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.
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