SKETCH OF ARMENIA
ARMENIA:
A YEAR AT ERZEROOM, AND ON THE FRONTIERS OF RUSSIA, TURKEY, AND PERSIA.
BY THE HON. ROBERT CURZON,
AUTHOR OF “VISITS TO THE MONASTERIES OF THE LEVANT.”
Ruined Armenian Church near Erzeroom.
PREFACE.
Almost from time immemorial a border warfare has been carried on between the Koordish tribes on the confines of Turkey and Persia, in the mountainous country beginning at Mount Ararat toward the north, and continuing southward to the low lands, where the Shat al Arab, the name of the mighty river formed by the junction of the Tigris and the Euphrates, pours those great volumes of water into the Persian Gulf. The consequence of the unsettled state of affairs in those wild districts was, that the roads were unsafe for travelers; merchants were afraid to trust their merchandise to the conveyance even of well-armed caravans, for they were constantly pillaged by the Koords, headed in our days by the great chieftains Beder Khan Bey, Noor Ullah Bey, Khan Abdall, and Khan Mahmoud. The chains of mountains which occupy great part of the country in question are for months every year covered with snow, which even in the elevated plains lies at the depth of many yards; the bands of robbers constantly on the watch for plunder of any kind prevented the mountain paths from being kept open, so that those who escaped from the long lances of the Koords perished in the avalanches and the snowdrifts by hundreds every year.
To put a stop, or at least a check, to so lamentable a state of things, the governments of Turkey and Persia requested the assistance of England and Russia to draw up a treaty of peace, and to come to a distinct understanding as to where the line of border ran between the two empires; for hitherto the Koordish tribes of Turkey made it a virtue to plunder a Persian village, and the Persians, on their side, considered no action more meritorious, as well as profitable, than an inroad on the Turkish frontier, the forays on both sides being conducted on the same plan. The invading party, always on horseback, and with a number of trained led horses, which could travel one hundred miles without flagging, managed to arrive in the neighborhood of the devoted village one hour before sunrise. The barking of the village curs was the first notice to the sleeping inhabitants that the enemy was literally at the door. The houses were fired in every direction; the people awoke from sleep, and, trying in confusion to escape, were speared on their thresholds by their invaders; the place was plundered of every thing worth taking; and one hour after sunrise the invading bands were in full retreat, driving before them the flocks and herds of their victims, and the children and girls of the village bound on the led horses, to be sold or brought up as slaves; the rest having, young and old, men and women, been killed without mercy, to prevent their giving the alarm: their victors frequently coming down upon them from a distance of one hundred to three hundred miles.
In hopes of remedying these misfortunes, a conference was appointed at Erzeroom, where a Turkish plenipotentiary, Noori Effendi; a Persian plenipotentiary, Merza Jaffer Khan; a Russian commissioner, Colonel Dainese; and an English commissioner, Colonel Williams, of the Royal Artillery, were to meet, each with a numerous suite, to discuss the position of the boundary, and to check the border incursions of the Koordish tribes, both by argument and by force of arms, the troops of both nations being ordered to assist the deliberations of the congress at Erzeroom by every endeavor on their part to keep the country in a temporary state of tranquillity. The plenipotentiaries on the part of Turkey and Persia, and the English and Russian commissioners, entered upon their arduous task at the beginning of the year 1842. Colonel Williams, to whom the duties of the English commission had been intrusted, was too unwell to proceed to Erzeroom, and I was appointed in his stead, being at that time private secretary to Sir Stratford Canning, her majesty’s embassador at Constantinople. Colonel Williams afterward recovered so much that he was able to set out, and we started together as joint commissioners, in company with Colonel (afterward General) Dainese, on the part of Russia, a gentleman of very considerable talents and attainments. The discussions between the two governments were protracted by every conceivable difficulty, which was thrown in the way of the commissioners principally by the Turks. At length, in June, 1847, a treaty was signed, in which the confines of the two empires were defined: these, however, being situated in places never surveyed, and only known by traditional maps, which had copied the names of places one from another since the invention of engraving, it was considered advisable that the true situations of these places should be verified in a scientific manner; consequently, a new commission was named in the year 1848, whose officers were instructed to define the actual position of the spots enumerated in the treaty above mentioned. These commissioners consisted of Dervish Pasha for Turkey, Merza Jaffer for Persia, Colonel Williams for England, and Colonel Ktchirikoff for Russia.
This party left Bagdad in 1848, surveyed the whole of that hitherto unexplored region, among the Koordish and original Christian tribes, which extends to the east of Mesopotamia, till they finished their difficult and dangerous task at Mount Ararat, on the 16th of September, 1852. The results of this expedition are, I hope, to be presented to the public by the pen of Colonel Williams, and will, I trust, throw a new and interesting light upon the manners and customs of the wild mountaineers of those districts, and give much information relating to the Chaldeans, Maronites, Nestorians, and other Christian Churches converted in the earliest ages by the successors of the Apostles, of whom we know very little, no travelers hitherto having had the opportunities of investigating their actual condition and their religious tenets which have been afforded to Colonel Williams and the little army under his command.
Armenia, the cradle of the human family, inoffensive and worthless of itself, has for centuries, indeed from the beginning of time, been a bone of contention between conflicting powers: scarcely has it been made acquainted with the blessings of tranquillity and peace, through the mediation of Great Britain, than again it is to become the theatre of war, again to be overrun with bands of armed men seeking each other’s destruction, in a climate which may afford them burial when dead, but which is too barren and inhospitable to provide them with the necessaries of life; and this to satisfy the ambition of a distant potentate, by whose success they gain no advantage in this world or in the next.
It is much to be deplored that the Emperor of Russia, by his want of principle, has brought the Christian religion into disrepute; for throughout the Levant the Christians have for years been waiting an opportunity to rise against the oppressors of their fortunes and their faith. The manner in which the Czar has put himself so flagrantly in the wrong will be a check to the progress of Christianity. That the step he has now been taking has been the great object of his reign, as well as that of all his predecessors since the time of Peter the Great, will be illustrated in the following pages.
The accession of a Christian emperor to the throne of Constantinople will be an event of greater consequence than is generally imagined; for the Sultan of Roum is considered by all Mohammedans in India, Africa, and all parts of the world, to be the vicegerent of God upon earth, and the Caliph or successor of Mohammed; his downfall, therefore, would shatter the whole fabric of the Mohammedan faith, for the Sultan is the pride and glory of Islam, and the pale Crescent of the East will wane and set when Kurie Eleison is chanted again under the ancient dome of St. Sofia.
What an unfortunate mistake has been made in not waiting for a real and just occasion for pressing forward the ranks of the Cross against the Crescent! Then who would not have joined a righteous cause? who would not have given his wealth, his assistance, or his life, in the defense of his faith against the enemies of his religion?
I feel that, in laying this little book before the public, I am committing a rash act, for I am perfectly aware that it has many imperfections. I was prevented from visiting several important places in Armenia by an illness so severe, brought on by the unhealthy climate, that I have not been able to take an active part in life since that time. The following pages were written in a very few days, at a time when other occupations prevented me from giving them that attention which should always be afforded to a work that is intended for the perusal of the public.
Nevertheless, I consider that, as the countries described are so little known, and as it is not improbable that events of great importance may take place within their boundaries, I should be open to greater blame in withholding any information, however humble, than in presenting to the reader a meagre account of those wild and sterile regions, whose climate and manners are so different from those which are generally described in the works of Oriental travelers.
These sketches, slight as they are, may perhaps be found useful to the members of any expedition which the chances of war may occasion to be sent into those remote countries, by giving them beforehand some intimation of the preparations necessary to be made for their journey through a district where they would encounter at every step difficulties which they might not have been led to expect in a latitude considerably to the south of the Bay of Naples.
CONTENTS.
The “Bad Black Sea.”—Coal-field near the Bosporus.—Trebizond from the Sea.—Fish and Turkeys.—The Bazaars.—Coronas.—Ancient Tombs.—Church of St. Sofia.—Preservation of old Manners and Ceremonies.—Toilet of a Person of Distinction.—Russian Loss in 1828–9.—Ancient Prayer.—Varna.—Statistics of Wallachia.—Visit to Abdallah Pasha.—His outward Appearance.—His love of medical Experiments.—Trade of Trebizond Page 17
Departure from Trebizond.—A rough Road.—Turkish Pack-horses.—Value of Tea.—The Pipe in the East.—Mountain Riding.—Instinct of the Horse.—A Caravan overwhelmed by an Avalanche.—Mountain of Hoshabounar.—A Ride down the Mountain.—Arrival at Erzeroom 35
The Consulate at Erzeroom.—Subterranean Dwellings.—Snow-blindness.— Effects of the severe Climate.—The City: its Population, Defenses, and Buildings.—Our House and Household.—Armenian Country-houses.—The Ox-stable 45
Narrow Escape from Suffocation.—Death of Noori Effendi.—A good Shot.—History of Mirza Tekee.—Persian Ideas of the Principles of Government.—The “Blood-drinker.”—Massacre at Kerbela.—Sanctity of the Place.—History of Hossein.—Attack on Kerbela, and Defeat of the Persians.—Good Effects of Commissioners’ Exertions 61
The Boundary Question.—Koordish Chiefs.—Torture of Artin, an American Christian.—Improved State of Society in Turkey.—Execution of a Koord.—Power of Fatalism.—Gratitude of Artin’s Family Page 81
The Clock of Erzeroom.—A Pasha’s Notions of Horology.—Pathology of Clocks.—The Tower and Dungeon.—Ingenious Mode of Torture.—The modern Prison 99
Spring in Erzeroom.—Coffee-house Diversions.—Koordish Exploits.—Summer Employment.—Preparation of Tezek.—Its Varieties and Uses 105
The Prophet of Khoi.—Climate.—Effects of great Elevation above the Sea.—The Genus Homo.—African Gold-diggings.—Sale of a Family.—Site of Paradise.—Tradition of Khosref Purveez.—Flowers.—A Flea-antidote.—Origin of the Tulip.—A Party at the Cave of Ferhad, and its Results.—Translation from Hafiz 110
The Bear.—Ruins of a Genoese Castle.—Lynx.—Lemming.—Cara Guz.—Gerboa.—Wolves.—Wild Sheep.—A hunting Adventure.—Camels.—Peculiar Method of Feeding.—Degeneration of domestic Animals 125
Birds.—Great Variety and vast Numbers of Birds.—Flocks of Geese.—Employment for the Sportsman.—The Captive Crane.—Wild and tame Geese.—The pious and profane Ancestors.—List of Birds found at Erzeroom 132
Excursion to the Lake of Tortoom.—Romantic Bridge.—Gloomy Effect of the Lake.—Singular Boat.—“Evaporation” of a Pistol.—Kiamili Pasha.—Extraordinary Marksman.—Alarming Illness of the Author.—An Earthquake.—Lives lost through intense Cold.—The Author recovers Page 145
Start for Trebizond.—Personal Appearance of the Author.—Mountain Pass.—Reception at Beyboort.—Misfortunes of Mustapha.—Pass of Zigana Dagh.—Arrival at Trebizond 155
Former History of Trebizond.—Ravages of the Goths.—Their Siege and Capture of the City.—Dynasties of Courtenai and the Comneni.—The “Emperor” David.—Conquest of Trebizond by Mehemet II. 166
Impassable Character of the Country.—Dependence of Persia on the Czar.—Russian Aggrandizement.—Delays of the Western Powers.—Russian Acquisitions from Turkey and Persia.—Oppression of the Russian Government.—The Conscription.—Armenian Emigration.—The Armenian Patriarch.—Latent Power of the Pope.—Anomalous Aspect of religious Questions 178
Ecclesiastical History.—Supposed Letter of Abgarus, King of Edessa, to our Savior, and the Answer.—Promulgation and Establishment of Christianity.—Labors of Mesrob Maschdots.—Separation of the Armenian Church from that of Constantinople.—Hierarchy and religious Establishments.—Superstition of the Lower Classes.—Sacerdotal Vestments.—The Holy Books.—Romish Branch of the Church.—Labors of Mechitar.—His Establishment near Venice.—Diffusion of the Scriptures 194
Modern division of Armenia.—Population.—Manners and Customs of the Christians.—Superiority of the Mohammedans Page 209
Armenian Manuscripts.—Manuscripts at Etchmiazin.—Comparative Value of Manuscripts.—Uncial Writing.—Monastic Libraries.—Collections in Europe.—The St. Lazaro Library 213
General History of Armenia.—Former Sovereigns.—Tiridates I. receives his Crown from Nero.—Conquest of the Country by the Persians and by the Arabs.—List of modern Kings.—Misfortunes of Leo V.: his Death at Paris 218
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
- [Map of Armenia] To face title-page.
- [Ruined Armenian Church near Erzeroom] In title-page.
- [General View of Erzeroom] To face page 45
- [Erzeroom. View from the house of the British Commissioners.] To face page 50
- [Koordish Gallows] In page 95
- [Fundook] In,, page,, 120
- [Ruined Tower in the Castle of Tortoom] To face page 145
- [Boat on the Lake of Tortoom] To,, face,, page,, 149
- [Quarantine Harbor, Trebizond] To,, face,, page,, 165
ARMENIA.
CHAPTER I.
The “Bad Black Sea.”—Coal-field near the Bosporus.—Trebizond from the Sea.—Fish and Turkeys.—The Bazaars.—Coronas.—Ancient Tombs.—Church of St. Sofia.—Preservation of old Manners and Ceremonies.—Toilet of a Person of Distinction.—Russian Loss in 1828–9.—Ancient Prayer.—Varna.—Statistics of Wallachia.—Visit to Abdallah Pasha.—His outward Appearance.—His love of medical Experiments.—Trade of Trebizond.
Fena kara Degniz, “The Bad Black Sea.” This is the character that stormy lake has acquired in the estimation of its neighbors at Constantinople. Of 1000 Turkish vessels which skim over its waters every year, 500 are said to be wrecked as a matter of course. The wind sometimes will blow from all the four quarters of heaven within two hours’ time, agitating the waters like a boiling caldron. Dense fogs obscure the air during the winter, by the assistance of which the Turkish vessels continually mistake the entrance of a valley called the False Bogaz for the entrance of the Bosporus, and are wrecked there perpetually. I have seen dead bodies floating about in that part of the sea, where I first became acquainted with the fact that the corpse of a woman floats upon its back, while that of a man floats upon its face. In short, at Constantinople they say that every thing that is bad comes from the Black Sea: the plague, the Russians, the fogs, and the cold, all come from thence; and though this time we had a fine calm passage, I was glad enough to arrive at the end of the voyage at Trebizond. Before landing, however, I must give a passing tribute to the beauty of the scenery on the south coast, that is, on the north coast of Asia Minor. Rocks and hills are its usual character near the shore, with higher mountains inland. Between the Bosporus and Heraclea are boundless fields of coal, which crops out on the side of the hills, so that no mining would be required to get the coal; and besides this great facility in its production, the hills are of such an easy slope that a tram-road would convey the coal-wagons down to the ships on the sea-coast without any difficulty. No nation but the Turks would delay to make use of such a source of enormous wealth as this coal would naturally supply, when it can be had with such remarkable ease so near to the great maritime city of Constantinople. It seems to be a peculiarity in human nature that those who are too stupid to undertake any useful work are frequently jealous of the interference of others who are more able and willing than themselves, as the old fable of the dog in the manger exemplifies. I understand that more than one English company have been desirous of opening these immense mines of wealth, on the condition of paying a large sum or a good per centage to the Turkish government; but they are jealous of a foreigner’s undertaking that which they are incapable of carrying out themselves. So English steamers bring English coal to Constantinople, which costs I don’t know what by the time it arrives within a few miles of a spot[1] which is as well furnished with the most useful, if not the most ornamental, of minerals, as Newcastle-upon-Tyne itself.
Beyond Sinope, where the flat alluvial land stretches down to the sea-shore, there are forests of such timber as we have no idea of in these northern regions. Here there are miles of trees so high, and large, and straight, that they look like minarets in flower. Wild boars, stags, and various kinds of game abound in these magnificent primeval woods, protected by the fevers and agues which arise from the dense jungle and unhealthy swamps inland, which prevent the sportsman from following the game during great part of the year. The inhabitants of all this part of Turkey, Circassia, &c., are good shots with the short, heavy rifle, which is their constant companion, and they sometimes kill a deer. As their religion protects the pigs, the wild boars roam unmolested in this, for them at least, “free and independent country.” The stag resembles the red deer in every respect, only it is considerably smaller; its venison is not particularly good.
Trebizond presents an imposing appearance from the sea. It stands upon a rocky table-land, from which peculiarity in its situation it takes its name—τραπεζα being a table in Greek, if we are to believe what Dr. —— used to tell us at school. There is no harbor, not even a bay, and a rolling sea comes in sometimes which looks, and I should think must be, awfully dangerous. I have seen the whole of the keel of the ships at anchor, as they rolled over from one side to the other. The view from the sea of the curious ancient town, the mountains in the background, and the great chain of the Circassian Mountains on the left, is magnificent in the extreme. The only thing that the Black Sea is good for, that I know of (and that, I think, may be said of some other seas), is fish. The kalkan balouk, shield-fish—a sort of turbot, with black prickles on his back—though not quite worth a voyage to Trebizond, is well worth the attention of the most experienced gastronome when he once gets there. The red mullet, also, is caught in great quantities; but the oddest fish is the turkey. This animal is generally considered to be a bird, of the genus poultry, and so he is in all outward appearances; but at Trebizond the turkeys live entirely upon a diet of sprats and other little fish washed on shore by the waves, by which it comes to pass that their flesh tastes like very exceedingly bad fish, and abominably nasty it is; though, if reclaimed from these bad habits, and fed on corn and herbs, like other respectable birds, they become very good, and are worthy of being stuffed with chestnuts and roasted, and of occupying the spot upon the dinner-table from whence the remains of the kalkan balouk have been removed.
On landing, the beauty of the prospect ceases, for, like many Oriental towns, the streets are lanes between blank walls, over which the branches of fig-trees, roofs of houses, and boughs of orange and lemon trees appear at intervals; so that, riding along the blind alleys, you do not know whether there are houses or gardens on each side.
The bazaars are a contrast, by their life and bustle, to the narrow lanes through which they are approached. Here numbers of the real old-fashioned Turks are to be seen, with turbans as large as pumpkins, of all colors and forms, steadily smoking all manner of pipes.
I do not know why Europeans persist in calling these places bazaars: charchi is the Turkish for what we call bazaar, or bezestein for an inclosed covered place containing various shops. The word bazaar means a market, which is altogether a different kind of thing.
The bazaars of Trebizond contain a good deal of rubbish, both of the human and inanimate kind. Cheese, saddles, old, dangerous-looking arms, and various peddlery and provisions, were all that was to be seen. Many ruined buildings of Byzantine architecture tottered by the sides of the more open spaces, some apparently very ancient, and well worth examination. In the porches of two little antiquated Greek churches I saw some frescoes of the twelfth century, apparently in excellent preservation; one of portraits of Byzantine kings and princes, in their royal robes, caught my attention, but I had not time to do more than take a hasty look at it. The tomb of Solomon, the son of David, king of Georgia or Immeretia, standing in the court-yard of another Greek church, under a sort of canopy of stone, is a very curious monument; and in two churches there are ancient coronas, which seemed to be of silver gilt, eight or ten feet in diameter, most precious specimens of early metal-work, which I coveted and desired exceedingly. They were both engraved with texts from Scripture, and saints and cherubim of the grimmest aspect, so old, and quaint, and ugly, that they may be said to be really painfully curious. While on this subject I may remark that I am not aware where the authority is to be found for introducing the quantities of coronas which are now hung up in modern antique churches in England. I never saw one in any Latin church, except at Aix-la-Chapelle; there are, I presume, others, but they certainly never were common nor usual any where in Europe. All those I know of are Greek, and belong to the Greek ceremonial rite. I have never met with an ancient Gothic corona, and should be glad to know from whence those lately introduced into our parish churches have been copied.
On the other side of the town from the landing-place, a mile or so beyond the beautiful old walls of the Byzantine citadel, is a small grassy plain, with some fine single trees. This plain is situated on a terrace, with the open sea on the right hand, on a level of fifty or more feet below. The view from hence on all sides is lovely. The glorious blue sea—for it is not black here—on the right hand; the walls and towers crumbling into ruin behind you, the hills to the left, at the foot of which, built on the level grass, are several ancient tombs, whether Mohammedan or Christian I do not know; they are low round towers, with conical roofs, like old-fashioned pigeon-houses, but rich in color, with old brick, and stone, and marble. Parasitical plants, growing from rents and crevices occasioned by time, are left in peace by the Turks, who, after all, are the best conservators of antiquity in the world, for they let things alone. There are no churchwardens yet in Turkey; there are no tasty architects, with contemptible and gross ignorance of antiquity, architecture, and taste, to build ridiculous failures for a confiding ministry in London, or a rich gentleman in the country, who does not pretend to know any thing about the matter, and falls into the error of believing that if he pays well he will be well served, and that a man who has been brought up to build buildings must know how to do it: and this knowledge is displayed in the production of the British Museum, the National Gallery, and other original edifices.
The spleen aroused in writing these words is calmed by the recollection of the ruins of the fortified monastery, as it would appear to have been, before my eyes at the further end of this charming open plain; a Byzantine gate-house stands within a ditch surrounding a considerable space, in which some broken walls give evidence of a stately palace or monastery which once rose there; but there still stands towering to a great height the almost perfect church of St. Sofia—the Holy Wisdom, not the saint of that name, but the deity to whom the great cathedral of St. Sofia is dedicated at Constantinople. This church is curious and interesting in the extreme; it is most rich in many of the peculiarities of Byzantine architecture outside, and within there are very perfect remains of frescoes, in a style of art such as I have hardly seen equaled, never in any fresco paintings. The only ones equal to them are the illuminations in the one odd volume of the Μηνολογία in the Vatican Library, and some in my own. There are several half figures of emperors in brilliant colors, in circular compartments, on the under sides of some arches, and numerous other paintings, of which the colors are so vivid that they resemble painted glass, particularly where they are broken, as the sharp outlines of what is left betoken that they would be still as bright as jewelry where they have not been destroyed by the plaster, on which they are painted, giving way.
The position, beauty, and antiquity of this Christian relic in a Mohammedan land, give a singular interest to the Church of St. Sofia at Trebizond. I longed to give this place a thorough examination. Perhaps a portrait of some old Comnenus would present itself to my admiring eyes. Many likenesses of by-gone emperors, Cæsars, and princesses born in the purple, might be recovered in all the splendor of their royal robes and almost sacred crowns and diadems, to gladden the hearts of antiquarians enthusiastic in the cause, and who, like myself, would be ten times more delighted with the possession of a portrait, or an incomprehensible work of art of undoubted Byzantine origin, than with the offer of the hand, even of the illustrious Anna Comnena herself. Her portrait, after the lapse of 600 years, would be most interesting; but I do not envy the Cæsar who obtained the honor of an alliance with that princess of the cærulean hose.
At this point, feeling myself entangled with the reminiscences of Byzantine history, I must branch off into a little episode relating to the singular preservation of ancient manners and ceremonies still in use, or, at least, remaining in the year 1830 in Wallachia and Moldavia. The usages and the etiquette of those courts, together with the names and the costumes of the great officers of state, are all derived from those of the Christian court of Constantinople before the disastrous days of Mohammed the Second. Now that those fertile lands are overrun by the descendants of the Avars, and the fierce tribes of northern barbarians, who so often in the Middle Ages carried fire and sword, tallow and sheepskins, almost to the walls of the city—την βολὶν· εις την βολὶν—from whence comes Stamboul, I may be, perhaps, excused if I put in a few lines relating to another country, but which, I think, are interesting during the present state of the affairs of the Turkish empire.
In the year 1838 I left Constantinople on my way to Vienna. I went to Varna, and from thence proceeded up the Danube in a miserable steamer, on board of which was a personage of high distinction belonging to a neighboring nation, whose manners and habits afforded me great amusement. He was courteous and gentlemanlike in a remarkable degree, but his domestic ways differed from those of our own countrymen. He had a numerous suite of servants, three or four of whom seemed to be a sort of gentlemen; these attended him every night when he went to bed, in the standing bed-place of the crazy steamer. First they wound up six or seven gold watches, and the great man took off his boots, his coat, and I don’t know how many gold chains; then each night he was invested by his attendants with a different fur pelisse, which looked valuable and fusty to my humble eyes. Each morning the same gentlemen spread out all the watches, took off the fur pelisse, and insinuated their lord into a fashionable and somewhat tight coat, not the one worn yesterday; but on no occasion did I perceive any thing in the nature of an ablution, or any proof that such an article as a clean shirt formed a part of the great man’s traveling wardrobe.
Varna is situated on a gentle slope a short distance from the shores of the Black Sea, and three or four miles to the south of a range of hills, between which and the town the unfortunate Russian army was encamped during the war of the year 1829. I say unfortunate, and all will agree with me, if they take into consideration a fact which I write on undoubted authority. When the Russians invaded Turkey in 1828, they lost 50,000 men by sickness alone, by want of the necessaries of life, and neglect in the commissariat department: 50,000 Russians died on the plains of Turkey, not one man of whom was killed in battle, for their advance was not resisted by the Turks.
In the next year (1829) the Russians lost 60,000 men between the Pruth and the city of Adrianople. Some of these, however, were legitimately slain in battle. When they arrived at Adrianople, the troops were in so wretched a condition from sickness and want of food that not 7000 men were able to bear arms: how many thousands of horses and mules perished in these two years is not known. The Turkish government was totally ignorant of this deplorable state of affairs at Adrianople till some time afterward, when the intelligence came too late. If the Turks had known what was going on, not one single Russian would have seen his native land again; even as it was, out of 120,000 men, not 6000 ever recrossed the Russian frontier alive. Since the days of Cain, the first murderer, among all nations, and among all religions, he who kills his fellow-creature without just cause is looked upon with horror and disgust, and is pursued by the avenging curse of God and man. What, then, shall be thought of that individual who, without reason, without the slightest show of justice, right, or justifiable pretense, from his own caprice, to satisfy his own feelings, and lust of pride, and arrogance, destroys for his amusement, in two years, more than 100,000 of his fellow-creatures? Shall not their blood cry out for vengeance? Had not each of these men a soul, immortal as their butcher’s? Had not many of them, many thousands of them perhaps, more faith, more trust in God, higher talents than their destroyer? Better had it been for that man had he never been born!
The following prayer is translated from one at the end of an ancient Bulgarian or Russian manuscript, written in the year 1355: “The Judge seated, and the apostle standing before him, and the trumpet sounding, and the fire burning, what wilt thou do, O my soul, when thou art carried to the judgment? for then all thy evils will appear, and all thy secret sins will be made manifest. Therefore now, beforehand, endeavor to pray to Jesus Christ our Lord. Oh, do not thou reject me, but save me.”
The fortifications of Varna are very flat and low, though they are said to be of great strength; but, as the town is built of wood, I should think there would be little difficulty in setting it on fire by the assistance of a few shells or red-hot shot, from ships at sea or batteries on the land. From all such fortresses I am delighted to escape: the bastions, ditches, and ramparts keep me in, though they are intended to keep others out. There is nothing picturesque in a modern stronghold, as there are no battlements and towers, or any thing pleasing to the eye; only, whichever way you turn, you are sure to be stopped by a green ditch with a frog in it; I therefore only remained long enough at Varna to see that there was nothing to be seen.
The principality of Wallachia contains 1,500,000 inhabitants liable to taxation, 800 nobles, and 15,000 strangers, subjects of various powers.
It is governed by a prince (gika), who reigns for life. The civil list amounts to—
| 50,000 Austrian ducats yearly. | ||
| All the officials are paid by the government. | ||
| The revenues of the principality are derived from tribute, which amounts to | 300,000 | ducats yearly. |
| The salt-works, which yield | 150,000 | ducats,, yearly.,, |
| Domains of the prince | 30,000 | ducats,, yearly.,, |
| The customs | 70,000 | ducats,, yearly.,, |
| Total | 550,000 | ducats,, yearly.,, |
The expenses are, yearly:
| Ducats. | |
| Civil List of the prince | 50,000 |
| The Ottoman Porte for tribute | 30,000 |
| Salaries of officials | 150,000 |
| Troops, 4000 men | 100,000 |
| Ten quarantine stations on the Danube | 20,000 |
| Hospitals | 5,000 |
| Schools | 12,000 |
| Post | 30,000 |
| Repair of roads | 8,000 |
| Total | 405,000 |
The capital of Wallachia is Bucharest, containing 12,000 houses and 80,000 inhabitants, of whom 10,000 are strangers.
There is one metropolitan, who lives at Bucharest, and has a revenue of 10,000 ducats; and three bishops, of Rimnik, Argessi, and Buzeo, who have 8000 each. The salary of the first minister is 3600 ducats yearly. There are three ranks of nobles. The highest consists of sixty individuals, who have the right of electing the prince; the second numbers 300, and the third 440. The prime minister is called the bano; the commander-in-chief, spathar; the minister of the interior, the great dvornic; the minister of justice, the great logothete. The greatest family is that of Brancovano, the revenue of its chief being 12,000 ducats. The titles of the great officers of state, and the principal people about the court of the Hospodar, are derived from the institutions of the Byzantine emperors. These nobles are divided into three classes. The following is the order of their precedence:
1st Class.
| 1. | Bano | Marshal of the Palace. |
| 2. | Dvornic | Lord Chamberlain. |
| 3. | Spathar | Commander-in-Chief. |
| 4. | Logothete | Chief Secretary. |
| 5. | Postemic | Foreign Minister. |
| 6. | Aga | Inspector of Police. |
2d Class.
| 1. | Clochiar | Commissary General. |
| 2. | Paharme | Cup-bearer. |
3d Class.
| 1. | Serdar | Commander of 1000 men. |
| 2. | Pitar | Inspector of the Ovens. |
| 3. | Consepist | Registrar General. |
It is in the power of the government to raise any of these nobles a step after a service of three years. Before the year 1827 these officers were paid by contributions raised on the subjects of the Prince, who were then exempted from any other taxes. The Bano had one hundred and twenty men, the Dvornic one hundred, the Paharme twenty-five, and so on; from these they took as much as they could, one man averaging three ducats a year in value to his lord.
The treaty of Adrianople contains an article insuring the independence of the interior administration of the country. On the 18th of May, 1838, an order was brought from Constantinople by Baron Rukman, in which it was stated that the General Assembly are to insert a clause in the Constitution, which obliges them to have leave of the Russians before any alteration whatever is made in the regulation of the interior. The army can not be increased, or any differences made in the administration of the quarantine, &c., without permission from Russia, which is in direct contradiction to the Treaty of Adrianople. Sentence of death is abolished by the Constitution, but great offenders are sent to the mines for life.
Having accomplished our little tour to Wallachia, we will recross the sea to Trebizond, and return to the inspection of that ancient city, so famous in the romance of the Middle Ages. The Pasha and Governor, Abdallah Pasha, resides in the citadel, a large space of ruinous buildings, surrounded by romantic walls and towers, in the same style as those of Constantinople. As in duty bound, we proceeded in great state to pay a visit of ceremony to the viceroy. As our long train of horsemen wound through the narrow streets, and passed under the long dark tunnel of the Byzantine gateway, we must have looked quite in keeping with the picturesque appearance of that ancient fortress. From the gloomy gate we emerged into a large, ruinous court or space of no particular shape, but surrounded by tumble-down houses, with wooden balconies festooned with vines. I was struck with the absence of guards and soldiers, who are usually drawn up on these occasions in a wavy line, to do honor or to impose upon the awe-stricken feelings of the Elchi Bey.
We passed through another court, if I remember right, till we found a number of servants and officials waiting our arrival at an open door, and, having dismounted, with the assistance of numerous supporters we scrambled up a large, dark, crazy wooden stair, at the top of which, on a curtain being drawn aside, we were ushered into a large, lofty room, where we beheld the Pasha seated on the divan, under a range of windows, at the upper end of the selamlik, or hall of reception. Then commenced the regular exercise of formal civilities, bows, and inquiries after each other’s health, carried on in a thorough mechanical manner, neither party even pretending to look as if he meant any thing he said. We smoked pipes, and drank coffee, and made a little bow to the Pasha afterward, in the most orthodox way, till we were bored and tired, and wished it was time to come away; but this sort of visit was a serious affair, and I don’t know how long we sat there, with the crowd of kawasses and chiboukgis staring at us steadily from the lower end of the hall.
What the Pasha looked like, and what manner of man he was, it was not easy to make out, seeing that to the outward eye he presented the appearance of a large green bundle, with a red fez at the top, for he was enveloped in a great furred cloak; he seemed to have dark eyes, like every body else in this country, and a long nose and a black beard, whereof the confines or limits were not to be ascertained, as I could not readily distinguish what was beard and what was fur. Every now and then his excellency snuffled, as if he had got a cold, but I think it was only a trick; however, when he lifted up his voice to speak, the depth and hollow sound was very remarkable. I have heard several Turks speak in this way, which I believe they consider dignified, and imagine that it is done in imitation of Sultan Mahmoud, who, whether it was his natural voice or not, always spoke as if his voice came out of his stomach instead of his mouth. Abdallah Pasha paid us his compliments in this awful tone, and, till I got a little used to it, I wondered out of what particular part of the heap of fur, cloth, &c., this thoroughbass proceeded. I found, to my great admiration, that the Pasha knew my name, and almost as much of my own history as I did myself; where he had gained his very important information I know not, but an interest so unusual in any thing relating to another person induced me to make inquiries about him, and I found he was not only a man of the highest dignity and wealth, possessing villages, square miles and acres innumerable, but he was a philosopher; if not a writer, he was a reader of books, particularly works on medicine. This was his great hobby. In the way of government he seemed to be a most patriarchal sort of king: he had no army or soldiers whatever; fifteen or sixteen kawasses were all the guards that he supported. He smoked the pipe of tranquillity on the carpet of prudence, and the pashalik of Trebizond slumbered on in the sun; the houses tumbled down occasionally, and people repaired them never; the Secretary of State wrote to the Porte two or three times a year, to say that nothing particular had happened. The only thing I wondered at was how the tribute was exacted, for transmitted it must be regularly to Constantinople. Rayahs must be squeezed: they were created, like oranges, for that purpose; but, somehow or other, Abdallah Pasha seems to have carried on the process quietly, and the multitudes under his rule dozed on from year to year. That was all very well for those at a distance, but his immediate attendants suffered occasionally from the philosophical inquiries of their master. He thought of nothing but physic, and whenever he could catch a Piedmontese doctor he would buy any quantity of medicine from him, and talk learnedly on medical subjects as long as the doctor could stand it. As nobody ever tells the truth in these parts, the Pasha never believed what the doctor told him, and usually satisfied his mind by experiments in corpore vili, many of which, when the accounts were related to me, made me cry with laughter. They were mostly too medical to be narrated in any unmedical assembly.
Trebizond is not defensible by land or sea, nor could it be made so from the land side, as it is commanded by the sloping hills immediately behind it. From there being no bay or harbor of any kind, its approach is dangerous during the prevalence of north winds, which lash the waves against the rocks with fury. Inns are as yet unknown; there are no khans that I know of, of any size or importance as far as architecture is concerned; but large stables protect the pack-horses which carry the bales of goods imported from Constantinople for the Persian trade, the bulk of which has now passed out of the hands of the English into those of the Greek merchants. The steamer running from Constantinople is constantly laden with goods, and much more would be sent if additional steamers were ready to convey it.
Our party was received under the hospitable roof of Mr. Stephens, the Vice-Consul, whose court-yard was encumbered with luggage of all sorts and kinds, over which katergis or muleteers continually wrangled in setting apart different articles in two heaps, each two heaps being reputed a sufficient load for one horse. This took some days to arrange, and our time was occupied with preparations for the journey through the mountains.
[1] Since this was written, the coal-field of Eraglé has been opened under the direction of English engineers, and the coals are sent to Constantinople. [↑]
CHAPTER II.
Departure from Trebizond.—A rough Road.—Turkish Pack-horses.—Value of Tea.—The Pipe in the East.—Mountain Riding.—Instinct of the Horse.—A Caravan overwhelmed by an Avalanche.—Mountain of Hoshabounar.—A Ride down the Mountain.—Arrival at Erzeroom.
At last we were ready; the Russian commissioner traveled with us, and we sallied out of the town in a straggling line up the hill, along the only road known in this part of the world. This wonder and miracle of art extends one mile, to the top of a little hill. It is said to have cost £19,000. It ascends the mountain side in defiance of all obstacles, and is more convenient for rolling down than climbing up, as it is nearly as steep as a ladder in some places. When you get to the top you are safe, for there is no more road as far as Tabriz. A glorious view rewards the traveler for his loss of breath in accomplishing the ascent. From hence the road is a track, wide enough for one loaded horse, passing through streams and mud, over rocks, mountains, and precipices, such as I should hardly have imagined a goat could travel upon; certainly no sensible animal would ever try to do so, unless upon urgent business. Pleasure and amusement must be sought on broader ways; here danger and difficulty occur at every step; nevertheless, the horses are so well used to climbing, and hopping, and floundering along, that the obstacles are gradually overcome. In looking back occasionally, you wonder how in the world you ever got to the spot you are standing on. The sure-footedness of the horses was marvelous; we often galloped for half an hour along the dry course of a mountain torrent, for these we considered our best places, over round stones as big as a man’s head, with larger ones occasionally for a change; but the riding-horses hardly ever fell. The baggage-horses, encumbered with their loads, tumbled in all directions, but these unlucky animals were always kicked up again by the efforts of a posse of hard-fisted, hard-hearted muleteers, and were soon plodding on under the burdens which it seems it was their lot to bear for the remainder of their lives. If this should meet the eye of any London cab-horse—for what may we not expect in these days of march of intellect and national education?—let him thank his lucky star that he is not a Turkish pack-horse, made to carry something nearly as heavy as a cab up and down rocks as inaccessible as those immortalized in the famous verse—
“Commodore Rogers was a man
Exceedingly brave—particular;
And he climb’d up very high rocks,
Exceedingly high—perpendicular.”
Thus saith the poet; what Commodore Rogers would have said if he had been of our party, I don’t know. Those ladies and gentlemen who, leaning back in easy carriages, bowl along the great roads of the Simplon, may imagine what traveling there may have been over the Alps before the roads were made, while the nature of the ground is such, in two or three places, that, unless at an incredible expense in engineering, and a prodigious daily outlay to keep them clear of snow, no road ever could be made; yet this is the only line of communication between Constantinople and Persia. Through these awful chasms and precipices all the merchandise is carried which passes between these two great nations. The quiet Manchester stuffs, accustomed to the broad-wheel wagons of Europe, and the rail-ways and canals of England, must feel dreadfully jolted when they arrive at this portion of their journey. How the crockery bears it is easily understood by those who open the packages of this kind of ware at the end of the journey, when cups and saucers take the appearance of small geological specimens, though some do survive, notwithstanding the regular custom of the muleteers to set down their loads every evening by the summary process of untying with a jerk a certain cunning knot in the rope which holds the bales in their places on each side of the pack-horse: these immediately come down with a crash upon the ground, from whence they are rolled along and built up into a wall, on the lee side of which a fire is lit and the muleteers sleep when there is no khan to retire to for the night.
On this journey I for the first time learned the true value of tea. One of the kawasses of the Russian commissioners had a curious little box, covered with cowskin, tied behind his saddle; about twice a day he galloped off like mad, his arms and stirrups, &c., making a noise as he started like that of upsetting all the fire-irons in a room at home. In about half an hour we came up with him again, discovering his whereabouts by seeing his panting horse led up and down by some small boy before a hovel, into which we immediately dived. There we found the kawass kneeling by a blazing fire, with the cowskin box open on the ground beside him, from whence he presently produced glass tumblers of delicious caravan tea,[1] sweetened with sugar-candy, and a thin slice of lemon floating on the top of each cup. This is the real way to drink tea, only one can not always get caravan tea, and, when you can, it costs a guinea a pound, more or less; but its refreshing, calming, and invigorating powers are truly remarkable.
In former days, in many a long and weary march, I found a pipe of great service in quieting the tired and excited nerves; having no love for smoking under ordinary circumstances, these were the only occasions when a long chibouk did seem to be grateful and comforting. That this is pretty universally acknowledged I gather from the habit of all the solemn old Turks in Egypt and hot climates during the fast of Ramadan, who invariably take a good whiff from their pipes the moment that sunset is announced by the firing of a gun in cities, or on the disappearance of its rays toward the west in the country. Supper does not appear to be looked forward to with the same impatience as the first puff from the chibouk. No pipe, however, possesses the agreeable qualities of a cup of hot good tea made in this way; no other beverage or contrivance that I know of produces so soothing an effect, and that in so short a time. In a few minutes the glasses, and the little teapot, and two canisters for tea and sugar-candy, retired into the recesses of the cowskin box; the poor horses, who had had no tea, were again mounted, and on we rode over the rocks and stones, one after the other, in a long line, the regular tramp, tramp, tramp, interrupted every now and then by the crash of one of our boxes against a rock, and the exclamations of the katergis as its bearer wallowed into a hole or tumbled over some horrible place, from whence it seemed impossible that he should ever be got up again. However, he always was, and at last we hardly took notice of one of these little accidents, and notwithstanding which we generally got through the mountains at the rate of about thirty miles a day.
On the second day from Trebizond we arrived at the snow; the hoods with which we had provided ourselves were pulled over our heads. I tied my bridle to the pommel of my saddle, put my hands in my pockets, and nevertheless galloped along—at least the horse did, and all the better for my not holding the bridle. In mountain traveling this is perhaps the most necessary of all the whole craft and art of horsemanship, not to touch the bridle on any occasion, except when you want to stop the horse; for, in difficult circumstances, a horse or mule goes much better if he is left to his own devices. In some dreadful places, I have seen a horse smell the ground, and then, resting on his haunches, put one foot forward as gently as if it was a finger, cautiously to feel the way. They have a wonderful instinct of self-preservation, seeming quite aware of the perils of false steps, and the dangers by which they are surrounded on the ledges of bleak mountains, and in passing bogs and torrents in the valleys below.
At Beyboort we were received by the governor, a Bey, who gave us a famous good dinner or supper, whereof we all ate an incredible quantity, and almost as much more at breakfast next morning. At Gumush Hané, where there are silver mines, a good-natured old gentleman who was sitting by the roadside gave me the most delicious pear I ever tasted. This place is famous for its pears. Being situated in a deep valley, the climate is much better than most parts of the country on this road. Here we put up in a good house, slept like tops, and waddled off next morning as before. I had an enormous pair of boots lined with sheepskin, which were the envy and admiration of the party: they were amazing snug certainly, and nearly came up to my middle. If they had been a little bit larger, I might have crept into one at night, which would have been a great convenience; they were of the greatest service on horseback, but on foot I had much difficulty in getting along, and was sorry I had neglected to inquire how Jack the Giant-killer managed with his seven-league boots. Before arriving at Beyboort we passed the mountain of Zigana Dagh, by a place where a whole caravan accompanying the harem of the Pasha of Moush had been overwhelmed in an avalanche, over the icy blocks of which we made our way, the bodies of the unfortunate party and all the poor ladies lying buried far below. Beyond Gumush Hané rises the mountain of Hoshabounar, which is a part of the chain that bounds the great plain of Erzeroom. This was the worst part of the whole journey: we approached it by interminable plains of snow, along which the track appeared like a narrow black line. These plains of snow, which look so even to the sight, are not always really so; the hollows and inequalities being filled with the snow, you may fall into a hole and be smothered if you leave the path. This path is hardened by the passage of caravans, which tread down the snow into a track of ice just wide enough for a single file of horses; but while you think you are on a plain, you are, in fact, riding on the top of a wall or ridge, from whence, if your horse should chance to slip, you do not know how deep you may sink down into the soft snow on either side.
At the top of the mountain we met thirty horses which the Pasha of Erzeroom had sent for our use. We had above thirty of our own, so now there were sixty horses in our train. The Russian commissioner and I left all these behind, and rode on together with two or three guards, accompanied by the chief of the village where we were to sleep. At last we came to the brow of the hill—we could not see to the bottom from the snow that was falling—it was as steep as the roof of a house, and the road consisted of a series of holes, about six inches deep, and about eighteen inches apart, the track being about sixteen inches wide. To my surprise, the chief of the village, a man in long scarlet robes, immediately dashed at a gallop down this road, or ladder, as they call it; the Russian commissioner followed him; and I, thinking that it would not do for an Englishman to be beat by a Russian or a Turk, threw my bridle on my horse’s neck and galloped after them. Never did I see such a place to ride in! Down and down we went, plunging, sliding, scrambling in and out of the deep holes, the snow flying up like spray around us, to meet its brother snow that was falling from the sky. It was wonderful how the horses kept their feet; they burst out into perspiration as if it had been summer. I was as hot as fire with the exertion. Still down we went, headlong as it seemed, till at last I found myself sliding and bounding on level ground, and, rushing over some horses which were standing in an open space, I discovered that I was in a village, and was presently helped off my panting horse by the gentleman in the red pelisse, who showed the way into a cow-stable, the usual place in which we put up at night. Thus ended the most extraordinary piece of horsemanship I ever joined in. It was not wonderful, perhaps, for the rider, but how the horses kept their feet, and how they had strength enough to undergo such a wonderful series of leaps and plunges, out of one hole into another, appeared quite astonishing to me. The next day we proceeded to Erzeroom, and at a village about two hours’ distance we were met by all the authorities of the city on horseback. Some horses with magnificent housings were sent by the Pasha for the principal personages, and we rode into the town in a sort of procession, accompanied by perhaps 200 well-mounted cavaliers caracoling and prancing in every direction.
General View of Erzeroom.
[1] Caravan tea is tea which is brought by caravans, over land, from China, through the great deserts of Tartary: it is much superior to the tea which comes by sea. [↑]
CHAPTER III.
The Consulate at Erzeroom.—Subterranean Dwellings.—Snow-blindness.—Effects of the severe Climate.—The City: its Population, Defenses, and Buildings.—Our House and Household.—Armenian Country-houses.—The Ox-stable.
We were hospitably entertained at the British Consulate till the Pasha could get a house prepared for us to occupy during our stay; but, as Mr. Pepys says, “Lord, to see!” what a place this is at Erzeroom! I have never seen or heard of any thing the least like it. It is totally and entirely different from any thing I ever saw before. As the whole view, whichever way one looked, was wrapped in interminable snow, we had not at first any very distinct idea of the nature of the ground that there might be underneath; the tops of the houses being flat, the snow-covered city did not resemble any other town, but appeared more like a great rabbit-warren; many of the houses being wholly or partly subterranean, the doors looked like burrows. In the neighborhood of the consulate (very comfortable within, from the excellent arrangements of Mr. Brant) there were several large heaps and mounds of earth, and it was difficult to the uninitiated to discriminate correctly as to which was a house and which was a heap of soil or stones. Streets, glass windows, green doors with brass knockers, areas, and chimney-pots, were things only known from the accounts of travelers from the distant regions where such things are used. Very few people were about, the bulk of the population hybernating at this time of the year in their strange holes and burrows. The bright colors of the Oriental dresses looked to my eye strangely out of place in the cold, dirty snow; scarlet robes, jackets embroidered with gold, brilliant green and white costumes, were associated in my mind with a hot sun, a dry climate, and fine weather. A bright sky there was, with the sun shining away as if it was all right, but his rays gave no heat, and only put your eyes out with its glare upon the snow. This glare has an extraordinary effect, sometimes bringing on a blindness called snow-blindness, and raising blisters on the face precisely like those which are produced by exposure to extreme heat. Another inconvenience has an absurd effect: the breath, out of doors, congeals upon the mustaches and beard, and speedily produces icicles, which prevent the possibility of opening the mouth. My mustaches were converted each day into two sharp icicles, and if any thing came against them it hurt horribly; and those who wore long beards were often obliged to commence the series of Turkish civilities in dumb show; their faces being fixtures for the time, they were not able to speak till their beards thawed. A curious phenomenon might also be observed upon the door of one of the subterranean stables being opened, when, although the day was clear and fine without, the warm air within immediately congealed into a little fall of snow; this might be seen in great perfection every morning on the first opening of the outer door, when the house was warm from its having been shut up all night.
Erzeroom is situated in an extensive elevated plain, about thirty miles long and about ten wide, lying between 7000 and 8000 feet above the level of the sea. It is surrounded on all sides with the tops of lofty mountains, many of which are covered with eternal snow. The city is said to contain between 30,000 and 40,000 inhabitants, but I do not myself think that it contains much more than 20,000; this I had no correct means of ascertaining. The city is said to have been, and probably was, more populous before the disasters of the last Russian war. It stands on a small hill, or several hills, at the foot of a mountain with a double top, called Devé Dagh, the Camel Mountain. The original city is nearly a square, and is surrounded by a double wall with peculiarly-shaped towers, a sort of pentagon, about 20 towers on each side, except on the south side, where a great part of the walls is fallen down. Within these walls, on an elevated mound, is the smaller square of the citadel, where there are some curious ancient buildings and a prison, which I must describe afterward; a ditch, where it is not filled up with rubbish and neglect, surrounds the walls of the city; and beyond this are the suburbs, where the greater part of the population reside. Beyond this, an immense work was accomplished as a defense against the Russian invaders. This is an enormous fosse, so large, and deep, and wide, as to resemble a ravine in many places. It was some time before I was aware that this was an artificial work. As there are no ramparts, walls, or breastworks on the inner side of that immense excavation, it can have been of no more use than if it did not exist, and did not, I believe, stop any of the Russians for five minutes. They probably marched down one side and up the other, supposing it to be a pleasing natural valley, useful as a promenade in fine weather, and the prodigious labor employed on such a work must have been entirely thrown away.
The palace of the Pasha, that of the Cadi and other functionaries, are within the walls of the town. The doorways are the only parts of the houses on which any architectural ornaments are displayed; many of these are of carved stone, with inscriptions in Turkish beautifully cut above them. There are said to be seventeen baths, but none of them are particularly handsome, though the principal apartment is covered with a dome, like those in finer towns. The mosques amount, it is said, to forty-five: I never saw half so many myself. Many of them are insignificant edifices. The principal one, or cathedral, as it may be called, is of great size, its flat, turf-covered roof supported by various thick piers and pointed arches. The finest buildings are several ancient tombs: these are circular towers, from twenty to thirty feet in diameter, with conical stone roofs, beautifully built and ornamented. There must be twenty or thirty of these very singular edifices, whose dates I was unable to ascertain; they probably vary from the twelfth to the sixteenth century, judging from a comparison of their ornamental work with Saracenic buildings in other parts of the world.
The most beautiful buildings of Erzeroom are two ancient medressés or colleges, or perhaps they may be considered more as a kind of alms-houses, built for the accommodation of a certain number of Mollahs, whose duty it was to pray around the tomb of the founder, adjoining to which they are erected. One of these stands immediately to the left hand on entering the principal gateway of the town; above its elaborately-sculptured door are two most beautiful minarets, known by the name of the iki chífteh. These are built of an exceedingly fine brick, and are fluted like Ionic columns, the edges of the flutings being composed of turquoise-blue bricks, which produces on the capitals or galleries, as well as on the shafts, the appearance of a bright azure pattern on a dark-colored ground. The roof of this very beautiful building has fallen in, but the delicacy of the arabesques, cut in many places in alto-relief in a very hard stone, would excite admiration in India, and equals the most famous works of Italy. The other medressé is in a still worse condition, a great cannon-foundry having been erected in the middle of it. The whole building is broken, smoked, and injured; still, what remains shows how fine it must have been.
There are one or two Greek churches and two Armenian churches here, both very small, dark, cramped places, with immensely thick walls and hewn-stone roofs. They appear to be of great antiquity, but can boast of no other merit. Adjoining the principal one, in which is a famous miraculous picture of St. George, they were building a large and handsome church, which is now completed, in the Basilica form, with an arched stone roof. Cut stone being very expensive, and indeed, from the want of good masons, very difficult to procure, the priests bethought themselves of a happy expedient to secure square hewn stone for the corners, door-way, windows, &c., of the new cathedral. They told their flock that, as the ancient tomb-stones were of no use to the departed, it would be a meritorious act in the living to bring them to assist in the erection of the church. They managed this so well, that every one brought on his own back, or at his own expense, the tombstones of his ancestors, and those were grieved and offended who could not gain admission for the tomb-stones of their families to complete a window or support a wall. The work advanced rapidly during the summer, and any large, flat slabs of stone were reserved for the covering of the roof. It promised to be, and I hear now is, a handsome church, strong and solid enough to resist the awful climate, and the snow which lies there for months every year. The Armenian inscriptions and emblems on the stones have a singular effect; but I think, under the circumstances, the priests were quite right to build up with the tombstones of the dead a house of prayer for those about to die.
Erzeroom—View from the House of the British Commissioners.
In course of time a house was ready for our reception: though not so large as those of some of the great authorities, it was one of the largest class of houses in Erzeroom, and a description of its arrangements will convey an idea of what most of the others were. It was situated in a very good position on the top of a hill, close to the house of the Russian commissioner, and on the same side of the town as those of the English and Russian consuls. From its small, doubly-glazed windows we looked, over a narrow valley covered with houses, on the walls and tower of the citadel, which stood on the hill directly opposite. The walls and towers, and the principal gateway of the town, with its two graceful minarets, to the left hand, and a distant prospect of the great plain and the River Euphrates, and the mountains over which we had traveled, to the right, completed our view, which was, perhaps, the best enjoyed by any house in the place. Our house, like most of the others, was built with great solidity, of rough stone, with large blocks at the corners; the roof was flat, and covered with green turf. The windows were small, like port-holes, but the door was a large arch, through which we rode into the gloomy, sepulchral-looking hall, out of which opened the stables on the right hand, the kitchen, and offices, and some other rooms on the left, while in front a dark staircase of square stones and heavy beams looked as if it had tumbled through the ceiling, and gave access to the upper floor. There was a little garden or yard under the windows, where we planted vegetables, and in one part of which several English dogs, two Persian greyhounds, and an Armenian turnspit, walked about in the daytime. The railing between this and the garden part of the yard was a triumph of art, accomplished by a Turkish guard, who turned his sword into a plow-share when not wanted to look terrific. We had also nineteen lambs, who grazed on the top of the highest part of the house, where they were carried up every morning, except occasionally when there was such a wind that they would be in danger of being blown away. We had I know not how many sheep with large tails; these took a walk every day with a shepherd, who led out all the sheep belonging to the inhabitants of that part of the town. Every house having a few, they are marked, and all come home every evening to their respective houses, and go out again the next morning, and eat what they can get upon the mountains. Our household contained, besides ourselves and servants, one white Persian cat, with a spot on his back, and his tail painted pink with hennah (this race, with long, silky hair falling to the ground as it walks along, comes from Van); five pigeons, and one hen, the rest having fallen victims to the rapacity of mankind; and a lemming,[1] who lived in a brass foot-tub and ate biscuits. This last beast was sadly frightened by a mouse which I put into his habitation one day, and which made use of his back to jump out, after receiving a severe bite in the tail. He generally slept all day, and took a small walk in the tub in the evening.
All the building except the hall and stable had a garden on the roof, that part only being two stories high. The kitchen and some of the other rooms were lit by a skylight, the earth at the back of them being on a level with their ceilings. The walls of the upper floor were not exactly over those below, but were supported by immense beams, some of which had given way, and the principal room leaned over to the left frightfully. Those rooms which are lit by windows have two rows of them one above the other, except the dining-room and ante-room, which had only one row, too high from the floor to look out of, but very convenient for looking into, from the upper garden and the terrace of the next house. The rooms had all white-washed walls, wooden flat ceilings curiously carved and painted. On the floors there was blue cloth instead of carpets, and divans of red cloth. A few chairs, and some lumbering deal tables, with covers on them, at which we wrote, concluded our list of furniture and “genuine effects.” The great difficulty was the eating and drinking part of the arrangements. Every thing except bread and meat came on horses from Constantinople, and about one third of the bottles brought from thence were usually broken. Glass, for the windows, was a curious and expensive luxury, oiled paper being generally used, with a little bit of real glass to peep out of in each, or sometimes only in one window. Wood also was very dear, as there were no trees within a distance of thirty hours. The climate is not too cold for the growth of timber, I should think, for there were a few poplars in the yards near the houses, but the people are too improvident to plant trees, and, except some prodigiously large cabbages, horticulture is not much practiced near the town.
The country houses of Armenia are constructed somewhat differently from those of the towns. When a man wishes—I can not call it to build a house, or erect a house, or set up a house, as none of these terms are applicable—but when a house is to be constructed, the following is the way in which it is set about. A space of ground is marked out, perhaps nearly an English acre in extent; then the whole space is excavated to the depth of about five feet: one part of the excavation is set apart for the great cow-stable; this may be fifty or one hundred feet long, and nearly as wide. Having got so far, some trees are the next requisite; these trees being cut down, the trunks are chopped into lengths of eight or nine feet, the general height of the rooms, and are placed in two or four rows, to be used as columns down the great stable; the larger branches, without being squared or shaped, are laid across from pillar to pillar as beams; the smaller branches are laid across these, the twigs on the top, till the entire trees are used up; the twigs are sometimes tied up in fagots, sometimes not: over this is spread some of the earth that was excavated from below; this is well trodden down, then more earth is added, and on the top of all is laid the turf which formed the surface of the soil before it was moved. Round the stable, in no particular order, smaller rooms are formed; if they are large, their roofs are supported by columns like the stable. In a large house there are often two stables. The space of ground taken up by a rich man’s house is prodigious, the turfed roof forming a small field. The lesser rooms in this subterranean habitation are divided from the stable and from each other by rough stone walls well filled up with clay or mud; their ceilings are contrived by laying beams across each other, two along and two across, in the form of a low pyramid, so that the ceiling is a kind of low square dome: the smaller rooms form store-rooms and apartments for the women. Each room has a rough stone fire-place opposite the door; and in the roof, generally over the door, there is one window about eighteen inches square, glazed with a piece of oiled paper. Outside, these windows look like large mole-hills, with a bit of plaster on one side surrounding the oiled paper, or glass, which transmits the light. Inside, the window is perceived at the end of a funnel, widening greatly toward the room, and contrived so as to throw the light to the centre of the apartment, opposite the fire-place, where a fire of tezek, or dried cow-dung and chopped straw, is constantly smouldering. Over the chimney-piece hangs an iron lamp of simple construction, which, with the help of the fire, produces a dim light in the long nights of winter. There is a divan, usually covered with most beautiful Koordish carpets, which last forever, on each side of the fire-place; and large wooden pegs, projecting from the walls, serve to hang up guns, pistols, cloaks, and any thing else. Some of these rooms are rather roughly pretty in appearance; the floors are covered with tekkè, a thick gray felt, and, among smart people, Persian carpets are laid over the felt, their beautiful colors producing a rich and comfortable effect. About half way up the chimney is a wooden door or damper, which is opened and shut by means of a string; and when it is very cold weather, and they want to be snug and fusty down below, this door is shut, and the room becomes as hot as an oven; the chimney does not rise more than two feet above ground, and has a large flat stone on the top to keep the snow from falling in, as well as the lambs and children; the smoke escapes by apertures on the sides just below the coping-stone. The chimneys look like toadstools from the outside, rising a little above the snow or the grass which grows upon the roof. These subterranean habitations are constructed, not on the side of a hill, but on the side of a gentle slope; and all the earth excavated for the house is thrown back again upon the roof in such a manner that on three sides there is often no sign of any dwelling existing underneath. The entrance is on the lower side of the slope, and there the mound is often visible, as it is raised four or five feet above the level of the hill-side. There are no fences to keep people off the roof, which has no appearance different from the rest of the country. It is often only the dirt opposite the doors, the cattle, and people standing about, which gives information of a small village being present, particularly during the eight months of snow, and ice, and intense cold, when no one stirs abroad except for matters of importance. When a house is ruined and deserted, these holes are sometimes rather dangerous, as the horse you are riding may put his foot into an old chimney and break his leg, there being very frequently no appearance of a habitation below, while you are passing through the open, desolate country, of which the roof seems to be a part. There are stories, perhaps founded on fact, of hungry thieves lifting the flat stone off the top of the chimney, and fishing up the kettle in which the supper was stewing over the fire below with a hooked stick—a feat which would not be at all difficult if the cook was thinking of something else, as sometimes will happen even in the best-regulated families.
The most curious and remarkable part of the house is the great ox-stable, which often holds some scores of cattle. Out of this stable they do not stir, frequently, during the whole winter season, and it is the breath and heat of these animals which warm the house; besides which, they manufacture all the fuel for the establishment: they are fed upon straw, bruised to small bits by the sledge which is driven round the threshing-floor to separate the corn from the husk after harvest time. In one corner of this huge, dim stable, near the entrance door, a wooden platform is raised three feet from the ground; two sides of it are bounded by the stone wall of the house, in one of which, opposite the door, is the fire-place; the other two sides of the square platform have open wooden rails to keep off the cows. This original contrivance is the salemlik, or reception-room, where the master sits, and where he entertains his guests, who, as they stumble into the obscure den from the glare of the sun shining on the snow outside, are received with a yell by all the dogs, who live under the platform. This place is fitted up with divans and carpets; arms and saddles hang against the walls; the horses of the chief are tethered nearest to the rails, the donkeys and cows further off. Among the horses there is always an immense fat tame sheep; this is a universal custom in every stable in Turkey, under or above ground. Among some of the Koordish tribes, a young wild boar is kept in the stable with the horses—a remarkable custom among Mohammedans, who consider the whole race of swine as unclean beasts; this is the only case in which they are tolerated. A small flock of other sheep are sometimes scampering about, or kept from doing so, among the cows; chickens peck in the litter, and several grave cats have their allotted places on the divans of the chief, his wife, and others of his family. A vacant, that is, cowless space, is left between the steps leading up to the platform and the entrance door of the house; this part answers to the entrance hall, as man and beast pass through it on coming in or going out, immediately before the eyes of the master of the house. From hence a sloping passage, about six feet wide, leads to the open air; it has an outer door at the upper end, and an inner door below: this passage may be from ten to twenty feet long. The outer door is a common strong wooden one, but the inner doors all over the house are as singular as the rest of the arrangements. The house-door is of the usual size for the cows and horses to pass through, the others are not more than five feet high; they are constructed in the following manner: the bare wooden valve is first covered with ketché or felt, and on the inside the skin of a sheep, with its legs and arms on, just in the shape in which it came off the animal when it was skinned, being dyed red, is nailed over the felt. On the other side of the door, down the middle, is a long square pipe or box, in which hangs a heavy log of wood, attached to a cord fixed to the upper part of the door-case, which keeps the door shut, as it swings to again after it has been opened, and keeps out the drafts, and keeps in the warm air generated by cows, fires, and lamps, so that the atmosphere is always temperate within, while the cold is such without that men are frozen to death if they stand still even for a short time in the rigorous climate of an Armenian winter.
[1] Those who take an interest in natural history should read the accounts of the extraordinary migrations of the lemmings, which occur periodically in Norway, after a fixed number of years. [↑]
CHAPTER IV.
Narrow Escape from Suffocation.—Death of Noori Effendi.—A good Shot.—History of Mirza Tekee.—Persian Ideas of the Principles of Government.—The “Blood-drinker.”—Massacre at Kerbela.—Sanctity of the Place.—History of Hossein.—Attack on Kerbela, and Defeat of the Persians.—Good Effects of Commissioners’ Exertions.
The first aspect of affairs at Erzeroom was not very satisfactory in any way. The cold and dismal weather was enough to prevent all enjoyment out of doors, and in-doors we had little cause of rejoicing. On first taking possession of our house, my companions had the narrowest possible escape of death from suffocation. The grooms in the stable below the drawing-room had lit an immense fire of charcoal, not for any particular object beyond that common to all servants of all countries, that of wasting their master’s goods, which they had not to pay for themselves. The fumes from the charcoal penetrated the ceiling, when, most fortunately, the Russian commissioner came in, and, finding his two English friends in a half-stupefied state, helped them out of the room on to the terrace, where they both fell down fainting on the snow, and were only recovered after some time and difficulty. If the Russian commissioner had not arrived so opportunely, they would soon have perished. I did not participate in this risk, because I was laid up at the Consulate with an attack of fever, which effectually prevented my moving to my own house.
Another misfortune occurred almost at the same period. Noori Effendi, the Turkish plenipotentiary, died suddenly of apoplexy in his bath; he had been embassador in London and at Vienna. All prospect of getting on with our affairs was put off by this unfortunate circumstance. Subsequently, Enveri Effendi, formerly secretary to Noori, was appointed in his place, but he did not arrive for some time after the death of his former chief.
Mirza Jaffer, an old acquaintance of mine when he was embassador from Persia to the Porte, was too unwell to leave Tabriz, and Mirza Tekee was appointed Persian plenipotentiary instead. On his arrival within sight of Erzeroom from Persia, all the great people, except the Pasha and the commissioners, went out on horseback to meet him, and accompany him on his entry into the town. There was a great concourse and a prodigious firing of guns at full gallop, which, as the guns are generally loaded with ball cartridge, bought ready made in the bazaar, though intended as an honor, is a somewhat dangerous display. Unable to resist so picturesque a sight, I had ridden out on the Persian road, though I did not join the escort, and, having returned, I was walking up and down on the roof of the house, watching the crowds passing in the valley below, and looking at the great guns of the citadel, which the soldiers were firing as a salute. They fired very well, in very good time, but I observed several petty officers and a number of men busily employed at one gun, the last to the left hand near the corner of the battery. At length this gun was loaded. A prodigious deal of peeping and pointing took place out of the embrasure, and, just as I was turning in my walk, bang went the cannon, and I was covered with dust from something which struck the ground in the yard in a line below my feet. On looking down to see what this could be, I saw a ball stuck in the earth: the soldiers had all disappeared from the ramparts of the citadel, and I found they had been taking a shot at the British commissioner. A very good shot it was too, exactly in the line, but the ball, not being heavy enough, had fallen a little short, so I was missed. They had manufactured a ball with a large stone, wound round with rope to make it fit the gun, to shoot at the Frank, and that was the occasion of all the peeping and crowding of the men round the gun which I had observed.
As Mirza Tekee is now no more, and he was beyond all comparison the most interesting of those assembled at the congress of Erzeroom, I will give a short account of his history. Mirza Tekee was the son of the cook of Bahman Meerza, brother of Mohammed Shah, and governor of the province of Tabriz. The cook’s little boy was brought up with the children of his master and educated with them; being a clever boy, as soon as he was old enough he was put into the office of accounts, under the commander-in-chief, the famous Emir Nizam, who was employed in drilling the Persian army in the European style. Tekee became Vizir ul Nizam, or adjutant general, in course of time, under the old Emir Nizam, and also amassed great wealth; and as the Shah did not like the idea of paying the expenses of his plenipotentiary—“base is the slave that pays”—he sent Mirza Tekee to Erzeroom with many flattering speeches and promises, none of which he intended to fulfill. The cunning old prime minister, Hadji Meerza Agassi, who was sedulously employed in feathering his own nest, was jealous of Mirza Tekee, and very glad to get him safe out of the way. The Turks and Persians, as every body knows, hate each other religiously, which seems always to be the worst sort of hatred. The Soonis and the Shiahs are, as it were, Protestants and Papists in the Mohammedan faith; and if these two countries are ever reconciled for a time, the smouldering flame is sure to break out again at the first convenient opportunity, and it will do so to the end of time. In 1845, the Turks, who disliked Mirza Tekee with more than common aversion, from his dignified bearing and stately manners, gave out various accusations against him and some members of his household. A fanatical mob of many thousand indignant Soonis surrounded all that quarter of the town, attacked the Persian plenipotentiary’s house, which was besieged for some hours, and volleys after volleys of rifle-shots were fired at the windows, while from within Mirza Tekee only permitted his party to fire blank cartridges. Izzet Pasha, a drunken old gentleman of eighty, who had succeeded Kiamili Pasha as governor of Erzeroom through the intrigues of Enveri Effendi, sat on horseback and looked on, and took no part in the disturbance, though he had all his troops, amounting to several thousand men, under arms. For this conduct he was turned out of his government, and was succeeded by Bahri Pasha, who in 1847 was shot dead by one of his own servants, of the name of Delhi Ibrahim—accidentally or not, does not appear.
Colonel Williams did every thing in his power to assist Mirza Tekee, and risked his life in the affray; but he received no assistance from the Pasha or any of the authorities, who made no attempt to quell the riot.
The Turks swore they would have blood, and that one of the Persians must be given up to them as a sacrifice. A poor man, who had called that morning to say that he was going to Tabriz, and would be happy to carry any letters or messages there, was thrown out of the window and torn to pieces by the mob. Another Persian, a gentleman, secretary to Mirza Tekee, was killed by a butcher the same day, in another part of the town, where he was walking in ignorance of the disturbance that was going on. The Mirza’s house was pillaged, the roof and doors broken in, and every thing destroyed that the mob could get hold of. He himself was only saved by barricading a strong room in a back part of the house, where he and his servants defended themselves for many hours, till the Turks dispersed of their own accord. The Sultan afterward sent him £8000 in repayment of his losses in this disgraceful outrage.
In June, 1847, after he had signed the treaty of peace and commerce between Turkey and Persia with Enveri Effendi and the British and Russian Commissioners, he returned to Tabriz. On the death of the Emir Nizam, he succeeded to his office of commander-in-chief. During the last illness of Mohammed Shah, Bahman Meerza had been intriguing in hopes of succeeding to the throne; but being unsuccessful, and being also found out, he escaped to Teflis, where he still resides, and is protected by the Czar, who keeps him in terrorem over the present Shah, who may be dethroned any day, in which case Bahman Meerza is all ready to reign in his stead.
When Mohammed Shah, who had done nothing all his life but shoot sparrows with a pistol, departed from this world, Mirza Tekee marched the Persian army to Teheran, and seated the young Prince Noor Eddin upon the throne. Noor Eddin Shah gave him his sister in marriage: she is said to have been much attached to her husband, who also succeeded to the immense territorial possessions of Hadji Meerza Agassi, the late prime minister of Persia. The Hadji had been tutor to Mohammed Shah, and became one of the most famous of the Grand Vizirs of that most blundering of dynasties. As a matter of course, when he became rich enough he was robbed by his master, having been himself the greatest extortioner on record for many years. The Shah had allowed him to keep an enormous treasure in gold, silver, and jewels, with which he retired to Kerbela, where he died in the odor of sanctity in 1850.
Mirza Tekee was now seated on the highest pinnacle of the temple of prosperity. The extent of the possessions which the Shah had handed over to him from the plunder of the Hadji was so great as to be hardly credible, and, by a judicious squeezing, the towns, villages, and domains would have yielded the revenue of a petty king. However, all prime ministers are detested—that is, in human nature; first, there is the opposite party in politics, some of whom think differently as to the form and manner in which the taxes should be levied in Europe, the villages racked in Persia. All—whatever they may think on political subjects—feel sure they ought to be in place, rather than the party then in power; if to these are added all thieves, rogues, revolutionists, and those sorts of people, who have a natural antipathy to all government, law, or possession of wealth in the hands of any man except the one individual himself, he being more jealous of his friend than of any other person, a great mass of the population are not only opposed to the minister for the time being, but are in constant readiness to pull down whatever is above them, good, indifferent, or bad.
It is said that the great enemy of Mirza Tekee at court was the Shah’s mother, a lady who in Persia and Turkey enjoys an extraordinary degree of power, wealth, and dignity. In Turkey, the Sultana Validé has the right to build a royal mosque, and to use a caique like that of her son; she is above the law, and can do any thing she likes. If she likes to do good, she can do much good; if she likes to do evil, she can do much evil. Between those who were jealous of the power and who hated the strong government of Mirza Tekee, a powerful party was created, who got hold of the weak mind of the young Shah, who owed every thing in this world to his minister; his destruction was agreed upon, and he was given leave to go to Koom, where he had an estate. So secretly were affairs managed that his suspicions do not seem to have been aroused; his young wife followed him, with all her train, looking forward to the pleasure of living with her husband for a while in the quiet and retirement of a beautiful country; but when she arrived within sight of the town of Koom, a messenger came out to meet her, and the news that he brought was that Mirza Tekee had been killed by the order of her brother the Shah, whose emissaries had seized him unexpectedly in the bath. He made a desperate resistance, but he was overpowered; they opened his veins and held him down till the Grand Vizir had bled to death. No crime whatever was alleged against him: he was murdered foully by the Shah, who thus destroyed one of his best and most honest subjects at the instigation of some of the most infamous and worst. This happened in the year 1851.
There is nothing, however, very unusual in this termination of the life and fortunes of the prime minister of Persia, only it is usually done under more extenuating circumstances. The singular ideas which they entertain of the principles of government are summed up in the notion that it is better to be in the hands of one furious ogre than at the mercy of a hundred tyrants. For this reason the tribes of the Kuzzulbash admire a truculent Shah, such as Aga Mohammed Shah, and they like a Grand Vizir who lets nobody rob and plunder except himself. When he is fat and fit for killing, the blood-drinker on the throne cuts off his head, or strangles him, as the case may be, and then takes possession of his property, throwing a sop to the mob occasionally by allowing them to sack the great man’s house. I do not use the above-mentioned epithet as a term of reprehension or abuse, for Hunkiar is one of the recognized titles of the Sultan of Turkey and of other Eastern sovereigns. The treaty of Hunkiar Skellessi, which made so great a sensation in its day, was so called from the name of a place on the Asiatic shores of the Bosporus. The name means the “Blood-drinker’s Stairs”—an appellation at this time equally suited to either of the “high contracting powers.”
The plenipotentiaries and commissioners being assembled, every thing was in the greatest danger of falling to pieces on the outset, by the very first dispatches which we received, as these related to a frightful massacre which had just taken place at Kerbela, where 22,000 Persians were reported to have been killed by the Turks. Kerbela, in the pashalik of Bagdad, is a Turkish fortified place, containing the tomb of Hossein, the brother of Hassan, and son of Ali, the great saint of the Shiah, or Persian form of the Mohammedan religion. Not only do an immense number of Persians habitually reside there, but every one who has the power strives to retire there in his latter days, that he may lay his bones in the neighborhood of the golden dome which covers the ashes of Hossein. Those who die at a distance are so anxious at least to be buried at Kerbela, that the great article of commerce in that direction consists of the dead bodies of Persian men and women, which are brought by thousands every year, from all parts of the dominions of the Shah, by endless caravans of horses, mules, and camels, many hundreds of which unlucky animals pass their whole lives from year to year in carrying these horrid burdens, which infect the air in all the villages through which they pass.
So great is the sanctity of Kerbela, that, in the estimation of the sect of Ali, it even may be said to surpass that of Mecca, for they, among Mohammedans, are those who “by their traditions have made the law of none effect.” The history of the death of Hossein is so interesting an episode in the history of this country, that I am tempted to give a short account of it, for the benefit of those who may not be well acquainted with the history of the successors of Mohammed, and upon whose fortunes so much of the welfare and also the policy of the various nations of the East, from the seventh century to the present time, depends—premising that the principal cause of the rancorous hatred which always has existed, and still exists in full force, between the Sooni Turks and the Shiah Persians, is principally founded upon events connected with the death of the Imaum Hossein, and the feeling is kept up in full vigor in Persia by a sort of drama, representing the following history, which is enacted before the Shah, and in every town in Persia, every year, at the annual feast of Noo Rooz, which continues for ten days. In one of the acts of this most curious ceremony, a Frank embassador is brought before the audience, who intercedes for the life of Hossein and his followers with the general of the army of Yezid. Who he can have been there is no means of knowing, but he may possibly represent an embassador from the Greek Emperor of Constantinople, who may have been passing on his way to the court of the Caliph. However this may be, his presence produces a kindly feeling toward Europeans in the minds of the Persian populace.
On the death of Ali (A.D. 661), his eldest son, Hassan, was proclaimed Caliph and Imaum in Irák; the former title he was forced to resign to Moawiyah; the latter, or spiritual dignity, his followers regarded as inalienable. His rival granted him a pension, and permitted him to retire into private life. After nine years, passed for the most part in devotional exercise, he was poisoned by his wife Jaadah, who was bribed to perpetrate this execrable crime by Yezid, the son of Moawiyah.
On the death of Moawiyah (A.D. 679), his son Yezid, who succeeded, having provoked public indignation by his luxury, debauchery, and impiety, Hossein was persuaded by the discontented people of Irák to make an attempt for the recovery of his hereditary rights. The inhabitants of Cufa and Bassorah were foremost in their professions of zeal for the house of Ali, and sent Hossein a list of more than 124,000 persons, who, they said, were ready to take up arms in his cause.
Hossein did not take warning from the inconstancy and treachery which these very persons had shown in their conduct toward his father and brother. Assembling a small troop of his personal friends, and accompanied by a part of his family, he departed from Medina, the place of his residence, and was soon engaged in crossing the desert. But while he was on his journey, Yezid’s governor in Irák discovered the meditated revolt, capitally punished the leaders of the conspiracy, and so terrified the rest that they were afraid to move. When Hossein arrived near the banks of the Euphrates, instead of finding an army of his devoted adherents, he discovered that his further progress was checked by the overwhelming forces of the enemy. Determined, however, to persevere, he gave permission to all who pleased to retreat while there was yet time; to their disgrace, many of his followers left him to his fate, and he continued his route to Cufa, accompanied only by seventy-two persons. But every step increased his difficulties, and he attempted to return when it was too late. At length he was surrounded by the troops of the Caliph in the arid plains of Kerbela, his followers were cut off from their supply of water, and, when he offered to negotiate, he was told that no terms would be made, but that he should surrender at discretion. Twenty-four hours were granted him for deliberation.
Hossein’s choice was soon made: he deemed death preferable to submission, but he counseled his friends to provide for their safety either by surrender or escape. All replied that they preferred dying with their beloved leader. The only matter now to be considered was how they could sell their lives most dearly; they fortified their little encampment with a trench, and then tranquilly awaited the event.
That night Hossein slept soundly, using for a pillow the pommel of his sword. During his sleep he dreamed that Mohammed appeared to him, and predicted that they should meet the next day in Paradise. When morning dawned he related his dream to his sister Zeinab, who had accompanied him on his fatal expedition. She burst into a passion of tears, and exclaimed, “Alas! alas! my brother! What a destiny is ours! My father is dead! my mother is dead! my brother Hassan is dead! and the measure of our calamities is not yet full!”
Hossein tried to console her. “Why should you weep?” he said; “did we not come on earth to die? My father was more worthy than I; my mother was more worthy than I; my brother was more worthy than I. They are all dead; why should not we be ready to follow their example?” He then strictly enjoined his family to make no lamentation for his approaching martyrdom, telling them that a patient submission to the divine decrees was the conduct most pleasing to God and his Prophet.
When morning appeared, Hossein, having washed and perfumed himself, as if preparing for a banquet, mounted his steed, and addressed his followers in terms of endearing affection that drew tears from the eyes of the gallant warriors. Then, opening the Koran, he read the following verse: “O God, be thou my refuge in suffering, and my hope in affliction.” But the soldiers of Yezid were reluctant to assail the favorite grandson of the Prophet; they demanded of their generals to allow him to draw water from the Euphrates, a permission which would not have been refused to beasts and infidels. “Let us be cautious,” they exclaimed, “of raising our hands against him who was carried in the arms of God’s apostle. It would be, in fact, to fight against himself.” So strong were their feelings, that thirty cavaliers deserted to Hossein, resolved to share with him the glories of martyrdom.
But Yezid’s generals shared not in these sentiments. They affected to regard Hossein as an enemy of Islám. They forced their soldiers forward with blows, and exclaimed, “War to those who abandon the true religion, and separate themselves from the council of the faithful!” Hossein replied, “It is you who have abandoned the true religion; it is you who have severed yourselves from the assembly of the faithful. Ah! when your souls shall be separated from your bodies, you will learn too late which party has incurred the penalty of eternal condemnation.” Notwithstanding their vast superiority, the Caliph’s forces hesitated to engage men determined on death; they poured in their arrows from a distance, and soon dismounted the little troop of Hossein’s cavalry.
When the hour of noon arrived, Hossein solicited a suspension of arms during the time appointed for the meridian prayers. This boon was conceded with difficulty, the generals of Yezid asking “how a wretch like him could venture to address the Deity;” and adding the vilest reproaches, to which Hossein made no reply. The Persian traditions relate a fabulous circumstance, designed to exalt the character of Hossein, though fiction itself can not increase the deep interest of his history. They tell us that while he was upon his knees, the King of the Genii appeared to him, and offered, for the sake of his father Ali, to disperse his enemies in a moment. “No,” replied the generous Hossein, “what use is there in fighting any longer? I am but a guest of one breath in this transitory world; my relatives and companions are all gone, and what will it profit me to remain behind? I long for nothing now save my martyrdom; therefore depart thou, and may the Lord recompense and bless thee!” The genius was so deeply affected by the reply that his soul exhibited human weakness, and he departed weeping and lamenting.
When the hour of prayer was past, the combat was renewed. One of Hossein’s sons, and several of his nephews, lay dead around him; the rest of his followers were either killed or grievously wounded. Hitherto he had escaped unhurt, for every one dreaded to raise a hand against the grandson of Mohammed; at length a soldier, more daring than the rest, gave him a severe wound in the head. Faint with the loss of blood, he staggered to the door of his tent, and with a burst of parental affection, which at such a moment must have been mingled with unspeakable bitterness, took up his infant son, and began to caress him. While the little child was lisping out an inquiry as to the cause of his father’s emotion, it was struck dead by an arrow in Hossein’s arms. When the blood of the innocent, bubbling over his bosom, disclosed this new calamity, Hossein held up the body toward heaven, exclaiming, “O Lord! if thou refusest us thy succor, at least spare those who have not yet sinned, and turn thy wrath upon the heads of the guilty.” Parched by a burning thirst, Hossein made a desperate effort to reach the banks of the Euphrates, but, when he stooped to drink, he was struck by an arrow in the mouth, and at the same moment one of his nephews, who came to embrace him for the last time, had his hand cut off by the blow of a sabre. Hossein, now the sole survivor of his party, threw himself into the midst of the enemy, and fell beneath a thousand weapons. The officers of Yezid barbarously mangled the corpse of the unfortunate prince; they cut off his head, and sent it to the Caliph.
The escort who guarded it on its way to the court of Yezid, halting for the night in the city of Mosul, placed the box which contained it in a mosque; one of the sentinels, in the middle of the night hearing a noise within, looked through a chink in the door, and saw a gigantic figure, with a venerable white beard, take the head of Hossein out of its box, kiss it with reverence, and weep over it, a crowd of venerable personages following his example, and weeping bitterly at the same time. Fearing that some of his partisans had gained admittance, and that they would carry away the head which he was guarding, he unlocked the door and entered the mosque, upon which one of the figures he had seen approached, and, giving him a blow upon the cheek, exclaimed, “The prophets have come to pay obeisance to the head of the martyr: whither dost thou venture with such disrespect?” In the morning he related what had happened to his commander, the impression of the hand and fingers of the ancient prophet being still visible on his cheek.
The head of Hossein, and that of his brother Hassan, repose under a mosque of the highest sanctity at Cairo: it is called the mosque of Hassanen. Another mosque in the same city covers with its dome the remains of Sitté, or the lady Zeinab, their sister, who was famous for her beauty: her shrine is now visited with great devotion by the ladies and women of her faith. The headless body of Hossein was buried upon the spot where he fell, while above it afterward arose the present place of pilgrimage, so much resorted to by the Shiah sect.
The Persian fanatics of Kerbela had long declined paying the accustomed taxes to the Turkish government. Their insolent behavior had been a constant source of anger and difficulty to successive Pashas of Bagdad. At last the present Pasha was determined to enforce the law: after sending various letters to the town requesting payment of taxes and arrears, which were treated with ridicule and contempt, he gave orders to a general called Aboullabout Pasha, who appears to have been a Sooni of the most orthodox kind, to march an army of several thousand men to compel the people of Kerbela to acknowledge the rule of the Sultan. Aboullabout Pasha arrived accordingly, and pitched his camp in a grove of palms not far from the walls of the city. He brought four guns with him, and a number of topgis, or gunners, to work these instruments of destruction, if the Persians in the town did not choose to obey his commands. These impertinent fanatics treated the Turkish Pasha and his army with derision; rode out in the cool of the evening to look at the encampment, called the Turks grandsons and great grandsons of dogs, whom they would soon pack off to their kennels at Bagdad and Constantinople.
It seems that, trusting in the sanctity of the golden dome, they did not imagine that the Turks would dare to advance to extremities, particularly as several royal princesses and members of the family of the Shah had taken up their abode in the vicinity of the tomb of the Imaum. However, the four guns and the topgis advanced to a position near the walls, and the Pasha sent a civil note to the insurgents within, to say that he would trouble them to pay his little bill; at the very notion of which the Persians were seized with fits of laughter, they were so much amused at the idea of paying away their money to the Turks. After several demands for their surrender, the town was blockaded, and the Persians made various sallies on the Turkish lines, in which they were always repulsed, and, all warnings being disregarded, the four guns at last proceeded to business. The walls tumbled down immediately, the Turks walked in, the Persians ran away, making very little effectual resistance, and fire and the sword, plunder and outrage of all kinds, took place in every quarter of the devoted city. When the Turkish troops entered the town, Aboullabout Pasha, who took it all in a religious point of view, had his carpet spread upon a bastion close above the breach, and having cursed Hassan and Hossein, Sitti Zeinab and Ali, offered ten shillings a piece for the heads of any of their followers; and then went quietly to prayers for the rest of the morning, without making any effort to stop the horrors and excesses which occur when a city has been taken by storm. The accounts of the shocking outrages and barbarities committed by the brutal soldiery are not fit to be repeated. When the town was pillaged, and every thing had been seized that they could lay their hands upon, those who had not been fortunate in lighting upon any treasure, or any thing worth taking away, bethought themselves of the manner in which profit and amusement might be combined, by cutting off every one’s head that they could meet with, and taking it up to the pious old Pasha, who continued praying on his carpet on the bastion. When Persian heads became difficult to find, not being particular, a great many Turks were shot and decapitated by their fellow-soldiers, for the sake of their heads, the fraternal feeling of nationality and Sooniism not being calculated to resist the offer of one ducat per head. If this had been suffered to continue, it is probable that the state of affairs would have resembled that of the celebrated battle between the two Kilkenny cats, who ate each other up entirely with the exception of a small piece of fluff. When the massacre was stopped, 22,000 persons were reported to have been slain. This was very much exaggerated, no doubt, and it does not appear that a very correct account could be made out. A most curious and interesting report was afterward drawn up on this subject by Colonel Farrant, who was deputed by the British government to proceed to Kerbela for the purpose of pacifying the contending parties, and inquiring into the truth and extent of this terrible disaster.
This was the first subject which the congress assembled to discuss measures of amity and mutual confidence between Turkey and Persia had brought before them—one not precisely calculated to insure that calmness of debate and general good-will which all wanted to establish.
In course of time matters calmed down; things were what is called explained. We were all wonderfully civil to each other, and the Turkish and Persian followers of their respective plenipotentiaries did not express their private opinions of each other’s merits till they got home and shut the door.
Gradually they became more used to one another’s ways, and the commissioners worked like special constables to keep the peace—and very hard work they had; and it is wholly and entirely owing to their exertions that the Koordish tribes upon the frontiers, and the wild spirits on both sides who were ready to back them up, were kept down for more than ten years, during which time commerce has been enlarged, the roads have been safe, and the Christian and agricultural population from Bussora to Mount Ararat have enjoyed a tranquillity and prosperity unknown in the memory of man.
CHAPTER V.
The Boundary Question.—Koordish Chiefs.—Torture of Artin, an American Christian.—Improved State of Society in Turkey.—Execution of a Koord.—Power of Fatalism.—Gratitude of Artin’s Family.
One of the most important of the affairs which were to be settled at Erzeroom was the geographical position of the boundaries between the two empires, for along the whole line there ran a broad belt of a kind of debatable land, upon which every man felt it his duty to shoot at every other man whom he did not get near enough to run through with his long spear, or knock upon the head with his mace, these ancient style of weapons being still in use among the Koords. For the purpose of gaining local information, many of the chiefs and principal persons of the wild districts in question were brought up to Erzeroom to be examined before the plenipotentiaries and commissioners. Some of these were most original individuals. The following extract from a letter, written upon the spot, will give a faint idea of two or three of these singular chieftains.
Extract of a Letter.
“Erzeroom, August 11th, 1843.
“One day passes much like another at Erzeroom, and though there seldom occurs any thing new to me, perhaps, as it would be all new to you, you may like to hear how I pass my time, so I will give you a sort of journal of the proceedings of yesterday, that you may see how I occupy myself in this outlandish place. First of all, I got up in the morning, ate my breakfast, and then walked about the terrace on the top of the house. At eleven o’clock a messenger came from Enveri Effendi, to ask us to go to his house at one. So at one o’clock we went; the Russian commissioner, with his suite, came also. At the door of Enveri Effendi’s house I saw a fine mare, with very peculiar housings. It was held by a negro, and a Bedouin Arab was sitting on the ground near it. The head-stall was made of a red silk garter, which went over its head, and was attached to the bit by a piece of green leather strap; the saddle was a common Arab saddle, but the housings, made of wadded red silk, ended in two immense tassels, one on each side of the horse’s tail, and almost as large; the shovel-stirrups were beautifully embossed and inlaid with silver, and there was a heavy mace of the same workmanship under the right flap of the saddle. This curious horse belonged to Sheikh Thamir, the chief of the Chaab tribe, and ex-sovereign of all the land at the mouths of the Euphrates. All the time that I was examining the horse and talking about its accouterments, the Turkish guard were presenting arms, and they looked very much relieved when I turned round and went into the house.
“The staircase of this palace is like a chicken-ladder, and the hall at the top, where the servants wait, like a little barn or stable in England. Here, as I was kicking off my goloshes, I was seized by Enveri Effendi himself, who had come up behind me. This was considered as an excellent good joke by the Chaoushes, servants, &c., who stood in a row to receive us; so we went into the selamlik (or reception room) together, and there I was introduced to three of the most picturesque people I have ever seen. The first was Osman Pasha, late Governor of Zohab; the second, Sheikh Thamir, whose horse I had been looking at outside; the third was yclept Abdul Kader Effendi, chief secretary to the government of Bussorah. These persons were dressed in flowing robes of various colors; they had long beards, and enormous turbans of Cashmere shawl. All three were remarkably ugly, strange-looking men, and I can not describe to you the peculiar way in which their clothes were put on, and the wild and almost magnificent appearance they presented. There were, besides these and ourselves, B—— Pasha and four other gentlemen, in the modern Turkish dress. The three commissioners and their two dragomans sat on the divan under the window, all, except myself, with their legs sticking out, like people waiting for an operation in a hospital. Enveri Effendi sat on a cushion on the floor, in the right-hand corner, and the others were ranged on the two sides of the room. As we were fourteen people, on a sudden fourteen servants rushed into the room with pipes; then one brought coffee on a tray, the brocade covering of which was thrown over his left shoulder; and then came a man bringing to each of us a cup, well frothed up, and in a zarf, or outer cup, of a different kind, according to the rank of the person to whom it was presented. Enveri Effendi and the three commissioners had cups of enameled gold, the rest of the Pashas, &c., of silver. When this ceremony was concluded, the door was shut, the servants disappeared, a curtain was drawn across the door, and two chaoushes, with muskets, put to guard it outside. Then Enveri Effendi lifted up his voice, and, after swinging himself about, and grunting two or three times, he told us that the gentlemen in the turbans had brought up a number of old firmans, teskerès, and other papers relating to the lands between Zohab and the Persian Gulf; that he had examined them, and that now he begged the commissioners to put any questions they chose to the worthies before them respecting the lands, &c.
“Then we all looked at each other for a little time, then they all looked at me. Then I took up my parable, and desired the dragoman to ask Osman Pasha who he was. ‘I am Osman Pasha,’ said he; ‘and I and my family have been sovereigns (or hereditary governors rather) of Zohab for seven generations.’ Having asked him a great many questions, and written down his answers, which made him somewhat nervous, I turned to Sheikh Thamir. ‘What is your fortunate name?’ said I; upon which Sheikh Thamir opened his eyes, then he opened his mouth, then he looked at Abdel Kader, then he shut his mouth again, and said nothing. So I asked him again who he had the honor to be. Upon this, Abdel Kader, who appeared to be his mentor or adviser, came and sat down by him, and said, ‘He is Sheikh Thamir.’ Sheikh Thamir upon this shouted out, at the top of his voice, ‘Yes, I am Sheikh Thamir, the son of Gashban, who was the son of Osman, who was the son of—’ ‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘I only wanted to know from your own lips who you were, but am not particular as to the names of all your respected ancestors.’ However, Sheikh Thamir was not to be stopped in this way when he had once begun, so he shouted out a long string of names, and when he got to the end he said he was Sheikh of the Sheikhs of the great tribe of Chaab, and commander of the district of Ghoban, which his ancestors had held before him for one or two hundred years—or more, or less, as I pleased. In answer to other questions, which Abdel Kader always accompanied with his own notes and commentaries, he said, ‘I have no papers; we do not understand such things. What do I know? I am an old man. I am forty-five years of age; let me alone.’ In course of time I did let him alone, and a difficult thing it was to draw out any information from this wild desert chief. Every now and then somebody else put in a word. At about four o’clock the meeting broke up. We returned home and dined, and in the evening went out riding. Passing some tents, which the Pasha has set up at the other side of the town, near a tank—the only place where there are any trees near Erzeroom, and they are only about a dozen poplars—I saw a number of people, so I went up to the tents, and found Sabri Pasha, the commander of the troops, an Egyptian Pasha, who is come to buy horses for Mohammed Ali—he has bought some hundreds; Bekir Pasha, some other military Pashas, Namik Effendi, &c., two little sons of Sabri Pasha, dressed in a very odd way, with petticoats of different colored silks in stripes; he said it was the dress of the girls in Albania, but I never saw any thing like it in that country. Here we stayed and chatted with the Turks. The tents are superb; the principal one was 100 feet long, with an open colonnade round it, and lined inside with silk; rich Persian carpets were spread on the ground. I have never seen so beautiful a tent. When the moon rose I went away, a man carrying a meshaleh, a thing like a beacon, on the top of a pole, with old cotton dipped in pitch burning in it; it is the best light there is for out-of-doors, as it never blows out, and gives much more light than any torches or lanterns.
“When I got home I paid my respects to the kid, who came out to meet me; and to the little cow, eighteen inches high, who sat in the door and would not get out of the way; and having drank tea, I went to bed.”
On another occasion certain men represented to me that a Christian oda bashi, or chamberlain of a khan or inn, had been unjustly seized and tortured by the authorities, to make him confess to a robbery that had taken place in his khan, which in reality had been perpetrated by two Turkish soldiers; but the oda bashi being a Christian, neither his evidence nor that of any other Christian could be taken in opposition to that of a Mohammedan, according to the Turkish law. The case was brought before me, and I took some interest in it. I had no authority whatever to deal with such questions as these, and it was only by representations to the Pasha that I was enabled to obtain justice for the unlucky oda bashi.
Finding the case taken down at the time from the word of mouth of some of those who moved in it, I thought it might be interesting as a picture of manners in an out-of-the-way country, and I subjoin it without making any alterations in the language of this piece of justiciary business.
Case of Artin, Oda Bashi, an Armenian.
“Erzeroom, August 2d and 12th, 1843.
“A merchant, named Mehemed, brought his merchandise to the Khan Ghengé Aga Khan, where he slept. Two soldiers slept near him. In the morning his goods were gone; he accused the soldiers (who were the only people who had been near him) of the robbery; they denied it, and were let off by the judge at the mekemmé, before whom they had been taken. A Turkish woman, named Zeilha, saw the two soldiers bury something, upon which she told the merchant that his goods were buried at such a place by the soldiers. He went there, and found half the goods; the soldiers, therefore, were again taken up, when they confessed to the theft of half the goods, but said that the oda bashi, an Armenian, named Artin, had taken the other half. Artin was accordingly taken before the tribunal of the Kiaya; the Pasha ordered him to be tortured on his declaring himself ignorant of the theft. A tass (metal drinking-cup) of hot brass was put about his head; afterward a cord was tied round his head, two sheep’s knuckle-bones were placed upon his temples, and the cord tightened till his eyes nearly came out. As he would not confess, his front teeth were then drawn one at a time; pieces of cane were run up under his toe-nails and his finger-nails. Various tortures have been inflicted on him in this way for the last twelve days, and he is now hung up by the hands in the prison of the Seraskier, where he will be kept and tormented till he confesses or dies. This is the deposition of his wife Mariam, who begs me to interpose to save her husband, who, she declares, slept at home, and not in the khan, on the night when the robbery took place.”
According to the Turkish law, two witnesses of unimpeachable character are sufficient to convict any man of any crime, on their accusing him before the cadi. Only in the case of adultery four male witnesses are required. A woman’s evidence is never taken, nor is that of a Christian or a foreigner held good in any case against a Mohammedan. These two soldiers, however, being convicted thieves, their evidence was not valid according to the law, and the oda bashi seems to have been taken up and tortured by an entirely arbitrary act of the Pasha. I went to the palace, and these are the words of Kiamili Pasha, the Governor and Viceroy of Erzeroom.
“You are mistaken; the man has not been tortured; I have proof that he was at the khan that night; he has been found guilty by the court (mekemmé) on proper evidence, and sent to me to receive the punishment due to his offense. As I wished to recover the goods stolen for the benefit of their owner, the merchant Mehemed, I threatened the oda bashi that if he did not tell what he had done with his share of the property, it was in my power to inflict these tortures upon him.
“After this he desired to be allowed to speak to the two soldiers who had possession of the other half of the goods. I consented, and sent him to the prison at Selim Pasha’s palace, where they were confined. As I would not trust to the report of Selim Pasha’s people, I sent a confidential man of my own, who was put in a place where he overheard all that passed. The oda bashi said to the soldiers, ‘If you will say I am innocent, I will share my portion of the stolen goods with you, and you will gain by this, as your share has been taken from you, and I shall get off freely. Do this, and nobody will know.’
“The oda bashi was brought back to his prison: when I asked him what he had said to the soldiers, he told me quite another story. Then I spoke to him in his own words, whereat he was astonished, but he kept silence. He is still in prison, and I am thinking what to do with him; but he has not been tortured in any way; and as you seem to take an interest in his case, I will set him free, and give him to you, to show my friendship for you.”
I replied, “I am glad to hear that the man has not been tortured, for in England we consider torture to be an act of unnecessary cruelty; but your story alters the case. The man is certainly guilty, and as I only asked for justice in this case, and I wish in all things to see justice done, I will not have the man; let him be punished according to the law, only do not torture him.
“The other day you hung a Koord opposite my windows; he was a murderer, and you did right: it is by acts like these that a country such as this can be kept in order, and that protection is assured to those who do well.”
“I am sorry,” said the Pasha, “that they hung the Koord before your windows. I told them not to hang him before the house of the Persian plenipotentiary, where there is a gibbet; but to take him to any place where the Koords resorted, and as there are many coffee-houses near you, that is the reason probably why they hung him there. His story is a curious one: I have been looking after him for the last three years; he has robbed and murdered many people, though he was so young a man, but he had always escaped my agents. At last, a few days ago, he stole a horse, in a valley near here, from a man who was traveling, and whom he beat about the head and left for dead. He brought the horse to Erzeroom and offered it for sale, when the owner, who had recovered, saw him selling the horse, and gave him up to the guard. He was brought up for judgment before me, when I said to him, Who are you? After a silence, the man said, ‘There is a fate in this, it can not be denied. I am * * * *, whom you have been searching for these three years. My fate brought me to Erzeroom, and now I am taken up for stealing one poor horse. I felt when I took that horse that I was fated to die for it. My time is come. It is fate.’ And he went to be hung without any complaint.”
I said he deserved it, and hoped others would take warning by his death.
“I hope they will,” the Pasha said, “but among the Koords of this country there are so few who do not deserve punishment, that if you see two persons you may be sure that one has stolen something. You can not see two people together here but that at least one has been a thief.”
“Well,” I answered, “the British commissioners are two people whom your excellency has often seen together, but I hope, in our case, when we leave the pashalik of Erzeroom, we may be convicted of having stolen nothing but your good opinion;” and so I took my leave.
In the evening, hearing that the wife of the oda bashi was in my house, I said to Paolo Cadelli, my servant, that my desire to liberate the Armenian was changed; that he had not been tortured, but he was a thief. “How!” said Paolo, in a great state of excitement; “a thief he may be, but tortured he certainly was, for in the morning did I not go forth into the bazaar to get wrappers (pestimal) of Persian silk? I went to the Bezestein, and there did I not see the chief of the criers of the Bit Bazaar? he is my friend. Did I not get from him the embroidery, the cloth of gold which you have, which is in your room? And we went, did we not go together, to the court of the palace of the Pasha? It is opposite, is it not opposite to the entrance of the Bezestein? Do not the soldiers present arms to you there when you go in? Yes. There I went, and I saw the Armenian, a poor devil—quite a poor devil—sitting down like a monkey, altogether quite stupid with fear and martyrdom. They had martyred him; they had drawn his teeth; his finger-ends and toes were black, by reason of the canes they had run into them; his thighs had been torn by pincers; he was half dead. He said to the people, ‘What can I do? I am innocent; kill me; but I can not restore goods which I have not got.’ Ah! he is a Christian. Is he not a Christian—an Armenian? That is what these Turks do. They have not tortured the soldiers who are guilty. Certainly they have not, but this man has been tortured because he is an Armenian. They are Turks, my master (padrone); are they not Turks? They are all Turks; that is what they do;” and with many ejaculations Paolo went away to cool down his indignation in the open air.
I was surprised at this account. Yesterday, August 5, * * * Pasha came to breakfast, and I begged him to find out the truth. In the afternoon I was at Enveri Effendi’s house; * * * Pasha was there, and he said the man had not been tortured; that the account given me by Kiamili Pasha was correct; that the man was out of prison, but that the Pasha would seek for him and send him to me.
I heard that, after I went to the Pasha, the Pasha sent for the Kiaya, and finding the oda bashi had been tortured, he found great fault with him, and ordered the man to be released the next day. He is sentenced, as he understands, to pay the half of the value of the goods stolen. While I was with the Pasha, the Tophenkyi Bashi was enraged with this poor victim for getting the assistance of the Franks, as he thought that we were come to the Pasha on his account, whereas our visit was on public business in no way connected with this affair. It appears that while we were sitting on the divan in the Pasha’s hall of audience, the Tophenkyi Bashi was employed during the same time in inflicting additional torments on the unfortunate oda bashi; he snapped his pistol at his head, and informed him that the Pasha had given orders that he was to be hanged in the course of the day. The oda bashi, after we had rescued him from his various tormentors, presented himself before me. He was a good-looking man, about thirty-five years of age, with a black beard, and respectably dressed in blue, in the style usually adopted by the Armenian Christians. He said he had been tortured by the order of the Kiaya Bey; the bones were put to his temples, some of his teeth drawn, his nails pierced, his left thigh torn with pincers; he was hung up by the arms by ropes, but the hot cup was not placed upon his head. He showed me the marks of the pincers and other scars about his body—evident proofs of the truth of his assertion. The two soldiers who were convicted of having stolen the goods (the oda bashi being entirely ignorant of the whole transaction) were to be brought before the Council on the following Monday. They are now in prison, and will be sentenced to pay the other half of the value of the stolen goods. This information the oda bashi received from the merchant Mehemed, the owner of the lost property. He has not heard any other particulars about the soldiers.
From the above account it appears that much injustice may probably be carried on by the inferior officers of the government which never gets to the ears of the Pasha, small officials being notoriously more tyrannical than greater men. The Pasha himself appears to be a kind-hearted, well-intentioned man in a general way; but, in cases where his own interest is not directly concerned, he does not look into the affairs of the pashalik with sufficient keenness to prevent his subordinate officers from practicing various acts of oppression and extortion, according to the fashion of the good old times, when Turkey, like the United States of America, was a land of liberty, where every free and independent citizen had the right to beat his own nigger; for, according to some doctors of the law, pashas, vizirs, &c., might cut off a few heads every day for no given reason, but just for amusement. The Sultan had the privilege of destroying fourteen lives per day of his faithful subjects, who might have committed no crime; after that number, some reason was expected to be shown for the further use of the sword and bow-string on that day. Now the case is altered: fewer crimes are committed in Turkey than in London, and the Turkish pashas endeavor to stop such practices as are considered discreditable on the part of the inferior officers; though they have to contend with great difficulties in a country where it is hardly possible to get at the truth, and where the inferior officers have for generations been accustomed to plunder those below them, directly they are out of sight of the higher authorities; trusting to the want of communication, the slight knowledge of writing, and the many obstacles in the way which prevent the poor man’s story getting to the ears of the Pasha or the Sultan, who, in these days at least, are anxious to remedy such abuses, and to distribute justice with a tolerably impartial hand. I had great satisfaction in hearing afterward that, owing to my exertions in this and other cases—the good cause being taken up warmly by Colonel Williams, after I was gone—all torture was authoritatively abolished in the pashalik of Erzeroom; and I am in hopes that, except in some snug little dungeon in the rocky castle of a half independent Koordish chief, this horrible custom is almost extinct.
The Koord above mentioned was hanged in so original a manner that I must shortly describe it, as it took place immediately under my window. What we called at school a cat-gallows was erected close to a bridge, over the little stream which ran down the horse-market, between my house and the bottom of the hill of the citadel. The culprit stood under this; the cross-beam was not two feet above his head; a kawass, having tied a rope to one end of the beam, passed a slip-knot round the neck of the Koord, a young and very handsome man, with long black hair; he then drew the rope over the other end of the beam, and pulled away till the poor man’s feet were just off the ground, when he tied the rope in a knot, leaving the dead body hanging, supported by two ropes in the form of the letter V. Hardly any one was looking on, and in the afternoon the body was taken down and buried.
I shall always consider this case as a remarkable instance of the power of fatalism over the mind of an ignorant and superstitious man. This Koord was entirely the cause of his own execution: no one knew him by sight at Erzeroom, and there was not the slightest necessity for his declaring his name to the Pasha, and confessing that he had committed murders and outrages of all kinds among the villages of Koordistaun. His punishment for stealing a horse would not have been very severe, and, but for his voluntary admission that he was a notorious malefactor, for whom the police had long been on the look-out, he might have been alive to this day, to rob and murder, till somebody shot him, or he became too old for the exertion. Fatalism, in other cases, has a powerful influence over the true believers in the armies of Islam. The soldier goes to battle with the firm belief that, if his hour is not come, the cannon of the enemy can have no power over him; and that if his hour is arrived, the angel of death will call him, whether he may be seated on his divan, or walking in full health in his garden at home: just as readily does he bow his head to fate in one place as in another. By this institution of the Koran, the wonderful genius of Mohammed has gained many a victory by the hands of his trusting and believing followers for the caliphs and sultans of his creed. Some of the reforms of Sultan Mahmoud, by treating lightly many of the ancient prejudices of the Osmanlis, have shaken the throne under his feet. The progress of infidelity, which has begun at Constantinople, is the greatest temporal danger to the power of the Turkish empire. The Turk implicitly believes the tenets of his religion; he keeps its precepts and obeys its laws; he is proud of his faith, and prays in public when the hour of prayer arrives. How different, alas! is the manner in which the divine laws of Christianity are kept! The Christian seems ashamed of his religion; as for obeying the doctrines of the Gospel, they have no perceptible effect upon the mass of the people, among whom drunkenness, dishonesty, and immorality prevail almost unchecked, except by the fear of punishment in this world; while in Turkey not one tenth part of the crime exists which is annually committed in Christendom.
A few days after this occurrence, as I was sitting in the summer chamber at the top of the house, I heard a most extraordinary shuffling and screeching behind the curtain which hung over the door; the curtain shook about, and numerous subdued voices and noises were heard, which sounded like cocks and hens suffering from strangulation. I shouted out to know what in the world was going on; after a while the kawass drew aside the curtain, and along the floor advanced a most strange and incomprehensible procession of several women and men, crawling on their hands and knees, each with a cock or a hen in their hands, whose fluttering, and screaming, and crowing now broke forth in full chorus; one or two got away, and flew about the room, as its owner, making use of her hands to walk with, was unable to hold the terrified fowl. This procession advanced to the divan, and, without saying a word, the foremost woman seized hold of one of my legs, which was inadvertently sticking out, and, holding on to my ankle, kissed my foot, and burst out into a string of exclamations in Armenian, no one word of which made any impression on my understanding. Being horribly alarmed, I kicked as well as I could, and, having escaped into the remotest corner of the divan, I begged to know what all this portended; and on the chickens being caught, and comparative silence obtained, I found that these were the family of the poor oda bashi, who had brought the chickens as a present, and came with tears to thank me for saving their father, brother, or husband. They were really pained, poor people, when I would not accept the cocks and hens, for, though of little value, it looked like receiving a bribe for justice; and, after a long explanation of my strange notions, they walked off in smiles upon their hind legs, the cocks crowing triumphantly on their way down stairs.
CHAPTER VI.
The Clock of Erzeroom.—A Pasha’s Notions of Horology.—Pathology of Clocks.—The Tower and Dungeon.—Ingenious Mode of Torture.—The modern Prison.
In the citadel—a place which might, with great ease, be rendered very strong, but which now is deserted and disused, having, I believe, been knocked to pieces in the Russian war—there are still two or three curious ancient tombs and some other incomprehensible old buildings. The building containing the prison, which was in constant use in the good old times, and the tower, from whence the flag of Turkey is displayed, possessed an old clock, which had been out of order for many years before the Russians carried it away, but which was the wonder and admiration of all Koords, Armenians, and strangers from the mountains, to whom time was “no object,” and who considered this old clock, with its dial and hands, as some sort of talisman beyond the comprehension of ordinary folks. Erzeroom was indeed lifted up in the estimation of those unsophisticated herdsmen and robbers, as the only place they ever heard of where any thing in the nature of a clock was to be seen. It might happen that some few of those who not only were possessed of such an outlandish article as a watch, but who were in some measure initiated into the uses of that strange production, would expatiate learnedly in the coffee-houses on the wondrous properties of the great talisman in the tower of the citadel, which, in all probability, from its great size and exalted position, was considered as the father of all the little watches of the sheikhs and chiefs among the tribes. As for the clock not going, that signified but little. Talleyrand said that speech was accorded to man for the purpose of enabling him to conceal his sentiments. The big clock had doubtless his reasons for holding his tongue, and telling no lies; I believe his reputation was increased by his silence, as is the case among many other distinguished characters besides the clock of Erzeroom. Now it came to pass, once upon a time, that the great Pasha or viceroy of the wide realms of this great pashalik chanced to be a philosopher; he knew that clocks, though they might have been made to sell, besides this very primary quality, also ought to go, but no artificer in the land of Armenia was competent to accomplish this desirable end. Whenever a Frank traveler—not that there ever were any travelers by profession in those days—but whenever a Frank doctor or hakim made his appearance in those regions, he was always received with distinguished civility by the Pasha, who, after the preliminaries of coffee, Kef enis ayi—“may your powers of enjoyment be in good order!”—always ended with an expression of his desire that the Frank would immediately set about the repairs of the clock.
“Sir, your excellency,” said the poor man, “I am a doctor; I am not a watchmaker or a mechanic. I don’t understand clocks; it is not in my power to set the clock right; it is not in my line of business. I am very sorry, but, O Effendim, I fear I am unable to meet your wishes in this point.”
“Dog of a Frank,” quoth the Pasha, “great-grandfather’s uncle to all dogs, more particularly those of Frangistaun, is it not thy base profession to meddle with the bowels of mankind? canst thou not expel ginns, and evil spirits, and other things, which have taken up their abode in the innermost recesses of the bodies of true believers, which thine eye can not penetrate, while, nevertheless, thou turnest their livers upside down, and their souls inside out; and all this by the accursed aid of thy wretched Frankish incantations; shooting thine arrows at them, or rather sending down their throats certain wicked and diabolical contrivances, which are known by the barbarians of thy benighted country by the name of pills? Dost thou pretend to see all that is going on in the stomach of a follower of the Prophet, and wilt thou tell me with the same breath that thou canst not administer to the disorganized constitution of a clock? Hath not a clock a pulse, when he is alive and in good health? Go thou, feel his pulse, and see whether it is fast or slow; whatever thou mayest want, thou shalt have; my hakim bashi shall assist you, only cure the clock. All Franks make clocks: I have it from authority: do not pretend that thou canst not set the clock going again, for surely thou canst restore it to life, and make it strike, and do all that it ought to do. Behold, thou art a Frank! Guards! take the Frank up into the tower, and make him mend the clock; and if the unbelieving dog will not mend the clock, then put him into the dungeon down below till he confesses that he is ready to do as he is commanded by the Pasha of the true believers.”
In this way every audience concluded. The unlucky Frank, having been exalted to the top of the tower, and exhorted to repair the rickety old clock, which had lost half its works, was debased into the dungeon, there to remain till further notice. Having often heard this story of the good old times, I one day proceeded to the citadel to see the tower where the clock had been, and to examine the dungeon, where I should have been sent if I had arrived at Erzeroom fifty or sixty years ago. This dungeon really was a dungeon: any thing so terrible as an abode for a human being I never saw before. The pozzi at Venice were rather pleasant and agreeable places of retirement, compared with the abode of many a poor Frank, in whose education the art and craft of clockology had been unfortunately omitted.
At the foot of that which had been the clock-tower was a range of small low rooms, of which two were particularly belonging to the prison: the outer room of the two was larger than the other; this was appropriated to the guards, who kept watch and ward, and who fed, or did not feed, the wretched prisoners under their care. The inner room was small and low, and had one window, through which the light and air had to struggle with the opposition of heavy crossed and re-crossed iron bars. The window looked into the castle yard, but the room was so dark that I could hardly see my way.
“A horrible place for the poor prisoners,” said I to my guides; “little chance of their escape from these thick walls, and heavy bars, and low, strong roof; they must have been safe enough here.”
“Oh Effendim,” said the kawasses, “this is not the prison. Here is the prison at your feet, down below.”
“Where?” said I.
“Look down,” they replied, “on the middle of the floor; there is the entrance; you can not see the dungeon itself, for it is, perhaps, a little dark.”
In the centre of the floor of this dismal cell was a heavy wrought-iron grating, square, made of great bars, about six inches apart, seemingly of enormous weight, lying on the ground, and fastened down with two or three huge rusty padlocks on one side, and some lumbering old hinges on the other. This iron grate was opened and raised up for my especial edification, and there appeared under it the mouth of a narrow well cut in the rock, perhaps two feet and a half in diameter, which sank down into the darkness far below. “Now,” said my informants, “if you stand on this side, and look steadily till your eye is accustomed to the gloom, you will be able to distinguish something white a good way down; that is a square stone, like a table, in the middle of the vault, upon which the jailers let down the provisions for the prisoners, as they can see on that stone when the things arrive at the bottom.” This was the old dungeon, the common prison not many years ago; but, I believe, since the reign of Hadji Kiamili Pasha, few or none had been consigned to this horrible abode. The shape of it below, I understood, was that of the inside of a bottle; it was between twenty and thirty feet deep; vermin, dirt and filth, and foul air, formed its only furniture; and into this awful hole many and many an innocent man had been let down: some to be brought up again to pay a ransom of all that they possessed, some to linger there for years, and some to die and rot unnoticed if no food was provided for them by government, when their bones, if not their flesh, gave token to the next inhabitants of what they were to expect, unless their interest or their wealth was greater than that of the poor wretch whose remains lay there before them.
An ingenious and horrible species of torture was sometimes added to the discomforts of this dread abode: a large piece of raw flesh was thrown down into the dungeon; the vermin, and the effluvia which it produced, added to other miseries, made the existence of the wretched prisoner almost intolerable.
The modern prison is bad enough: it consists of a number of cells opening on a small paved court-yard. The prisoners, being just shoved through the door, have to shift for themselves inside, where a kind of Pandemonium exists; the stronger Koords bullying and tyrannizing over the weaker felons, who have neither fire nor candle during the intense cold of a great part of the year: so I was told; but I was not there in the winter, and hope these unhappy wretches may be allowed a little tezek occasionally to keep their dirty bodies and souls together.
CHAPTER VII.
Spring in Erzeroom.—Coffee-house Diversions.—Koordish Exploits.—Summer Employment.—Preparation of Tezek.—Its Varieties and Uses.
When the snows of winter have melted, and the air becomes more temperate, the population of Erzeroom begin to revive. The women and children, who, like the bears, lemmings, and marmottes, have hybernated all the winter, now peep with red eyes out of their subterranean habitations; those streets situated upon hills, as most of them are, become torrents of melted snow, which cut deep ravines through the frozen mass which is piled up many feet on each side; narrow paths are gradually dug out from the low doors of the Armenian man-burrows toward the central river of the street; the winking children creep out to blink their eyes at the sun, and enjoy the fresh air; fusty cows, who have been buried for eight months, come slowly staring out; every now and then a more adventurous infant is carried away by the stream, and its body quickly devoured by the ravenous dogs at the outskirts of the town; wolves, it is said, though I never saw one, prowl about, and eat the dog that ate the child, that came out to see the weather so mild, in the street by the house that (not) Jack built. Women now scream to each other in shrill voices, as they pitch down large wooden spadefuls of half-melted snow upon the heads of those who are passing in the street; knots of Tartars, Circassians, and Lazes, and Koords, in iron-heeled boots and white woolen trowsers, tell lies to each other at the doors of the coffee-houses, which are answered with dignified exclamations of Wullah! Billah! nobody believing his neighbor’s lie, but considering straightway how he can invent a deliberate falsehood to lay before the other liars in his turn. Every now and then one of these stories is true, when a cadaverous-looking Koord, hung round with arms and leaning on his lance, with the black ostrich feathers at the top, being a practical man with very little imagination, coolly relates the history of the sacking of a defenseless village, where murder unresisted, rapine, sacrilege in the burning of the mosque, and spearing the children who run shrieking from the flames of their homes, bear with it the impress of truth, with the conviction on the part of any honest man (if there should be one in the party) that, although the rest are liars, the only truthful narrator is a brute of that atrocious kind, that the falsehoods of the rest are trifles, like chaff before the wind, in comparison with the real and true experiences of this infernal child of hell. Such as this are the Koords; their only virtue is that they are not cowards; but, although they subscribe to a nominal adherence to the Mohammedan religion, the most liberal Imaum would be ashamed to own them. The Yezedis, who worship the devil, are angels in comparison. Yet they are superstitious to a curious degree, as the foregoing anecdote of the Koord who was hung through giving evidence about himself testifies.
At the commencement of the summer the whole city of Erzeroom is engaged, even to desperation, in making tezek; you hear, smell, and see nothing else. How are you off for tezek? Tezek katch, chok tezek, tezek var bourda chok, chok, evet, tezek Effendim, katch gooroosh: in short, no one cares for any thing except tezek, and he who has most tezek is the greatest man, and he who has but little tezek he is naught—no one cares for him, or, indeed, for any thing else except the one absorbing topic of tezek.
The cows, and bulls, and oxen having reappeared on upper earth, the Augean stable is cleared out. Tezek, the only fuel of Erzeroom, consists of the production into which the said oxen have converted their food for many months; it is trodden down hard, and is dug out by zealous Armenians, and brought exultingly to the tops of the houses; it is mixed with a good deal of the chopped straw with which horses, and oxen, and sheep are fed while in the subterranean stables; more chopped straw is added, mixed with water; and, except the higher class of grandees, such as the Pasha, the commander-in-chief, and the author, all true men were employed on the tops of their houses, treading the chopped straw into the tezek with their naked feet, their full Turkish trowsers being pulled up and tied with a belt round their waists. With a stick to lean upon, they are there all day, trotting about, up to their knees in tezek, shouting to each other; Mohammed bringing some more water to pour upon it; Hassan staggering up the ladder with more tezek of the genuine unadulterated kind from the recesses of the stable; Bekir with a great basket of chopped straw; and then all set to with a will, and tread steadily for an hour or two, as sailors do round a capstan, for the dear life; and when they get very hot they wipe their brow with a tezeky sleeve, and their sleeve with a fold of a tezeky trowser, so that they become altogether tezekious before the sun sets upon their labors, and veils his nose, if not his eyes, under the clouds which hang over the eternal snows in the dreaded passes of the mountains of Hoshabounar. The tezek being trodden into a stiff clayey state, about six or seven inches thick, is left alone for a day or two to dry; amateurs, however, scrambling up to the top of the house to see how it is going on, to pick a bit off, and look at it cunningly, and smell it, to find whether it has the true flavor. There are Armenians who are knowing in tezek, who understand the thing; and over a remarkably good batch a knot of the fancy will sit on little stools, and smoke their pipes, and discuss the question scientifically; telling tales of former celebrated heaps, and of Hadji such a one, who was famous in that line, and of one Bokchi Bashi, who had an astonishing talent in the preparation of inimitable tezek.
When it is all ready, it is dug out in square blocks, and carried down the ladders again carefully in open baskets, and piled up in the inner treasuries below, and stored for the fuel of the future winter. It is better for being old, when it resembles peat turf. It gets somewhat dusty in a year or so, and then rivals that sort of snuff called Irish blackguard in its capacity for making you sneeze, if you venture to move a clod of it to put upon the fire; it then burns clear and clean, without flame, and is very hot; but when more fresh—though that is not the word—more new, I may say—it produces a thick stifling smoke, very odoriferous, and not generally appreciated by those who do not love tezek for itself, or who are not at that time maneuvering to make you purchase an astounding bargain of the precious fuel of their own particular manufacture.
Erzeroom is not alone in the production of this article of merchandise. From thence through the whole of Tartary as we call it, or Turkistaun as they call it, this fuel is in universal use as far as the Great Wall of China. Great care is taken sometimes in the production of it for various artistic purposes. In Thibet it is called arghol, and in the very remarkable travels of M. Huc, it is related that that which comes from sheep and goats is more valuable for the purpose of smelting iron and other metals, as it gives a greater heat, and, instead of leaving any ash, melts into a vitreous mass of a bluish green color. I never saw any of this myself, though it may have been used at Erzeroom, for this place was lately famous for the workmanship in iron and steel by seven brothers, whose productions are valuable under the name of Yedi Kartasch, as Manton added a value to those guns to which his name was affixed. The tezek of oxen and cows ranks next; that of horses and donkeys last, from the quantity of smoke produced by it; that of the oxen, with the slightest possible flavor of donkey, was certainly most fashionable at Erzeroom.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Prophet of Khoi.—Climate.—Effects of great Elevation above the Sea.—The Genus Homo.—African Gold-diggings.—Sale of a Family.—Site of Paradise.—Tradition of Khosref Purveez.—Flowers.—A Flea-antidote.—Origin of the Tulip.—A Party at the Cave of Ferhad, and its Results.—Translation from Hafiz.
The atmospheric peculiarities of this climate are such, that the weather, as a general rule, may be considered as on the way from bad to worse. Earthquakes more or less severe are often felt. A severe one occurred in the year 1843, and in the same year the town of Khoi was almost entirely destroyed by one of these awful convulsions of nature. A circumstance occurred on that occasion which was very remarkable, if true. A dervish or fakir of distinguished sanctity felt himself about to die, and, calling his friends and disciples around the couch of skins on which he lay, he prophesied that a terrible disaster was about to fall upon the town of Khoi; that the lives of many would fall into the hands of Monkir and Nakir on that day; but that those faithful believers who accompanied his body to the tomb would be permitted to escape from the sword of the avenging angel for his sake. The old man died, and, being held in universal reverence, the greater part of the inhabitants of Khoi followed his corpse to the burial-ground, which was situated at some distance from the town. While absent on this pious errand, a tremendous earthquake suddenly reduced the city to ruin. So complete was the destruction that hardly a house was left standing, and many of those who had remained at home perished in the fall of their habitations, while those who had accompanied the body of the dervish to the grave were saved from the disaster, as he had prophesied.
This is a wonderful story; I heard it at the time, and was very much struck with the peculiar circumstances of the case. Its accuracy would be difficult either to prove or to disprove, but the history as I have narrated it was current at the time when the earthquake happened.
Pillars of dust, like those of sand seen in the deserts of Africa and Arabia, are supposed to be the works of evil spirits, and often stalk like giants across the plain. The deep narrow valleys and ravines which slope down from the elevated plateau of Erzeroom, are unhealthy and pestilential in the extreme, while the inhabitants of the upper country enjoy good health enough. Here the corn returns about five-fold to the labor of the sower: one being retained for seed, four bushels is the extent of the profit of the husbandman for one which he had sown. The summer, though very short, is hot and parching, the thermometer being usually about 84, though it rises occasionally, I think, to nearly 90. The cold in winter is commonly 16 degrees below zero of Fahrenheit, and is often colder. The mercury in my thermometer, which was not calculated for such a climate, quietly retired into the ball in the autumn, and never came out again while I remained at Erzeroom. The great height of the town above the sea was exemplified in a practical manner to me on my first arrival. I was in a state of constant wrath about the tea: the tea was excellent, of the very best quality, but the decoction thereof was always a failure. In vain was the kettle placed upon the fire by my side; in vain did the semavar, the best of tea-urns, boil and steam. Double, double, toil and trouble! the fire burned and the caldron bubbled, but the tea was vapid. As for the eggs, I don’t know how long it took to boil them till the white was fixed. The reason of all this only occurred to me one day when I put my finger into some almost boiling water, which by no means scalded me—for water boiled at 196° of Fahrenheit, as we were between 7000 and 8000 feet above the level of the sea; and, consequently, though boiling and steaming away, it was not hot enough to produce the effects of water boiling at the heat of 212°, which is the temperature at which it boils in London.
Nature has provided a kettle of her own, in a hot spring at Elijé, near which place I was informed that there was a rock against which iron stuck of its own accord—a rock of loadstone; but I never had an opportunity of verifying this report.
The natural history of the highlands of Armenia is particularly interesting, and rich in flowers hardly known to Europeans, and in the prodigious quantities of birds which breed on the plain of Erzeroom, and in the valleys and water-courses of the neighborhood.
The quadrupeds are not numerous; the climate is too rigorous for those not provided with thick furs to protect them from the tremendous cold.
The fish consist only of a sort of barbel, which is found in the high waters of the Euphrates, and of three kinds of trout, swarming in the lesser streams and rivulets which flow down from the snowy mountain-tops.
To commence with the highest order of mammalia: some extraordinary specimens of the genus Homo are to be met with in many parts of the East, generally in the character of Frank doctors. Erzeroom was not wanting in productions of this kind. The character of these adventurers is in every instance precisely alike: they are all sharp and so-called clever men, speaking several languages correctly, with a smattering of general knowledge, but understanding nothing perfectly, and all wanting in the same two qualities—judgment and principle, the consequence of which want is, that not one in a hundred succeeds in life, and, after passing through a series of strange changes of fortune, they usually die unlamented, as poor as when they began their erratic career.
The adventures of one old gentleman, with whom I was acquainted here, was so extraordinary and uncommon, that a history of them would fill a volume. After this man’s death, it appeared that he was not himself, but somebody else; and his true name being the same as that of a person I had met, many years before, at Wadi Halfa, or at Assouan, high up the Nile, made me suspect that these two persons were the same. One half of this character certainly died in a khan at Erzeroom; but as I do not know whether the other half is dead, or whether the two were really one or not, I must forbear the strange narration of their lives, for fear something might meet the eyes of their friends or relations—if they had any—who, perhaps, may be under the pleasing delusion that their respected relative was an honor to their name.
I must, however, relate a little anecdote of the Egyptian half of my acquaintance. At Assouan, below the Cataracts, I saw an extraordinary-looking boat, built of bits of hard wood, like iron-wood, each about two feet long, caulked or cemented in the seams with reeds and mud, precisely in the manner in which the ancient boats are represented in the hieroglyphics. This strange vessel was of large size, and was navigated by a crew of blacks, of a tribe with which I was not acquainted. The proprietor of the ship was dressed in a much worn and old-fashioned Turkish dress; his cabin was carpeted with lion-skins; his cushions were the skins of some small deer, stuffed. He was very civil, and spoke in the French language to me, while he gave his orders to his servants in a dialect which bore little resemblance to Arabic, but which belonged to some distant region of the interior of Africa, where he had been living many years. His personal servants were the handsomest negroes I had ever seen: though they were dressed as men, I found they were girls; one, who was beautiful, was his wife. He was an interesting personage, and appeared on friendly terms with his black attendants, who looked forward with great glee to the wondrous sights which they were to see at Cairo. After listening to some curious stories of the manners and customs of the black nations of the interior, unknown to Europeans, he showed me three or four strongly-made iron-bound chests, which, on being opened, proved to be full of gold, to the amount of some thousands of pounds; some was in nuggets, but most part of it was in the form of rings the size of bracelets, and others the size of large heavy finger-rings, all of pure gold. These rings were passed as money, and were of the exact form of those used for the same purpose by the ancient Egyptians, and of the rings found in Celtic and British tombs. Independent of their intrinsic value, they were exceedingly curious; and he said gold might be procured in great quantities in the mountains beyond Darfoor. Here, then, is an opening for some future diggings, and an object to promote discoveries in the centre of Africa. My informant was a European, of the same nation and the same name as the person whom I met at Erzeroom, but I now doubt whether the two were or were not the same. Some time afterward I made inquiries at Cairo about this singular adventurer, when I heard that he had sold his strange vessel, his wife, his servants, and his crew, to their astonishment and dismay, for they did not consider themselves as slaves, and he had taken his departure for Europe with his gold rings and the produce of the sale of his confiding family.
It may not be generally known that Erzeroom is supposed to be the site of the terrestrial paradise. The reason of this supposition is deduced from the fact of so many great and famous rivers taking their rise in this exalted region.
About three hours from Erzeroom, passing the ancient monastery of Kuzzul Vank, on the way to Tortoom and Kars, a rocky top of a mountain rises about two thousand feet above the plain, and consequently about ten thousand feet above the level of the sea. Standing on one spot upon this mountain, the traveler can see the sources, beneath his feet, of the Euphrates, the Araxes, and the river which falls into the Black Sea in the pestilential neighborhood of Batoum; one river falling into the Persian Gulf, one into the Caspian, and one into the Black Sea. The traditions of the country relate that the flowers of paradise bloomed in luxuriant splendor in this now barren region till the days of Khosref Purveez. This mighty Persian monarch, “the Great King,” was encamped upon the banks of the Euphrates, on the plains of Erzeroom, when a messenger arrived from the Prophet Mohammed, then an insignificant pretender, offering this magnificent sovereign protection if he would give up the religion of his fathers and embrace the faith of Islam. Khosref Purveez, in derision, threw the letter from the prophet into the waters of the river, when Nature, in dismay, withered all her trees and flowers, and the bounteous stream, which formerly bestowed wealth and abundance to the country on its shores, shrank into its bed, and, refusing to fertilize the earth, cold, and frost, and barrenness have been ever since the consequence of the impiety of the Persian king: not only this, but the days of his ancient empire were numbered; and in the days of Yesdijird, a few years after this event, the blacksmith’s apron, the victorious standard of Persia, fell into the hands of the Mohammedan general, at the great battle of Kudseah, where the sun of Persia set to rise no more.
Among the rocks, not far from Erzeroom, is an artificial cavern, hewn out of the mountain side by Ferhad, the successful rival of Khosref in the affections of the beautiful Shireen. It was here—or others say at Beysittoon—that Ferhad threw himself from the precipice on hearing the false intelligence that Shireen was dead; and that famous beauty herself died on seeing the remains of the mighty Khosref, who had been murdered by his own son Schiroueh out of jealousy and love for her.
From the tops of the mountains surrounding Erzeroom the snowy summit of Mount Ararat can be seen—another monument in the history of the cradle of the human race, and at its feet the town of Nackchevan was built by Noah, on his descent from the ark. This was the first city built by man after the Flood, according to Armenian, and I think also Mohammedan, tradition.
Some slight remains of paradise are left, even to our days, in the form of the most lovely flowers, which I gathered on the very hill from whence the three rivers take their departure to their distant seas. Though one of them has a Latin scientific name, no plant of it has ever been in Europe, and by no manner of contrivance could we succeed in carrying one away. This most beautiful production was called in Turkish, Yedi kartash kané (Seven brothers’ blood), in Latin, Ravanea, or Philipea coccinea, a parasite on absinthe, or worm-wood. This is the most beautiful flower conceivable: it is in the form of a lily, about nine to twelve inches long, including the stalk; the flower and stalk, and all parts of it, resembling crimson velvet; it has no leaves; it is found on the sides of the mountains near Erzeroom, often in company with the Morena Orientalis, a remarkable kind of thistle, with flowers all up the stalk, looking and smelling like the honeysuckle. Another beautiful flower found here has not been described. It grows among rocks, and has a tough carroty root, two feet or more in length; the leaves are long grassy filaments, forming a low bush, like a tussock of coarse grass; under the leaves appear the flowers. Each plant has twelve or twenty of them (like large white-heart cherries on a stalk), in the form of a bunch of grapes, eight or ten inches long; these flowers are merely colored bladders holding the seed. An iris, of a most brilliant flaming yellow, is found among the rocks, and it, as well as all the more remarkable flowers of this country, blooms in the spring soon after the melting of the snow—that is to say, about June.
Piré otou, a herb, which is sold here in powder (Anthemis rosea, aut carnea), instantly kills fleas and other insects, and would be invaluable to travelers in warm climates. We possessed a certain little dog called Fundook (a nut), who held the important position of turnspit in our kitchen: he was a wise dog, with a look of dignity about him like a dog in office, and one that had something on his mind and knew more than he would say. He turned out his elbows and turned in his toes, and sat at the door in a solemn attitude when not employed on the business of the nation. In the pursuit of his vocation he became sadly vexed with fleas, and his dignity suffered from the necessity of scratching with his hind leg, just like a common, vulgar dog. Commiserating his condition, one of the grooms went to the expense of five paras (one farthing sterling), with which he purchased two good handfuls of powdered leaves of Piré otou, the effect of which was magical: in one minute every flea was dead, and Fundook swaggered into the kitchen quite a renovated dog.
It may not be generally known that the tulip owes its origin to the blood of Ferhad, which was sprinkled on the ground when he threw himself from the rocks in despair, on hearing of the death of his glorious Shireen. In this story we see how one beautiful idea is copied and admired by mankind in the most distant regions, times, and circumstances, for this is the same tradition as that of the Anemone, which, in classic lore, arose from the blood of Adonis while Venus was weeping for his loss.
Upon a day we gave a party at the cave of Ferhad; this was a rare function; parties were not common at Erzeroom.
“When the Orient sun arose, and shed his golden beams o’er the snowy peaks of the mountains of the East, Apollo on that day must have reined in his steeds in wonder at the unwonted stir that was taking place at Erzeroom, as Aurora withdrew the purple veil of night from the features of fair mother Earth, refreshed with the slumbers she had enjoyed under the guardianship of Endymion. She of the rosy fingers doubtless started up in beautiful surprise at the bustle and the activity displayed beneath her gaze. Phœbus, not resisting the pleasure of curiosity, gazed down in all his glory on the Armenian plain, where horses neighed, and cattle lowed, and hasty marmitons laded ox-eyed oxen with bright coppers from the kitchen shelves; wains were there laden with wide tubs of cooling snow; cooks, in a perspiration, swore deep oaths; the voice official of Fundook was heard yelping and barking in the morning breeze, and under Sol’s first rays a caravan set forth in long, dark outline, winding o’er the plain of Erzeroom.” For the rest, see Homer, unpublished edition, cap. x.
Fundook.
All the rank and fashion of the place were present; the rank rode on horseback, the fashion followed in a cart drawn by four oxen—this would sound better if it were called an araba—and therein was contained all the beauty of the city of Erzeroom. The distance may have been ten miles; some of the party got there in three quarters of an hour, and others arrived in an hour and three quarters. Among the distinguished guests were two philosophers, one of whom, having lately arrived in these unknown regions, was remarkable for the glorious colors of his waistcoat. This effulgent garment having been admired, the answer was returned in the following mysterious sentence, as I well remember, in a language unknown, as far as my knowledge is experienced, in any nation upon earth: “Zést mon vamme, gui ma tonné ze chilet.” Our admiration of the chilet gave way before the announcement that the carriage and four was approaching the cave, and all sallied forth to receive the lovely damsels that it bore. Through many a quag, o’er many a rock, and many a jolt had those oxen drawn the araba for many a weary hour before they lay down in front of our cave; and now it was the happy lot of those who got there first to hand out of their carriage the admired beauties of Armenia. The carriage stopped, and we were in readiness, our feelings of politeness screwed up to the most perfect tone—
When the pie was opened,
The birds began to sing:
Wasn’t that a dainty dish
To set before a king?
But the birds did not come out—there was much to be done before that desired object was concluded: first, out came a cushion, then a feather-bed, and then a pretty girl; then another cushion, then another lovely damsel; then three or four more cushions, and another feather-bed, and then the prettiest little girl of all jumped upon the ground, half laughing and half smothered; for such dainty goods would have broken all to bits on those rough roads, if they had not been packed so carefully. The mother of the three graces accompanied them, and, the party being assembled, the great business of life commenced in earnest. Dolmas, and kieufté, and cabobs soon graced the board—not that there was any board, but it sounds well. “Viands,” that is, chickens, lamb stewed with quinces, and all manner of good things, appeared and disappeared, to the wonder of certain hungry Koords who happened to be passing, and who would have been run through with the spits, if not devoured by Fundook, our brave ally, if they had made a row. Corks from foreign bottles of champagne popped in brisk salute. Cooks and kawasses, grooms, arabagis, eiwasses, and heiwans followed the good example set them by their lords, and, “fruges consumere nati,” did their best to follow the end of their creation. Then, and on that occasion only, did many a lantern-jawed, hook-nosed Koord imbibe the unknown potations of Frangistaun. Then, in glorious generosity, did the trusty marmiton dispense the bones of slaughtered lamb, drumsticks of fowl, and crust of pie, whereof repletion dire denied the power to partake. By staggering chiboukgis pipes were next produced, and fragrant coffee, served on salvers bright; and, on soft Persian carpets now reclined, the party enjoyed the scene before them, passing an agreeable afternoon in each other’s society, accompanied, I thought, with some little flirtations between some of the company, which, I suspect, left pleasing recollections on their minds; for though I can not boast that any thing came of it that day, yet not long afterward two marriages were declared between some of those who assisted at the dinner in the cave of Ferhad; and the most anxious chaperon will acknowledge that that was as much as could be expected under the circumstances, seeing that there were but two unmarried ladies of the company.
Afterward I found among my papers the following doleful ditty, purporting to be a translation of Hafiz, on the fertile Persian subject of Ferhad and Shireen; and as the reader is not obliged to read it unless he likes to do so, I subjoin it in memory of the day that I, for my part, passed so pleasantly with many agreeable companions in this unfrequented spot. The accompaniment to the air having been kindly undertaken by Fundook, the minstrel thus begins:
Hafiz, who pass’d his sunny hours
By the sweet stream of Mosellay,
Singing of vineyards and of flowers
To pass the fleeting time away,
Tells how the blood of Ferhad’s wound
Had stain’d fair Nature’s mantle green,
Sprinkling with ruddy spots the ground
Before the feet of fair Shireen.
The tulip from his blood arose
Beside her path in that sad hour.
Displaying how its leaves inclose
A goblet in each opening flower.
Then to the lips the goblet press,
Whose rim contains forgetfulness.
The vine, the glorious vine, arose,
Unscathed by crime, unchanged by woes,
Exulting in her charms;
Waving her tendrils in the breeze,
And clasping the rough, rugged trees
In her encircling arms.
With clustering grapes upon her brow,
Still as she binds each willing bough
Their welcome aid she gains;
On them she leans, but they confess
The power of her loveliness,
And glory in their chains.
Fill up the bright and sparkling bowl,
That cures the body, heals the soul.
No—be it not refused—
Hail to the vine! whose purple juice
Was sent on earth for mortals’ use,
But not to be abused.
Still to the lips the goblet press,
Whose rim contains forgetfulness.
Forgetfulness, alas! ’tis this
That mortals hold the height of bliss
In this sad world of care;
For Memory through life retains
A catalogue of griefs and pains,
But little else is there.