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.