John Malcolm, Sketches of Persia (1827)

Major General Sir John Malcolm (1769-1833) was a Scottish soldier and diplomat who had served as the British East India Company administrator and envoy to Persia during the Napoleonic Wars. While in Persia, Malcolm maintained a journal that he later published under the title of Sketches of Persia, from the Journals of a Traveller in the East (London, 1827). Malcolm had met many Georgians in Persia and left interesting descriptions of them, some of which are presented below. 

***

Aga Ibrahim had been a great trafficker in the slaves, male and female, which the army of Aga Mahomed [Agha Mohammad Shah of Persia] brought from Georgia in his irruption into that country in 1797 [1795]. He had retained one in his own family, of whom he appeared dotingly fond. The more wine he took, the more he spoke of his favourite Mariamne. “I have often,” said he, “offered to marry her, if she would only become a Mahomedan, but all in vain; and really, when she is on her knees praying before her cross, or chanting hymns to the Virgin Mary, she looks so beautiful, and sings so sweetly, that I have twenty times been tempted to turn Christian myself. Besides, I can hardly think of Paradise as delightful without Mariamne !”

***

Before leaving Abusheher we had received many proofs of the favour of the Prince Regent of Shiraz. Soon after our arrival at that place, a favourite officer of his Guards brought a present of twelve mule-loads of fruit. When this young man came to pay his respects to the Elchee, Khojah Arratoon [Armenian merchant, known by the name of 'Blue Beard'] desired to withdraw. When asked the reason: “Why,” said he, “the person who is deputed by the Prince Regent is a Georgian, the son of my next door neighbour in Tiflis. When Aga Mahomed Khan [Agha Mohammad Shah of Persia] plundered that city in 1797 [should be 1795], he was made a prisoner, with twenty or thirty thousand young persons of both sexes; and having since been compelled to become a Mahomedan, and now enjoying high rank, he may be embarrassed at seeing me.” The Envoy said, “It does not signify, you are my Treasurer, and must be present at the visit of ceremony; depend upon it he will not notice you.” It was as predicted; the bearer of the present, a very handsome young man, superbly dressed, and of finished manners, appeared to have no knowledge of Arratoon, though his eye rested on him once or twice. When the visit was over, the good Armenian could not contain himself: “That vile Mahomedan wretch," he exclaimed, “he has lost sight and feeling, as well as religion and virtue. Have I given him sweetmeats so often, to be stared at as a stranger? I should like to know who was his father, that he should look down upon me. It will be a mournful tale,” he concluded, “that I shall have to write to his mother, who is in great distress, and who, poor deluded creatures lives in hopes that there is still some good in this dog of a son of hers.” 

There was a mixture of wounded pride, of disappointment, and humanity, in Blue-beard's sentiments, that made them at once amusing, and affecting. He came, however, early next morning to the Envoy with a very different countenance, and evidently deeply affected. “What injustice have I not done,” said he, “to that excellent young man! He sent a secret messenger to me last night; and when we met, ran to embrace me, and after telling me the short tale of his captivity, sufferings, and subsequent advancement, inquired in the most earnest manner after his mother. He has not only given a hundred tomans to relieve her immediate wants, but has settled that I am to be the Agent for future remittances. He informed me that he recognized the friend of his youth, and never had more difficulty than in the effort to appear a stranger; but he explained his reasons for being so cautious: he is not only a Mahomedan, but has married into a respectable family, and is a great favourite with the Prince, and must, therefore, avoid any conduct that could bring the least shade of suspicion on the sincerity of his faith or allegiance. I shall make his mother very happy,” continued Blue-beard, who was evidently quite flattered by the personal attention of the young Georgian, and the confidence reposed in him; “for I will, when I send her the tomans, tell her my conviction, that her son, whatever he may profess, is a Christian in his heart. Indeed he must be so; for if he had been a true Mahomedan he would have acted like one, and have disowned, not supported, his mother, whom he must consider an infidel.” 

Paxton Hibben, "The Republic of Mirth" [Travel Notes on Georgia] (1921)

As I searched for accounts in various periodicals, I accidentally stumbled on this fascinating article published in the American magazine "Travel" in July 1921 (Vol. XXXVII, Issue 3). 

This travelogue was written by Paxton Hibben, prominent American diplomat, journalist and humanitarian. After graduating from Princeton and Harvard, Hibben joined the US Foreign Service and served seven years at various foreign posts in Central and South America; in 1912, after committing a number of public indiscretions, he was compelled to resign from the State Department. He then joined the Progressive Party and was involved in Theodore Roosevelt's presidential campaign. With the start of World War I, Hibben became a war correspondent and reported from several fronts. In 1918-1923, he served on a military relief commission in Armenia, visited Georgia and helped the Red Cross in its efforts to rescue children during the Russian famine of 1921-23. Returning to the US, he pursued a literary career, publishing a number of books and numerous articles. Hibben died of pneumonia in New York in 1928. 

In light of Hibben's clear anti-Bolshevik sentiments in this article, it is rather ironic that his wife agreed to the Soviet request to bury him in Moscow as a way of honoring his efforts to mitigate the effects of famine in Russia. In 1929, Hibben was given a state funeral  and buried at Moscow's Novodevichy Convent.

Hibben wrote this article less than six months after the Democratic Republic of Georgia ceased to exist in the wake of the invasion of the Bolshevik forces in February 1921.

I find it difficult to conceive the Republic of Georgia turned Bolshevist, as the press dispatches have it. It is not a preoccupation that will worry anyone else, however, for when one speaks of “Georgia” in these United States it means the district immediately surrounding Atlanta - not a toy republic lying somewhere between the Black and Caspian Seas, six thousand miles from Savannah. It is the Republic, not the State, of Georgia that the press dispatches say has turned, is turning, or will turn, Bolshevist.

The report shocks me. Somehow, the ornate and charming Georgians as I knew them seem to fit ill with the stern realities of communism. Old Prince Napoleon Murat, for example, great-great-grandson of the illustrious French marshal and whose grandmother was the last Queen of Mingrelia, teetering about on his two canes, his immense shapka of silky sheepskin bobbing from side to side as he hobbles—what will he become in a government of abstemious commissars, requiring no toastmaster at their frugal feasts? What will they all become, these handsome male butterflies in a land where every other man is a prince, when there are no more Princes and every man must work or starve?

And those dancers so vividly pictured by H. G. Wells in his description of Baku, as something exotic and peculiarly Asiatic - what a pity he did not visit Tiflis, the capital of Georgia, to recognize them as just Georgians at their favorite and common pastime!

It was, I think, the happiest life in the world—the six months I spent in Transcaucasia. Not Armenia, of course. There is nothing but horror and tragedy and despair in that pitiful land. But Georgia could not be tragic  - not even reluctantly accepting a Bolshevism it does not understand and certainly at bottom does not want. “A volatile people fond of dancing and light wines,” the description of the French in an apocryphal geography of one's childhood (how wide of the truth!), fits the Georgians like a glove. Dancing, as Wells implies, is what they do best— gilt and filigree daggers balanced on the palms, the points in the corner of each eye, they dance to the tune of a barbaric strumming of two fingers on a kettledrum, and the shrill whine of wood-wind. To dance better (I can think of no other reason) they wear long boots of soft leather, like kid gloves, with pointed toes and no heels, that lend themselves nicely to dancing, but make poor marching equipment. The tcherkaskas, too, are picturesque when the wearers are in a whirl of complicated figures. They are the long coats we are accustomed to attribute to cossacks, with wasp waist, flaring skirt, artificially squared shoulders, and a double row of pockets across the chest, where cigarettes, not cartridges, are kept dry in chased silver tubes.

I lived across the street from the barracks, where there seemed to be far more dancing than drill, more skill with daggers balanced on nose or forehead than with rifle or machine gun. Officers and men alike - frequently in one democratic company - danced by the hour, generally solo, but sometimes also in competitive pairs. It is monotonous to watch. The steps and the formal postures are always the same; the music never varies; the skill is of high uniformity. One elbow of the dancer is crooked sharply, hand stiffly outstretched against the breast, the other arm outheld, hand hanging limp like a kerchief - goodness knows by what obscure symbolism: heel and toe, heel and toe, round and round he goes, the skirted tcherkaskas swinging out like a bell. And then the dagger stunts—always the same tricks, of which they never seem to weary. A childlike people!

As for the light wines - they are the best I know anywhere, and at 40 cents the quart, in restaurants. They all come numbered, and it is by the number you order: 66 is white, like a Moselwein. The first word learned by visiting naval officers from vessels stationed at Batum they pronounce shitysatshest—and the clever Georgians understand at once and produce 66. For the more initiated, there is 47—red, like the heavier Algerian wines of French Africa. There are others, less in demand among the foreigners because slightly resinated, as are the Greek vins du pays. These are the wines of Kakhetia, especially beloved by the Georgians themselves.

After nine months of British military occupation, 66 and 47 grew rare, and frequently one was forced to accept the Kakhetian wine. But if one shied at the taste, the Georgians knew a trick or two. They made a krushon—a sort of cup—of it, in a great pot-bellied glass bowl, with a hammered silver ladle. To soften the taste of resin, slices of peaches, pears, cucumbers, apples, or oranges were added, and whole cherries, while to give the krushonstrength, a generous dash of cognac was poured in, and, when obtainable, a liqueur or two to sweeten lit up. Nectar! Served with a cake of ice floating about, krushon is of deceptive potency. Almost anyone is ready to dance, Georgian or any other style, before the glass bowl is half empty.

To the Georgians, however, krushon is a drink for women and foreigners. They prefer the strawberry-colored Kakhetian wine, with all its violin-bow tang of resin. A round of drinks in the Georgian Club, sitting at little tables under the starry sky, is not a bottle and four or five glasses, but a bottle for each man. Nor are the tedious gyrations of the western corkscrew to be tolerated. An effete invention of one-handed drinkers! The dagger, always hanging from a gorgeous belt at the waist—not on one hip, but precisely in the center of the body—is your true Georgian’s bottle opener. A single blow, and the top of the bottle goes spinning, not a drop spilled or a grain of glass in the wine.

“No delays this way,” the handsome Georgian Prince (they are all Princes) explains. “One might die of thirst, otherwise.”

Vodka there is, of course, but not the aromatic zoobrovka of pre-war days, alas! Only the raw petrol-tasting product of potato or barley, like nothing so much as the secret distillations of the

amateur violator of the 18th amendment. The cognac is better. Indeed, it is quite as good as the usual French brands, and in the days before the war was frequently bottled and sold with French labels—and no one the wiser.

If dancing is the recreation of the volatile Georgians, drinking seems the principal business transacted. It is done earnestly and with an application which, in a less enlightened land, leads only to excessive income taxes. No one has ever seen a Georgian drunk— there are only twenty-four hours in the day and they are not enough to produce intoxication in such sincere drinkers. Besides, if ever a Georgian did get drunk, who would be left sober to record the miracle?

And as they drink, they sing—sing beautifully, with the clear voices of mountaineers—the sentimental ballads of the type our grandmothers sang, or the infinitely sad folk songs of a people in slavery. Music is as much the life of a Georgian as his food. The opera at Tiflis is an amazing structure of mingled late Persian and early Norddeutscher Lloyd architecture, set in a garden with trees and a pebbled enclosure, dotted with iron tables where one may sit and have a krushon between the acts.

[...]

Moreover, the Russian Art Theatre in Tifiis gave the best of Russian drama. And there was the Artistic Club, ubiquitous in Russia, where, after the opera or play, stage favorites met poets, singers, or just people fond of music and the theatre. There, for the sheer love of the thing, extra numbers were given by professionals and amateurs alike, with a spontaneity which certain Parisian cafés counterfeit. The music halls of Tiflis were tawdry and undistinguished. Russia patronizes the music hall. but produces no vaudeville talent to speak of. The Russian circuit was ever the gold mine of American negro buck and wing dancers, vapid English song and dance artists (you know that kick!), and the inextinguishable French whiner of interminable pathetic love songs or semi-indecent comic couplets. all on the same tune. The war cut off the supply of these performers, with the result that the program of the Tiflis music hall was a poor thing at best. But it is, after all, not to see but to be seen that a Georgian frequents a music hall. The private boxes are open to the main body of the hall at just a height to make the occupants most visible and most conspicuous. In these the handsome Georgian Princes, interspersed with visiting naval officers from allied ships, discussed krushon and sang in opposition to the performance on the stage.

Parties in Tiflis had a habit of lasting until dawn, not so much from any undue gaiety, but because they rarely began before midnight, when dinner ends.

After all, as I look back on the days in Transcaucasia, what stands out in memory is neither the bathing beach at Batum, where the question of propriety in bathing suits is simply solved by their being none  at all for rich and poor alike, nor the universal beauty of the Georgian women, from whose number from time immemorial the wealthiest Turks have sought the flowers of their harems. It is the food! To find in the Near East where, from Greece and Serbia to Persia, the food is horrible - inedible mutton in forty styles, and vegetables cooked in mutton tallow and served swimming in oil - to find in Georgia such food as exists nowhere else in the world, is a double delight. First, there is, of course, caviar. Caviar comes from the Caspian, a few hours by train from Tiflis. There, it is really fresh—and he who does not know fresh caviar on its native, so to speak, heath has not lived. You may buy a cupful for thirty cents, served with chopped onion and just a few drops of lemon, or spread on buckwheat cakes, with drawn butter and sour cream. Let those who have not tasted the dish of the gods turn up their noses. I’ve heard them say before now: “How can you eat such a devilish mixture!"— until they tried it.

Then there is sturgeon for those who like it, although in my estimation it was sturgeon that first justified the slang expression "a poor fish.” But to set off against the overrated sturgeon are the trout of Lake Gochka—extraordinary speckled-scaled, pink fleshed things that the Georgians serve with a nut sauce that few products of the cuisine equal and none excels. Rabchiki—I do not know what a "rabchik" is, plover, perhaps—hazel-hen, the dictionary says—but whatever the fowl may be, he or she (there are no capons) is beyond compare.

And such fruit as not even California boasts—and California is not backward about boasting. The Georgians make a great ceremony of peeling you a pear or a peach-—or a cucumber, to eat as if it were an apple—and handing it to you on a fork with all solemnity. It is a deplorable habit, especially at a large dinner, when each Georgian thinks he must perform the rite out of sheer politeness, for there are so many other and better things to eat than fruit, however excellent. Venison, partridges, duck, quail, wild goose or rabbits, are all to be had for a day’s shooting a few hours from Tiflis. Turkeys are more common than strictly fresh eggs in the United States—and not much more expensive.

Most succulent of all, however, are the soups, each a meal in itself—red borsch, with a clot of sour cream floating in the savory dish, or thick, odoriferous stschi, king of soups the world over. And for dessert, it is quite possible that the original famous “Georgia watermelon" came, not from the state lying east of Alabama, but from the Georgian Republic.

The cook who performs the infinite variety of culinary miracles costs the munificent sum of $2 per month in wages—and at that one is accused of debauching the labor market by paying extravagant rates!

A city of night life, Tiflis. The shops struggle open about nine and stagger through a hard morning, scarcely visited before eleven. At three, they close permanently, for all Tiflis goes to lunch at that hour, and returns no more during the day. There was little in the shops, after five years of war and blockade—mostly second-hand articles: field glasses at a song; cameras (but no films of later vintage than 1914) ; jewelry of all kinds, paintings, silverware, ball dresses (no need for these now!), wine-stained tablecloths, pawned after one meal to get the next—even the precious hypodermics of the addicts went the same way in order to obtain the drug of oblivion and the addicts were reduced to snuffing.

There was one large cooperative restaurant in Tiflis where students, teachers, public officials and others receiving small salaries, or none, could obtain a satisfying meal at eight cents. The patrons took turns waiting at table and washing the dishes, and expenses were accordingly light but the food was excellent. I have seen cabinet ministers there, solemnly doing their trick at dish washing, like the rest. Dinner is at ten o'clock, and there is little else to do afterwards, if one be not of roystering turn.

It is sad to think of it all changed—no more 66 or 47 ; under Soviet rule, prohibition is not an excuse for law-breaking— it is a fact. But, after all, the rest remains. All nights and matinees at the opera or ballet will be for workers, instead of once or twice a week. But opera and ballet will go on. There will still be the beautiful women (and no one has yet charged the Bolsheviki with requiring bathing suits), the ideal climate, the exquisite fruit—and the cooking.

Also, I think that even communism will dash itself to pieces against the charming, delightful, care-free laziness of the Georgian character. They inhabit an earthly paradise - why should they work—even for Lenin or Trotzky?

Jan Janszoon Struys, The perillous and most unhappy voyages of John Struys, 1676

Jan Janszoon Struys was the Dutch sailor and sail maker who traveled widely in Asia for almost three decades starting in 1647. In September 1668, he and seventeen other Dutchmen, led by Captain David Butler, decided to travel to Moscow and to enter the Russian service. In Moscow, Struys and his companion acquired a ship and sailed down the Volga River to Astrakhan. However, they could not have chosen a worse moment to reach this city since a Cossack rebellion, led by Stenka Razin, erupted in the region and the Cossacks sacked the town. The Dutchmen fled from Astrakhan and tried sailing to Darband but bad weather forced them to land on the coast of Daghestan, where they were taken prisoner and sold into slavery. The Dutchmen remained in slavery for a year. Struys was taken to Yerevan, where he was sold on June 12 to a Persian, who  then took him to Darband, where he was sold again to a Persian who took him to Šamāḵi, where he was sold, at his own request  in October 1670, to Bogdan Gurdziecki, an Armenian/Georgian from Georgia who served as the Ambassador of the King of Poland to Persia (for details click here). 

Struys and other Dutchmen were ultimately freed through the intercession of the Dutch East India Company, which asked Shah Solayman of Iran for help in freeing the captives. After being freed in November 1671, Struys crossed Iran to reach Bandar Abbas, from where he returned to the Netherlands in October 1673. Three years later he published an interesting memoir, "J. J. Struys Drie aanmerkelijke en seer rampspoedige Reysen," about his travails in the East. The book was highly successful and went through numerous editions, being translated into German, French and English. 

While in captivity, Struys came across many Georgians, though few of them left good impressions on him. The selections below are from the 1694 English edition, with minor stylistic changes. 

"My Patron had bought not long before 2 Georgian Girls for Slaves, the one of 11, and the other of 12 years old, with whom he lay by turns, which was no small trouble to his Wife, who was herself not above 26 years of Age, and therefore very unwilling to be a Widow with a living husband."

[...]

On 1 November, I was sent for by the Ambassador [of Poland Bogdan Gurdziecki], where being introduced into the Parlor, he speedily bad me sit down, and fell to asking many Questions about my Nation, and my coming to be a Slave. I told him all from the Beginning to the End. He then called for a Bowl of Wine, and bade me drink. Whilst I sat there, two young Georgian Girls were brought to the Door, who being stole by the Dagestan Tartars, of handsome Bodies and tolerable Beauties as also the Ambassador's own Country Women, he had compassion of them and bought them for the value of 100 Crowns. These he kept for Warming Pans, and would upon Occasion, when he made any Feast, cause them to dance: nor did they much seem to be concern'd at the loss of those heavy burthens called Maidenheads [virginity], although the Art is to know where they first got rid of them."

[...]

[In the fall of 1670, Ambassador Gurdziecki became involved in a dispute with fellow Poles.] On November 2 came the Sister of the Ambassador, and his Brother with a great Retinue and Pomp. Their Reception was with an Extravagant Banquet, which continued several days. So long as this banqueting lasted, there was such Gluttony, Drunkness and Prodigality, indeed such beastliness shown, that I almost abhorred the name of a Christian, when on the other side I saw the Mahometans point at them, who are themselves very abstemious and temperate. Yet this only was to gratify the Georgians and Persians, for [the Ambassador] demeaned himself very churlishly [rudely] towards the Polish Gentry who were sent to grace his Person as a Retinue. Scarce were they ever admitted into his presence; he took their allowance in Diet [food] and Habit [clothing].

At last having spent the Money they brought with them out of Poland, the Poles were reduced to such poverty that they went up and down like Beggars, being ashamed to come into honest Company, for besides their costly Attire which he always kept locked up, he would not allow them a sufficiency of Linen to keep themselves clean. If any offered to complain, he threatened to sell them for Slaves, which tended to the great detriment of those his Domestics, and Dishonour of the King and Crown of Poland. This bred in the Polish Gentry such disaffection that they resolved often times to have revenge; but as those who know themselves conscious of such ill demeanor are ever in fear of their Persons, so he who knew himself guilty of such wicked doings, had always a certain number of his own Nation [Georgians] to secure and guard him. However they once finding opportunity, and being already come to the very End of Patience, attacked him with their Swords and Axes, as he was about to leave his Dining-Room, where they chopped and mangled him so that he lay for dead upon the Floor, in the Portic, having received 17 grievous Wounds, and lost three Fingers of his Right hand.

Yet by the great diligence and skill of his surgeon, who was then at hand, he was restored to his former Health and Sanity. This outrage as it could not but engender bad blood, so it rendered the Ambassador much more spiteful than before, and that very night to be revenged, he sent a Georgian Soldier to Paniegros, a Polish Gentleman, who was Assistant in this Embassy, and equally empowered to treat with the Ministers of State at the Persian Court, and therefore reckoned by [Gurdziecki] as an obstruction in the Promotion of his Interest, as well as being ready to represent the Occasion of these Tumults to the [Polish] King, in such manner as might tend to [Gurdziecki's] disadvantage. Yet it ought to be understood of this Gentleman [Paniegros], that he neither gave encouragement, nor knew any thing of that extravagant Action [attempted murder]. The Georgian having obtained entrance [to Paniegros's appartment], ran to his bedside and there most inhumanly murdered him whilst asleep. This Paniegros was a Gentleman of a brave conduct, and withall of a meek temper, having purchased the Love even of those that seemed to be his Lot-enemies for his prudent and civil deportment, He had lived for some years together at Amsterdam, and spoke very good Nether-dutch.

 The rest of the Polish Nation were arrested and secured, some whereof were fast in Chains. Nor with this did the Ambassador hold up, but daily revenged himself of the Poles, which he used as Slaves; and the more to oversaw them he enlisted several Georgian soldiers to guard his Body. The Prince of Scamachy now sensible of the Differences and sad disorder of affairs, took upon himself the Office of a Mediator and decided the matter so well that the imprisoned Parties were set again at liberty. Yet they were no better treated [by the Ambassador] than before as to their Sustenance and Maintenance, whereas one Man might easily eat the Allowance he gave for 8. Meanwhile the Ambassador continued banqueting with those of his own Nation [Georgians], that an Ox a day would not have been too much, if it were not for variety and change of Diet. He bought 13 Kine [cows] which he sent out into the Field, and set me to look after them, but finding my elf at a loss for food, I assumed the liberty to tell his Excellency that he must please to send me something to eat in the Field. His answer was: "If you will have any thing, steal a cow from the Persians, and help your self so." But that Commission I took occasion to let alone, being sensible that my masters Order would not excuse me. Thus I suffered more hunger than in all my life, and sore against my will intimated the matter to my former Patron Hadsi Biram [Ḥājji Bayām], who gave me this reply, I told you of it before-hand, what a villain that Georgian is, That he was but a Christian in show, and far too base to be a Musulman. And certainly the Gentleman had good reason on his side: for this Ambassadour well knowing what Beer was brewed for him at the Court in Warsaw, dispatches his Brother to the King at Ispahan, to supplicate that they might both be circumcised, pretending that now knowing better things than he had hitherto done, therefore could not have Peace or Rest in Conscience, but continual Horror and Inquietude, if he were not admitted as a member in Mahometanism [Islam]. But they had such ample and clear Information at [the Safavid] Court of his Life and Behaviour, that they easily perceived upon what account he did it, and consequently declined his Request. Shortly after he also received a Mandate from Ispahan to depart immediately for Poland, which was acceptable news for the Polish Gentry, hoping at once to be rid of that Slavery and Misery they suffered. After my old Patron had discoursed me a little about this affair, took his leave of me, saying, "John, I am very sorry for your condition, please therefore come twice a day to my house and eat, or at what time you are hungry. I shall give my wife order, upon my Absence to give you food." These words were the sweetest music, I must confess, I heard in Persia; and certainly he. who was a Mahometan, far surpassed my Georgian Master in Charity, who had rather feed Dogs he kept for his pleasure, than Christian-strangers, even if these were his own Domestics.

[...]

On [April] 25 a Persian of reputed Sanctity was murdered by a Georgian after a very base degenerate manner. The Murderer was forthwith apprehended and brought before the Prince, where he was accused of the Fact, and consequently delivered to the nearest Allies of the Patient to use at their discretion, as is customary in Persia; for rarely it happens that either the King, Prince, Deputy or the Civil Magistracy take notice of such delinquencies, but turn over the Malefactor to the aggrieved Parties, who if they be Poor oftentimes sell their Vengeance for Money, after which the Law is silent. However in this case the Delinquent had not that Fortune because the Brother of the Murdered Party had neither Poverty nor Mercy, and as soon as permission was granted him, he caused two Men to hold [the Georgian] down while he had stabbed him with the same Weapon, saying, "Go, you drunken Dog, to the Devil to whom you belong;" for the Georgian was a drunken Fellow, and executed in the same fit of Drunkenness wherein he had so far mistaken himself, so that the Murder, Complaint and Execution were all done in the space of three Hours.

William O. Field, Khevsuretia Diary and Notes, 1933

Excerpts from the diary and notes that William O. Field wrote during his 1933 trip to the historical Khevsureti region in Georgia. For Field's photos from the trip click here.

Khevsuratia [Khevsureti]
Passanour
Sakerpo (Badzua Veltauri guide)
Borisax
Khakhmati Pass 
Datursdgvari [Datvis Jvari Pass]
Leba-skari
Shatil [Shatili]
Return by Mutso, Ardoti, Xaxabo, Khakhmati, Borisax, Sakerpo, Goruli, Busarchili Pass, Karkucho, Orsha, Kobi

Notes From 1929 Guidebook

Trussov Ravine leading from Kobi inhabited entirely by Ossetins. Ossetes came from the steppes of Central Asia and emigrated around the north end of the Caspian about 1000 B.C.p. 478.5 km. beyond village of “Upper Tsei [Tsey]” is the sanctuary “Rekom”, a remnant of Osset paganism. Is about 800 years old. Yearly service takes place here with sacrifice of animals. Good Osset villages in gorges running from the Zaramag. Nar village is near Zaramag and very interesting

[...]

Cakerpo [Sakerpo] and other nearby village is first or lowest Khevsur village. Both collectively called Bakhurheir.

Oct. 6, 1933

Outfit left Passanour with two men and five horses at about 11 a.m. The day was fine. The route lead up the old Georgian Highway now reduced in many places to the width of a horse trail. About 1 km. from Passanour we came to a place where the river (known as the Black Aragva [Aragavi]) had cut into the bankHighway now reduced in many places to the width of a horse trail. About 1 km. from Passanour we came to a place where the river (known as the Black Aragva [Aragavi]) had cut into the bank and washed away the trail. Men were working but had only a narrow way dug out. Badzia tried to ford the river instead. When the pack horse carrying the camera, film, and my duffle was in ? stream, his pack started to slip, but he managed to get to the bank before it collapsed under his belly. It was soon fixed but was a close shave as it might have completely spoiled the trip. The next ford proved impractical so we had to return. The horses were then unloaded and the stuff carried over the washed – out section. The rope slipped on one pack and the equipment case almost rolled away into the river.After over an hour’s delay we got started again and went on with no hitches to Sakerpo, Valteuri’s village. Here we had expected to find his home more or less in keeping with himself that is somewhat more advanced than his compatriots. Actually it was no so. His family lived in the rudest sort of stone hut with open lattice work of branches, the only protection on two sides.


There was a fire on one side of the room beside which squatted a man rocking a baby and nearby a woman mixing dough in a wooden trough. The smoke from the fire found its way out as fast as it could for this was no special vent for it. The room, the only one in the hut was full of stuff including; farm implements, great vats for storing grain, firewood, hay, utensils, benches, crude beds, etc. Much of the stuff was hung from the rafters. Below was the place for the cattle, mostly below ground. Our beds that night were hay covered with a rug. Supper consisted of canned sprats, bread, and milk with cocoa in it, sausage and cheese. In the house were at least three other women, two youngish and one old, one man, and three or four children of various ages, at least one of which was still feeding from its mother.The evening was clear and cold, the afternoon having been mostly cloudy.

Oct. 7th

We had some bread, cheese, sausage, and milk for breakfast. We took on two new pack animals leaving two behind. One of the new ones, a mule, carried the four heaviest pieces, fully 225 lbs. and did remarkably well all day long. We packed up and were away at 9:25 A.M. The day had looked as though it would be clear to start with but clouds soon settled over the mountain tops and we had few moments of sunshine during the day.

For two hours we climbed the pass, the last part being in clouds and swirling mists with a cutting wind. Once over the top, the trail leads along ridges for some distance. There was a good deal of snow on the eastern slopes but the footing was pretty good. It was pretty cold, however, at 1 P.M., we got below the snow and the snow flurries turned to a little rain. Here we stopped and had some hard bread, sprats, sausage, cheese, and some milk from the thermos. 

Georgian shepherd from Khevsureti region in eastern Georgia 

(Photo by William O. Field)

Below us was Borisakho the capital of Khevsuretia [Khevsureti]. Low clouds had prevented us from obtaining a beautiful view of the mountains and valleys of Khevsureti a [Khevsureti]. We however, did catch glimpses of the deep nearby valleys, - all water cut, none that we could see were molded by glaciers. Thus the slopes are all pretty steep and there is no level farmland on the shoulders of the hillsides or in the bottom of the valleys. At 2:15 we were off again and in less than 1 ½ hours were in Borisakho. To destroy any illusions as to the size of this district capital it should be said that it consists of several groups of houses scattered about a little valley, not more than about 35 houses in all. At the bottom near the river are two new building s, one the school and the other both the Ispolkom H.Q. and hospital. This last is the only one in Khevasuretia [Khevsureti] and has the only doctor. In two other villages there are clinics with a Feldsher in charge.At the school house were a number of men, probably Ispolkom members. Our statement that we wanted to go to Shatil [Shatili] met with considerable shrugging of shoulders and skeptic looks. At any rated we decided to go on to a village near the bottom of the pass. Yavorovski then said that there was a “terrible” bridge to be crossed before we could go on. This bridge proved admittedly rickety but by leading the horses over individually, it was easily managed.

The trail then lead eastward up a narrow valley. It was almost all wooded and in pretty good shape. We met one man who gave us all a drink of his arak, - quite good. At 6:15 after two hours of travel we reached a little village called Chala, - in appearance the most interesting we have seen so far. On the other side we stopped at a house and unpacked the horses. It was already getting dark and cold but instead of immediately getting the stuff inside and setting a fire lit, Badzie in the true Caucasian style had to talk and discuss all matters with the host leaving us seated on the baggage. However, an hour later we moved in. ‘In” is only relative for the end of the room is open and apparently can’t be closed even in the coldest weather. In the house were two young boys with embroidered coats decorated with some silver-wear but wearing no shoes or stockings of any kind. They seemed cold all the time I was there and yet this is only the beginning of winter. After long delays some potatoes were brought in and set to boil to make a soup. An hour later two [?] of chicken were added. * The fire was pitiful. Apparently these people don’t even know the value of a really good fire although there is lots of wood on the nearby hillsides.By 10:30 we started for bed. They insisted I should take one of the benches so as there was only one candle all watched me get into the blankets then moved on. It was then I found that Yavorovski had left his blanket in Tiflis and had only a coat to sleep in! I passed a fairly good night.*This chicken is I think wretched. Apparently the whole chicken is dumped in, - bones, skin, and all. So far I have found very little meat. Besides this we Incidentally twice during the trip up to the top of the pass the pack horses’ load slipped and my camera went off with a thud. It certainly is getting rougher treatment than it has had before.

Had some hard bread, they call roast, sausage (bad for it is mostly fat and very stringy, getting into one’s teeth at every bite) and cheese, which is good.The village of Chala is comprised of ten or fifteen houses and has a little church or perhaps chapel. There is no school and so it is safe to say few of the youth ever get any schooling or learn to read or write. Religious worship occurs but twice a year. It is a mixture of Christianity and Paganism. At these bi-yearly festivals cattle are sacrificed. No church vessels and sacred ornaments are left in the church. They are put there only for the festivals. No one knows how old are these houses and the church.Oct. 8.It was a devilish cold morning only a few degrees above freezing. Everybody except myself seemed to have had a pretty wretched night. My blankets, however, had kept me fairly warm and although not exactly comfortable, I got through all right. Again, there were clouds on all the summits and ridges, some looking very snowy. Badzia felt that the summits ahead would be unbearably cold so advised waiting till 11 A.M. to get started. Unfortunately this seemed a wise thing to do. Soon it developed that he really did not think it safe to try the pass leading over to Shatil [Shatili]. The men of the village advised us not to try it. It was very steep and there was a lot of snow. Furthermore it is a long summit requiring at least two hours at a high altitude which in this sort of weather would be obviously punishing to both horses and men. Two weeks ago one man had managed to get his horse across but only with great difficulty. Since then a lot of new snow had fallen so that it was thought that no more horses could be taken over till next summer.It was disappointing but necessary, therefore to give up Shatil [Shatili] and Mutso with its towers. Another year maybe, but not this one. The villages on this side of the pass must suffice. We decided, therefore, to cross the first smaller pass leading into the next valley to the villages near Kakemati, a little regional center of about thirty-five houses.Our morning’s breakfast was the usual cheese, sausage, dry bread, and tea. The children of the house were inadequately clothed and shivered pitifully. One little boy seemed to have nothing under his light woolen shirt. About noon we had another meal of the usual food. The weather was still bad for pictures with no sunlight as yet. There were signs of clearing, however. At about 2 P.M. we were getting packed up when a young man came up and asked if we had something to put on his hand which was cut. As I was getting out some mercurochrome he came up into the rooms lashing at one dog that was snapping at him. Then from behind the other dog sneaked up and got hold of his leg and got a good hold. He made a nasty hole and showed how much these dogs can be trusted.

Between two and three o’clock we got away with the weather showing signs of clearing. It was still raw and windy, however. In a little over an hour we were on the summit and there stopped for over an hour to take our first movies. There were a number of men we had seen at Chala there so we took pictures of them as well. We then continued on down into the valley and in another hour and half came to the villages of Kakinati and Piso. We chose Piso as our stopping place. At the river, Badzia met a man who evidently consulted to put us up and so lead us to his house, the uppermost of the village of about 13 or 14 houses. It was already quite late.

It was soon apparent that this house was more comfortable than either the one in Sacerpo or Chala, but it was still pretty crude. The family consisted of the man and his wife both say 35 years of age and their three children, tow girls of 9 and 13 and a boy of 6. Apparently it was quite new to them to have a foreigner there and they considered me a distinguished guest. This was shown when during the meal the hostess stood holding the kerosene light so that we could see. Had we not been distinguished she would simply have put the light on any nearby stand.It is customary for a guest to bring a bottle of wine so we broke out one of the bottles of cognac and all had a drink. I think it was appreciated by all especially our host. They gave me the main seat next to the fire which was particularly welcome not for my comfort but because it was the first place I had seen in Khevsuretia [Khevsureti] where one could change films in the magazines after a day’s work. This worked out pretty well during the next days.

Our supper was sausage, cheese, bread, potatoes, canned chicken, and tea. It was a long repast and by the time the children were finished it must have been nearly eleven. Our sleeping places were also better than in the other villages, being a room back inside the house where the hay was stored. He were quite comfortable, Although somewhat cramped for space with Cali (the interpreter), Usef (the horse man), and myself.Oct. 9It was a beautiful day with hardly a cloud in the sky. We photographed the family at work from household duties to farm work. All day they worked especially the hostess who excited my admiration the way she kept at it all day long going from one job to the next. I never saw her rest except when actually eating. The rest of the time she was constantly at work.We cut out one meal this day contenting ourselves with some breakfast of coffee with mile, sausage, cheese, and bread, and a Khevsuretian supper served by the family we were staying with. This last consisted of a pancake – like cake in which were wrapped potatoes, cheese, and butter, and then this heated up and dipped in butter. We were hungry and enjoyed it but it was not really very good. When we thought we were all through we were served with a fresh batch of these cakes and for politeness Had to eat some more. Strangely enough we had no particular ill effects from this repast. I had to work late to finish loading and unloading the magazines as all five were used up during the day. Oct 10.Another fine day. Our breakfast was the same as usual. The milk with which to make coffee is greatly appreciated. Our work that day was in large part outside the village proper. We visited the church. Badzie couldn’t come near but it was all right for Coli and I to go near. These churches are deserted on all except the two yearly celebrations that take place in July and August. At other times Kevsur’s are not supposed to go near. On the church was a cross in relief and near it the antlers of an animal like a deer, - a graphic example of the mixture of Christian worship and animal sacrifice. Nearby were large pots for sacrifices and several altar–like structures with a kind of ikon and on top the horns of rams.Above the church on the hillside was an old tower, a remnant of the days when the Khevsurs fought their neighbors such as the Ingush peoples.Above the village of Piso were the ruins of several old fortresses used by the people as dwellings during these wars. Now these are almost totally destroyed as their stones have been used for building and repairing in the village below.On the way back to our hosts house we had what amounted to a running fight with a ferocious looking dog which had to be kept off with stones thrown at him.Another guest turned up in our household, - a relative who formerly lived in the village but has since moved to Telav [Telavi] in Khaketia. He also shared in our food which is already running short. However, with the native bread, which however, isn’t very good, cheese and milk, we should be able to get through.These warm sunny days and cold nights have probably added to the difficulty of getting horses to Shatil [Shatili] for the snow on the pass is now frozen. I don’t yet know and probably never will just how difficult it would have been to get to Shatil [Shatili]. I don’t think travelling conditions could have been as bad as painted by Coli.


Oct. 11.

Another beautiful day. We had decided that this must be our last in Piso as we had the essentials of this families activities and did not want to stay on too long as this is their busiest season and there is much to do before winter sets in.We spent most of the day around our host’s house photographing details of the life of the family. Their relative found some Of the old fighting clothes and borrowed the rest of what was needed and dressed for me. This consisted of a head piece with a veil of mail, a coat of mail reaching to the knees, a shield, and a sword.Oct. 12.Beautiful day. Started at 11A.M. for Borisakho. Stopped several times en route so reached there at dark (es. 6:30 P.M.). Bridge being built so had to ford river. After some delay given a room where Coli, Badzie, Yusif, and I were quite comfortable. Coli and I had benches to sleep on.The Chairman of the Khevsuretian Ispolkom joined us for supper; second bottle of cognac brought out. His daughter Tania sang for us afterwards. Coli and I then joined him for supper and talked till late.Oct. 13.Beautiful day. Photographed bridge building and the two gov. bldgs. Then made 4 series of tests which for the most part were badly developed but what emulsion received showed pictures to be good.Oct. 14Another beautiful day. Got started about 9 A.M. went by longer but better route for horses and reached summit at 1P.M. Photographed here for an hour then went on to Sakerpo. Almost lost equipment sack when rope holding it on horse gave way. Yusif caught it just before it rolled to the edge of a steep side bank above the river. Reached Sakerpo 4 P.M. Had the same uncomfortable quarters but this time we were more used to them and got along pretty well. The place is awfully drafty, however, especially in the evening. Badzie’s father-in-law gave us some horrible tasting vodka of his for supper. We had to take it.

Oct. 15.

Shashlick for breakfast (from the sheep bought in Piso). Very good – Photographed around the village during the day. Being Sunday, I believe it was Free Day and little work was going on. We had been assured that this was the time to organize a dance and special work. However, it developed that religious beliefs prevented any work to be done on Sunday with the result that no dance was possible and only with great difficulty could we get certain scenes of weaving, knitting, etc. At the end of the day our work was stopped by a cloud that persistently obscured the sun for over an hour before it disappeared behind a mountain. Actually this was the only time we had been so delayed on our trip.

Oct. 16.

Another beautiful day. Got started at about 9:45 AM and hurried to Passanour without stopping in order to get word to Tiflis early enough to get there that day. We arrive at Passanour a little after 2 P.M. but found that the telephone line would not be open to that station till 4 P.M. We therefore sent a note to the Intourist office in Tiflis by a Soyuztrans bus going that way and settled down for a long wait. At 4 P.M. Coli got Tiflis on the phone but the connection was so bad that as it turned out he couldn’t make himself understood so that effort was wasted, although at the time we thought Tiflis understood enough to send us a car right away.No car came all evening so we spent the night in the hotel. It was long and now obvious and the light too poor to read by.

Oct. 17.

The car finally came at 10A.M. and three and a half hours later we were in Tiflis. There I found Louis who had made two trips to Mtskhet for pictures, and two to Borzom. He was expecting to go to Kasbek in a day or two. Our plans were to go to Ossetia leaving Tiflis Oct. 20th.


NOTE
Khevsurs studying in Tiflis 1930
Total 33 men, 7 women
In kindergarten, 5 boys
Higher schools, 2 girls
Technical (Railroad) school, 4 boys
Sewing school, 4 girls
Workers school, 2 men, 1 girl
Agricultural school, 12 men
Financial Cooperative shop, 1 man
Technical school, 2 men
Construction courses, 8 men
Militia, 1 man  


In 1929 three gynecologists went through Khev. Made 59 operations 325 women and 225 men treated. Sickness in Khev.: 12% eyes; 12% rheumatism; 18% women diseases; 28% stomach trouble; Rest unclassified.


First cooperative started in 1929. 2% of people became members involving 8% of the houses 
Were 11 women and 65 men. 
Deposits in 1930 were 247 rubles.Turnover of money during 1930 was 29,225 rubles.
Goods needed were kerosene, matches, salt, candy, clothes.

Khev. Cows.Yearly average 575 kg.; in a technical institute this same cow will produce 2500 kg.  

Charles Stuart, Journal of Residence in Northern Persia, 1854

Lieut.-Colonel Charles Stuart, Journal of Residence in Northern Persia and the Adjacent Provinces of Turkey (London, 1854)

24th.—We dined with Count Simonich. He has not long been at Teheran: the massacre of Grebyadoff showed that the capital was no safe residence in troubled times for a Russian mission, and now the Count lives in the Ark, where he can be protected in case of need. The room in which we found His Excellency and suite was small and hot. Brandy, anchovies, and cheese were handed about immediately after our arrival. We were obliged to cross an open court to reach the dining-room, a regular Persian apartment, fantastically painted, and very cold on the window side, where I had the misfortune to sit. We were obliged to swallow an unmerciful quantity of liqueurs after dinner; and when we returned to the drawing-room, cherry brandy was brought to us in tea-cups. The Count's handsome little boys, the youngest of whom is only seven years old, drank like fishes, or like Georgians, which, according to their father, would be the more appropriate simile.

Paul Rycaut, The present state of the Greek and Armenian churches, written at the command of His Majesty 1678

Paul Rycaut/Ricaut (1629 – 1700) was an English diplomat and historian, who had written pioneering works on the history of the Ottoman Empire as well as the Orthodox Churches in the east. Born in Aylesford, Kent,  Rycaut graduated from Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1650. He was then employed as private secretary to the Engllish ambassador to the Ottoman Empire, and later served as a consul at Smyrna (present-day İzmir). Upon returning to England, he published The Present State of the Ottoman Empire (1665), The Present State of the Greek and Armenian Churches, Anno Christi 1678 Written at the Command of His Majesty (1679), and the two volume The Turkish History (1687).

Below is an excerpt from his work on the Greek and Armenian churches, which misinterprets the Georgian involvement in the Byzantine internal power struggles. Rycault describes "Johannes Turnicius" fighting the Persians but in reality Turnicious or Thornike Eristavi, a Georgian military and religious figure, played an important role in the suppression of the 976-979 rebellion led by Bardas Skleros.

Ibero [Georgian Orthodox Iviron Monastery on Mt. Athos] was built by Johannes Tur∣nicius a Georgian, born from the noble Stock of the Princes of that Country called Iberia, but growing old, and desirous of a retired life, came to Mount Athos, and there turned Kaloir, and became a Scholar of Athanasius. But the Prince of Iberia dying, and leaving a young Son to Reign, the Persians made an Incursion into that Country; against whom there being no General so able to lead an Army as this Turnicius, the Queen-Mother sent for him to undertake the Employment, and prevailing with him to accept thereof for service of his Country, he obtained the success desired, and returned triumphant to his own Nation: in reward of which the Queen offered him great Honours and Riches, but he refused more than what served him to complete his Monastery of Ibero; which though at first designed to receive no other than Iberians, yet now all others of the Greek Religion are accepted into it without distinction of Country or Nation.

Charles G. Addison, Damascus and Palmyra (1838)

In the spring of  1835, British lawyer and traveler Charles G. Addison (1812-1866) embarked on a journey to the Eastern Mediterranean, visiting Constantinople, Syria and Palestine. He kept a travel journal that was later published as Damascus and Palmyra: A Journey to the East, with a sketch of the state and prospects of Syria under Ibrahim Pasha (London: Richard Bentley, 1838). Upon landing in Constantinople, Addison visited a local slave market where he encountered a Georgian slave.

As my companions were descending the gallery, I caught sight of a youthful looking figure in an inner room. I made a halt at the door, the girl turned, her veil was hanging back upon her shoulders, and one of the loveliest faces I ever saw was suddenly presented to my view. She appeared about eighteen, was tall and slight, had a fair complexion, and melting black eyes, which looked out from under her white veil in a most melancholy manner. I was rooted to the spot; she made no attempt to move, or cover her face, till an old Turk suddenly appeared from the inside, and seeing me at the door, let out a volley of unintelligible words. Our dragoman came up and hurried me away, telling me that I ought never to quit the party, or get out of his sight. He said the girl was a Georgian, and that her master would not sell her at any price to an Infidel. The girl, from what I could see, appeared very handsomely dressed, and quite above the common herd. The dragoman said it was unusual to see so choice a one at the market, and thought she must have been brought out by express appointment with a purchaser, as the handsomest are kept at home, and sold there. 

The Jews are the chief dealers in slaves, and teach them to dance, sing, play on instruments, and every thing that can create admiration or inspire passion. It is said that the Russians deal a good deal in this horrible slave traffick in the Black Sea, from the countries bordering on which the choicest women are brought. The Georgian princes seize them, and sell them to the slave merchants who frequent Trebizond and the ports of Mingrelia. Two or three Russian travelers with whom I met had slaves with them...