intriguers and at the same time to
leave bona-fide travellers free. The Grand Duke spoke English like an
Englishman, and you could not have a more amiable host. We remarked
that his features resembled those of his cousin, the Duke of York,
of whom a portrait was placed on his writing-table together with the
photographs of other members of our Royal House.
Two four-horsed posting carriages had been prepared for the drive to
Akhaltsykh, distant 16 1/2 miles. By four o'clock we had rejoined the
rest of our party and were leaving behind us the pleasant station of
Abastuman. We followed the tripping stream down the narrow valley,
the rocky and beetling sides studded with firs from foot to summit;
and from among them a ruined castle, ascribed as usual to Queen Thamar,
frowned out upon the passage which it controls. But we had not gone far
before a complete change came over the landscape; the valley opened,
distant prospects were disclosed. Before us lay the scenery which
is typical of Armenia and upon which our eyes had rested from the
summit of the Zikar Pass. Nature is seldom abrupt in her processes;
a transitional character invests the first slopes of the southern
watershed; the narrow belt of pine-clad ridges interrupts the contrast
between the luscious forests which cover the range on the side of
the Black Sea littoral and the barren highlands through which the
upper waters of the Kur descend. We had issued from those recesses,
and around us in a wide circle were unfolded the Armenian plains. The
view ranged over an open country, for the most part bare of vegetation,
and featured by a succession of convexities in the friable surface,
from the foreground of hummock and hill to the sweeping outlines of
the higher masses, changing colour and complexion with every change
in the sky.
The ground was crumbling with excessive dryness; the soil is rich,
and would no doubt yield crops of great value were it cultivated on a
liberal scale. Yet all the cultivation we could see was of the nature
of little patches of yellow stubble or lightly ploughed land. It was
evident that the primitive methods of the East had not been superseded,
and that agriculture still partook of the precarious character which
is the outcome of centuries of political disturbance--the peasant
uncertain of reaping what he has sown. Stony tracts interrupted these
plots of reclamation, but in general the surface was apt for the
plough. The springs of life had been exhausted by the drought of an
Eastern summer; the fertile earth was bare as water, and transparent
tints of pink and ochre invested the landscape far and wide. A spirit
of vastness and loneliness breathed over the scene; the air was clear
and crisp and recalled the bracing climate of the Persian tablelands.
Such characteristics were strange to some among our party, for only
my cousin and myself knew the interior of Asia and recognised in the
note which was now for the first time sounded the commencement of a
familiar theme. We pursued our way in silence, each absorbed by his
own reflections and all responsive to the same spell. Through the
bleak landscape wound the little river and stretched the white line
of the road. Here and there on the margin of the water or beyond the
irregular border of the pebble-strewn bed a little orchard or a patch
of garden planted with potatoes, formed a spot of verdure contrasting
with the hues around. [12]
Where were the villages? For it seemed that there must be inhabitants
who had gathered this scanty harvest and ploughed the surface of
the darker soil. They select the slope of a hill or the rise of an
undulation; the door and front of their dwellings are alone visible,
the back is caverned into the shelving ground; you must pass close
to such a settlement and by daylight to notice the incidence of a
human element in the scene. We came upon four villages of this pattern
before the mid-way station was reached. They were peopled by Tartars,
who were occupied in threshing and winnowing the season's corn. The
husks were flying in the air and the bright cottons of men and women
fluttered in the breeze.
Benara, the posting-house which supplied us with fresh horses, is
situated close to the bank of the stream, at no great distance above
the point where it joins the Koblian Chai, a river which collects the
drainage of the extreme north-western angle of the tableland. A little
below this junction the united waters receive a further affluent,
known as the Poskhov Chai, which gathers the streams from south-west
and south-east. Even at this season the three combined form a river
of fair size, flowing through the plain on an easterly course in a
bed of many channels, and joining the Kur after passing through the
town of Akhaltsykh. This river is usually called the Akhaltsykh Chai.
Our road followed its course, taking an abrupt bend eastwards and
still faithful to the left bank. Some hillocks closed the view on the
north for a short space; then they flattened, and in that direction
the great plain rolled around us, bounded in the distance by hummock
hills. At intervals we caught a glimpse of the pine-clad ridges of the
border range, standing up on the horizon in the east. Behind us the
long-drawn outlines and bare slopes of the mountains of the tableland,
and towards the south the ground rising from the right bank of the
river to the summit-line of a mountain mass of this character which
has the hummock formation throughout.
Massed battalions of Russian soldiers, it seemed a whole army corps,
were drawn up on the plain. We were passing a permanent camp with
pavilions and stationary cannon, and for some distance the ground
was dotted with white tents. A review was proceeding, and the dark
uniforms of the troops gave their columns the appearance of a series
of black blocks. A hymn was being sung; the stately music swelled
over the hushed scene.
What a contrast between the landscape and such accidental incidents,
the Russian road, the Russian camp! On the road little piles of
stones heaped at regular intervals; but the country without a fence,
without boundaries or divisions, a mere expanse of rolling soil.
The first town or larger village that we saw was Suflis, rising among
orchards from the right bank. It is backed by the bleak mountain
mass which the river skirts; the flat roofs, ranged in tiers, were
scarcely distinguishable from the shelving ground, but the vertical
lines of several minarets were seen from afar. Could you be shown a
more typical example of a tumble-down Eastern township? Yet you are
on the threshold of an important fortress and provincial centre where
modern appliances are in vogue.... Suflis passed, we approached more
closely to the river; the mass on our right broke off in cliffs to
the margin of the water, while on our left hand a low ridge, which
had the appearance of an outcrop of volcanic rock, stepped up to the
border of the stream. The road followed down the defile, skirting
huge boulders and overtowered by bold crags; until the heights on
our left were crowned with masonry, partly ruinous; and before us,
across the river, where the gorge opened, the cherry-coloured roofing
of the modern town of Akhaltsykh was outspread among gardens on the
level ground. A little further down we crossed a substantial bridge,
and, without entering the town, pitched our tents on the sand of the
river-bed. It was nearly seven o'clock, and night had fallen before
our camping operations were complete.
From the Olympian eminence of the Grand Duke's circle at Abastuman and
from the steps of the Imperial throne, we came near to being hurled
forth at Akhaltsykh into the abyss of a Russian prison. The gods
must surely weep at the sorry manner in which their human ministers
interpret their laws. Day broke without any shadow of presentiment--a
fresh and breezy morning, the river rippling before us, and on
the opposite bank the ancient fortress edging the steep crags and
outlined on the luminous sky. The delicious sleep beneath a tent was
followed by an early bathe; the town was silent, but, as we made our
way up the margin of the current, a little village was discovered,
of which the feminine occupants were already descending the slope
with their many-shaped water-jars and divesting themselves of their
loose cottons to splash on the brink of the stream. A little later we
passed their hovels and recognised them as Armenians, and admired the
beauty of one among them, now busy with the routine of her household,
who with her arched eyebrows, aquiline nose, massive forehead, and
coal-black tresses reminded us of Biblical heroines. The fascination
of travel consists in its many-coloured contrasts; nothing ruffled the
composure of our mood of detachment as we left this peaceful scene
to explore a fresh hive of human beings with the easy confidence of
men to whom the land belongs. Our first visit was as usual to the
civil governor; he was to conduct us to the hive, remark upon the
peculiar qualities of the honey, and deferentially withdraw while we
pursued our own investigations into the mysteries of insect life. If
our attitude could be convicted of any element of such fatuous vanity,
the illusion was quickly and rudely dispelled. We were taken to a mean
structure on the southern outskirts of the town, which resembled wooden
boxes placed one above another, with broad wooden verandahs running
round. These balconies were indeed the distinguishing feature; and,
when we observed the groups of ill-miened loafers who loitered within
them, it was hard to believe that we were anywhere else but in Turkey
visiting a pasha at the Serai. After some palaver with the menials,
who were not disposed to excessive courtesy, it transpired that the
governor had left that very morning on a visit to Abastuman. We
asked to see his deputy, and were ushered into the presence of a
broad-shouldered official whose little eyes and cast of face were
essentially Russian, and who did not receive us with any excessive show
of warmth. Such is the manner of deputies all the world over--but our
disappointment turned to surprise when who should enter the apartment
but Wesson, closely escorted by a formidable individual whom we at
once recognised as a commissary of police!
May I introduce the reader to Ivan Kuyumjibashoff, a personality
no less alarming than his name (Fig. 12), and may I take this early
opportunity to place him on his guard against the fallacy that the
Armenians are not a martial race? For this man was a pure Armenian,
in spite of the Russian termination of -off instead of -ean. Erzerum
was his native city; his family had emigrated to Russia, and during
the last war against the Turks Ivan had gained the cross of honour
for personal bravery in the field. At his side hung a sword of which
the scabbard and hilt were adorned with chased silver; the blade was
his special pride, being of ancient Khorasan workmanship, a trophy
from the Kurds. His features inspired fear; his skin of leather was
the result of exposure; but we had not yet learnt that, like all true
warriors who are not barbarians, the lion's fierceness was tempered
by the meekness of the lamb. A cloud settled over the face of the
deputy as the massive fist turned the handle of the door and the heavy
tread fell on the bare boards. Arrived at his side, Ivan whispered
something in his ear, and I ventured to ask what might be the business
of this man. The official replied that he was the emissary of Captain
Taranoffsky, the chief of the so-called gendarmerie, and that he had
been sent to conduct us to the presence of his superior, who would
personally explain the purport of his summons. I enquired whether
Colonel Alander was not the governor of Akhaltsykh, and his office
the seat of supreme power; I was answered that there was another and
separate jurisdiction which the governor did not control. The deputy
added with an agreeable humour that, should we be thrown into prison,
he would be powerless to take us out. Nothing therefore to be done
but to follow Ivan; and would that his master had been as capable
as himself!
In these Armenian provinces of Russia the machinery of administration
is conducted by a handful of Russian officials through Armenians,
who are employed even in the higher grades. The Armenian is a man of
ancient culture and high natural capacity; neither the instinct nor the
quality would be claimed by his Russian superior, who is the instrument
of a system of government rather than a born ruler, and who in general
is lacking in those attributes of pliancy and individual initiative
which it is the tendency of rigid bureaucracies to destroy. Moreover
the Russian official gives the impression of being overwhelmed by his
system, like a child to whom his lessons are new; and, when you see him
at work among such a people as the Armenians, you ask yourself how it
has happened that a race with all the aptitudes are governed by such
wooden figures as these. There are of course notable exceptions to this
general statement, which resumes one's experience of the subordinate
officers rather than of those who are highest placed. Taranoffsky was
about as bad a specimen of his class as it has been my misfortune to
meet. A short man of portly figure, fat red face, and little eyes, he
had all the self-assertion which so often accompanies small stature,
all the unfriendliness which seems the almost necessary outcome of
a lack of physical grace. I at once perceived all the elements of
an unpleasant situation; nor were my apprehensions disproved by the
result. We were taken to a hotel, deprived of our papers and letters,
and placed under close police surveillance pending a decision as to
our future fate. The warmest pass of arms was that which took place
over our photographic negatives, which our persecutor peremptorily
required. I represented that many of the films were as yet undeveloped,
and was absolute in my refusal to give them up. On the other hand
I expressed myself anxious that he should see them developed in his
presence, for which purpose I begged him to prepare a dark room. I
forget whether he accepted this tempting proposal; the negatives
remained intact. Permission was given us to drive under escort to
the monastery of Safar, and the arrival that night or the following
morning of Colonel Alander appeared to alleviate the disfavour with
which we were viewed. Not that these two imperia work harmoniously
together! How can it be expected that they should? The political police
are particularly active in fortress towns such as Kars or Akhaltsykh;
but I understood from Ivan that they are pretty widely distributed
over the country, and that their functions extend to tracking down
Socialists and Nihilists, and in general to the diffusion of alarm
and annoyance far and wide. "How ugly is man!" has exclaimed a French
novelist; indeed how ugly at such moments he appears.
If the morning was consumed by these unforeseen complications, the
afternoon held in store for the harried travellers a further contrast
and a rich reward. The monastery of Safar is situated a few miles
[13] south-east of Akhaltsykh on the lofty slopes of a volcanic ridge;
the drive thither displays the landscape of the town and surrounding
country, and the goal is a group of buildings, of which the principal
church is a gem of architecture, instinct with the graces that
adorn and elevate life. For awhile we followed down the right bank
of the river along the road toward Akhalkalaki and the east; then,
almost reversing direction, turned up a side track on the right hand,
which conducted us, always rising, across the bleak undulations at
the back of the modern town. Here and there the soil had been sown
and was yellow with stubble, or lay exposed in patches of plough;
but cultivation was only partial, and for many a mile not a village
could be discerned. Far and near, the surface of the earth was of a
hummocky nature, like sands modelled by children's spades.
After jolting along this track for some distance, we again struck
a metalled road. It winds along the side of the ridge upon which
Safar is situated, and overlooks a deep ravine. The slope of the
ridge is clothed in places by a scanty growth of bush and dotted by
low trees; but the ravine and opposite hillside are bare and stony,
and the landscape is bleak and wild in the extreme. The only signs
of life and movement proceeded from a village of which the tenements
were built into that opposite slope. The peasants in their gay cottons
were threshing the season's harvest, and, as we returned, we saw them
transporting it in little carts, drawn by eight oxen apiece, from the
fields, where it had been left since the end of June in convenient
places, up to the village threshing-floors. We were surprised at the
evident prosperity of the occupants of this Georgian settlement; what
could be more quaint than women with white gloves and parasols who
dwelt in such hovels as those? We met several such groups on the road
and about the monastery, which was the goal of their afternoon's walk;
several families also, who had come from afar, were encamped at Safar,
at once a pilgrimage and a pleasant residence during the summer months.
A similar practice no doubt prevailed with the powerful governors of
Upper Georgia, of that remote and extensive province of Semo-Karthli
which comprised the uppermost valleys of the Kur and Chorokh and
the mountains of Ajara to the Kolchian coast. Known under the
title of atabegs, they flourished in the fourteenth, fifteenth,
and sixteenth centuries, became independent of the kings of Georgia,
and were only suppressed at a late date by the Ottoman Turks. [14]
Here was their seat of predilection during the heats of summer, and,
except for the arid soil and crops of stones that cover the valleys,
one cannot but approve their choice. You are at a height of some
1000 feet above the town of Akhaltsykh; deep below you flows the
Kur, the river of Ardahan as they call it, on its way to pierce the
barrier of the border ranges by the passage of Borjom. On the side
of the ridge a narrow site, whence the ground declines abruptly to
the abyss below, is filled by a cluster of little chapels, backed,
at the extreme end, by an imposing church. I wish I could offer my
reader an ampler description; but just at this point I am trusting
entirely to my memory and bewailing the loss of a portion of the day's
notes. Counting the chapels, they would tell you that the monastery
contained twelve churches, while according to our notions it possesses
only one. That one is St. Saba, of which I offer two illustrations,
one to present the ensemble of the building with the adjacent belfry
(Fig. 13), the other to exhibit the charming detail of the porch on
the west (Fig. 14).
In a treeless country, devoid of the rich bewilderment of a luxuriant
Nature, and moulded on a scale which would mock the more ambitious
creations of human effort and is everywhere present to the eye,
such a jewel in stone as St. Saba and many another Armenian temple
are seen at an advantage which they would scarcely possess in Western
landscapes. Planted on the rough hillsides, overlooking vast expanses
of plain and mountain, winding river and lonely lake, they offer
at once a contrast to the bleakness of Nature and a quiet epitome
of her startling forms. Take this church as an example of the most
finished workmanship; what a pleasure to turn from the endless crop of
chaotic boulders to the even surface of these walls of faced masonry
which the dry climate preserves ever fresh, to the sharply chiselled
stone-work of the elaborate mouldings and bands of arabesques! Or,
if you extend the vision to comprise the distant scene about you, it
will often happen that the mountain masses tower one above another
like the roofs and gables by your side, and culminate in the shape
of a dome with a conical summit which repeats these outlines, like
a reflection, against the sky.
St. Saba, although created through the munificence of a Georgian
atabeg, is probably the work of an Armenian architect, and may
certainly be counted as an example of the Armenian style. If we may
trust a mutilated inscription in the interior, which has been in part
deciphered by Brosset, the present church was built by the Atabeg
Sargis, the son of Beka, who flourished between 1306 and 1334; and,
if we could only be certain of the signification of the four numeral
letters which are plainly seen on the face of the wall at one side
of the window of the western porch, we should perhaps be able to fix
the exact date. Dubois, indeed, supposes that it was constructed
by Manuchar, brother of the last of the atabegs, Kuarkuareh, who
fought with such valour against the Turks. But Dubois is relying
upon what he terms "constant tradition," and Brosset cautions us
against accepting anything that he has written about Safar. One would
certainly not have thought that such a well-instructed traveller, as
was Dubois, could have mistaken a monument of the fourteenth century
for a production of the later years of the sixteenth; and personally
I should be inclined to attribute the edifice to a period at least
as early as the fourteenth century. [15]
August 30.--The Tartar who had accompanied us on the excursion to
Safar had fired my cousin with an account of some stag and big game
shooting which was to be found some four hours' journey from the
town. According to arrangement he made his appearance in the early
morning, and found my cousin already prepared. I had resolved to devote
the day to the town and outskirts, should our persecutors leave me
free. But I had no sooner reached the bridge from our encampment on
the bed of the river, in order to see my cousin on his way, than the
plans of both of us were arrested by the advent of Ivan the Terrible,
who rose from the cushions of a landau and summoned us to be seated at
his side. I need not devote space to a repetition of fresh annoyances,
since they had already almost reached their term. Was the departure of
Colonel Alander connected with our arrival, and had he gone to satisfy
himself about us at Abastuman? When at length we were able to see him
he greeted us kindly, and furnished me with all the information of
which I was in want. Let me therefore at once introduce the reader
to the town of Akhaltsykh and to the people who dwell therein.
The view of the place which I offer (Fig. 15) was taken on the road
to Akhalkalaki from the right bank of the river, some distance below
the bridge. Within the precincts of the town the camera was strictly
interdicted, although, since our tents were pitched just opposite the
fortress, we might well have sketched that old-fashioned stronghold
from memory when the canvas was closed for the night. The river is
flowing towards you through grassy meadows, which are verdant even
at this season, and which are being browsed by flocks of sheep and
goats. On the right bank, on the left of the picture, and stretching
across the middle distance to a promontory which is washed by the
stream, lies the modern town with its gardens and substantial houses
(Fig. 15, a); on the opposite shore, following the cliff from the
extreme right of the illustration, you have first the old town (b),
then the fortress (c), and last the gorge (d).
The inhabitants of Akhaltsykh are censused at 15,000--at the time
of our visit the registered figure was 15,120, although the latest
tabulated statistics which Colonel Alander was able to show me gave
a total of 15,914 for 1891. This total was divided in the following
manner, according to religion and race: Gregorian Armenians, 9620;
Catholic Armenians, 2875; Georgians and Russians, excluding the
garrison, 782; Roman Catholics, 97; and 2540 Jews. I cannot help
thinking that the proportion of Armenians is excessive, and that
the governor has included among those of the Catholic persuasion a
considerable number of Armenian Catholics who are of Georgian race. At
Kutais I had been informed by a Roman Catholic priest that I should
find among the communion of the Armenian Catholics at Akhaltsykh many
Georgians whose ancestors had been devout Catholics and had become
united to the Armenian Catholics, as the nearest Catholic Church,
when the Georgian Church followed the Greek in cutting off relations
with Rome. The Georgian kings forbade them to hold their services in
Georgian, which had been their practice previously. These men were no
doubt the converts of the old Roman Catholic missions; it is known that
at the commencement of the thirteenth century the kings of Georgia were
in correspondence with the popes, and that these communications and the
despatch of missionaries to Georgia were continued in the following
century. [16] The published statistics of 1886 give the number of
Georgians as 2730 souls, and evidently include the large majority of
them among the Roman Catholics. It is therefore probable that both
lists fall into error, and that of the two the published table is the
more reliable in all that concerns distinction of race. I append it in
a footnote, [17] and have only to add in this connection that in both
lists the number of males exceeds that of females, and that for this
reason the totals are in general too small. In Colonel Alander's list
the male population amounts to 8335, in the published list to 8480
souls. The women must be at least as numerous as the men, although,
owing to Eastern prejudices, they are much more difficult to count.
In several senses the town of Akhaltsykh has undergone a revolution
during the course of the present century. At the commencement of
this period we are introduced to a flourishing city of the Ottoman
Empire, the capital of a pashalik, which was composed of six
sanjaks or administrative divisions, [18] in close communication
with the neighbouring cities of Kars and Erzerum and the emporium
of an extensive traffic in Georgian slaves. [19] At this time it is
said to have contained some 40,000 inhabitants, of whom the greater
portion were Mussulmans. [20] The site of the city was the same as
that of the old town of the present day, but the houses extended to
the immediate confines of the citadel. The whole was defended by moats
and a double row of walls with battlements and flanking towers. The
right bank of the river was embellished by numerous gardens, but there
does not appear to have been anything like a town upon this side. The
citadel was remarkable for its beautiful mosque, with an imposing
minaret more than 130 feet high. This minaret, like the mosque,
was built of blocks of hewn stone; and, so solid was its structure,
that it suffered little damage during the Russian bombardment,
although hit by no less than seven cannon balls. Such was Akhaltsykh
prior to its conquest by the Russians under Paskevich in 1828. [21]
The conquerors introduced far-reaching changes, of which the evidence
remains to the present time. They razed a portion of the town in the
vicinity of the fortress, which had furnished cover to the Turks in
the desperate attempt which they subsequently made to recapture their
old stronghold. The outer walls of the city were either demolished
or fell into ruin and disappeared. The mosque of the citadel was
converted into a Russian church and shorn of its minaret. [22] A
new town was founded on the right bank of the river and assigned to
Armenian colonists. The Mussulman population emigrated into Turkey;
and Akhaltsykh, which received a large body of Armenian immigrants
from Kars and Erzerum, became practically a Christian town. The native
inhabitants who were Christians erected belfries near their churches
and heard with joy the sound of Christian bells. But it would seem that
no great measure of prosperity attended this new birth. The immigrants
were bent on doing business and opening shops; only those among them
who were agriculturists did well. Commerce declined owing to the
inclusion of the town within the frontier line of the Russian customs
and the consequent interruption of relations with the neighbouring
cities in the south. The traffic in slaves was, of course, abolished,
and no considerable industry took its place. Akhaltsykh was shut up
in her corner of Asia; for the impracticable barrier of the border
ranges walls her off from the sea. Still the fact that the place was
a frontier fortress of the Russian Empire must have been productive of
at least a local trade. In 1833 the population appears to have numbered
only 11,000 souls; [23] but it probably increased from that date, year
by year. When Kars came into the permanent possession of the Russians,
the newly-acquired fortress in part supplanted Akhaltsykh; and the
progressive decline of the Turkish Empire has further contributed to
relieve the Government of the necessity of providing the last-named
stronghold with modern fortifications. At the time of my visit it
was evident that the town was declining and losing importance year by
year. I questioned several of the better-informed among the inhabitants
as to the cause of this unhappy state of things. "You have long enjoyed
the blessings of security," I observed, "both for property and life;
yet in place of a steadily increasing prosperity I see nothing but
signs of impoverishment and falling-off." As usual in the East, I
received several answers; but all were unanimous in declaring that
the principal reason was the depopulation of the surrounding country,
owing to the persistent emigration of the Mussulmans and the want
of colonists to take their place. Another cause, they said, was the
decline in military importance to which I have already referred.
The modern town on the right bank was nearest to our encampment;
may I therefore commence the account of what we saw at Akhaltsykh
with a stroll through its garden-lined streets? The houses are nice
little one-storeyed dwellings, some built of brick, others of stone. A
feature were the quaint little spouts to carry off the rain-water,
shaped at the ends to resemble dragons' heads. I have already spoken
of the "cherry-coloured roofing"--an effect which we discovered
was due to no more interesting process than a coat of paint applied
to corrugated iron. In a similar manner the roof of a church would
be tinted a cool green, and the combination of these hues with the
rich foliage was extremely pleasing to the eye. Where the scattered
tenements collect together and you reach the business quarter, here
and there a modern shop may be seen; but the handicrafts for which
Akhaltsykh is in some degree famous are still carried on in those
brick-built booths with their shadowed recesses which constitute
the little world of the Eastern artificer, at once his workshop and
the mart for his wares. We examined some of the productions of the
workers in silver without being tempted to buy. We were made aware
of the existence of a silk industry for which the raw material is
brought from Georgia. We visited the schools and conversed with the
masters; but the scholars were making holiday. Akhaltsykh possesses
two important schools, the one belonging to the Armenian community,
the other a Russian State school. That of the Armenians provides
education to some 300 boys and youths, and to a still larger number
of girls. Both the Gregorian Armenians and the Catholics attend
this establishment; religious instruction is imparted to the members
of either communion by teachers of their own persuasion in separate
classes. We were told that the yearly income amounted to 14,000 roubles
(£1400), exclusive of what was received from the girls; and that this
sum included the receipts of the theatre which is attached to this
enterprising school. The Russian institution boasts of 300 scholars,
of whom 75 per cent are Armenians; it does not possess a branch
for girls. On the other hand, it indulges in the modern fashion of
technical instruction, a side which does not appear to be cultivated
in the Armenian school. Its staff consists of fifteen teachers; a fee
of twelve roubles (£1:4s.) a year is levied, but many poor pupils are
admitted free. A few boarders are received, whose parents live at a
distance; and I may here remark that, except in cases which I shall
endeavour to specify, all the schools of which I shall make mention
in the following pages are practically day-schools. We were taken to
see the churches--commonplace edifices--of which the Armenians, with
so many examples of noble architecture about them, ought really to be
ashamed. The largest of them is called the cathedral, and belongs to
the Gregorians; there is also, not far from it, an Armenian Catholic
church. West of the cathedral on the hillside--it appears in my
illustration--we were shown a second church belonging to the Gregorian
community; but I do not remember its name. It was at Akhaltsykh that
we were first impressed by the custom of the Armenians to kiss the
ground when they face the altar in prayer. Such abject prostration in
the dust we had never before witnessed in any Christian church. It was
Oriental; it was pathetic--the gesture of a poor raya at the feet of
his savage lord.... Last of all we were shown the Court of Justice,
where a resident magistrate and visiting judges from Tiflis dispense
the law behind a barrier of baize-covered tables beneath a life-size
portrait of the Tsar. And that is what we saw of the modern town of
Akhaltsykh; I doubt whether there is much more to be seen.
The old town on the left bank presents a striking contrast to its
young rival across the water. You gain the bridge and pause for a
moment to follow the many-channelled river threading the banks of
yellow pebbles in its bed; flowing through a landscape of wild and
bare hills, which streams with the garish daylight of the East. The
road mounts the slope of the opposite cliff or convexity, which, a
little further west, joins the more abrupt ridge of crag and precipice
crowned by the battlements of the fortress. In this cliff, with its
swelling shapes, soft soil and irregular hummocks, the Armenians have
discovered a burrowing-ground exactly suited to their requirements;
the gaping apertures of chimneys and windows threaten to engulf
the guileless traveller who walks, unwitting, between the houses up
the hillside. No vegetation relieves the monotony of the constant
hues of ochre, and the tiers of clay and stone which represent the
larger tenements mingle naturally with the stone-strewn surface of
the friable earth. We saw two churches; one is administered by the
Armenian Catholics, the other, which is situated a little above the
first, is a Russian Orthodox church. Besides these larger buildings
there are two chapels or prayer-houses, which scarcely attain the
dignity of a church. These belong to the Gregorians, and we were told
that the Roman Catholics have a small chapel within the precincts
of the old town. But what interested us most was the Jewish quarter
with its two spacious synagogues. We admired the simplicity of these
airy chambers--in the middle the pulpit, the benches disposed around;
and we pictured to ourselves the eager faces of the congregation,
upturned from those benches to the grave preacher and mobile to
every turn of his discourse. The Jew is a rare creature upon the
tableland of Armenia; he finds it difficult to exist by the side
of the Armenian, who is his rival in his own peculiar sphere. [24]
There is a saying that in cleverness a Jew is equal to two Greeks,
a single Armenian to two Jews.
The community gathered round us and almost filled the synagogue, in
which we sat and rested for a considerable space. Two distinct types of
physiognomy were represented; on the one hand the fat, florid cheeks
and thick lips which are so characteristic of the coarser strain of
Jew, on the other the cavernous features, wrinkled skin, aquiline nose
and penetrating eyes which are the monument of the ancient refinement
of the Jewish race. When we contrasted the destitution and even the
misery of this quarter with the air of prosperity which the synagogue
displayed, it was evident that the community were undergoing a period
of adversity, and we enquired the reasons of this decline. They
attributed their fallen state to the competition of the Armenians;
the Armenians, they said, were good workers and a great people,
the Jews few in numbers and isolated. There was nothing left for the
poor Jew but to tramp round the villages, carrying his goods upon his
back. They must emigrate, they were emigrating.... Alas! we thought, to
what distant land across the mountains, across the sea, shall the poor
Jew wander out? How shall he escape the dangers of the way, with the
hand of the Government against him, with hatred and contempt dogging
his weary steps? And the Christianity by our side appeared detestable
to us, doubly odious by its want of every Christian virtue and by the
mummery of its gaudy symbols and vulgar shows. The Jew carries with
him the vastness of Asia, the sublimity of the worship of a single
God; may the nations be fertilised by the powerful intellect and
their religions elevated by the high conceptions of the Hebrew race!
The fortress, with which the old town naturally communicates, was to
us strictly forbidden ground. Although I urged its worthlessness as
a reason why we should be permitted to visit it, Captain Taranoffsky
would on no account give way. The mosque, the present church, to which
I have already alluded, was of course all that we wanted to see. It
stands on the northern side of the fortress enclosure; the base of
the minaret still remains and is crowned by a little cupola to which
is affixed a cross. An inscription on the gate by which the court
is entered gives as the date of construction the year of the Hegira
1166 (A.D. 1752-53). [25] Dubois informs us that the architect was
an Italian; [26] but Brosset, who says that it was built upon the
model of St. Sophia, is silent upon this point. For the character
of the interior as it existed before the Russian occupation I may
refer the reader to Dubois. The fountain in the centre of the court
is supplied by an underground aqueduct which conveys the waters of
a limpid spring, some seven miles off. [27]
From the old town we slowly made our way back to the encampment,
enjoying the scene, observing the passers-by. Here and there we would
meet a group of Russian soldiers in their white tunics, taking their
evening stroll. Their large frames, fair hair, shaven faces and coarse
features contrasted with the neatness of the Oriental type. Their
little eyes, deeply set behind the flat nose, were answered on every
side by the glances that proceeded from the large and lustrous eyes
of the Armenian race. The sheep and cattle were winding into the town
from the meadows, each animal finding its stable for itself.