SIGNAKH TO TELAV, AND THENCE TO TIFLIS.
My stay in Kakheti was so pleasant that I found it very hard to leave. My good friends there insisted that I should marry a Georgian lady and settle down as a country squire, to grow wine and drink it among them for the remainder of my natural life; when I finally decided upon the day for my departure they pressed me to stay, at least, until the vintage-time, but I still had much ground to go over, and I had made up my mind to return to England before winter set in.
One morning in July I said good-bye to Signakh, and set out in a post-cart for Telav. As far as Bakurtsikhe the road was quite familiar to me; it had never seemed so beautiful as it did when I said farewell to it. Then came Kalaki, which like Bakurtsikhe, is full of members of the Vachnadze family, and Gurdjani, one of the villages belonging to the Andronikovs. The Andronikovs are descended from a Byzantine prince who fled to Georgia during the reign of Queen Tamara; they have always been distinguished for bravery and munificence, the two virtues which are most appreciated in this country; in the present century they have produced a general worthy to rank with any who have ever served the Tsars. I may say, in passing, that it is astonishing to find what a large percentage of the great military leaders in the Russian army have been and are of Georgian birth. Another curious circumstance is that some of the best families in Georgia are of foreign origin; the Bagrats, the royal family, were once Hebrews, and claim to be descended from David, the son of Jesse; the Orbelianis, the second family in the kingdom, came from China; the Andronikovs, as we have just remarked, were originally Greeks.
Near Gurdjani is Akhtala, a muddy hollow in which are slime baths, resorted to by persons suffering from rheumatism, scrofula, and many other diseases; the baths are simply round holes full of mud, in the middle of which an evil-smelling gas slowly bubbles up; the largest bath of all is reserved for cattle. I need hardly say that all the bathing goes on al fresco, for nobody has thought of building a hydropathic establishment in this remote corner of the Caucasus. Akhtala has, of course, its legend. It is said that a farmer was once working in his vineyard on the Feast of the Transfiguration, when a passer-by asked him why he was not at church on so holy a day. The scoffer replied that he had seen enough of transfigurations, he and his wife had been transfigured into old people, and their children into men and women; the wayfarer, who was none other than our Lord, said, “Well, you shall see yet another transfiguration,” whereupon the ground opened, and belched forth a liquid mass, which swallowed up the vineyard, with the sinner and all his household.
The road continues to run parallel to the Alazana, and the next station is Mukuzani, seventeen versts from Bakurtsikhe, near which is the flourishing town of Velistsikhe. All this region is a fertile, well-cultivated plain, and there are many villages renowned for their wines; the peasants of the Telav district are much wealthier than those near Signakh. Akuri, fourteen versts from Mukuzani, is the last station. The city of Telav is now visible on the top of a hill straight in front, and it has a very picturesque appearance.
About half a dozen miles beyond Akuri, in a beautiful valley, is Tsinondal, formerly the home of Prince David Chavchavadze, but now the property of Alexander Alexandrovich, Autocrat of all the Russias, for whom a vast palace was being built at the time of my visit. The Tsar would be far safer here than at Gachina, for there are no anarchists among the Georgians, and I cannot account for the rumour that it was proposed to exile a large number of the young nobles, in order to assure the monarch’s safety during his sojourn in the Caucasus.
Tsinondal is famous as the scene of one of the most dramatic incidents of the war with Shamil, viz., the capture of Princesses Chavchavadze and Orbeliani in July, 1854. On account of rumours of Lesghian raids the Chavchavadze family had not left Tiflis for their estates until the month of July. They arrived safely at Tsinondal, and were soon joined by Nina Chavchavadze’s sister, Princess Varvara Orbeliani, whose husband had just been killed while fighting against the Turks. They were but newly settled in their summer quarters, when Prince Chavchavadze received orders to go and take the command of a fortress some distance from home. Before leaving, he reassured his family by telling them that reinforcements were about to be sent to Telav, and that the Alazana was so high that the enemy could not cross it. In a few days the prince wrote to his wife to say that he was besieged by a force of five or six thousand Lesghians, but had no fear of the place being taken; if he thought it advisable for his family to leave Tsinondal, he would let them know.
Meanwhile the Lesghians were nearer than was imagined, and the flames from burning villages in the neighbourhood soon warned the family that no time was to be lost. First of all the peasants came and begged the princess to fly to the woods with them; then the gentry of the district offered their aid for the same purpose, but these offers were declined; her husband had told her to stay there, and there she would stay. At length, the advance of the enemy had proceeded so far in the direction of Tsinondal, that the princess consented to have all her plate and jewels packed up one night, ready for flight on the morrow; but it was too late. Soon after dawn the Lesghians were in the gardens of the castle. The family doctor and a handful of servants gallantly held the gate for a few minutes, but they were soon shot down, and the place was in the hands of the wild men of the mountains.
The women and children sought refuge in a garret, whence they heard the smashing of mirrors, pianos, and other furniture. A few Lesghians soon discovered the hiding-place of the terrified family, and each seized a woman or child as his share of the booty. As they bore away their prisoners the staircase broke under their weight, and all fell in a confused heap on the lower floor. Then there was a murderous fight for the possession of the ladies; their garments were torn to shreds, and some of them were wounded. The conquerors picked up the senseless victims from a heap of dead Lesghians, and forced them to mount on horseback behind them.
The passage of the Alazana was accomplished with great danger, and when they reached the other side the half-naked ladies were wet, chilled, and miserable. Strange to tell, Princess Baratov, a beautiful girl of eighteen, had not lost any article of dress, and was as richly attired as if she had been on her way to a ball. But poor Mdme. Drançay, the French governess, had nothing left but a chemise and a corset. A handful of Georgians attempted a rescue; the Lesghians mistook them for the skirmishers in advance of an army, and fled. Princess Nina Chavchavadze had an infant in her arms, and after riding for some distance she was so wearied that the baby fell and was trampled under the horses’ feet. She would have leaped after it, but her captor held her fast, and another man coolly cut the child’s throat.
Finding the number of prisoners too large, the Lesghians killed sixty of them on the road. All the villages on the way were burned, and their inhabitants butchered. Then they mounted through a thick forest and up among the mountains to Pokhalski, where Shamil was staying with an army of ten thousand men. There they were joined by a new prisoner, Niko Chavchavadze, who, with thirty Georgians, had held a castle for three days against five hundred Lesghians, and only surrendered when he had not a cartridge left. Shamil ordered the princess to write to Tiflis saying that all the prisoners would be handed over to Russia in exchange for his son, Djemal Eddin, and a fair ransom. In the meantime the ladies had to make themselves veils of muslin, and they lived in the harem of Shamil. They were, however, treated honourably, and they always had the highest respect for the great warrior and prophet.
Eight months elapsed before the negotiations were concluded, and on the 10th of March, 1855, the exchange took place at Kasafiurte. Djemal Eddin, Shamil’s son, had since his early youth been held as a hostage at Petersburg. He was a most amiable man; had become perfectly Russian in his way of life, and spoke Russian, French, and German fluently; he was colonel of a regiment, and aide-de-camp to the Tsar. It was with deep regret that he left civilization to return to the wild life of his native mountains, and in 1858 he died of a broken heart.
Mounting the sloping Tsivi hills, the road enters Telav by the Boulevard, at one end of which is the inn; but on my applying for lodgings I was told that the house was under repair, and travellers could not be entertained. I was recommended to go to “The Club.” At the Club the room offered me was so dirty and cheerless that I decided to make the post-house my headquarters. It was only one o’clock in the afternoon, and I determined to have an early dinner. In a town like Telav, thought I, it will be possible to get something to eat. I first addressed myself to the postmaster, who replied that boiling-water was the only refreshment he could offer me, but held out the hope that I might get dinner in the town. I wandered up and down the streets for an hour, hungry, thirsty, and hot, and then found a dirty eating-house where I refreshed myself with vodka, eggs, wine, and bread. It took three quarters of an hour to boil the eggs! I leave the reader to imagine whether my first impressions of Telav were favourable or not. I returned to the station and slept.
It was beginning to get cooler before I went to examine the objects of interest in the town. Telav, the capital of the ancient kingdom of Kakheti, lies in a very strong position on two hills, about 1400 feet above the Alazana. It was founded by King Grigal I., first king of Kakheti, destroyed by the Persians under Shah Abbas in the sixteenth century, and rebuilt by Irakli II. The present population is about eight or nine thousand. In going from the post-house to the centre of the town I passed through a gateway in the old wall, which used to surround the whole city, and is of great antiquity. On the left is the palace of Irakli II., now used as a grammar-school for young gentlewomen, and in it may be seen the room where the old hero died, on January 11th, 1798. There are a couple of interesting old churches, containing curious pictures and ornaments of a certain artistic value. The main street is well paved, and has a long arcade under which are the chief shops. Telav is much more cheerful than Signakh, although the population is smaller, and there are comparatively few Armenians. From a low bridge across the dry bed of a torrent, one gets a splendid view over the Alazana to the Caucasian range and the country of the Tushes.
THE CITY WALL, TELAV.
When I had seen all the sights of Telav, I felt bored to death, and was just preparing to leave the Boulevard for a walk in the country, when a handsome boy of fourteen, in a cadet’s uniform, ran up and welcomed me effusively. It was young Prince M——, whom I had met in Tiflis. He was soon followed by his father, a retired colonel, who has done good service for the great white Tsar, and has been wounded more than once. Although I had only seen him once or twice before, he reproached me for not coming to take up my quarters at his house, and repeatedly urged me to stay a few days with him. But I had made up my mind to leave for Tiflis early on the following morning. We took a walk in the park called Nadikari, given to the town by the Vakhvakhovs, and enjoyed enchanting views of the Alazana dale and the mountains. Returning to my friend’s house, we supped, and sat over our wine until past midnight. When I left for the post-house the grey-headed warrior and his pretty son embraced me and wished me every good thing. They insisted upon sending with me a servant who carried wine and bread for my journey.
At four o’clock on the following morning I left my wooden couch, and seated myself in the stage-coach for Tiflis. I only had two companions, an Armenian trader of the most objectionable description, and a Georgian schoolmaster on his way to Odessa for a holiday. The latter was a very jolly fellow, and intelligent withal. He was an ardent champion of the doctrines of the First Revolution, and of the modern principle of nationality. He soon entered into conversation with me. My unmistakably foreign accent immediately roused his curiosity, and when I told him that I was English he steadfastly refused to believe me, asserting that I was a Mingrelian. The road passes through a few villages, and then, as it mounts by the side of the river, the houses become scarcer. On the right are many square holes in the face of a steep cliff; they are said, like those between Tiflis and Mtzkhet, to have been used as places of refuge in time of war, and they are approached from a monastery on the top of the hill. On the left is the monastery of the Mother of God, a favourite resort of the people of Telav. The track then runs along the bottom of the valley, on the right bank of the river Turdo, amid rich woodland scenery.
It takes a long time to mount to the summit of Gambori. This winding road had only recently been opened to traffic, and there is no posting yet. The best means of conveyance is the daily coach, and it is a slow and uncomfortable vehicle. I had been advised to make a good meal at Gambori station, and, as the coach waits there for half an hour, I entered the dukhan, or wine-shop, with this object in view. Alas! nothing was to be had but vodka, tobacco, and matches! Beyond Gambori the scenery becomes quite English-looking for a time. There is abundance of game of all kinds, and I saw two fine deer run across the road behind us. Climbing to a grassy knoll, bare of trees, we arrived at length at the Pass of Gambori, deservedly called Cold Mountain (6044 feet above sea level, and thirty-four versts from Telav), and, leaving Kakheti behind us, descended into the valley of the Iora and the province of Kartli. Passing the ruined castle of Verena, built in the fifth century by King Gurgaslan, we enjoy an ever-changing view of indescribable loveliness all the way to Lager.
Lager, as the name indicates, is a military post, and is of some importance on account of its position, about half-way between Tiflis and Telav; it is the summer quarters of a brigade. The garrison was not at that time very large, but there was some talk of increasing it; indeed, we met a couple of hundred men and half a dozen guns only a few versts beyond the village. The heat was terrible, and we could not help pitying the poor soldiers, who were cursing and sweating as they toiled up the mountain side. The radical schoolmaster began to descant on the advantages of universal disarmament, but he was interrupted by a good little peasant woman from the Russian colony at Lager, who replied that it was certainly very hard, but “if we had not a large army the English would come and make slaves of us all.”
The next station was Udjarma, a fortress of great importance from the third century to the fifteenth, but now an uninteresting place, chiefly remarkable for the fact that the village graveyard is on the top of a very steep, isolated hill. From this point the road becomes dull; it crosses a bare, windy plain, and is as wearisome as the Signakh road, which it meets near Vaziani. The white church of St. David’s was soon seen glittering in the sun; then Orkhevi was passed, and not long after sunset we entered Tiflis, hot, dusty, tired, and hungry, after our journey of 70 versts. I spent two days in Tiflis, where the heat had by that time become stifling; then I regretfully doffed my Circassian garb, and again submitted to the bondage of the stiff linen collar. On the afternoon of the third day I was in Baku.