March 25th.—On account of ill-health, General Loris-Melikoff, by his own request, was released from the command of the main army, which was given over to General Heimann.
The contents of the political telegrams received to-day are rather alarming; England decidedly plots a war afresh, and a rumour of the approaching breaking of peace has spread in the town. We must be prepared that the Turks will assail us at any moment.
This morning a soldier of the light infantry, belonging to the Malakani sect, desiring to embrace the Orthodox religion, came to beg me to stand Godmother to him. This soldier made a vow to be baptised if he escaped war safely; he has been in all the fights without having received the slightest wound, and thinks it proper now to fulfil his promise, I of course consented willingly.
March 26th.—The baptism of the Malakan soldier took place to-day in the Armenian cathedral, which was so crowded that the “cavasses” had to clear a way for us to pass. The Metropolitan officiated in Greek and addressed himself continually to me in that language. As I couldn’t understand a word, I didn’t know how to answer and what to do, and was very comic, I am sure, in repeating aloud the Greek phrases that he dictated to me. Mr. Popoff, an officer of the light-infantry, acted as Godfather. Our Godson had to be completely undressed, which took place behind a screen, and then brought in to us covered only with a white sheet. I didn’t know where to cast my eyes whilst he was being dipped in the font, which was no other than the big soup-boiler of the brigade to which our Godson belonged. I did not dare to glance at Sergy and pressed my lips together, trying not to shake with laughter, and drew a breath of profound relief, when I realised that the ceremony of baptism was over.
From church we went to visit the bride of Egueshi, our Armenian interpreter. The walls of her sitting-room were all hung up with her drawings, amongst which we saw the portrait of our Emperor painted by our hostess in the space of two days, during the time when the Christian inhabitants of Erzeroum expected their town to be invaded by the Russians. Dreading to see our soldiers enter their homes by force, in order to plunder them, they put out big wooden crosses before their houses in the hope of mollifying the hearts of our soldiers, trusting to escape thus from the general fate. Our hostess told us candidly that she concealed that picture when the Turkish officials visited her house, but during our visit the portrait of His Majesty occupied the place of honour.
To-day my husband has ordered Shefket Bey, one of the oldest members of the Ottoman officers left in Erzeroum, to fire a cannon from the citadel at twelve o’clock precisely, employing for that purpose a Turkish gun and Turkish powder. Ten of our soldiers have been appointed for that special service by Sergy. Shefket Bey was obliged to submit, swallowing his wrath. He took it with outward meekness, whilst his eyes gave a flash, and answered humbly, “Pek-ei.” (I’ll obey you.)
Amongst the Turkish telegrams that my husband received this morning there was one to Ismail Pasha with a complaint against Sergy for having forbidden the Ottoman flag to be hoisted over the tower of the principal citadel of Erzeroum. In answer to this telegram Ismail Pasha gave orders that every command given by the Russian authorities should be strictly executed.
Among the representatives of the different churches here it is only the Mussulman “moufti” who has not presented himself to my husband. Yesterday evening a group of Turkish inhabitants came to ask permission to hoist their flag on Fridays, but Sergy told them that they interfered with things that didn’t concern them, and that it was their “moufti” who had to solicit this permission. The “moufti” arrived to-day accompanied by a great number of white-bearded and white-turbaned “imams” (Mahometan priests) dressed in long furred robes. This time my husband has given them the permission to hoist their standard on Fridays, and has been warmly thanked for it.
We had two interesting guests at dinner to-day, a young Persian prince, nephew of the Shah, who serves as dragoon officer in the Russian army, and is attached to the policemaster of Erzeroum for the present, and Daniel Effendi, a Turkish bureaucrat, who was sent to Constantinople last year as member of the new Turkish Parliament. After dinner, as we sipped our coffee on the roof-terrace, Egueshi, with a rather scattered expression, came up to Sergy and led him away, whispering something into his ear. Later on I was informed that there had just been an earthquake, and as the second shock is generally stronger than the first one, Egueshi came to advise my husband to make us all come out into the street. Some years before there had been such a terrible earthquake in Erzeroum that the inhabitants were forced to camp out in the open air for a whole month. After to-day’s earthquake one of the walls in the citadel has partly fallen down, and a great number of houses have cracked. It’s very strange that I haven’t felt anything at all, not the slightest shock. In order to prevent accidents in Erzeroum, where earthquakes are frequent, big beams are put into the masonries of nearly all the buildings. Two great shocks and some slight ones have succeeded each other during the night, and this time I felt them. It’s my first experience of an earthquake, and my last one, I hope.
March 28th.—The weather being comparatively fine, we have taken a long walk this afternoon in the direction of the Tap-Dagh, a beautiful valley situated at the foot of a high mountain from whence one discovers the source of the Euphrates, the famous Biblical river. Behind the Tap-Dagh, according to Armenian traditions, Adam’s Paradise was situated, with the two rivers mentioned in the descriptions of Elysium. This is where fate has brought me. The scenery is said to be exquisite, the vegetation luxurious.