ACROSS THE SPINE OF ARMENIA
The long and lofty barrier of the Ararat system affords a natural
partition of the surface of the Armenian highlands, and, corresponding
with the frontier between the Russian and the Turkish empires, divides
Armenia into two. The fairest districts of either territory are
found on their southern confines; and what the valley of the Araxes
is to the Russian provinces, that is to those under Turkish rule the
country of Van. Van, with her famous lake and immemorial antiquity,
became the next, and not the least alluring objective of the journey
which we had planned. A new world lay on the further side of the
mountains towards which we now directed our course.
October 22.--During our stay in Kars we had experienced the first spell
of cold, bleak weather that the coming winter held in store. On the day
of departure the district was visited by a storm of rain which delayed
us until afternoon. At a few minutes after one o'clock we were crossing
the bridge which spans the river, and taking a last view of the castle
and the gorge. Above the entrance to the cleft the stream flows between
humbler slopes; but they are still of rock, and the metalled road,
which follows the western shore at no great distance, is without a
prospect on either side. A few versts are covered among such cheerless
surroundings; then the river comes towards you through a nice tract of
flat pasture land which opens out upon the right bank. The meadows,
brown of hue after the heats of summer, were seen to extend to the
cultivated skirts of a hill range, some six miles distant, at the
foot of which we were shown the village of Azat. A second settlement,
Little Tikma, was nearer to us, in the same direction; and on our
side of the water a group of low stone houses were aligned upon the
road. We were surprised to hear the German tongue and the mournful
sounds of a concertina; the dress, the hymn reminded us that the day
was Sunday; and the simple people were delighted to converse with a
son of Protestant England in the language of their fatherland. They
told me that it was two years since they had left the colony at
Tiflis, and migrated to these distant wilds. The soil was rich, and
it only needed a small expense of capital to diffuse the river over
the adjacent plain. But whence could they draw the money for works
of this nature? They harvested their corn in the month of August,
but the crops suffered from want of water. Although they possessed
no school, they were not without the rudiments of learning; their
frank, intelligent faces were a pleasure to see. Petrovka is the name
of their settlement, which contains some forty houses. A few versts
further we entered the Russian colony of Vladikars. We were crossing
an open country which stretched away on either hand to the outlines
of low hills. Several of these Russian villages were visible in the
landscape, and the brown loam had been exposed by the plough.
Vladikars bears a strong resemblance to Gorelovka--the same white
faces and little windows of the neat stone houses, ranged at intervals
on either side of the road. The inhabitants, too, display a family
likeness to the dwellers in the northern watershed--the men with their
lank figures and dull but honest faces, the women with their broad
shoulders and massive hips. The feminine members of the colony were
especially conspicuous--strapping wenches, as one might call them,
attired in the gayest of printed cottons and exhibiting a plainness
which was almost repulsive. I entered the oblong and single-storeyed
building in which they conduct their services of prayer. A wooden
bench along the walls, a few wooden chairs were its only furniture;
you saw no pulpit or altar or religious picture; God resided in the
living objects of His love. This village as well as its neighbours
are peopled by Molokans, a sect of which the doctrine, like that of
the Dukhobortsy, represents an extreme and a logical form of the
Protestant faith. An old man to whom I turned, and whose striking
features I was able to record (Fig. 99), spoke to me with much
charm of voice and manner concerning their religious beliefs. They
reverence Moses and the prophets and the Holy Gospel, but they practise
their religion in their own way. Singing psalms appears to be their
principal method of spiritual expression. Infants are not baptized,
but are brought to this building; a passage from the New Testament
is read in the child's presence and his name is publicly declared. A
similar ceremony consecrates the marriage tie.
A little beyond this village--in which is placed the eleventh verst
stone--the road bifurcates. The well-metalled and well-maintained
chaussée, which we had been following, pursues its course to the
confines of the Turkish frontier at the station of Sarikamish. The
other branch--which is in places a road, but more often a simple
track--stretches off towards the south. Taking the latter direction,
we drove for some distance over even ground, where here and there
the rich, brown soil had been exposed by the plough. On our left hand
rose a grassy and hummock-shaped eminence, scarcely a mile away. Hill
ranges of similar appearance circled around us, their summits capped
with lowering clouds and strewn with fresh snow. In such surroundings
the gay houses of Novo-Michaelovka were a pleasing diversion for the
eye. The elaborate fretwork of wooden gables and shutters, the lavish
display of vermilion and cobalt, lent an air of festivity to the
place (Fig. 100). It was evident that the inhabitants were extremely
well-to-do; yet, like all these sectaries, they neither possessed nor
appeared to desire a school in which to educate their young. Near
this village we had again approached the banks of the river, which
had a width of some 20 yards. We now crossed to the right bank.
On our point of course, a little to our left, we held a bold and
lofty hill, of which the outline assumes the appearance of two
humps. It bears the name of Akh Deve or the white camel; and one can
understand how appropriate would be this appellation during the winter
months. Snow had not yet rested upon its grassy convexities, which
still wore the ochreous hues of autumn, and were flushed in places by
a detritus of red, volcanic stone. After losing all prospect for the
space of some twenty minutes, during which we crossed a bleak side
valley of the sluggish river, and a stream which winds along the base
of rocky slopes, we again opened this landmark on the further rim of
the amphitheatre, close by the village and station of Chermaly. The
post house stands at a little distance from this Armenian village;
our tired horses were replaced by a fresh team of four, having covered
a stage of 23 versts or 15 miles.
It was half-past four o'clock; we made our way over lofty uplands, of
which the moist loam held our carriage-wheels. Or we jolted upon large
boulders, embedded in the track. Away on our right rose the slopes
of the Akh Deve. Magnificent eagles, with their square shoulders and
long plumage, circled round us or observed us from adjacent rocks. We
were not long in discovering the bait of this assemblage--the mangled
remains of a horse. In three-quarters of an hour we had reached
the skirts of the hill mass, whence we commanded an unbroken view
towards the north. Vast tracts of idle soil extended to the horizon,
except where, here and there, the yellow herbage was interrupted by
little carpets of ploughed land. Hills, which appeared little better
than hummocks, were set at random in the expanse. Their summits
were streaked with snow; from the white linings of their satellite
clouds vague lights descended upon the plain. We were standing upon
the elevated but imperceptible water-parting between the Araxes and
the river of Kars. A gradual descent of some 500 feet brought us to
the considerable village of Kemurly, where we passed the night in the
posting house. It was the first settlement which we had seen during
a stage of 20 versts, or a little over 13 miles.
The latter portion of the drive from the Akh Deve to the village had
been performed under the shadow of night. It was only on the following
morning--which broke serene and radiant--that we were able to realise
the great significance of our position in a geographical sense. The
even ground over which we had travelled from the banks of the Arpa to
Kars, from Kars to the southward-flowing streams, does not descend,
as one might expect, to the valley of the Araxes through a series of
gradual inclines. The transition is effected by an exactly opposite
process; the plain continues to rise until it has almost reached the
latitude of the river, then suddenly breaks away, and overhangs the
valley in a long line of gigantic cliffs. These cliffs extend for miles
along the left bank of the Araxes; and it has been ascertained that
for a space of over 30 miles they maintain about the same elevation,
namely, a height of 6400 feet above the sea, and of 2000 to 2500
feet above the river. [407] They may in fact be regarded as forming
the rim of an extensive plateau, which commences at the confluence
of the Arpa with the Araxes, and stretches westwards, unbroken by
any considerable mountain barrier, along the narrows above Kagyzman,
and along the broad depression of Pasin to the very threshold of the
plain of Erzerum. Their peculiar boldness in the neighbourhood of
Kagyzman may in part be attributed to the lavas which have issued in
considerable volume from centres of emission along their edge. These
eruptive centres, long since dormant, are seen in the shape of low
convexities, stretching inwards from the brink of the cliff.
There is seldom wanting to such formations a natural pass or opening,
through which the communications with the lower levels flow. Our
road availed itself of a deep and gulf-like inlet in the rim of the
plateau. The descent along this avenue was comparatively long and
gradual, commencing indeed above the village--which has an elevation
of some 6500 feet [408]--and ending in the neighbourhood of the Lower
Kemurly. Measured on the map from point to point, the distance between
the two settlements is about 6 1/2 miles. The road was carried along
the slopes through an infinitude of windings, which measured 18 versts
or 12 miles.
It was not yet eight o'clock when we proceeded in our carriage down the
easy gradients of this descent. Beyond a foreground which was choked
by a succession of shelving convexities rose the crags and peaks of
the Ararat system--that long range to which in a collective sense this
name may not be inapplicable, and which, like Ararat, is known to the
inhabitants of these districts under the name of Aghri Dagh. Aghri
Dagh! These words, with their roughness on the palate, are just as
appropriate to express the ruggedness of the barrier which we were
fronting, as they are unsuited to reflect the harmony of the giant in
the east. The eye, already accustomed to the vaulted eminences of the
tableland, is impressed by the contrast of these sharp, precipitous
shapes. It seems some invasion of the border ranges into the area of
the great plateaux. The sun was touching the summits of the chain,
which were softened by a covering of fresh snow. But the underlying
rock still asserted its essential character, moulding the snow into an
infinite number of facets, which sparkled in the light (Fig. 101). The
northern wall of the valley--the heights we were leaving behind us--is
composed by the lofty cliffs already described. Their even outline
was drawn across the sky into invisible limits, as we made our way
over the broken ground to which they decline (Fig. 102).
Marls and sandstone had taken the place of the layers of volcanic
matter; far and wide, the slopes about us were broken into hummock
shapes, tinged with delicate yellows and pinks. The only vestige of
wood were some low trees and bush, seen on the lower tiers of the
opposite mountains in the far west. Again we opened out the distant
outline of Ararat, beyond the dark peak of Takjaltu. The Araxes was
long invisible; when at length we overlooked the narrow floor of
the valley, the river resembled a slender white thread. Kagyzman was
distinguished on the first of the slopes which faced us--an oasis of
verdure and some faint blue smoke. We felt the power of a southern sun;
and, as we neared the end of the descent, bouquets of atraphaxis,
with succulent flowers and blaze of madder, clothed the waste and
sandy soil. At twenty minutes before ten we were at the Lower Kemurly;
and, a little later, our wheels were cleaving the shallow waters of
the Araxes, spread in a wide bed of silt and shingle, over which a
rapid current flows (Fig. 103). The ground rises from the opposite
margin of the river up the beautiful side valley of Kagyzman. The
town is situated at an elevation of some 700 feet above the ford,
which crosses a hollow of nearly 4000 feet above the sea. [409]
The houses nestle among lofty trees, on the left or western bank of
a broad depression, which harbours in its deep and wooded recesses a
scanty affluent of the Araxes. The soft tracery and mellow tints of
the luxuriant foliage are backed by the rugged sides of the Ararat
system; while, in the north, the eye follows the horizontal edge
of the tableland, with the low volcanic eminences protruding above
that outline, and robed, this morning, in fresh snow (Fig. 104). The
inhabitants of this little paradise are Armenians and Mohammedans,
the latter of whom belong to the Sunni persuasion and are classed in
the Russian census as Turks. [410] A strong detachment of Cossacks
was quartered in the place--a significant outpost of the northern
empire. I was anxious to cross the mountains on the following morning;
and it was painful to realise that we were at the mercy of the civil
authorities--of a sour-faced Nachalnik who had no doubt received his
instructions, but in what sense remained to be seen. Had Fadéeff
hardened his heart? Had the order come to arrest us? The question
remained for some time in suspense. The route which we were taking
excited suspicion; with what object were we pursuing this unbeaten
track? There were not wanting practical difficulties which might excuse
the authorities, should they decide to detain us at Kagyzman. We
were in need of transport; to purchase suitable animals was next
to impossible; and, as for hiring, the owners were not accustomed
to cross the frontier, and might reasonably apprehend detention on
the other side. Indeed we failed in all our efforts to induce them
to make a contract; and we were brought to recognise that it would
be necessary to abandon our intention, unless the Nachalnik would
intervene. By dint of much persistence and some cajolery we were able
to bring him round. He of course protested that Oriental methods were
out of place in Russia; we approved the sentiment, and expressed the
hope that something would be devised to take their place. The owners
were given their orders to appear before dawn on the following day. I
rose at four, certain that they would not obey. But there was still
a hope that we might create the necessary quantity of initiative by
rousing the Nachalnik from his sleep. This plan, based, as the reader
knows, upon former experiences, was productive of instant success.
By half-past seven our tiny caravan was in motion, pointing along
the base of the mountains a little south of west. We sank by a steep
incline to a long valley which follows the Araxes in the relation, as
it appeared to us, of a parallel trough. It was filled with hummocks
of a red, sandy substance; the slopes on either side screened off
the view. Those on our left hand were the more stony, and were tinged
in places a greenish hue. In about an hour after starting we opened
out the river, flowing at some little distance from the heights upon
which we stood. A lateral depression afforded access to the principal
valley, which we followed, keeping to the high ground. The Araxes
was threading the narrow bottom of a fork, of which the arms rose
to thousands of feet above its bed. Close up now, on our left hand,
towered the escarpments of the range, fronting the opposite cliffs
of the tableland. At a little before nine we turned our backs to the
river and rose, on a southerly course, up the mountain side.
We had reached an elevation of some 5500 feet, when a little village,
with a few willows and the ruins of an ancient monastery, broke
upon our view (Fig. 105). It is inhabited by Armenians, and bears
the name of Kara Vank (the black cloister). The even masonry of hewn
stone which composed the crumbling edifice recalled the culture of a
forgotten age. What a contrast it presented to the rude and featureless
walls of the modern village church! We passed through this little
settlement, which contains some thirty houses, and mounted the slopes
on the further side. In a valley on our left hand we noticed some
sparse brushwood, and bushes of wild rose here and there relieved the
rock. We were nearing the level of the opposite edge of the tableland,
of which the cliffs were seen descending to the narrow river valley
with shelving sides of richly modelled marls. At a quarter before
ten we made halt on the neck of a spur, whence we obtained a wide
prospect over the more distant scene.
We overlooked the surface of the tableland. Towards the east, the mass
of Alagöz could be distinguished from banks of cloud, which clung
to the recent snows upon its slopes. Kagyzman was still visible in
the trough of the landscape; the two low cones on the cliffs beyond
the town were especially prominent, enveloped in a sheet of unbroken
snow. Our people identified them with the great and the small Jagluya,
and said they were famous for their rich pasture-land. From east
to west, in a wide half-circle, land and cloud were woven together,
the horizontal outlines always felt and sometimes seen. But in the
west these nebulous shapes met the profile of the savage ridges which
were seen descending from the range about us, almost at right angles,
into the narrows through which the river flows.
From this point we continued during a considerable space of time to
skirt these upper slopes. The keen air was full of sun; the prospect
was inspiring; we loitered for an hour over our lunch. I focussed the
camera upon one of the long meridional parapets which cleave the soft
landscape of the west (Fig. 106). I would ask my reader to observe the
deep incision of its flanking valley; these valleys extend to the very
spine of the mountain system, and, in some places, appear to break it
through. We were obliged to descend to the bottom of this particular
ravine; a slender stream was rustling over the boulders in the hollow,
which had an elevation of some 5800 feet. The rocky escarpments of
the opposite parapet were seen to consist of a compound diabase,
veined in places with beautiful marbles. Of wood there was little,
even within these recesses--a brushwood of beech and willow and
fir. The rose bushes were still with us, and the yellow immortelles,
which we had not seen since our sojourn on Ararat.
Beyond this valley we rose towards the summits of the chain and made
our way through this winter's snow. We were on the pass at four o'clock
(Fig. 107); a grass-grown eminence on our right hand was identified
as the Akh Bulakh Dagh. The range was highest on our left; the saddle
by which we crossed it has an elevation of some 8600 feet. Half an
hour later we had passed into the opposite watershed, and planted
our feet upon Turkish soil.
Vast plains lay below us--dim tracts of even soil, broken in places
by hummock shapes. The outline of an opposite chain was drawn across
the horizon, loftier in the east, where it was crowned with snow,
declining in the west to a range of blue-grey hills upon our right. It
was the system of the Ala Dagh. Beyond this barrier, the harmonious
shape of a single mountain formed a beautiful white presence in
the sky. We could not doubt that it was Sipan, nearly seventy miles
distant, the goal to which we were directing our steps. A thread of
water on the plains reflected the blue heaven, and was recognised as
the Murad. We had crossed the spine of Armenia, and were descending
to the banks of the Euphrates, to the sources of the streams which
issue into the Persian Gulf.