Though the sky was perfectly clear this evening, Egueshi warned us, pointing to the “Palantek,” that there would be a shower before long, but we, all the same, started on our habitual ride, but had not gone half a mile when there came the rumble of thunder from afar; a flash of lightning shot across the sky and the rain came down in torrents. We galloped at full speed towards the village of Shakk, not far off, and took refuge under the roof of an old Armenian priest. On the walls of his parlour hung a whole gallery of pictures cut from French illustrated papers, representing chiefly heroes of the Russo-Turkish war, a present left for our host by a Russian officer who had put up at his house for a time. I wonder if the originals of these portraits will ever know that their visages adorn the walls of a humble cottage situated in one of the remotest parts of Asia Minor. On our way home we admired the beautiful growth of the wheat; the plain of Erzeroum being abundantly irrigated, the harvests are usually splendid, everything looks so green and fresh.
May 31st.—Storm clouds gathered again on the heights of the “Palantek” this evening. We had scarcely reached the camp when large drops began to fall and the storm came down in rolling thunder and lashing rain. Sergy hurried me into a great coat but nevertheless I got wet through. In an instant the whole camp, situated on a declivity, was furrowed by the impetuous torrents, and the water rushed in streams over the ground. When we reached the riflemen’s camp, we dismounted and ran into Mr. Popoff’s tent for shelter until the storm should clear away. In returning we had to go over gutters, which was difficult on account of their being full of foaming water. We saw a drove of cattle returning from the pasture grounds which found itself in great trouble before a usually dry ditch transformed for the moment into a torrent. The shepherds, mounted on donkeys, tried by gestures and voice to force the cattle to enter the water, in order to reach the other bank, but it was no easy matter; the cows ended by obeying, but the donkeys resisted energetically and nothing could be done with them.
The proprietor of the house inhabited by Eritzeff, a Persian who was noted for his vanity, stinginess, and cowardice, was determined to obtain a Russian decoration. He was a fearful bore to his tenant, repeating to him at every favourable moment his desire to be useful to the Russian government. Eritzeff lost his patience at last and determined to play him a trick; he announced confidently to him that he was sent on a serious mission to Bagdad and offered him to be his interpreter; Eritzeff also warned him that he was to fit himself suitably for that long journey. The Persian was delighted and replied that the expenses of equipment would not be a drawback, and in fact he delivered himself, in spite of his stinginess, to mad prodigalities; he bought a horse, a new saddle, a white mackintosh and a pair of yellow jack-boots. His family could not understand whither he was starting, but submitted to Providence, and when the day of departure arrived, they all kissed and cried over him.
A dinner for the sham-parting was given to Eritzeff in the Mussulman monastery of Abdurakman-Kazi, after which our would-be travellers were to start. During the meal a Cossack was to appear and hand over to Eritzeff a counter-order of departure. Unluckily someone had the awkwardness of revealing that plot before the repast began, nevertheless the guests were immensely amused. In fact, the poor Persian was such a picture to look at, equipped in his great mantle, his seven-leagued boots, furnished with gigantic spurs that reached well up to his calves, and armed up to the tip-top, sword and pistols in his sash; he was literally the personification of “Don Quixote.” The poor creature looked as if he wasn’t quite sure at first whether he was standing on his head or on his heels, but he soon controlled himself and bore his disappointment with serene resignation. Trying to put a good face on the matter, he regaled everyone with the big oranges that he had crammed into his pockets to quench his thirst during his long journey, and calling to mind a Persian song named, “I went in three days to Bagdad,” he said good-humouredly. As to me I have made the trip much quicker!
This Persian was the hero of a new pleasant adventure. Last night, returning home, he perceived at the corner of his house someone smoking behind the fountain; only the tip of a lighted cigarette could be seen. “Hello! who goes there?” he challenged the mysterious smoker loudly, but got no answer. “What are you doing there behind that fountain?” Complete silence again. “Brigands for sure!” vociferated the valiant Persian, and dashing into his house he returned reinforced by his servant, provided with a pistol which he pointed at the would-be malefactor, who continued to smoke peacefully. The fact is that there was no brigand whatever; it proved to be simply the tip of a lighted cigarette laid down on the border of the fountain by some nocturnal passer-by.
June 1st.—General Lazareff has come to Erzeroum to replace General Heimann. The Armenian inhabitants awaited him with impatience, very proud that he was the second commander of the main army of their own nationality. From early morning the whole town was put into a fluster; the native women established themselves upon their roofs at daybreak, wishing to see the new Russian mouchir enter Erzeroum. As I also wished to be present, I accepted readily the Gilberts’ invitation to come on their balcony which looked out into the square where the Guards of Honour, and a great number of officers in grand uniform, had assembled. Towards ten o’clock we heard the clamour of hurras and soon perceived a crowd of inhabitants coming up, followed by two hundred Cossacks with big banners; behind them rode General Lazareff, accompanied by a numerous suite.
June 5th.—Kirkor-Effendi Schabanian gave an evening-party to-day. We remained in his fantastic garden, illuminated with many coloured lanterns, till late, admiring the gorgeous costumes of his Asiatic guests who promenaded round a marble fountain full of goldfish. It was all like a scene from the Arabian nights.
June 9th.—This morning we have visited the mill of Kireh-Bulak, the prettiest spot in the neighbourhood, situated in a narrow pass about eight miles from town. We brought our luncheon with us, hard boiled eggs, biscuits and salt in an envelope, and ate it with great appetite in this nice, cool resting-place. Large trees grow all around and a rapid torrent falls from high cliffs in a roaring cascade white with foam; the noise of the mill at work sounded close by.
June 10th.—To-day a gala banquet was given at the Casino by Ali-Effendi. The most cordial union seemed to reign between the Russians and Mussulmans, but was it all very sincere? At the end of the repast, when the champagne had loosened the tongues and quickened the spirits, Maksoud-Effendi came up to the Persian Consul, glass in hand, and proposed to drink to his health, but the Persian, a water-drinker, like every good Mussulman, refused the toast, at which Maksoud-Effendi took offence, and flying into a passion, dashed the contents of his glass into the face of the astounded Persian and vociferated with furious eyes and face aflame: “Ah, you wouldn’t drink to my health by mere politeness, well, do it now by mere force!” The Consul started up wiping his face and his clothes, muttering a prayer to be purified from the stains of wine.