Khaskeui has an open site on the floor of the spacious plain, while Mush nestles under the wall of the southern range. Our course was again directed to one of the headlands of the barrier, bearing about west-north-west. Proceeding at a rapid trot, we reached our landmark in three-quarters of an hour, and, after doubling it, turned due west. We were riding across the fork of one of the deepest and most spacious of the valleys formed by the spurs descending from the chain. High up on the hillside above the head of this opening we admired the position of the famous cloister of Arakelotz Vank—a walled enclosure surmounted by a conical dome.[5] The windows of that eyrie must command an immense prospect, for the chain of hills had declined to less significant proportions on the opposite margin of the plain. We ourselves could see the shining summit of Sipan above their long outline. They almost die away at a point about due north of this position, but are soon succeeded by a still more lofty and snow-capped range. The valley is dotted with several villages, and gives issue to a stream called the Arakh. Where we crossed it, the water was trickling over a stony bed which must have been nearly a quarter-mile broad. As we closed the view of this valley, we passed the large Armenian village of Tirkavank, on the side of the hill.
But this recess was no sooner passed than it was succeeded by another inlet of this coast of hills, backed by snow-clad heights. Scarcely less spacious and not less fair than the valley of the Arakh, that of the Garni Chai is enclosed by two protecting promontories, opening towards the expanse of plain. At the head of the western arm, a rocky spur projects into the bay at an angle from the promontory. Increasing in height as it proceeds, it takes the appearance of a rounded hill, rising isolated from the floor of the valley. Screened by the headlands from the winds, yet in full possession of the plain, it is indeed an enviable site. The hill is encircled by tiers of houses—horizontal lines of flat mud roofs—which lead up the eye, like steps, to the vaulted summit. In former times a castle rose from that proud eminence—probably a work of the Armenian Middle Ages. It has been razed to the ground, and the simple houses usurp the space once embellished by the city’s crown. We were soon within the precincts of the town of Mush.
It was evident that our arrival had been expected. Groups of people were collected in the street up which we passed, and were occupying posts of vantage along the route. I have little doubt that their interest in us was due to the attitude of the authorities towards our visit, rather than to curiosity on the part of such semi-animate individuals to see a European enter their town. The presence of the chief of the police, attired in a new greatcoat, from the brass buttons of which flashed the device of the crescent, was alone sufficient to attract a crowd. He stood in front of his office, facing the main street, and saluted us gravely as we wound up the steep ascent over an irregular pavement towards the central bazar. In the foreground of the picture before our eyes rose a massive minaret with a spacious gallery; and we admired the rambling design, composed of the admixture of yellow and brown blocks of stone, which varied the surface of the circular column of masonry. It belongs to the mosque of Aladdin Bey. The humble houses straggle down the side valleys, from which the stalk-like trunks of poplars rise. Looking backwards, the eye rests upon the green of tobacco fields in the main valley; and we noticed that the large leaves had already been gathered, leaving the stems of the plant almost bare. The gaunt sticks were preparing to wither under the first severe frost. Little foliage remained upon the trees in the gardens, and the poplars were already stripped of leaves.
The dwellings are constructed of rubble-stone, faced with mud. Some are whitewashed; but in the case of the greater number lapses of the mud coating reveal the rudeness of the structure behind. The flagstones in the bazar were swimming in filth of every description as we picked our way through the accumulation of heterogeneous objects—bullock carts, piles of straw, the skins of slaughtered animals with the entrails gathered up within the skin. The bazar of Mush is a mere aggregate of miserable open booths, clustering about the base of the minaret. The richest merchant—an Armenian—owned a stall which was not much larger than that of a costermonger. In this booth we observed the figure of a general in blazing uniform, squatted on the boards and gossiping with the shopman. It was none other than the Commandant of the troops. The place was crammed with sightseers, clad in red and blue cottons; their loose shirts, open to the waist, revealed the breasts of the men and the bosoms of the women, in whom bad diet, unwholesome tenements, and ceaseless toil had destroyed the graces natural to their sex. It was painful to see such a collection of miserable human beings; and the lank features and dishevelled locks of the old women haunted us for many a day. From the bazar we were escorted to the government house, in order to be received by the Mutesarrif or chief civil official of the sanjak of Mush.
A wooden staircase, reeking with filth and scattered with the debris of the tumble-down edifice, gave access to the first floor. A vagrant, nondescript crowd thronged the stairs and landing, from which a thick curtain, drawn aside, allowed us to pass into an inner apartment. Seated on the divan before us were several figures, to one of which—a fat old man with a fez and a shabby European coat—we were introduced as being the Mutesarrif. His coarse features, abnormally large ears, and the heavy lobes of the wrinkled under-lids of his dull eyes, prepossessed us against him at first sight. His stomach had become distended with continual sitting, and the scanty hair upon his head was quite white. A smart young man, wearing a fez, was seated upon his left hand, and a mollah with a white turban and dark robes upon his right. The first was his secretary; and the second—a thin-featured, little man, who never moved a muscle during the whole interview—was no less a dignitary than the Mufti of Mush. On either side of this central group were serried the other notables, members of the Mejlis.
Even the Mutesarrif himself appeared afraid to utter a word. No topic of conversation would unloose their tongues. Why had we come? What untowardness would result from our visit?—that was the question buried in those gloomy souls. I elicited the interesting fact that not one of them had ever heard of the code of Napoleon. When I mildly remarked that it was said to be the civil law of Turkey, the Mutesarrif broke in with the observation that he now remembered to have been told that there was such a code.
Bystanders eyed us curiously as we issued from this visit, and I quite expected to be escorted to the jail. We were agreeably surprised to be conducted to the best house in the place—standing by itself in a sunny situation overlooking the valley on the east. I expressed a desire to go to the bath. The answer was that in a couple of hours it would be at our disposal. When we arrived, there was not a single soul within the building except a couple of attendants. Incense had been burnt in the really spacious and comfortable chambers, which were newly swept and fragrant and clean. We were ministered to by an Armenian boy of unusual comeliness—the curves about his sash made it difficult to distinguish him from a girl. When we stepped forth into the night we were awaited by a muffled policeman, who took us home and joined in the circle of our visitors until we retired to rest.
The chief commissary of police with the new coat and the brass buttons—office and uniform modelled on a Russian pattern—had a busy time during our stay. Happily he was by nature an agreeable man; but he was fresh from Constantinople. His poor brain had been crammed with all those irksome regulations which have been spread over the Russian Empire and a great part of Europe, presumably from a Prussian source. An Englishman, it is true, should perhaps endure them with complacency; for does he not owe his wealth and his colonies to the prevalence of this cancer among his neighbours, and to his own complete freedom from the disease? Passports were examined at Mush for the first time since our arrival in Turkey—a country in which the traditionally liberal treatment of travellers is gradually giving place to measures of exclusion. My letters of introduction were read with mingled feelings—disappointment that they rendered necessary very special and delicate treatment, and relief that they clearly placed the responsibility for our visit upon officials in a high place.
We were rarely left alone—not even in our own apartment; for we slept and ate in the principal room of the residence allotted us, from which it was impossible to exclude the master of the house and his companions; and the presence of a single visitor was always accompanied by the entrance of the commissary or his adjutant. One of the two was never absent from our side. The anxiety of such a novel charge sat heavily upon both of them; both looked quite worn out by the time we were ready to depart.
Early on the morning following our arrival we were quite ready to sally forth; but the lesser official was already astir, and besought us to postpone our walk until he should have apprised his chief. The commissary was not long in coming, his toilette half completed; and no sooner had he saluted us than his sleepy eyes fell on the camera case, and he enquired what it might contain. A camera! had we received an iradeh from the Sultan to take photographs of what we saw? All photography was forbidden unless such a permit were forthcoming. So we abandoned the camera with good grace.