Max von Thielmann, Streifzüge im Kaukasus, in Persien und in der asiatischen Türkei (1875) - Part 2

Max Franz Guido Freiherr von Thielmann (1846-1929 ) was a German diplomat and statesman, who, in the 1890s, served as the Secretary of State in the Reich Treasury of the German Empire. Born into a prominent noble family, Thielmann studied in Berlin and Heidelberg before embarking on a diplomatic career. He served at the German Embassies in St. Petersburg, Copenhagen, Berne, Washington DC, Brussels , Paris and Constantinople, before being appointed as the Prussian ambassador to the United States in 1895. Two years later he became the Secretary of State in the Reich Treasury where he served until 1903 when he retired.

As a young diplomat, von Thielmann traveled extensively in Europe and the Middle East. In 1872, he embarked on a journey to Georgia before visiting the neighboring Iran and the Ottoman Empire. He then published his travelogue Streifzüge im Kaukasus, in Persien und in der asiatischen Türkei (Leipzig, 1875) that was translated into English later the same year. After arriving to Poti in mid-August 1872, Thielmann traveled by train to Kutaisi where he stayed for a few days. During one of his excursions, he visited the famed Gelati and Motsameta Monasteries.

The most remarkable event which occurred during our many days’ stay at Kutais was a visit which we paid to the monastery of Gelati, at a distance of nine versts from that town. Early in the morning we rode off, mounted on good Cossack horses placed at our disposal, and accompanied by Count Tiesenhausen, an official of Kutais. Our road took us first through the ghetto of the town, a long street close to the left bank of the Rion. Here the opportunity was first afforded us of admiring the enormous fur caps of the Imeretinian Jews. Generally speaking, the Jews in the Caucasus, the greater portion of whom profess the Talmud, are little respected, more especially as they are excluded by the Armenians from the higher branches of commerce. To this rule the Kuraim Jews, who are friendly disposed towards Christians, and anti-talmudical, form an exception; there are a few small colonies of them in the Caucasus. At the end of the Jews’ quarter the road turns off from the valley of the Rion, and after an hour’s ride through a beautiful green country, we came upon the monastery, which is situated upon a lofty eminence commanding the valley. 

We soon arrived at the summit, and from the veranda in front of the archimandrite’s dwelling we enjoyed a view so exquisitely beautiful that not again in the Caucasus did we see one to equal it. At our feet, fresh in verdure, lay the valley of the Tzchal-Tzitheli (Red Eiver), a small stream which rises in the north-east amongst the Nakerala Mountains, and flows into the Kwirila below Kutais; in the background the picturesque mountains of Imeretia, through which the Rion shapes its course from the high mountain chain to the Colchis lowlands ; and beyond that again, the more lofty mountains of the Letschgum and Radscha districts, amongst which, standing out in bold relief, was the proud rocky mass of the Chomli, to which formerly Prometheus was chained ; and far away in the distance, visible through a break in the projecting mountains, and yet enormous from its immense height, towered the snow-clad summit of the Tetnuld. The transformation of shapes, the varieties of attitude, and above all, the splendid luxuriance of vegetation, threw an irresistible charm over the scene, and the clear weather and fresh morning-breeze helped to render the enjoyment perfect. As mass was being sung in the adjoining church — a circumstance of which we were made fully aware by the very unmelodious strains which proceeded from within — we had ample leisure to enjoy the beauties of Nature before turning our attention to art. After an interval the archimandrite appeared, a remarkably handsome man, whose dignified deportment was somewhat compromised by the circumstance of his wearing a grey broad-brimmed felt hat, which he had put on after the service was over. Under his guidance we commenced our wanderings through the interior of the monastery. The church is a Byzantine central edifice, with a cupola covered over by a conical green roof — a constantly recurring feature in the Caucasus. Giants must have aided in its construction, which dates from about the eleventh century, for the dimensions of the stones surpass everything which I have ever witnessed. Yet the work has been executed to such a nicety, that the joinings are as distinct and regular at the present time as they must have been seven hundred years ago. The walls, especially in the vicinity of the portals and windows, are adorned with flat relievi, an art in which the Byzantines were masters. 

In purity of design, and as regards the ingenuity displayed in richly decorating naked surfaces without over-loading them, our own architects have still much to learn. An ornament of frequent occurrence, especially on entrance walls, as well as on the apse, is a Latin cross, slightly protruding and surrounded on all sides by graduated flutings; simple in form, though varied by the different profiles of flutings and curved recesses at the points, it forms, perhaps, the finest decoration for a church facade. The interior of the church exhibits the customary form of a cross used for Greek houses of worship. The walls are completely lined with frescoes, amongst which two periods may be recognised. Some of the paintings are in the severe, repulsive style of later Byzantine art, whilst others have evidently been restored in the Middle Ages, and at the time when the Italian school of painting was in full bloom. Some pictures appear at first sight to belong to the Renaissance period; but on closer examination it will be seen that only the ground work is more ancient, and that the restoration has been effected by artists at a later date, probably under the influence of Genoese masters, that city having formerly exercised a great sway over the country of Pontus. Modern times, too, have had a share in the restoration of these frescoes, for one unhappy picture has experienced the misfortune, certainly undeserved, of being freshly retouched by an artistically-disposed Russian colonel of gendarmes. The iconostas is entirely covered over with costly things, and glitters with gold and precious stones. The most prominent objects are two gold frames inlaid with a variegated mass of diverse materials. Some miniature pictures of the saints especially strike the eye. These latter have Greek inscriptions in émail cloisonné, which, on account of their beautiful design and model execution, must be ascribed to the most flourishing period of Byzantine art, and are consequently more ancient than the church itself. There are, besides, some stones bearing inscriptions, which, according to the statement of the archimandrite, no one had been able to decypher. Of these I took an impression, and a scientific examination of them in Germany has subsequently shown that these treasures of a Christian Church contain merely the names of the prophet Mahomet, and of the twelve imams, together with another equally pagan inscription. The language is Arabic with Kufic characters. The church treasure is kept in a chapel. The sanctity of the spot must offer a satisfactory guarantee against thieves; for the one decayed chest with rusted lock, in which the precious relics are deposited, assuredly does not do so. The treasure consists principally of a number of ecclesiastical robes, mostly covered with pearls of great price. The most remarkable object is the crown of the Imeretinian kings, a kind of hood, covered over with pearls, and adorned with gold bands and buckles, and with the cross at the top. Wearing this crown on their heads, many of the earlier kings — generally possessing handsome faces and a mass of reddish hair — are represented in the frescoes of the church. 

Besides the church, the tomb of King David of Imeretia, the mighty potentate of his time and founder of this holy place, is especially worthy of notice in the monastery. He lies close to the church in a ruined chapel, almost concealed by the ivy growing about it. His grave is covered with a massive slab bearing an inscription in the Chutzuri character, and here I first noticed how peculiarly adapted for monumental inscriptions this character is. No writing engraved on stone comes out with such wonderful effect as these old and apparently clumsy and disjointed letters. By his grave is deposited one of his greatest trophies of victory - the iron gates of the city of Gundsha [Ganja] also bearing a chased inscription in the Chutzuri character. For a long time the gates were considered to be those of Derbend, and the inscription upon them to be Kufic, when finally the error was discovered by the able investigator Brosset.  

After a farewell look at the splendid panorama before us, we remounted our horses, and proceeded over a steep and stony road to the monastery of Motzamethi, distant only a few versts. It is scarcely possible to conceive a greater contrast than that existing between these two places. Whilst Gelati, proudly looking down from its lofty eminence, commands the country around, Motzamethi reposes modestly upon a rocky projection in the quiet valley of the Tzchal-Tzitheli, and is almost hidden away from sight by the surrounding foliage. Only at Lenkoran, on the Caspian Sea, did I chance again to find such luxuriant vegetation, although there the two shrubs were wanting — the laurel and the box tree — which form the chief attraction of the forests about Motzamethi. Here the box tree was growing to the height of twenty feet, and whilst the stem of the oak was being concealed beneath the noble laurel-leaf, ivy and the wild vine clambered up in the midst, and formed with interwoven tendrils a protecting roof against the sun. Amongst the trees were here and there rocks, and small glades, and down in the valley a trickling brook. The monastery itself possessed nothing particularly worth seeing, except a curious sarcophagus supported on lions, and we now began to miss the breakfast, which we had already foregone at Gelati, and to which we felt ourselves at noon fully entitled. A boy coming along with a basket of figs made up in some measure for our loss. We returned home by a nearer path, which afforded us many a beautiful view of the Colchis plain; but the mountains on the far side were already wrapped up in the midday mist. On reentering Kutais in the afternoon, everything foreshadowed coming rain, and left us but a dismal prospect for our intended excursion to Swanethia. 

Max von Thielmann, Streifzüge im Kaukasus, in Persien und in der asiatischen Türkei (1875) - Part 1

Max Franz Guido Freiherr von Thielmann (1846-1929 ) was a German diplomat and statesman, who, in the 1890s, served as the Secretary of State in the Reich Treasury of the German Empire. Born into a prominent noble family, Thielmann studied in Berlin and Heidelberg before embarking on a diplomatic career. He served at the German Embassies in St. Petersburg, Copenhagen, Berne, Washington DC, Brussels , Paris and Constantinople, before being appointed as the Prussian ambassador to the United States in 1895. Two years later he became the Secretary of State in the Reich Treasury where he served until 1903 when he retired.

As a young diplomat, von Thielmann traveled extensively in Europe and the Middle East. In 1872, he embarked on a journey to Georgia before visiting the neighboring Iran and the Ottoman Empire. He then published his travelogue Streifzüge im Kaukasus, in Persien und in der asiatischen Türkei (Leipzig, 1875) that was translated into English later the same year. After visiting Odessa and the Crimea, Thielmann made brief stops at Pitsunda (Bichvinta) and Sukhum Kale (Sokhumi) before arriving at Poti in mid-August 1872.

No great length of time has elapsed since Poti consisted of a mere swamp with a few huts built on piles; ten years ago the inhabitants punted merrily in rainy weather from one house to the other, and although at present the streets are filled in and provided with a kind of pavement, still frogs are heard to croak exultingly from between the layers of piles and the ground floor; nor can those animals be found fault with, for there scarcely exists on earth such another paradise for amphibious creatures. 

Poti owes its actual prosperity, if not indeed its very existence, to a slip of the pen; for when Turkey ceded to Russia, by the Treaty of Adrianople, the territory between Kars and the sea, the boundary line was, by general consent, drawn to run down the river Tschoroch, which arrangement would have brought over to the Russian side the advantageous harbour of Batum. It was, however, discovered, but not until after the ratifications of the treaty of peace, that the river Tscholoch, which runs about eighteen miles on this side of Batum, had been inserted in the treaty as the boundary line. Batum was lost, and Poti was accepted in its stead. It is, strictly speaking, not correct to state that the harbour of Poti is unfavourable for shipping purposes, for no harbour exists; merely a roadstead, completely exposed, and very shallow, vessels of any size being obliged to anchor at a considerable distance from the shore. The channel up to the Rion, which river is only navigable for very flat-bottomed boats, is closed by a bar; the depth of water is often only from four to five feet, and the channel is frequently rendered dangerous by heavy breakers. The maritime position of Poti is therefore, by no means brilliant, and the great distance of Soukhum Kaleh, which possesses a tolerably good roadstead, has chiefly prevented it till now from becoming the entrance to the Caucasus. It must also be noted that up to the year 1864 Soukhum Kaleh was the centre of unruly tribes, whilst Poti, with its Gurian-Mingrelian population gave no cause for disquietude. Another circumstance, too, must by no means be overlooked; namely, that the river at Poti afforded a practicable route through the region of swampy forests in Mingrelia, which would, otherwise, have been impassable. The project of building a harbour at Poti is still somewhat remote, and if the intention of doing so ever really existed, its execution has been impeded by the fear of the great expense, which must necessarily be incurred in the construction of dams and dredging operations. Curiously enough, a commencement has been effected, but at the wrong end; for out into the sea, at considerable cost, an iron pier has been erected, against which no ship can lie, and from which the waves have already compassionately washed away a portion. 

The worst of Poti is the climate. No European has passed a night there and been spared by the fever; nor were we more fortunate than others; and on the very first evening of our arrival we fancied ourselves inhaling the germs of the disease from the dense misty atmosphere, smelling like the air of a bath-room where the windows have been closed for a week... It may fairly be concluded that other inconveniences, such as mosquitoes and house vermin, were not wanting in the place, and during the night the traveller may, according to his taste, devote his attention to the insects in his bed, to the rats in his room, or to the frogs beneath his window. It would be very ungrateful on my part, if I rendered to Poti no acknowledgment of the pleasant evening — the first in the Caucasus — which I passed there. I had already fallen in, on landing from the steamer, with a Prince Gagarin, a Petersburgh acquaintance, officially employed at Kutais, though accidentally away at Poti. In the company of the Prince, and of other gentlemen of widely different nationalities, whose acquaintance we had made partly on the steamer and partly on my arrival at Poti, and the greater number of whom had known the Caucasus for years, we passed a very jovial evening, during the course of which myself and my companions gathered much valuable information respecting our projected tour. We certainly had to undergo one disillusion, for we expected from Bodenstedt’s and Mirza Schaffy’s representations to find only Kachetia wine on the table, and were greatly surprised to see Vin de Bordeaux exclusively produced — a wine which taken in the right quantity appears to be one of the best preventive remedies against fever. We afterwards took a walk in the botanical gardens — a small park very nicely laid out — where all kinds of southern plants, known to us only in hot-houses, thrive with exuberant fragrance. I only missed the palm-tree, and learned to my surprise, that in spite of the hot climate in the summer, and of the mild climate in the winter, it does not grow here. During my walk I made my first acquaintance with the Grusinian language; I speedily relinquished all further study of this dialect, when my tongue had undergone the ordeal of such words as rchwa, tzchra (eight, nine), and otzchmodaatti (eighty). The night passed in the hotel was fearful — warm feather-beds, a sultry mist, no possibility of opening the window for fear of fever, and legions of insects welcoming our arrival in the country. 

The next morning my travelling companions could not refrain from indulging in an early bathe before leaving the Black Sea. I forebore from following their example in consequence of warnings which I had received the previous evening, and possibly owing to this circumstance the fever may have dealt more mildly with me than with my companions. 

At 8.30 A.M. a special train was to convey some railway officials to Tiflis, and we obtained permission to join them as far as Kutais; we consequently took care to arrive in good time at the banks of the Rion in order to be conveyed over to the railway station, which is situated on the north side of the town, and rather above it ; but at the appointed hour not the slightest preparation for departure was made on board the steamer, which plied between the two landing-places. Gradually a considerable number of passengers assembled together on the steamer, all equally determined, per fas aut nefas, to avail themselves of this convenient opportunity of getting to Tiflis ; for only a third of the line, as far as the station at Kwirila, was open to regular traffic. The railway officials, however, displayed an example of humanity, and finally our special train attained the length of about six carriages, a length for the Caucasus railway quite unheard of before that date. 

The railway station at Poti is very primitive. It consists of two sheds, the one open and the other shut; and both so new that they might fairly be said to exult in their cleanliness. But, to make amends, it possesses a restaurant which, at all events, in choice of refreshments can surpass most German ones.

At last, it being past ten o’clock, the train felt compelled to make a start, and to our utter amazement, steamed off at the rate of twenty-eight miles an hour, a speed quite unknown on Russian railways. An English engineer, the traffic-manager of this portion of the line, informed us, for our consolation, that on pretty nearly every occasion on which he accompanied the directors, an accident of some kind almost invariably ensued: he suggested, however, that in our particular instance, as they were going on beyond the section under his control, the probabilities were that the train would run off the line somewhere amongst the Suram mountains, a district, he assured us, in the highest degree favourable for such occurrences. Amongst other experiences which he was kind enough to relate to us, the following communication was certainly interesting; namely, that a bullock, driven over, seldom occasioned serious damage, but the engine, on coming into collision with the hard and stiff bones of a buffalo would, as a rule, come off the rails, or otherwise sustain injury. 

For the first twenty-five miles the railway traversed the virgin forest of Mingrelia; on both sides of the line huge masses of trees rose up into the air, but it was frequently difficult to recognise the kind to which they belonged, so thickly were their trunks and branches intermingled with the wild vine and ivy. The underwood is a mixture of box-tree and laurel, and perfectly impassable. The after- growth is so luxuriant that even on the strips of land which had been dug up along the line of rails, whilst the sleepers were being laid down, vegetation had sprung up afresh, and within the space of three years had attained a height of more than six feet. The soil is damp and muddy; the throwing up of the embankment for the railway not only necessitated great labour, but the lives of numerous workmen, scarcely one of the soldiers employed on the construction of the line having escaped marsh fever. In some places the laying down of the railway has produced most melancholy results. Arising probably from the deficiency of proper drainage under the embankment, and the consequent stagnancy of the water in the soil, large patches of forest have completely died away, the rotten trees extending their leafless branches over hideous pools of muddy water — a nauseous spectacle when contrasted with the rich abundant foliage to be seen growing close around in every direction. Nor can I say that the virgin forest, respecting which I had conjured up such romantic notions, produced a satisfactory impression upon my mind ; on the contrary I found this luxuriant vegetation, which the eye cannot pierce five paces, and which impregnates the atmosphere with poisonous vapours, harassing and oppressive. Only one station, Tschelodidi, is situated in the forest — constructed there without, apparently, any necessity whatsoever — for not a living soul inhabits the place, and the receipts for the first year scarcely seem to have amounted to five roubles. 

About twenty- five miles from Poti the railway entered a flat, well-cultivated district, dotted over here and there with small Mingrelian villages — the whole forming an agreeable landscape. The soil is heavy and fertile, and is generally sown over with maize. It yields abundant harvests, notwithstanding the indolence of the inhabitants, who remain true to their antediluvian implements of agriculture, and who devote no portion of their leisure to rooting up weeds, which flourish in all directions. The houses possess a character peculiar to dwellings in the country west of the Suram Chain, and which is nowhere else to be met with in the Caucasus: that is to say, a wooden building with moderately steep gable-roof, and a verandah, which generally encircles the entire building, and which, protruding a few feet on the front side, is supported by rude wooden pillars. Thus houses, even in the mountainous parts of Mingrelia and Imeretia, are constructed to stand free and without being made to incline against a slope, whereas in Grusia the back portion of the dwellings are generally built to lean against the side of the mountains. This probably arises from the abundant supply of wood, which to the westward of the Suram Chain, is ready at hand for building purposes, whilst to the eastward, timber being less plentiful, some economy is required in the consumption of it. Right and left of the railway, projecting mountains, green with verdure, rise to unimportant heights; but nothing is visible of the actual mountain chain. The station Senaki lies close to the chief town of the district which bears the same name. Here the line crosses the high road leading from Orpiri on the Rion, to Zugdidi, the capital of Mingrelia, and residence of the Dadian, a princely family deposed; shortly afterwards, on the far side, it passes over an immense iron bridge, every portion of which, down to the final nail, has been brought from England, and which spans the Tzchenis-Tzchali, separating Mingrelia from Imeretia, a rapid stream, very full in the rainy season. Beyond, in the distance, a view of the mountain chain for the first time unfolds itself to the gaze, and, through a gap in the projecting mountains, a glimpse is caught of that splendid snowy pyramid, the Tetnuld, with the long pointed crest of the Schchara (Nuamquam) and far away into the Colchis plain. At Samtredi, the next station, the line traverses the great Imeretinian military road, and passing through a pleasant, undulated district, reaches the Kutais station, after crossing, immediately before, a long iron bridge to the left bank of the Rion. 

Kutais station is eight versts from the town; two droschkies [carriages], ordered beforehand by telegraph, met us at the station, and in these we continued our journey in company with a Russian, who spoke German, and who was starting on a short pleasure trip in the Caucasus with his three sons, the latter between ten and thirteen years of age. Considering the extreme youth of his offspring, the journey was decidedly premature! After an hour’s drive over a good road, and chiefly through a forest of young oaks, we reached the Hôtel de France at Kutais, our head-quarters for the next few days. 

John Buchan Telfer - The Crimea and Transcaucasia (1876)

John Buchan Telfer (1831-1907) was British author who had previously served in the Royal Navy. As the Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society, he had traveled widely and had spent several years in the Russian Empire in the 1870s. On one of his journeys he ventured into South Caucasus, visiting Georgia and Armenia. His account was published in two volumes in 1876. 

It was a dark morning and heavy clouds were gathering from the west, as we started from Ozourghety  [Ozurgeti] in a pereclodnaya at 2 A.M. This early stir was a necessity, for I was anxious to reach Samtredy [Samtredia] in time to meet the train from Poti to Tiflis. Our horses were fresh, and the clatter of their hoofs echoed again as they cantered over the hard stones in the now silent street of bazaars, and we soon cleared the little town, the dogs saluting us with savage barks from the courts in their keeping.

After crossing the Natonyeba [Natonebi], we ascended the Nasykyryla pass, by the side of a ravine at the bottom of which is the Bah'by, and after fording some of the tributaries of the Soupsa, stopped at Nagomary to change horses. A great fair is held here annually on July 20, at which the entire population of Gouria may be said to assemble, for people flock to it from all parts to lay in their yearly supplies of stuffs, hardware, crockery, cattle, &c, there being no tradesmen in Gouria, and few shops, and this fair becomes the only mart in the province. "You would see what fine cows and beautiful women we have,' said the yemstchyck winking, 'were you to come to our fair.'

In the broad valley of Pasoutchy was the first herd of cattle we had yet seen, and the khourma (Diospyrus lotus), a kind of date plum, was growing luxuriantly; it is largely imported into Russia as a dry fruit, and a favourite spirit is made of it; maize was also growing, but there was a general appearance of abandonment and neglect. The tower seen on the right of the road, is all that remains of the residence of the erystav Mihail of the family of the Gouriel, who was assassinated a few years ago by his own peasantry, for oppressive practices. At Tchynataoury, where we again changed horses, was the house and farm of the erystav David (Gouriel), and from this point the road ascends the well-wooded Pyatzwan, the enchanting scenery being enlivened by frequent falls of water and mountain streams, which find their way into the beautiful valley through which flows the Hebytz-tzkalys; on the opposite side of this valley is the Monastery of Gamatchnebouly, a favourite pilgrimage of the poverty-stricken mountaineers, who have few churches at which they can assemble. But what shall I say of the indigence of the peasantry in these highlands; of their tatters and scared looks as they flew off the road and hid themselves in the wood at our approach- not the males, but the females? And yet, if report be true, there are not many Lucretias in Gouria

. . . where, to love inclined,

Each swain is blest, for every maid is kind.

The women in Gouria, to judge by the few we had the opportunity of seeing, are decidedly interesting; there is nothing characteristic in their costume, with the exception of the cotton shirt, which, drawn in at the waist, is worn in such a manner as to display to the utmost the contour of their charms.

We changed horses for the third time at Hebytzheby, a snug little village by the Hebytz-tzkalys on the southern slope of the Sodjavah', from the summit of which we enjoyed a most extensive view of the plains, and of the windings of the Rion. We were in a vine country, but none of the wine we called for was at all drinkable. On reaching the plain, we crossed the Rion, at the village of Orpyry, on board a barge propelled with paddle-wheels worked by hand. We had no small difficulty in pushing our way through the crowded streets where a fair was going on, for the goods were spread out on carpets on the ground, leaving barely sufficient space for a vehicle to pass; there was no shouting, no cries, no haggling, for men and women moved about lazily and noiselessly. Wools, cottons, and most of the fabrics offered for sale were of Russian manufacture; leather work, cutlery, and pottery were native. A few versts farther, and we were at Samtredy, in ample time for the train.

The Rion is crossed for the last time just before reaching the Kouta'fs railway station, and beyond Kvyryly the railway skirts the Tzheretely, on the banks of which is Byelagory, in the midst of wooded hills occasionally relieved by rich and bounteous pastures. The pass and rock of Byelagory offer some striking points, and as the traveller is borne along, he will notice the sharpness of the curves in the line of rails, many .being at a radius of eight chains.

In this neighbourhood are the remains of numberless churches and castles that crown the peaks and summits, the latter reminding one of the schlcesser on the Rhine. The country people attribute to the great Queen Thamar the foundation of all the sacred edifices, and to the Genoese the erection of the fortresses, a ready method of clearing up all doubts as to their origin. The motive for the existence of so many churches, assigned in his quaint work by [Jean] Chardin, a traveller of the seventeenth century, is likely to be the correct one. "The Georgians, like the other Christians by whom they are bounded on the north and west, follow the strange custom of building the greater number of their churches on the tops of mountains in remote and inaccessible places. They are looked at and reverenced at the distance of three or four leagues, but they are seldom visited; indeed it is very certain that but few are opened even once in ten years. They are erected, and then abandoned to the elements and to the fowls of the air. I was never able to learn the reason for this foolish practice, all those of whom I inquired having ever made the same silly reply: "It is the custom." The Georgians are advised that whatever the nature of their transgressions, they ensure remission by building a small church. For my part, I believe that they erect them in such inaccessible places, to avoid the expense of decorating and endowing them."

On reaching Bejatouban we were transferred to a diligence, the working over the pass of Souram being suppressed for a time. The post-road keeps the railway pretty well in sight as it passes through the defile, on to the plateau, and down to Souram. 

The railroad from Poti to Tiflis owes its existence to British capital and enterprise. The British engineers who surveyed the track recommended the boring of a tunnel through the hill; but the Russians shrank from so heavy an undertaking, and at a considerably less cost the railway was made to climb up one side, and run down the other, by gradients of 1 ft. in 22 ft. over a distance of about eight miles, throwing even the Bhore Ghaut into the shade as a matter of skill in engineering.

The station at Souram, a small and insignificant village inhabited by Armenians, was the temporary terminus, but accommodation for travellers was shamefully neglected. We had three hours to wait for the departure of the train, and improved the occasion by walking to the old fortress picturesquely situated on an eminence; a portion only of the walls, which are of considerable thickness and strength, are left standing on their solid foundation of rock. This fortress dates from the reign of Vakhtang, king of Georgia, 446-499, surnamed Gourgasal, 'wolf-lion,' from his habit of wearing a helmet of gold, having a wolf in front and a lion behind. It was restored and occupied by a Persian garrison in 1634, on the accession of Rustam to the throne.

At 6 P.M. the train proceeded through broad valleys increasing in sterility to the narrower valley of the Kour. As is the practice in Russia, the train made unnecessarily long halts at each station, and it was well-nigh midnight when we reached Tiflis. The terminus is fully two miles from the city, but good carriages are in waiting, and the traveller may be certain of being rendered every assistance by the polyglot guards, who are always very civil.