TO AKHALKALAKI
The distance by road between Akhaltsykh and Akhalkalaki is 66 versts,
or nearly 44 miles. The post divides the journey into four stages,
of which the shortest is 9, the longest 12 miles. The charges, which,
I think, were uniform, whenever we were able to avail ourselves of
posting facilities, were three kopeks or farthings per verst for each
horse supplied, and twelve kopeks for the carriage between each two
stations, said to be a charge for greasing the wheels. In addition,
a tax of ten kopeks for the whole journey is levied upon each horse,
the proceeds of which are due to Government by the contractors who
supply the teams. A victoria may be procured in the larger centres,
and for this luxury there is, I believe, no extra charge. Four horses
will usually be harnessed to it abreast, and an equal number to the
luggage cart.
August 31.--At ten o'clock we left Akhaltsykh on our journey southwards
and followed the tripping river on the right bank. It was the same
road we had taken for a short distance on our way to Safar, the same
aspect of the picturesque site of the town (Fig. 15). Between us and
the stream lay the stretch of meadow where the sheep and cattle of
the townspeople browse--a grassy plain set in the barren landscape,
a rare incident in an Eastern scene. Beyond the water the ground rose
in gentle undulations of bank and hummock and hill, the parched and
friable surface yellow with stubble or with the exhausted growth of
weeds. In the background, some five miles distant, stretched the
spurs of the border ranges, scantily wooded along the summits and
upon the slopes. On our other hand, towards the south, all prospect
was excluded by barren hummocks of crumbling soil.
We had covered about 2 1/2 miles, when before us lay the junction of
the rivers, of the river of Akhaltsykh with the Kur or Ardahan river,
for it is known under both names. From their nearer margins to our
road extended a stretch of alluvial ground, filling the angle between
the two streams. Their further banks are high, and are bordered by
hummock hills, a feature most pronounced on the bank of the Kur. The
united waters break through the soft hummocks and become engulfed
in the rocky barrier of the border ranges--a bold and lofty wall of
mountain, partially covered with wood. In the hollow is situated a
village with trees and pleasant verdure, an oasis in the sterile
landscape around. We were told that its name was Tsinis and that
it was inhabited by Mussulmans; beyond it, through the glasses,
we discerned the road to Tiflis entering the jaws of the gorge.
Skirting the barren convexities which closed the view on our right
hand, and upon slightly higher ground, we gained the left bank of the
Kur and proceeded along it for a short space up stream. Leaving on our
right a small Armenian village, we then descended to the river-bed;
strips of vegetables had been planted along the water, which is here
crossed by a strong wooden bridge. The stream was flowing towards us,
newly escaped from the narrows, where it is confined by rocky cliffs
of forbidding aspect, harbouring a scanty growth of stunted bush. A
few poplars lined its immediate margin, and a slender fringe of
green. It had a width of some 30 yards at the mouth of the passage,
a rapid current, charged with soil and tawny, which divides into
several channels and forms a broad and pebbly bed as it issues upon
the open plain. After crossing the bridge to the right bank, we passed
a Mussulman village where the women were sifting the season's grain.
Our course for the rest of the day lay on this bank of the river;
the road leaves the plain and dives into the narrows, where walls of
rock enclose the swirling stream. The Kur is following the base of
the border ranges, piercing the spurs where they meet the outskirts
of the Dochus Punar. In places it has a width of some 50 yards or
more, and the eye cannot penetrate the dull depths; but more often
it is a narrow and shallow torrent, wreathing and foaming over the
rocks. On the left bank, as we passed a break in the mountains, it
is joined by the clearer waters of a little tributary, the Uravel,
which wound below us at Safar.
The weather was delightful; a cool air, a brilliant sun, a few
white clouds floating in the blue. Eagles, a small species, circled
against the heaven or alighted on grisly crags. The sides of these
low mountains are composed of a lava, dry and barren, which in
places is disposed in layers of conglomerate, like the masonry of a
Cyclopean wall. We passed the seventh verst-stone from Akhaltsykh,
having covered over 4 1/2 miles. A short space further and we were
opposite a Georgian village, placed on the hillside of the left bank.
Between the thirteenth and sixteenth verst-stones (8 1/2 and 10 1/2
miles) the range opens, and is seen, beyond a plain of about half a
mile in width, pursuing a direction from south-east towards north-west
on the right bank. On our left hand we passed a few miserable houses
which, we ascertained, were inhabited by Kurds. We entered a country of
bleak hummocks, where barren and yellow hills closed the view. Among
such surroundings lies the posting station of Rustav, 18 versts or
12 miles along our road. By half-past twelve o'clock we had changed
horses, having arrived a quarter of an hour before.
The characteristics of the landscape between Rustav and Khertvis
may be summarised in a few words. For awhile the bare, low mountains
again border the river on either side, at no great distance from the
shore. But they tend to circle in amphitheatres and to leave a respite
of even ground. Little rills descend from the heights above the valleys
and give birth to verdure and shade. The further we proceed, these
oases increase in extent, enhancing the contrast between sterile,
lonely walls of rock, and luscious gardens where bright birds flit
through the scene.
Thus on the left bank, shortly after leaving Rustav, the eye was
greeted by such welcome relief. A high ridge of grey rock descended
to the river, but rich verdure clothed its base. The lower slopes
were terraced with plantations of Indian corn, and among the stubble
herds of heifers grazed the sweet herbs. Rivulets started from the
very summit, where a grove of trees was outlined on the sky. The
falling water was diffused into a network of tiny channels, which fed
the fertile earth. Such were the outskirts of a Mussulman village,
of which the name is Gobet. The foreground, on our side of the river,
was strewn with boulders of volcanic rock. Large lizards darted from
cranny to cranny, and brilliant birds with blue breasts and yellow
collars took wing at our approach.
The note, thus early sounded, attained increasing volume in the
valleys of Akhashen, of Aspinja and of Khertvis. The first is situated
some five miles from Rustav, and takes its name from a Mussulman
village on the left bank. [28] Akhashen is a characteristic Eastern
village; the tenements are built in terraces up the slope, scarcely
distinguished from the soil. We admired the bold site and pleasant
setting of garden; at our feet, in the fuller light of this open
circus, the Kur sent flashes of blue, reflecting the bright zenith,
from the transparent surface of its yellow stream. On our left hand
we recognised the familiar outline of the border ranges stretching
away from south to north.
Next, Aspinja lay before us, an open valley, a bower of trees, water
trickling from the hillside and collected in little channels which
seamed the floor of fertile earth. [29] We were skirting the gardens
of two Mussulman villages, and some of the inhabitants happened to
pass by. They looked unhappy; we spoke to one of their number and
elicited the usual quantity of doubtful truths. It is certain that
all the Mussulmans of the Kur valley are discontented; and these two
communities were preparing to emigrate. Mention was made to us of a
recent ordinance of the Russian Government under which they would be
required to serve in the Russian army, and perhaps to fight against
the forces of Islam. [30] Aspinja, which we soon reached, is also
inhabited by Mussulmans. The slopes above the village are planted with
orchards, and every corner of the little plain is cultivated. Indian
corn, tobacco and the stubble of cereals were on all sides present to
the eye. It is some distance beyond the oasis to the posting station,
a stage of 16 versts (10 1/2 miles) from Rustav.
It was nearly three o'clock when we arrived at this station; luscious
water-melons grew in the little garden and relieved the dulness
of our mid-day meal. But the smiling landscape lay behind us, long
out-distanced; and we were again in the fork of a barren gorge. Low
ridges break off to the river in rocky cliffs, which descend to
a narrow margin of level ground. From the valley of Aspinja these
uninteresting walls are continued to the outskirts of Khertvis.
Such was the monotonous scene through which the Russian road wound
during the course of our afternoon's drive. Beside us raced the river;
we faced the current; at short intervals large, loose stones were
disposed in the shape of circles in the shallows at no great distance
from the shore. We were told that in winter fish are caught within
these circles by means of traps placed at opposite sides. In summer the
Georgian fisherman trusts to his casting-net, a laborious process which
was being pursued by one of the fraternity for the reward of a few
small fish. On the opposite bank we were impressed by the proportions
of a cliff of lava, of which the face was disposed throughout in
spheroidal blocks rising immediately from the water's edge.
At last the landscape opened, the most extensive of these oases,
the fertile valley of Khertvis. It is heralded from afar by a line
of orchards and by gardens terraced up the slope. A well-planned and
elaborate system of aqueducts and channels dispense water on every
side. Then the road rises up a hillside and commands a startling
scene. Below you, crowning a crag at the confluence of two rivers,
a well-preserved example of a mediæval castle on a large scale lifts
its towers against a background of lofty cliffs (Fig. 16). A village
cowers at the foot of the fortress, almost hidden by dense trees. Such
is the castle and township of Khertvis, situated at the junction of
the river of Akhalkalaki with the Kur. The road follows the right
bank of the first of these streams, and the station is some distance
from the town. We were obliged to leave the carriage and entrust our
effects to the villagers, who carried them down the steep sides of the
high cliff. It was six o'clock; we crossed the river of Akhalkalaki
by a little footbridge, and pitched our tents on the floor of a shady
garden, not far from the margin of the Kur.
A motley group of people collected about us; of what race, of what
faith? Mussulmans! We expected and received the answer, although there
was little except our knowledge of the checkered history of these
valleys to indicate their adhesion to Islam. The owner of the garden
bore the name of Bin Ali Bey Vishnadzi, and was of mixed Georgian and
Turkish blood; he stands in the centre of my illustration, in Cossack
dress, with his cap on one side (Fig. 17). His cast of countenance is
Georgian, and the hair is somewhat fair; yet his uncle, Hasan Bey,
has the Turkish type. His mixed ancestry is no exception among the
villagers, and they all call themselves Turks. Their number was given
to me as 1500, with 200 houses; the Russian census, which classes them
as Georgians, bears out these figures as approximately correct. [31]
Among them are a handful of Armenian Christians; the old man with a
staff, seated in the foreground of my picture, was our guide from the
road to our pleasant camping-ground, and belonged to the Armenian race.
If reliance can be placed on the figure given by Dubois, the population
of Khertvis has almost doubled since 1833. [32] However this may be,
the township is now in full decline; misery was written in the faces
of a great part of the inhabitants, of whom many were preparing
to leave Russian soil. As we passed through the streets, between
the tumble-down houses, we observed that some of the shops had been
permanently closed. Is it their unfitness to flourish under systematic
government? Or the policy of the Russian Government to discourage
Mussulmans, with their Turkish sympathies, or some special causes
which we were unable to ascertain? Our stay was too short to sift fact
from fable; and a rigid reticence was observed by the leading people,
who were evidently under the influence of fear. [33]
The river of Akhalkalaki, or the Toporovan river, as it is sometimes
called, enters the valley from a little north of east. It appeared to
us to contain as much water as the Kur, into which it swirled. [34]
The united streams for a short space pursue a westerly direction until
they settle to a normal course towards the north. The affluent washes
the northern side of the castled rock, which protects a tongue of
alluvial ground at its southern base. On this land is situated the
little township, embowered in leafy groves. The castle dates from a
remote period; and even the present structure is ancient, although
it belongs to different epochs. The citadel with the little chapel,
occupying the summit of the perpendicular rock, is a work of the
middle of the fourteenth century, when the Georgian atabegs were the
lords of the land; the remaining portion, with its several towers,
is more modern. [35] We ourselves were unable to visit the edifice,
which we were never tired of admiring from the river-bed. Behind
it soar the walls of volcanic material, where the younger have been
forced through the older lavas and have produced fantastic contortions
of the rocks. [36]
September 1.--From Khertvis we made an excursion up the valley of
the Kur to the crypts of Vardzia, situated on the left bank, some
nine miles above the confluence with the Toporovan. For the greater
part of the journey, which is performed on ponies, you follow the
right bank of the river, along a path which in many places becomes a
mere track. We had soon left the shady groves behind us, our clever
little ponies often obliged to pick their footsteps, where an outcrop
of rock or blocks of fallen stone obstructed the margin of level
ground. On either bank, beyond this margin, high hills enclose the
narrow valley; here and there with naked crags, more generally with
stone-strewn slopes, harbouring a scanty growth of parched grass. No
oasis, not a sign of a human being, no visible animal life. The
landscape streaming with light, and the brawling Kur breaking over
the boulders which encumber its bed. But the climate was delicious,
and the blue zenith was flaked with luminous cloud.
After over an hour's ride in this confined valley, we reached the
ruins of a fort, or small castle, and issued upon more open ground. The
valley expands on the right bank of the river in an irregular series of
hill and dale. We passed the rush-grown banks of a little lake, so blue
and clear that it lay like a jewel on the waste. It is called Sülük,
or lake of leeches; and Hasan Bey, our guide, told us that leeches
abound. In a hollow on the further side of this lake we came upon the
gardens of the Mussulman village of Margistan. Beyond this oasis, and
beyond the open ground about us, we could see the valley contracting,
the river flowing through a gorge, overhung by perpendicular cliffs;
and we were shown our path climbing the side of the cliff and entering
the jaws of the gorge.
We had crossed or skirted the volcanic circus, with the lake in
the extinct crater, of which Dubois has furnished us with a learned
account. [37] Before us lay the defile through the gigantic dam of
volcanic mountain which has opened, as if by miracle, to the puny
stream.
Soon we are winding along that path, about at mid-height of the cliffs,
the river brawling far beneath us, a tortuous thread of foam. It is a
remarkable scene, a freak of Nature on a large scale, of which none of
us, at least, has seen the like. The volcanic layers have been split
by vertical fissures, and huge masses of conglomerate rock tower high
above us, almost separated from the mountain side. Their masonry
of cemented blocks gives them the appearance of castles, the work
of a more than human hand; they threaten to tumble headlong into the
valley, a fate to which some have already succumbed. They remind me of
the Devil's city of Montpellier-le-Vieux, in the Cevennes country--a
mere sprite's village by their side. The dark colour of the rocks,
the gloom of the passage, the height of the cliffs, soaring from the
twilight in the hollow to jagged summits some 500 to 600 feet above
the gulf, all contribute to enhance the impression of mystery and to
suggest the presence of a prince of fiends.
Opposite us, on the left bank, the bold outline of the fish-backed
ridge is crowned with the ruinous remains of masonry, barely
distinguished from the rock. A long line of crumbling edifices
marks the site of a considerable fortress; in the depths beneath,
at the foot of the perpendicular mountain, a wall descends the last
slope to the margin of the water and cuts off access to the valley
from the river-bed. A few miserable huts are seen in the hollow:
who could inhabit such a weird and lonely spot? Kurds, they say,
as though they were no human beings--a lingering remnant of Turkish
times. The ruins are the relics of Zeda Tmogvi, a stronghold famous
in the history of these lands. [38]
Beyond this gorge the valley opens and resumes the more normal
character of a torrent bordered by lofty hillsides. The further you
proceed, the floor of the hollow is covered by richer verdure, while
a grove of fruit trees spreads shade. Are they wild or were they
planted? The extreme loneliness of the scene was scarcely broken by
a sign of human life. We forded the Kur, and, after winding through
these orchards of the river margin, doubled a projecting spur of
the valley wall. We were at the foot of a perpendicular cliff which
displayed irregular rows of gaping caves at a considerable height above
the river-bed. These grottoes have been cut in the face of a layer
of volcanic rock of extraordinary smoothness and of flesh-coloured
hue. The layer does not extend to the summit of the cliff, which is
composed of a conglomerate with greyish tints (Fig. 18).
It was Vardzia, a troglodyte city of a remote antiquity, which the
Georgians and Armenians believe to have been founded in the twelfth
century by the father of Queen Thamar, and to have been completed by
that princess. They say it was a favourite residence of Thamar; you
are shown the cave in which she resided during winter, the terrace
where she spent the summer days, the chapel where her brilliant
court assembled, even, it is affirmed, the tomb where her remains
were placed. This last object had evidently escaped the knowledge
of the resident priest, although Dubois has sought to establish
its identity with a curious structure which he found in the little
sacristy on the inner side of the church. [39] Vardzia is, in fact,
the city of Thamar, just as every castle in Georgia is the castle of
Thamar and every antiquity a relic of the great queen.
We picked our way among the boulders up the steep side of the cliff
until it became a perpendicular wall. There commence the irregular
horizontal rows of caves, stretching eastwards, where the escarpments
are most abrupt. A narrow path ends at a polygonal structure of
which the roof has fallen off. This edifice is either modern or has
been extensively restored; it forms a gateway and seals the approach
to the caves. The gate passed, you stand on a level footway, partly
hollowed in the rock and partly supported by rude masonry, which takes
advantage of the inequalities of the cliff-side. In the steepest places
this footway is tunnelled through the rock, and it can, of course,
be barricaded at any point. Thus it would appear that Vardzia is
inaccessible to siege, at least by any of the usual means. But one
remembers that Timur employed an ingenious contrivance to reduce the
Georgians, when they fled to their caves. From the heights above
he suspended wooden stages, from which his warriors leapt into
the crowded grottoes or scattered fire among the panic-stricken
foe. Vardzia itself is said to have been taken by this conqueror,
by what methods I do not know.
We were met by an old archimandrite and his deacon, the only
inhabitants of this long-deserted place (Fig. 19). They are supported
by the occasional contributions of pilgrims, who visit the church in
great numbers at certain times. Both were sunk to an equal degree in
abysmal ignorance, and the deacon was so shy in manner and movement,
he seemed a half-tamed creature of the rocks. I asked them the meaning
of the name Vardzia, which, according to Dubois, signifies, both in
Georgian and Armenian, the fortress of the roses. They derived it from
zia, which means uncle, and vard, I am here. They stoutly maintained
this extraordinary derivation, in face of the doubt which we displayed.
We passed along the footway for some distance, with grottoes above us
and beneath. Then we came to an imposing vaulted balcony, of which the
inner side and roof are hollowed in the rock, and the other parts are
built up with masonry. The footway forms the floor of this balcony,
which looks important when seen from below. The vaulted ceiling is
adorned with old frescos, which are in a state of advanced decay. A
doorway opens from the inner wall to a spacious cave--an oblong area
with an arched roof, disposed in the familiar shape of a simple nave
and apse. This church has a length of 46 feet 3 inches and a breadth
of 27 feet. For decoration it depends upon richly-coloured frescos,
some of which may still be seen. In the apse are depicted Mary and
the infant Christ; on the Virgin's right is placed a female aureoled
figure, clad in white and with embroidered bands. On a pilaster, left
of the apse, you discern the features of a woman whose dark complexion
impresses the eye. It seems an Egyptian type; she has been honoured
with an aureole; the old priest declared the portrait to be Queen
Thamar's, but he was almost certainly in error. In the panel of the
arch, which lies beyond, a king and queen are represented, aureoled,
their hands extended towards a stage upon which are seated the Virgin
and Child. An angel is flying towards the Virgin, bearing an object
the nature of which we were unable to ascertain. A passage leads from
the church to an adjoining chamber, in which the articles of value
are preserved. Dubois informs us that above this church, and as it
were a second storey, a second temple has been hewn of equal size. A
subterranean passage connects it with the sacristy; and this same
passage tunnels the cliff and debouches at the caves where the wine of
the city was made and stored, and which are situated in an adjoining
gorge. Dubois, who discovered this passage, found it blocked with
débris and in disuse; its existence was not mentioned to ourselves.
Beyond the church we were taken to the apartments of Queen Thamar,
which are situated further to the east. On our way we were shown a
cave which must have served as a bath-chamber; an oblong well has been
sunk into the floor. In the recess behind, a broad drain is visible,
said to be the receptacle of the water-vessels. We also noticed a
grotto which displayed a number of hewn pigeon-holes, and which had
probably served the requirements of a chemist's shop.
The queen's grotto is a spacious vaulted chamber, 32 feet 4 inches
in length, 20 feet 1 inch in breadth, and some 14 feet in height. A
doorway gives access to this interior, and there is a small aperture
or window on either side. On the opposite wall, and towards its right
corner, you see a communicating apartment of much smaller dimensions;
and to the left of this recess has been hewn an arched niche with
a depth of over 4 feet. Several smaller niches adorn the chamber,
of which a feature is a low divan, cut at the foot of each wall, a
continuous ledge only 13 inches broad. On the right of the entrance,
in the wall which runs at right angles, is situated another small
apartment, lit by an aperture on its outer side. It may be that these
smaller chambers served as sleeping-places; the ingenious Dubois
boldly assumes that the first was a wardrobe and the second a kind
of boudoir. In the floor are several hollow spaces, as usual in these
caves. Above the grotto is situated the so-called summer apartment--an
open cave issuing upon a terrace from which a fine view is obtained.
But what impressed us more than the caves and their associations
was the solitude of the place, the sense of extreme remoteness--some
pulseless corner, as it seemed, of the living world. A torrent winding
between grave cliffs, covered with a scanty growth of parched herbage;
no runnel diffusing life, and by our side the precious water collected
in a cistern with a floor of cement. Where are the vineyards which
must once have clothed the lower slopes, protected by the walls of
the volcanic valley against the rigorous climate of a region over
4000 feet above the sea? Nature had blighted the scene with layers
of lava and cinders; man reclaimed the spot with laborious patience,
until the work perished under the curse of his fellow-man. But what
enemy would penetrate to this hidden valley, concealed behind the most
inaccessible zone of the border mountains, defended by the Devil's
gorge? Perhaps the appearance of the opposite cliff affords a clue to
this mystery. It is higher than the summit which towers immediately
above you; the outline is horizontal and the edge flat. It is in fact
an exposed rim of the great tableland, broken here by the cañon of
the Kur. A series of plains extend hence to the furthest skirts of
Persia, vague divisions of a single elevated stage. [40]
The afternoon was far advanced as we retraced our steps to our
encampment, and night already rested in the gorge. We were disappointed
of a photograph of its solemn horrors, and made our way in silence
beneath the twilight, following the murmuring stream. On the following
day we proceeded to Akhalkalaki up the valley of the Toporovan. The
posting station of Abazbek, 14 versts from Aspinja, is situated some
distance up the valley, and the stage between it and Akhalkalaki is one
of 18 versts or 12 miles. It was between these points that we travelled
for the first time in a brichka, or springless posting cart. The drive
occupied about three hours, and the road, which was well constructed,
mounted continuously, following and fronting the swirling current of
the Toporovan. The gardens of Khertvis extend for some distance beyond
the castle, and a portion of the township lies upon this side. Then
the margin of the river contracts to the verge of disappearance,
and stony cliffs, with an elevation of about 200 feet, border the
water on either bank. It is in fact a deep crack in the surface of
the plateau, upon which the town of Akhalkalaki stands. Not a village
did we pass, or any oasis among the rocks; it was indeed a bleak
scene. But the sky, flaked in places with wandering white clouds,
was intensely clear and blue, and the foaming river refreshed the
scene. After passing the low edifice of the castle of Akhalkalaki,
which lines the edge of the cliff on the left bank, we crossed to
that bank by a wooden bridge and wound slowly up the hillside. It was
evident that we had arrived almost at the head of the formation, the
point where the watercourse descends from the surface of the plateau
and eats deeply into the volcanic soil. It was almost night when we
reached the level summit of the cliff and breathed the crisper air. A
place was found for our tents in an open space of the little town,
which is situated at an elevation of 5545 feet above the sea.