Richard Wilbraham, Travels in the Trans-Caucasian provinces of Russia (1839) - Part 4

After returning to Tiflis from his excursion to North Caucasus, Wilbraham realized that he had plenty of time before the arrival of Emperor Nicholas I. So he decided to make "a short excursion into the province of Kakheti, the vineyard of Georgia, which, as the learned pretend, is the native country of the vine."


My companion for the first few days was a German wine merchant, in treaty for the produce of the vineyards. I travelled in light marching order, with a single servant and a Cossack to be my guide and guard. A small valise tied behind my servant's saddle carried all I wanted. We halted for the first night at the Cossack station of Markobi [Martkopi?], a dreary spot as one would wish to see. The broken panes admitted the wind so freely that our candles were several times extinguished, and the evening felt quite wintry.

October 2nd. Our next night's quarters were more comfortable; and we cared not for the storm which howled without, while seated by a blazing fire, the first that I had seen for many a month. Our host was a young Georgian prince, whose rude dwelling occupied one corner of the ruinous castle of Telav [Telavi], the last stronghold of the gallant but ill-fated Heraclius [King Erekle], last but one of the monarchs of Georgia. Nothing could be more primitive than the architecture of his house: the room in which we sat was scarcely twelve feet square, and furnished only with a bench and table; the walls were made of trunks of trees cemented with mortar, and were scarcely proof against the rain, which fell in torrents. Though in name a prince, our host was scarcely above the labouring class in station or intelligence: he was the owner of a vineyard, by the produce of which he lived, and in which he worked himself, together with his servants. 

The women of his household were as carefully secluded from our sight as in any part of Persia; and whenever they appeared for a moment outside the door, they were closely muffled in their linen sheets. Our host was hospitable to the extent of his means; and after the long day's exercise we were not inclined to quarrel with his homely fare, especially as it was washed down by very palatable wine.

The rain did not set in till we had nearly reached Telav, and our ride was highly enjoyable. The country was beautifully wooded with every variety of forest-tree, and the broad glades of springy turf, almost arched over by lofty branches, opened at times upon wide tracts of park-like scenery. A few small villages lay at a distance from the road; and on the most commanding hills were seen the crumbling towers of many an ancient keep, whose walls of solid masonry had been rent asunder by the giant ivy. These were the castles of the feudal princes of Georgia, a brave but lawless race, now quite extinct. The neighbourhood of the Lesghis, the fiercest of the mountain-tribes, renders this road unsafe; and Cossack pickets are stationed by the road-side at intervals of several miles. From each of these I took a horseman to guide me to the next. We passed a village where the grenadiers of Georgia have their winter quarters, and then commenced a long ascent, so slippery that our horses could hardly keep their legs. From the summit we overlooked the vale of Kakheti, and the serpentine course of the Alazan [river], which washes the base of the mountains of Daghistan. Telav was concealed among the trees. The rain, which had long threatened, now began to fall: we hastened our pace, and, as the evening closed in, we entered the town in the midst of a pitiless storm. It is a wretched place, but the situation is happily chosen.

It was the season of the vintage when I reached Telav, but the uninterrupted rain had put a stop to their labours; I therefore was prevented witnessing the process of making the wine, which I am told is simple in the extreme. My travelling companion hoped by adopting a more improved method to produce a wine fit to be classed with generous Burgundy. On one or two estates, where more than ordinary pains are taken, the superior flavour of the wine shows that it is capable of great improvement. I have tasted some which had been several years in bottle, and thought it excellent. It is a full-bodied wine, and of a pleasant flavour, when it has not acquired a taste of naphtha from the skin.

The Georgians have the reputation of being the greatest drinkers in the world: the daily allowance, without which the labourer will not work, is four bottles; and the higher classes generally exceed this quantity: on grand occasions the consumption is incredible.

October 5th. Having taken leave of my kind host, who pressed me to return by the way of Telav, I bade adieu to my companion, and resumed my wanderings. The early morning was fine, and as the mists cleared away from the bed of the Alazan, we perceived the opposite mountains covered with fresh snow. The river, swollen with the late rains, was now impassable, otherwise I might have been tempted to explore the country of the Lesghis. My hopes of a fine day soon proved delusive: the clouds again began to lower, and the rain fell thick and fast. At times the sky would break for a few moments, enough to show me how beautiful the scenery would be were the weather fine. We passed through many a pretty village, with its high pointed roofs and broad verandas. Each house stood singly in its own domain, upon a sloping bank which faced the south: a few tall groups of oak and ash grew near the river-side, while rich vineyards covered the whole face of the hills. The scene was quite alive, in spite of the bad weather: groups of women were collected beneath the shelter of their porticoes; and numerous waggons, drawn by four or six buffaloes and oxen, were carrying the newly made wine to Tiflis. Instead of casks, the skins of buffalo are used in Georgia for preserving wine. They are turned inside out, and smeared with naphtha, but they still retain the form of the animal; and as the wine rolls with the swaying of the waggon, the legs and tails are set in motion, and look as if life were not quite extinct.

The road, shut in on either side by high vineyards, was almost impassable. Our horses sank at every step above their fetlocks, and my Cossack was soon unable to proceed. My little Arab, too, accustomed to the deserts of his native country, plunged and plunged until he became exhausted; and as the rain still fell, I bore up for an isolated Cossack station, midway between Telav and Signak [Sighnaghi]. At night the clouds rolled away, and a cold wind from the east blew over the Lesghian mountains with a biting keenness. But the next morning was again wet and cheerless, and not a gleam of sunshine burst through the cold grey sky. I took a circuit through the fields to avoid the road, which was cut up by the heavy waggons, but did not mend my case. I counted in one field which I crossed no less than twelve yoke of oxen and buffaloes attached to one single plough. On every yoke sat an urchin urging the poor animals on by cries and blows. 

At length we quitted the valley, and, winding round the base of a hill, on the summit of which stood Signak, we entered the town shortly after noon. I despatched my Cossack to the house of the governor of the district to request that a quarter might be assigned to me. The worthy man kindly invited me to take up my lodging at his house, and I was ushered into the most comfortable suite of rooms that I had seen for a long time. Female taste was evident in every arrangement, but the fair lady of the mansion was not visible. My host was a Russian, and spoke no other language, nor was an interpreter to be found in Signak. However, by dumb show, eked out by a few words of Russian which I had picked up, we got on amazingly well together; and, after a very welcome supper, I was glad to avail myself of the unusual luxury of a bed.

The view of present-day Sighnaghi, with the Alazani valley
and the Caucasus mountains in the background

Shortly before sunset the weather had, as usual, mended; and from the balcony I enjoyed a most magnificent view of the vale of Kakheti. Countless villages lay half-concealed among the vineyards which clothed the mountain side; and the Alazan, now swollen and discoloured, swept in graceful bends through the centre of the valley. The noble chain of Lesghian [Caucasus] Mountains, half-veiled in snow, was tinged with the most brilliant pink, which quickly melted away, and was succeeded by a grey, so cold that it drove me from the balcony to the comforts of a blazing hearth.