Max von Thielmann, Streifzüge im Kaukasus, in Persien und in der asiatischen Türkei (1875) - Part 3

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. In late August he decided to explore the Svaneti region.

We had heard in Kutais so many attractive accounts of Swanethia, that we were not long in deciding to try our fortunes in this the wildest region of the Caucasus. I say the wildest region, for Swanethia has only during the last few years been subject to Russian supremacy; and this has not been the result of any magnanimous attachment on the part of the population to freedom and independence, but solely because the Russian Government had not previously considered it desirable to expend power and money in subjugating a tribe whose tax-paying capabilities were more than doubtful. 

[...]

Three different tours were proposed to us: to ascend the valleys of the Rion and of the Tzchenis-Tzchali to the Pass of Latpari, returning the same way to Kutais ; or from the Pass of Latpari over the entire Free and Dadischkilian Swanethia, and down the Ingur ravine to Zugdidi in Mingrelia ; or starting from Lascheti, below the Pass of Latpari, to cross over the mountains to the upper valley of the Rion, in the district of Eadsha, and thence over the Nakerala mountains back to Kutais. 

We selected the first route principally on account of our inexperience in travelling, for which reason we thought it advisable not to attempt too long excursions at first. Moreover, the path through the Ingur ravine, which was being constructed, was probably, from what we could gather, in an incomplete state, and we could obtain no information respecting the passes between Lascheti and the district of Eadsha. On both these two routes we should have been reduced to the unpleasant necessity of employing carriers to convey our baggage....

We equipped ourselves as fully as possible in accordance with past experience and present counsels, ordered horses from a Jew in Kutais, and rose up on Friday, August 23, full of expectation.

Our first look at the weather was anything but reassuring; the street was swimmiug with muddy water, and fresh torrents of rain were pouring down from the grey sky. Our horses, which were to have been ready at daybreak, were nowhere to he seen, and the waiter bestowed upon us the doubtful consolation that the person, from whom we had hired them was hardly likely to make his appearance with his animals, as the idea would never enter his mind that we should be determined to start in such weather. The waiter was, however, deceived in this respect, for after about two hours delay the individual arrived, with half-a-dozen miserable -looking, half- starved jades, apparently ready to meet their fate with dumb resignation. We learned for the future to abide by the sage maxim of first seeing our horses before we engaged them, and proceeded to fit on, as best we could, our saddles and baggage. This was no easy work to perform, for the girths of our European saddles, when taken up to the last hole, were still too long for the lank spider bodies of these animals, and neither the hirer nor his servant displayed the slightest willingness to assist [us] in accomplishing the task. We were just on the point of doubting whether we should succeed in making a start or not, when, losing all patience, I gave the man, who was accompanying the horses, one or two unmistakable hints with my Nogaika. From that moment the position of affairs was changed, and everyone set to work with astonishing alacrity. The above-mentioned Nogaika is a whip with a wooden handle a foot long, and with a piece of leather of the shape and size of a fly flapper, attached to the end of a switch, longer than it, and braided over with strips of leather. This instrument is easy to handle, very effective, and indispensable in the Caucasus. A traveller has rightly named it the key of the country.

All arrangements being completed, our disconsolate caravan marched out of the town in the pouring rain. Our troubles immediately commenced. The road, which ascended along the right bank of the Rion, was being paved, and a layer of gravel had already been deposited for that purpose, but unfortunately the rain, which must have continued the whole night, had converted the gravel and clayey subsoil into an impenetrable mass of slime, through which stronger animals than our wretched steeds would have found it hard to push along. The bridges which led over the numerous small tributaries of the Rion had been, without exception, carried away; and every now and then we were compelled to make extensive detours over very rugged country; the result of which was that as our baggage was very badly fastened on the horses’ backs, it was continually coming off or getting loose, and thereby occasioning considerable delay. That under such circumstances we should be but little disposed to fully admire the magnificent scenery of the Rion valley is hardly surprising, and right glad we were after a ride of five hours and a-half, to reach the first Duchan [dukani] in the little village of Nomochowanie, only fourteen miles from Kutais. 

Duchan is rather a difficult expression to define. It is scarcely an inn, for all the accommodation to be had consists of the bare boards of an empty room with or without windows, and it cannot be called a shop doing a small retail business, for the only commodities to be obtained are salt, and meal made from maize, occasionally wine, and rarely bread. The Duchan of Nomochowanie was better supplied. We even got a chicken, apparently the only one in the place, and our horses regaled themselves with maize. It is true we had contracted for their keep with the person from whom we had hired the horses, but he had abstained from providing the attendant with fodder or money. The horses were compelled to purchase this unaccustomed delicacy at the price of continual contests with the pigs in the neighbourhood; for the latter, impelled by hunger or envy, disputed with them each grain of maize, and even grudged us our modest breakfast. The Nogaika, even here, however, came off triumphant. After a two hours’ rest, when we started off again, not only were we all refreshed, man and beast, but the weather had some consideration for us, and the sun shone pleasantly upon the green valley, whilst the remainder of the clouds hung in dark masses about the peaks of the mountains. We now began to admire nature in her full splendour. The Rion, swollen and wavy, flowed through a valley thickly studded with oaks and laurels; on each side of the river were ever and anon rich meadows; and in the openings of the forest were fields of maize well cultivated and neatly enclosed (against the pigs); streamlets, forming themselves into cascades, came rushing down the mountains, and on the lofty crests, in places not enveloped by the clouds, massive ridges of rock stood forth. The Chomli [Khomli], to our left was, however, not visible from the road, and we were obliged to console ourselves with the thought that we had ridden under Prometheus’ former abode. 

The sun was just setting, as we reached the village of Mekwen, but we determined to ride on to the next Duchan, about nine versts distant, not so much because Ali maintained that the inhabitants were all notorious robbers, but rather because the place itself did not seem to offer an advantageous prospect for night quarters. Further on, ascending over rocks, the road mounted up high above the river, and the last rays of the departing sun lit up for us once more a beautiful view of the valley, which close under our feet, seemed hemmed in by projecting rocks. To the right was visible— a few hundred feet above the Rion on a terrace-shaped break in the mountain — the reflection of a small lake, so modest and unpretending, that the five verst map of the General Staff —usually so accurate — had omitted it altogether. In the meantime night set in, and no signs appeared of the Duchan of Twischi. After riding a short distance further on the road, we recognised a light to the left. On chance I called out in Russian, and received, to my utter amazement, a reply in Russian that the Duchan was close at hand. Upon this we proceeded onwards. The rocks became more and more shut in, and finally we found ourselves in a dark ravine, the sides of which rose up perpendicularly whilst in the depths below we could hear the roar of the Rion without any longer being able to distinguish the river. There being no more question of riding, we dismounted, and led our horses, feeling for the way with our hands along the side of the rock. Finally a torrent, which came rushing down the rocks, brought us to a halt, and we had no other course but to turn back. On emerging from the defile, after roving about through deep mud, we succeeded in finding the house, in which I had seen the light, and were very cordially received by its occupant, a Russian policeman. Here we first had the opportunity to test the excellence of the German sausages which we had brought with us. In a few minutes’ time we got ready a strong soup, and our Russian host did not know what to say for astonishment and bewilderment at the rapidity of the process. His amazement was increased when he saw us drinking our tea out of India-rubber cups, and when lastly we unrolled and inflated our waterproof beds, he could no longer resist from arousing his fever-stricken comrade to show him these marvels. To the latter a good strong dose of quinine [antimalarial drug] would have been at the time of more benefit than the sight of all our interesting things; and as we were provided with a travelling medicine-chest, we were also able to physic him. 

The clouds, which the following morning still hung about the mountains, faded away in the rising sun, and we were able to admire in perfect safety the immense ravine, in which the previous evening we had nearly broken our necks in the dark. The torrent which had compelled us to retrace our steps was not so formidable when viewed by daylight; still it would have been imprudent to have advanced further into the gorge by night, for the road was only broad enough for one horse to pass at a time, and whilst to the left the rock rose perpendicularly into the air, to the right down in the depths below the Rion was foaming. The Duchan we wished to reach lay completely at the end of the gorge; but the road was interrupted, the bridge over a rather considerable stream, flowing down from the Chomli, having been carried away. We might easily have had an accident here in the dark. Beyond the Duchan the valley became broader and sunny; the forest showed several bare patches, and the summit of a hill was crowned by an old ruined castle. 

After a short ride we reached the spot where our path was to turn away from the Rion. Here we found a much frequented Duchan where we had a treat not to be despised. This consisted of red country wine, not only drinkable but even pleasant to the taste. Considering how much the cultivation of the vine has been neglected in the Caucasus, notwithstanding the circumstances favourable to its growth, and bearing in mind what fearful stuff the traveller is frequently compelled to imbibe, our astonishment at obtaining such wine will be readily understood. Not only was the wine itself worthy of notice, but also the cellar which contained it and the apparatus in which it was kept; This latter consisted of a big earthenware jug, called in Grusinian Kwewri, and in the Tartar language Kufschin, which is manufactured in the country. Its dimensions are often fabulous, for some are found eight feet in height and four feet in diameter. The one in question was simply buried up to the neck in a corner of the Duchan, with an aperture left open for the purpose of drawing off the wine: a process which the inn- keeper effected by merely letting down a scoop attached to a string into the depths of the Kufschin. The somewhat irremovable condition of the wine-cellar unfortunately gives rise to the presumption that in proportion as the old wine disappears fresh wine is simply poured in from above to supply the vacuum created. Those who arrive late can scarcely expect to obtain the same quality of wine as those who arrive early, and the circumstance that many very heterogeneous particles easily find their way into the wine through the ever ready orifice at the top is one hardly calculated to inspire with confidence the traveller in the Caucasus. But no one particular in this respect could remain long in the country. 

Our route now abandoned the rather lively road in the valley of the Rion, and turned off again to the left into a narrow, beautifully wooded ravine, in the truest sense of the word romantic. The path which hitherto had been so small as to be impassable for European horses, was being made broader, and at one spot we met occupied in mining the rock about thirty wild looking workmen clad in picturesque rags. Some of the mines were being charged with powder at the moment that we were passing by; but as the men greeted us most cordially, and gave no intimation of the explosion about to take place, we quietly continued our journey. Our terror may be imagined when the charges went off a few paces behind us, and stones were sent flying about in all directions. Fortunately no one was hurt, but we could not help thinking that the proceeding was rather an unceremonious one. The thousand echoes produced by the report amongst the surrounding rocks was, contrary to the Swiss custom, gratuitous. On reaching the end of the ravine, Lailaschi, our midday station, lay before us, not situated, as we imagined, down in the valley, but, to our disgust, on a mountain some thousand feet above it — exposed to the full glare of a broiling midday sun. 

Our poor horses, apparently left unfed by the attendant, for they hungrily snuffed about the blackberry bushes, refused so decidedly to make any further progress that in the end we were compelled ourselves to tug them up the steep mountain side, no pleasant task under a broiling sun. Ali and the baggage had vanished altogether, and we had some difficulty, when we arrived above in the village, in asking our way to the house of the chief of the district (Ujezdnij Natschalnik). Here we were received in the most charming manner by Mr. Bebureschwilli, a Gurian by birth, who, in the capacity of Chief of the Letschgiun [Lechkhumi] district — which according to the former division of the country belonged to Mingrelia — had for several years inhabited Lailaschi, the chief town or rather village. We gratefully accepted his invitation to remain at least for dinner. 

To our great astonishment we found ourselves addressed in German by a gentleman in European dress who joined us, and who turned out to be the justice of the peace for the district. He hailed originally from the Baltic Provinces, but found himself… cast adrift in this neighbourhood, where on a competency of 2,000 roubles, a salary far beyond the reach of any Prussian magistrate, he administers the law — on account of the distances practically without appeal — to the mountaineers of Mingrelia and to the Dadischkilian Swanethians. He told us that in the course of the year he decided 1,200 civil and 200 criminal cases. A second inhabitant of the place, also speaking German, appeared in the person of the constructor of roads, a Warsaw Jew, and it came out at last that our kind host had also visited Germany, and had brought back with him a few words of our language. 

The dinner had been prepared for upwards of a dozen guests who had been gradually arriving, and it forms one of the great events of our journey. This dinner deserves a somewhat detailed description, not so much on account of the fare set before us, which was very similar to that of our Tartar dinner at Kutais, but in consequence of the odd mixture of people who' composed the society. The guests, with the exception of those above mentioned, were all natives of the country, and the greater part did not even understand Russian. This however, was no impediment to conversation, and still less to enjoyment. 

The opposite ends of the table were presided over by most distinguished personages; at the upper end sat the archimandrite of the monastery, a fine old gentleman, and at the lower end was a Mingrelian princess who, like all women of that country above twenty-five years of age, had once been handsome. They both fasted, that is to say, partook of food in accordance with fasting. I never succeeded in ascertaining why they fasted, but I perfectly well recollect that they did do so, and the food, as is customary in the Caucasus, consisted of spinach, called Kinza, a circumstance not easily forgotten by those who have once smelt it. My righthand neighbour was the wife of the Pristaw (high constable), a Grusinian lady, who spoke Russian fluently, and had emancipated herself from Grusinian toilette. She looked rather well in the European dress. The remaining ladies and gentlemen present were without exception attired in the national costume, and some of them were models of Caucasian type. 

The comic element was represented by a Prince Tschikowanni [Chikovani]. His face, the living prototype of Punch [a hook-nosed/humpbacked puppet character], glowed with the deepest purple, and his performance at table proved that he had no desire to abandon that hue. In this country it by no means follows that because a man is born a prince, he is necessarily accomplished and wealthy. Many families bear the title, and it descends to all the sons, who may lack both property and education.… The family of our Prince Tschikowanni could hardly have been very prosperous, judging by his dress, which did not indicate wealth; and this is a tolerably fair criterion, for the nobility of the country would rather lavish the last rouble in purchasing some faultless object of attire than expend it in procuring the necessities of life. The sums paid by government to landed proprietors, as an indemnity for the abolition of serfdom, have been speedily squandered in such like extravagance, and, a few families excepted, the whole native aristocracy may be considered as completely impoverished. 

The ‘res angusta domi ’ [the severe pressure of poverty] had failed to impair either the prince’s temperament or his complexion; and no sooner had the second course been served, when, impelled by his second nature, he pledged each one of us in a full bumper of red Kachetine. This good example was speedily followed on all sides, and it needed a strong head to do justice to the many claims which custom imposed upon us. On this occasion I indulged in the following remark, interesting to every German student, that the Caucasian ‘comment’ is most closely allied to the German ‘comment’ [a ceremonial performed by German students when drinking a toast.] For similar ceremonies exist here as amongst German students in reference to the before-drinking and the after-drinking, the emptying of glasses, and the proposal of healths; and great importance is attached to the strict observance of customary formalities. I only missed the institutions of the ‘Bierjungen’ and of the ‘Salamander;’ the beverage however is quite different. The following sentence is the customary one before drinking: ‘Allah werdi’ (Turkish), God has given it; whereupon the after-drinker responds ‘Jachschi jôl,’ [which means] ‘a fortunate journey’. Whenever a toast was proposed, which unfortunately for me was always done in the Grusinian language, some of the company, generally the ladies, commenced singing the following refrain, ‘Mrawa shaemie’ [mravalzhamier], ‘many years.’ The singing was peculiar, and, with the exception of one tune, most unmelodious. It appears moreover to be the custom to sing through the nose, and to endeavour to impart an expression of rapture to the features. 

Considering the general harmony which prevailed, and the universal participation in the fun and merriment which was going on, we could hardly be surprised at finding ourselves called upon to sing, and we released ourselves from the difficulty by performing the ‘Wacht am Ehein ’ and some student songs. 

Toasts were then drank with full ceremonial to ourselves, our relatives, and our fatherland, after which we took leave of our kind host. He provided us an escort, and sent with us, as an interpreter for the Swanethian language, a Mingrelian of frowning aspect armed to the teeth. But the latter proved eventually to be a very inoffensive and particularly stupid individual. We were also promised better horses for the next few days. After a hearty leave-taking, we descended by a fearfully steep path the mountain on which Lailaschi is situated, and we did so at rather a dangerous quick pace, resulting possibly from the jovial state of our minds. We then forded the Ladshanura at a shallow place, and ascended the small ridge, which separates the valley of this tiny river from that of the Tzchenis-Tzchali. 

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.