Man is here a shadow—a mournful presence. And the women appear conscious of some immense and inexpiable sin. The children are seldom gay; you never hear laughter. Their poor little naked bodies are burnt brown by the sun, and their stomachs are distended by indifferent food.
Each morning we bathe in the lake. The water is delicious to the skin, bracing and at the same time soft. A certain soapiness in its composition produces a cleansing effect; yet to the eye it is transparent as crystal. Swimming out into deep water, the thermometer registered 68°, or exactly the temperature of the shade at 6.30 A.M. The rocky shore shelves down with a measure of abruptness, so that in breezy weather the waves do not break until they reach the ledge. The bather is soon across this fringe of surf.
And the colouring of the water! Riding early to the ruins, or returning towards sunset to our camp, it is always a new effect, or a fresh and startling combination, differing from anything either of us have seen elsewhere. When the surface of the expanse is ruffled, the restless, sparkling water is at once intensely green and intensely blue; an aquamarine so vivid that it must be overpowering, an ultramarine so deep that it may not yield. Twilight lasts but a little time; yet the brief space is many times multiplied by the number and variety of dissolving tints. The landscape of sea and mountain is overtaken by complete stillness. The lake becomes the colour of an iridescent opal, green, blue, and pearly white. The mountains are lightly tinged with delicate yellows and warm greys, faintly shaded in the recesses of the chain of peaks.
The latest aspect of the scene is at once the richest and the most mysterious. All blue has passed from the sky and from the face of the sea, except here and there, under a lingering breath of wind. A dull golden tint is spread over the waters, cloaking the underlying green. In the distance, towards Van, great shadows of indigo lie on the lake, and envelop Varag to half height. From these emerges the crested ridge, a pink madder. Varag rests against a background of vague clouds, purplish-blue, the only touch of redness in the landscape.... Such effects are no doubt enhanced by the sublimity of the surroundings—the wide sea, the Kurdish mountains, Sipan, Nimrud; but they may derive a special quality from the character of the water and from the great elevation of the lake (5600 feet). Its pallor, combined with its blueness, is perhaps the particular characteristic which becomes imprinted upon the mind.
Our only regular visitor is the Kaimakam—Mohammed Fuad Bey—a Circassian of middle stature and in middle age. A frock coat, of black cloth and European pattern, displays the litheness of his figure. His face is remarkable for the brilliancy of the small eyes. He is the hero of a recent adventure with the Kurds. The other day some Hasananli carried off from an Armenian village a considerable body of cattle. The Kaimakam despatched after them a contingent of regular soldiers, with instructions to pursue a prescribed route. He himself followed, accompanied by a single zaptieh. The soldiers appear to have lost their way; and the Kaimakam was alone when he fell in with the marauding band. He rode straight up to them, pointed to the cattle, and ordered them in the name of the Government to give them up. He added that his own honour was at stake. The Kurds of course refused, seeing one unarmed man and a zaptieh opposed to their own numbers and arms. Whereupon the Kaimakam proceeded to drive off the cattle, calling to his attendant, who, however, was too much terrified to be of use. The Kurds at once opened fire. One bullet entered the open overcoat of the official, and came out through the opposite flap. Another pierced the frock coat which he habitually wears. His horse was shot in two places, but was not disabled. This occurred before the Kaimakam could draw his pocket revolver, which he at once aimed at the nearest Kurd. The man fell; his companions gathered round him, and almost immediately made off, carrying the body with them. They appear to have regarded the Kaimakam’s as a charmed life, and to have explained to themselves his courage in this way. The cattle were quickly driven home and restored to the Armenians. This exploit is the principal topic of conversation at Akhlat. The Kaimakam has received neither thanks nor reward. The loss of his horse, which died shortly after from its injuries, has not yet been repaired. The Palace no doubt deplores the loss to the Empire of a Hamidiyeh brave.
I was anxious to visit Akhlat during the course of my first journey; but the lateness of the season compelled me to push on. The project so long deferred is at length realised. The conception of the place which was present in my mind, before we commenced to investigate the ruins, may be expressed in a few words. A number of beautiful mausolea, illustrating the best traditions of Mohammedan art in a manner by far surpassing the similar buildings we had seen elsewhere—a ruined city with mosques and minarets standing on the margin of the lake, and backed by the remains of a still older city, which perhaps dated from the period of the caliphs—such was the idea, so full of promise, which I had gathered from the oral accounts of travellers or formed from conversation in the country. Not much more is to be gleaned from books.[2] Writing now that we have completed our plan of the place, examined the monuments, and copied the inscriptions, I propose, in the first place, to submit a few general remarks, and then to resume the experiences of our several excursions, blending them into one.
Akhlat is the name of a district, comprising a number of oases, on the northern shore of the extensive bay which is bounded on its southern side by the long promontory of Zigag. This district is divided for administrative purposes into five distinct quarters. The first is Erkizan, the seat of government for district and caza, where the Kaimakam resides and where we are encamped. The second is Iki Kube, or the two mausolea—so called from a pair of tombs which stand close together in the desert, some distance west of Erkizan. This district comprises the walled city on the shore, as well as the village of Kulaxis, situated in a ravine, a good walk in a northerly direction from the two tombs. The third quarter embraces the area of the older city, and is called indifferently Kharaba and Takht-i-Suleyman. The remaining two are outlying, Tunus, on the east of Erkizan, at an interval of about half-a-mile; and Kirklar, in the opposite direction, west of the quarter of Kharaba and the ravine in which the older city lies. The population of the entire district cannot much exceed 6000 souls, of whom the majority inhabit the quarter of Kharaba or the gardens of Erkizan. Of this number only 200 would appear to be Armenians, residing about the ravine of the older city.
Fig. 180. Piece of Seljuk Pottery from Akhlat.
The block of limestone hills which we crossed from Melazkert extend from Adeljivas along the shore. In the neighbourhood of Akhlat they recess away towards Lake Nazik, leaving an extensive margin of fairly level land. But the coast itself, between Erkizan and the delta of the streams below the older city, has the character of rounded cliffs, shelving to the lake. The soil is composed of purplish sandstones and conglomerates, which, as you approach the older city, are overlaid with lava and pumice. Both the sandstones and the pumice tend to arid, dusty ground; while the yellow pumice reflects an overpowering glare. Yet this ground, when thoroughly watered, becomes extremely fertile; and it is characteristic of Akhlat that the oases are the most luxuriant, and the intermediate spaces the most sterile of all these shores. Thus Erkizan is a deep belt of shady orchards, while the walled city is surrounded by powdery waste. Groves of aged walnut trees clothe the ground on either side of the ravine of Takht-i-Suleyman; but, if you ride from the walled city towards Kulaxis, the light streams, and the dust rises in clouds. In such a waste the number of rivulets is surprising; and they flow with a vigour which is not less strange.