With the single exception of the remains of a mosque enriched with traceries and Arabic legends in a style worthy of the best traditions of Saracenic art, there remains no vestige in Van of any period of prosperity and splendour subsequent to the era of the pre-Armenian kings. It is true that the whole region is subject to seismic influences, and that many of the monuments of later ages may have succumbed through this cause. There exists a tradition that the isolation of the rock of Van itself is due to an earthquake in very ancient times, resulting in its severance from the heights adjacent on the east. Several visitations of considerable severity have probably occurred during the historical period; thus we learn that in the year 1648 of the Christian era one-half of the wall of the fortified city, as well as churches, mosques and private houses, were shattered by successive shocks and fell to the ground.67 But it is at least doubtful whether posterity has been deprived of many treasures by this agency or by the scourge of such a destroyer as Timur. Van must have occupied a subordinate position among the capitals of the Achæmenian empire; and her ancient temples, together with the structures of her former magnificence, appear to have been demolished at a very early date. A restoration is ascribed to an Armenian king of the Haykian dynasty, who is said to have lived a little prior to the Asiatic conquests of Alexander the Great. But the very fact that this monarch is named Van, and is related to have rechristened the city of Semiramis after himself, invests the story with a fabulous character.68 Greater credit may be attached to the statement of Moses of Khorene that the place was rebuilt by the first ruler of the Armenian line of the Arsakid or Parthian kings.69 A colony of Jews, with the high priest of their nation, were settled in Van by one of his successors, the contemporary of King Mithridates of Pontus and his ally against the Roman Power.70 These Jewish captives appear to have prospered in their new seats; and about the middle of the fourth century of our era they are said to have numbered 18,000 families, who were again transported into captivity, this time into Persia, by the ruler of the new empire which had arisen in Asia, the Sasanian king Shapur.71 Neither Arsakids nor Sasanians appear to have laid much store by the city; and, indeed, the centres of political gravity in the Asiatic world had undergone a marked change since Assyrian times. The tableland of Persia had become incorporated into the imperial systems of Asia, giving ready access into the Armenian highlands. Europe had already appeared upon the changing scene of Oriental despotisms, and the real struggle was between the East and the West. When the Mohammedan empire of the caliphs had supplanted that of the Sasanian fire-worshippers, Persia and Armenia formed parts of the new structure. With the decay of the edifice it might appear that a fresh era had dawned for the Christian Armenians, supported on the west by their co-religionists of the Byzantine dominions, and capable of fortifying Van against the assaults of the Arabs operating from Baghdad and the lowlands in the south. In such circumstances was born the Armenian kingdom of Vaspurakan, which flourished for awhile during the Middle Ages, and of which this city was the capital. We have already glanced at its history while pursuing the annals of its contemporary at Ani, and have had to deplore the lack of cohesion among the Armenians at that period, which precluded them from playing a part of first-rate importance in the world movements of the time. We have seen the kinglets of Van bowing the head to the Seljuk invasion and creeping for safety into the bosom of the Byzantine empire.72 Perhaps we have not overlooked the picturesque interest of the pact they concluded, under which the heirs of the Romans took over the city of Sarduris and Menuas as an outpost of the civilised world. After the Byzantines had been carried away by the storm of barbarism the annals of Van, in so far as it is possible to follow them, are of scarcely more than local interest. The place must have settled down to that long spell of half-conscious existence under which it sleeps and heaves and moans at the present day. Its garrison of Turkomans offered a prolonged resistance to the armies of Timur; and, if the citadel was indeed virgin after the lapse of ages, to the savage Tartar belongs the boast of having torn her defences away. When Van was visited by a European traveller at the commencement of the sixteenth century, the Persian Shahs of the Safavid dynasty were in nominal ownership and a Kurdish chieftain in real possession of the fortress. This individual went so far as to coin money with his own stamp; but he was ejected after a prolonged siege by the general of Shah Ismail the First (A.D. 1502–24) and the inhabitants brought over to Persian allegiance.73 In the year 1534 the keys of the city were brought to the vizier of the Ottoman sultan, Suleyman the First.74 The Ottoman Turks thus became masters of a fortress on the side of Persia which they converted into one of the strongest places in their empire. In the seventeenth century it is said to have fallen to Shah Abbas I.,75 but it was recovered by the Turks. Their rule has perpetuated the abuses of the Kurds; and in the forties of the nineteenth century Van was again in the tender keeping of a rebellious chief of that turbulent people, Khan Mahmud.

In spite of all these revolutions the Armenian people still maintain themselves in large numerical preponderance in the city and neighbourhood of Van. It was about the shores of this lake that, according to their traditions, their ancestor, Hayk, established some of their earliest seats. For at least 2500 years they have kept their hold upon them, and have become accustomed and inured to see the empires come and pass, reaping their harvest of tears from the Armenian peasantry. Since the impressions which I am about to record were committed to paper a fresh massacre has decimated their community. And now, as I put them together, comes a piteous appeal from the American missionaries, despairing of preserving the lives of the famished survivors who have lost their livelihood, but begging for help on behalf of their crowded orphanages. The perspective of history helps to correct the sentiment of blank despondency engendered by the contemporary condition of the Armenian inhabitants. At the time of my visit they numbered two-thirds of the population of the town and gardens of Van. This proportion has no doubt been reduced by recent events; but it is almost equally certain to be redressed. The fecundity of this people is not less remarkable than their persistency; and their presence is needed by the officials who exploit the land. It would seem that the Armenian inhabitants of Van have been increasing during the present century. There can be little doubt that the proportion which their numbers bear to those of the Mussulmans has been tending to become greater. Consul Brant records that in the year 1838 Van contained not less than 7000 families, of which only 2000 are ascribed by him to the Armenians.76 This estimate represents a population of about 35,000 souls, of whom 25,000 would be Mussulmans and 10,000 Armenians. The total agrees approximately with the most reliable statistics which I was able to obtain. At the time of my visit the town, including the gardens, was believed to be inhabited by 30,000 people; but the Mussulmans numbered only 10,000 to the 20,000 of the Armenians. I received the impression that these figures were correct in respect of the proportion of the Armenian and the Mussulman element. In the aggregate they appeared to be a little too low. If we include the population of the caza or neighbourhood of Van, we shall probably not err much in arriving at a total of at least 64,000, made up of 47,000 Armenians and 17,000 Mussulmans. Consul Taylor in 1868 reckoned the inhabitants “of Van and the neighbourhood,” by which he would appear to mean of the town and caza, at 17,000 Mussulmans and 42,000 Christians. For Christians one might almost write Armenians.77

When one contemplates the vast extent of the garden suburbs and the closely-packed quarters of the walled town, it is difficult to believe that not more than 30,000 people inhabit so imposing a place. Let my reader refer to the plan which accompanies this chapter. I based it originally on one published in the fine book of M. Müller-Simonis,78 and I filled it in during my daily rides. It at once enables me to dispense with a tedious topographical narrative, and serves to show the distribution of Armenians and Mussulmans. On the left of the paper is represented the rock of Van with the cuneiform inscriptions and the city or fortified town at its southern base. On the right extends the hill ridge of Toprak Kala, commencing on the west with the bold crag of Ak Köpri, and making a bay towards the gardens as it stretches in an easterly direction, presenting the side of what is actually a nearly meridional mass. Between the two lies the plain—a bower of leafy gardens, most dense along a line drawn south of Ak Köpri, but continuing westwards from the southerly outskirts of those thickly-planted quarters to the district of Shamiram or Semiramis, south of the citadel. Mussulmans and Armenians are distributed over the area of these suburbs, and they share between them the population of the walled town. Some quarters in the gardens are peopled exclusively by Armenians, some by Mussulmans, and some by both alike. The names which I have placed upon the plan are in some cases those of quarters, and in others of blocks of houses and enclosures. The citadel or rock of Van is occupied by the garrison alone, and none of the townsmen are permitted to ascend that delicious platform.

The tall poplars and luxuriant undergrowth hide the houses of the suburbs as you approach Van from the plain in the south. But penetrate within the foliage and you will find clusters of habitations which grow in frequency and importance as the central avenue is reached. Along that well-trodden thoroughfare—filled at morning or in the evening by a stream of pedestrians and riders, wearing the fez and more rarely the turban, some in flowing Oriental robes, others attired in European dress—a number of stately residences abut on the road with their gardens around them, and dissemble the squalor which for the most part reigns within. Extremely picturesque are some of these lofty houses, with verandahs disposed in various and fanciful manners, as may be seen in my illustration of the dwelling of a wealthy Armenian inside the precincts of the walled city (Fig. 127). The fact that a large number of the inhabitants of the garden town proceed daily to their different places of business in the city partly accounts for the paradoxical smallness of the population, which ebbs and flows between the two. Here in the gardens are the private residences of the Vali or Governor of Van and of the principal officials. Most of the rich Armenian merchants have their dwellings among these quarters, where are also situated the various European Consulates. It is here that are housed the principal schools, and are located the most considerable of the churches. It is therefore scarcely correct to speak of the garden town as a suburb; far rather does it bear to the narrow and crowded streets at the base of the citadel a relation analogous to that of the West End of London towards the City and the Strand.

Among these groves we spent a pleasant and fairly restful fortnight, housed in the empty apartments of the British Consulate near the cross-roads of Khach-poghan. There, in the great room containing the safe, and the scroll enumerating the consular fees payable by the only two subjects of Her Britannic Majesty who, besides the Consul, are resident at Van, my companions erected their camp beds. Mine was placed in a little chamber on the further side of the spacious landing, which was open to the air. Here I could receive visits and read and write. My windows, paned with glass, looked out upon a sylvan scene of fairy-like character. All this verdure is produced by irrigation; and it is the peculiar quality of such artificial sustenance that plants and trees preserve the perfection which in northern latitudes can only be admired in a conservatory. The storm clouds, dissolving in rain, do not disturb this southern climate and play havoc with the leaves. Moss and mildew are unknown beneath this dry, continental atmosphere and the rays of this brilliant sun. The air is saturated with light, streaming from a heaven which is always blue. Into the liquid canopy start the needle forms of the poplars, forced from the soaking earth with wand-like stems. Apples and peaches and pomegranates—all the hardier fruits which can withstand cold winters—attain a beauty of form and an excellence of flavour which would do credit to better gardeners. Here at Van they grow much as they please. Melons and cucumbers find just the conditions under which they thrive. All this pulsing and exuberance extends unchecked through the long summer; and when the autumn is at length at hand, towards the end of October, the change is only marked by the gradual passing over of shades of green into shades of gold. The leaves remain on their branches until the withered stalks can hold no longer; but of violence there is rarely a trace. The sky becomes black and rumbles; some showers fall, and Sipan is clothed in white to his lower slopes. But the passing darkness of the day only enhances the goldness of a foliage which awaits the first coming of the snows. Such were the phases of the year, which, towards the middle of November, were silently being accomplished before our windows.

These cross-roads, Khach-poghan, are situated almost in the centre of the most thickly-populated districts of the garden town. On the whole it is a painful impression which one receives from daily intercourse with one’s fellow-creatures at Van. The salient feature of the situation is the war between two opposite elements—the one of restless energy, measured almost by a European standard; the other passive, suspicious, fitfully aflame. Neither is endowed with the capacity of government; and the least numerous and least capable rule. The Armenian subject majority spend lives which are certainly laborious and create whatever wealth the city possesses. The Mussulman dominant minority grow fat in the mostly highly-paid sinecures, or employ the most keen-witted among the Christians to devise ingenious schemes for robbing the public or the public funds. Over all presides an imported official of little ability and no education; and a few troops, under the orders of an independent commander, who is a centre for intrigue, redress the balance in favour of the least enlightened and most corrupt.

Things are in the habit of going on in this haphazard manner, jolting and creaking along. But within the last decade or two a new spirit has been born, which my reader knows under the name of the Armenian movement. Here at Van, no less than elsewhere, it has been a clumsy birth, as might be expected from its parentage. It springs from the two elements above indicated, and flourishes most in the circumstances described. In its ultimate origin it is at once a product of economical conditions and a reflection of the spirit of the times. It causes the old elements to ferment beyond recognition and to assume the most incongruous shapes.

The phenomenon is most remarkable in the case of the Turks. One may remark, by way of parenthesis, that there does not appear to be any evidence of an actual settlement of Turks in Van or the neighbourhood. Among the Mussulman inhabitants of the town about six families or clans, comprising each on the average some fifty persons, may be classed as of Turkish descent. Of these the most prominent are the Timur Oglu; then the Jamusji Oglu, or sons of the buffalo driver, and the Topchi Oglu, or sons of the artilleryman. From their ranks was formed a kind of oligarchy, which ruled the city in former times, and, as was natural, developed a fine taste for faction and had its counterparts of Guelphs and Ghibellines. The passion for intrigue has survived among them longer than the ability to indulge it in methods of their own choosing. Their power has been much curtailed by the progressive centralisation of all government at Constantinople. But they still maintain their hold upon much of the machinery of the administration, filling the offices which are not under the direct patronage of the imperial authorities, such as the presidencies of the municipality, the administrative council, and the judicial courts. With the exception of these families there are very few real Turks in Van; and in the country districts the Mussulman population are probably for the most part of Kurdish origin. They speak both Turkish and Kurdish. The more peaceable among them, who are accustomed to settled pursuits, disown the name of Kurds and affect that of Osmanli, or Turks of the ruling race. They do not belong to any Kurdish tribe. Their sympathies are on the whole on the side of law and order; and their aversion to the turbulence of the tribal Kurds counteracts and perhaps outweighs their jealousy of their Christian neighbours.

An enlightened Government would seize upon these points of union and forge from them strong links to connect society in defence of common interests against the excesses of the Kurds. Van is situated upon the threshold of the Kurdish mountains, close to the immemorial strongholds of Kurdish chieftains, whence they descend with their motley followers into the plains. No sooner had the centralising tendencies in the Ottoman Empire come near to establishing upon a permanent basis the unquestioned supremacy of Ottoman rule in these remote districts, than the Armenian movement commenced to make itself felt. The truth is that those tendencies were of impure origin. The officials at Constantinople were concerned with nothing less than the extension of good government. But they were clever enough to perceive that such modern inventions, as, for instance, the telegraph, gave them the means of controlling for their own purposes distant territories which in former times had been left more or less to themselves. The telegraph substituted the authority of a clique in the Palace at Constantinople for the rough-and-ready but often honest and, on the whole, well-meaning methods of a Turkish pasha of the old school. It is quite possible that the good old pashas would have brought about the ruin of the country, which, indeed, was in effect ruined long before they appeared on the scene. But things might have gone on longer; their rule could not have cost one quarter the existing misery; and the travelled person would at least have preferred spending his life in their shadow than within reach of the wings of the eagle of Russia and the quills of her bureaucrats.

From one cause or another the whole character of Mussulman government has undergone a marked change within recent years. It is scarcely possible to recognise in the ruling circles of such a city as Van the Turkey of our fathers. Fear and suspicion are written upon every face. These passions are transmitted to the rank and file of their co-religionists; the air is full of rumours of Armenian plots. In the old days there would have been a riot and quite possibly a massacre; and everything would settle down. At present a swarm of spies, under the direction of emissaries from the Palace, keep the old sores open and daily discover new opportunities for inflicting wounds. All the vices of the Russian bureaucracy have been copied by willing disciples in the capital, and sent down to the provinces to serve as a model. One may assert without exaggeration that life is quite intolerable for an inhabitant of this paradise of Van.

The spies smell out a so-called plot and denounce its authors to the Governor, who, poor man, is tired to death with their reports. If he fail to follow it up, he is accused at Constantinople, and runs the risk of losing his post. If he interfere, his action may quite well lead to bloodshed at a time when his efforts at pacification were commencing to bear fruit. I gathered that a certain Vali of Bitlis had discovered a working solution of the difficulty. His principle was to go one better than the informers, and himself to organise a huge plot against himself. When this sedition had been quelled by his soldiers just at the time that suited him best, his zeal would be rewarded by the despatch of a decoration from the Palace, and he would be left in peace for some time.

Of course the power of the Kurds is daily on the increase in such circumstances as these. The Palace leans towards them; their petty leaders are taken to the capital and invested with high orders. The wretched puppet of a Governor does not dare to overawe them, as even his slender resources would well enable him to do. On the other hand, the former docile, cringing spirit of the Armenians has given place to a different temper. Partly they are goaded by the spies into so-called rebellion; and, in part, they have been aroused to a consciousness of their own real miseries by the persecution of the most respected of their clerical leaders and by the spread of education.

The Armenian movement has had the effect of resolving their community at Van into two distinct parties. The one is animated by the spirit of the present Katholikos, His Holiness Mekertich Khrimean. The memory of his noble life, spent so largely among them, outlives his long absence from their midst. The evidence of his work and example is spread over the city, and may readily be recognised in the demeanour of those who have shared his thoughts and aims. His last period of residence in this, his native place, would appear to have come to an end in 1885. At that time he was bishop of Van as well as abbot of Varag. His labours were directed to the education of his countrymen; “educate, educate”—the girls no less than the boys—may be said to have been his watchword. His personal influence and the power of the pulpit, when occupied by such a preacher, were thrown into the endeavour to awake those dormant feelings which few human beings, however much their spirit may have been broken, are entirely without. To realise their manhood, and what they owed to themselves and their race was the constant exhortation which ran through his sermons and penetrated to the inmost selves of his flock. Schools sprang up in abundance beneath the magic of his individuality, and teachers were imbued with that enthusiasm for their high calling without which their profession savours of drudgery and tends to produce a similar impression upon their pupils. But the spirit of truth is too often akin to the spirit of revolution, and there are bonds from without as well as from within. When the scales fell from the eyes of this downtrodden people, the naked ugliness of their lot as helots was revealed. Their native energies were transferred from the domain of money-making to that of social improvement and political emancipation. The craft of their minds, abnormally quickened by the long habit of oblique methods, exchanged the sphere of commerce for that of politics. What wonder if they infused their politics with a character at which your superior European would sometimes frown and more often smile? He has been trained by a long spell of comparatively pure government; while the Armenians have been a subject race for over nine centuries, are honeycombed with the little vices inherent in such a status, and are quite unused and as yet unfit to govern themselves.

So the old Armenian nature underwent and is still experiencing a process of fermentation and change. At the same time it threw off some of the characteristics which had been hitherto among the most pronounced. Rashness and contempt for calculation took the place of the old qualities of servility and time-serving. In the domain of the community these discarded qualities were represented by individuals and by a party. The watchword of this party has been submission to the powers that are, and the solid argument which underlies the counsels of those who inspire it is based upon the apparent hopelessness of resistance and the tragic failures which such resistance has already involved. But the sympathy of the impartial spectator can scarcely be enlisted on their side, even if his judgment incline to their views. They are not the new Armenians, chastened by sorrow and sobered by reflection, but, for the most part, the very dregs of the old. Their leader in Van is the bishop of Lim, commonly known as Bishop Poghos. This prelate has long been resident in the city. His talents have been employed to counteract the influence of the present Katholikos; and he has stood at the head of his opponents. When Khrimean departed from his see he named Bishop Poghos his vekil or deputy, it would seem in the hope of promoting peace. But the inhabitants do not appear to have favoured this solution, and the bishop has not held the office for the last several years. He did me the honour of coming to see me—a man of great bulk of body and in advanced years. His features are of the blunt order characteristic of so many Armenians; and one might doubt whether he could ever have understood the personality of such a man as Khrimean.

Such, perhaps, is not an unfair analysis of society at Van and of the transformation which the principal elements have been undergoing. Several massacres of the Armenians have done less to exasperate them than the importation of Russian methods into their daily life. The place swarms with secret police. Should a Mussulman harbour a grudge against an Armenian, he endeavours to excite the suspicions of one of these agents; the house is entered and searched from roof to cellar. Perhaps some harmless effusion of patriotic sentiment is found in the desk of a son of the house, a student. The poem is seized and the youth thrown into prison. Arms are said to be concealed, and a pistol may be discovered. The whole family is at once rendered suspect. One might multiply these instances almost to any extent; but my object is not to excite resentment against the Turkish authorities, only to show the folly of their procedure. If they would only return to their old traditions and try to govern less, the situation would be immensely improved.

I feel sure that such counsel would be appreciated and even tendered by the Pasha if he were consulted by those from whom he takes his orders. But it would have been in doubtful taste to speak one’s mind out to him, the intercourse between us having been confined to the courtesy of an exchange of visits. Nor was he the man to enter usefully into a discussion of the subject. He had come to Van in the pursuit of his profession of Governor some twenty months ago. A Mussulman Georgian of good family, whose ancestral estates lie in Russian territory, not far from the coast of the Black Sea, he could probably lay better claim to a preference for straight over crooked dealing than to any of the more special qualities of a statesman. The Mohammedans who emigrate from the Russian provinces into the dominions of the Sultan are most often those who are unable to sustain competition with stronger elements, given fuller economical play under Russian rule. The Vali of Van, notwithstanding his name and a certain dignity of presence, could scarcely hope to occupy a position of equal importance in the empire of the Tsar. I found in him a man of little or no education, about fifty years of age. Tall and of large frame, his features were almost handsome, except, perhaps, the mouth. He habitually wore a smile upon his face. There he would sit in his long, bare room from morning until evening, sipping coffee with his visitors and puffing cigarettes. He appeared to encounter all kinds of difficulties in the vicarious management of his property in Russia; but one could not doubt that the comely beard would grow white in the Turkish service, and the groves of Kolchis know him no more.

We spoke of the Kurds and of the redoubtable Hamidiyeh regiments, of which, he assured me, no less than twenty had been instituted in his vilayet, including the mountainous region of Hakkiari. He stated that their horses had already been branded, and that the prescribed strength of each regiment was from 600 to 700 men. Passing from this magnificent topic to the sphere of prose and of reality, he lamented the want of communications in the country, ascribing most of the troubles of the time to this cause. But when I enquired whether it would be permissible to organise a service of transport on the lake, bringing out a steamer or two and the necessary craft, he replied, as I expected, that one must apply at Constantinople, and that he had no authority to sanction the possession even of a pleasure launch. He had himself embarked upon the enterprise of constructing a road to Bitlis along the southern shore of the lake. But it did not appear to have yet got further than the village of Artemid, less than a half day’s stage. The Vali called my attention to the peculiar hardness of the walls in Van, although built of nothing better than mud. They remain intact for years and years. He also sang the praises of a coal mine, a short way distant, which he hoped would be exploited some day.

Commerce and industry find in the Armenian population of Van a soil in which they would flourish to imposing proportions under better circumstances. The city is not situated upon any artery of through traffic, and a trade with the Russian provinces can scarcely be said to exist. The imports from abroad are carried in bullock carts or on the backs of pack horses by stages of almost endless number. Perhaps the bulk of them are derived from the port of Trebizond, travelling through Erzerum. From that provincial capital there are two main tracks, the one, which is used in summer, by way of Tekman or the plain of Pasin, passing through Kulli and Melazkert; the other, frequented in winter, making the detour along the plain of Alashkert and crossing the Murad at Tutakh. The journey from that township is not without danger as far as Akantz on Lake Van. The caravans are accompanied by armed men, and are constantly on the alert against attack by bands of Kurds. Communications with Persia are conducted principally through the town of Kotur, and, more rarely, through Bashkala. On the south the territory of Van is separated by almost impenetrable mountains from the lowlands of Mesopotamia. But some cotton goods find their way up from the Mediterranean and through Aleppo and Diarbekr along the passage of Bitlis and the southern shore of the lake. I was informed of a more direct route which, after leaving Bashkala, passes by way of Gever, Shemzinar (Shemdinan?) and Rowanduz to Erbil and so to Baghdad. But it was represented as encountering considerable natural difficulties between Shemzinar and Rowanduz.

Native industries, such as the production of various kinds of textiles, as well as a number of small handicrafts, are necessarily confined within very humble limits, owing to the poverty of the country. Wages are low, and the price of bread is apt to become high under a system of commercial rings which involves the Government officials in the artificial production of a famine. At the time of my visit wheat stood at an almost prohibitive figure; yet large quantities of the cereal were reputed to be stored, and no additional supplies were encouraged to come in. Many of my readers will be familiar with the circular wafers, resembling pancakes, which take the place of our loaves of bread throughout the East. Never very palatable, as I think, they are really unwholesome, besides being nasty, in the paradise of Van. They appeared to be compounded of a gritty mud with an admixture of dough. We endeavoured in vain to procure some white bread; the bakeries were said to be forbidden to supply such a luxury to any but the Vali’s table. The wretched bakers are a class subject to constant persecution; the officials have the right and even the duty of inspection; and this is tantamount to asserting that the bread is sure to be bad and its producers at their wits’ end to squeeze from the staple the necessary bribes.

Corruption has wormed its way into every department of the administration. I enquired of a prominent citizen, who impressed me as a man of parts, and to whose house I was obliged to wade through mud which lay ankle deep upon the central avenue of the garden town, whether a municipality were an institution unknown to Van. He replied that, on the contrary, they possessed an elaborate machinery for the regulation of municipal affairs. Were Christians excluded from the body?—By no manner of means.—Then what prevented him and those of equal calibre with him from attending to such important affairs? The answer came that those Armenians who served upon the Board were mere robbers or abettors of robbery. No honest man with a reputation to lose could consent to co-operate; should he make the endeavour he would rapidly be edged out. Such is the manner in which the paper reforms which tickle Europe are in practice transferred to the category of grave abuses.

There must exist a trace of light in every gloomy picture; and at Van the ray falls upon a little band of artisans and craftsmen as well as upon a few of the tradesmen and merchants. These elect are without exception Armenians. Our money matters were adjusted with a promptitude and a spirit of honesty which revealed capacities that came as a surprise after our experiences in Russian territory. Yet there is here no bank in the proper sense of the term. We were in want of warm overcoats, and gave a light cape as a model; it was repeated in a thick cloth imported from European Turkey with a skill which would not disgrace a West-End tailor. My Van coat has since that day been my constant companion; no wet has ever penetrated the coarse but cunning texture, and not a stitch has given way. Work in metal is produced with a sleight of hand and sureness of eye which are nothing less than extraordinary. The jewellers bring you objects which, although fanciful rather than artistic, are little wonders in their way. And from the background of such brighter memories shine the eyes of the great Van cats—as large as terriers, with magnificent tails and long fur, with the gait and fearlessness of dogs.

If you could only forget the shadows or wipe them away like a picture-restorer, there would not be absent other elements of light and hope. But a very long vision would be necessary for their discernment, and senses in other respects keen. For one thing—in spite of the spies, and all the miserable stories of Armenian brides carried off by Kurds who go scot-free—a larger atmosphere seems to surround the immediate political environment, disclosing vistas into freedom. There is none of that feeling of quite irremovable pressure, which in the Russian provinces is already sealing the springs of human activity as a noxious climate sits upon the lungs. Freaks there are, and wicked freaks on the part of Government; nor does there exist any security for life and property. Officials and public bodies are woefully ignorant and hopelessly corrupt. In spite of these real miseries I should not hesitate to consent to endure them, were the alternative the lot of an Armenian in Russia. But this is, perhaps, a purely personal impression which I need not expect my readers to share.

Some acquaintance with the outside world is derived by the citizens as a result of the immemorial custom among the male Armenian inhabitants of migrating for a number of years to Constantinople and returning home when they have amassed a certain competence. Married men leave their families behind. Visits from Europeans are naturally few and far between; but two or three political consuls are generally in residence, and there is a fairly numerous American Mission. The Americans are under the protection of the British Consul; and it is pleasant to recognise these two elements working silently and unseen together in the van of humanity and civilisation. The British Consul deserves a special measure of esteem and sympathy. He fights the same battles as the devoted missionaries; but he has no public, however much limited, to applaud his efforts and stimulate him with their enthusiasm upon his return home. He corresponds with an Ambassador entirely ignorant of the local conditions; his reports moulder in the pigeon-holes of an impalpable Foreign Office; and the least show of zeal is often rewarded by one of those snubs which your British official, and especially the younger diplomatists, have a natural talent for inflicting. The quality lacking to the average Englishman of a heart permeating manners is possessed in a marked degree by the Americans. Their Mission on the extreme eastern outskirts of the garden town is an oasis of human kindliness and light and love. It was presided over by Mr. Greene, assisted by Mr. Allen and by Dr. Raynolds, who was on leave of absence at the time of our visit. The lady workers included Dr. Grace Kimball, with a large medical practice, and Miss Fraser, a young and charming Canadian lady, who was at the head of a staff of Armenian teachers in the school for girls attached to the institution. In their society it was my privilege to spend several pleasant and profitable evenings, making drafts upon the varied experiences of Dr. Kimball, and realising what a blank is presented by social life in Mussulman countries, where freedom of intercourse with women would be regarded as a crime and where cultured women in the true sense are almost unknown.

I received abundant testimony to the morality of Armenian women, even under circumstances which may be regarded as distinctly unfair. Although husbands leave their brides behind when they migrate to Constantinople, infidelity is uncommon. Were it otherwise, the fact could scarcely escape the observation of a lady practitioner. It often happens that a widow, about to marry again, will bring her young child to the feet of the missionaries, beseeching them to bring it up and educate it in her place, as their monument—for so she puts it—before God. But it never occurs that they are offered illegitimate offspring. For this reason, if for no other, they are disinclined to believe the aspersions which are usually cast by the authorities upon the character of Armenian women abducted by the Kurds. A less bright side of the Armenian character was, they said, their inveterate treachery towards members of their own race. In this respect, as well as in the domain of personal chastity, there appears to exist a rough analogy between the Armenians and the Celtic population of Ireland. But one must be careful not to press the resemblance too closely, the two peoples being fundamentally unlike.

The gruesome stories, which we find it difficult to credit in Europe, of the miseries endured by the inmates of Turkish prisons were abundantly confirmed upon unimpeachable evidence. The most ordinary sanitary precautions are neglected, until the cells attain an unspeakable condition. Mussulmans are often able to obtain certain relaxations in the rigidity of their confinement. They plead that it is impossible for them to worship Allah upon floors which are in this state. Perhaps they will be accorded permission to emerge for a time into the open air. Christians are seldom favoured with similar indulgences; and it often happens that an unhappy youth, immured upon mere suspicion, will be sent home in a dying condition, suffering from poisoning of the blood.

The American Mission at Van is only one of the many establishments which have been spread over the face of Asiatic Turkey by the pious enterprise of the Protestant inhabitants of the New World. It is an established etiquette between the various Societies of the same faith, although not necessarily of the same nation, to avoid overlapping into one another’s spheres; and from an early date in the present century the Americans entered this field and made it their own, working their way into Asia Minor and thence into Mesopotamia. Their Society is supported by the Congregational Church of America; and this particular Mission was founded as late as 1871. Their activities are practically confined to the Armenian population professing the Gregorian religion. But I understand that the making of proselytes is no special or paramount object of the teaching which they dispense. If, perchance, these lines should reach an American public, I would venture to entreat the supporters of the Mission to emphasise rather than to check this wholesome spirit of abnegation among the devoted men and women who serve their interests so well. The Church is at the present day the only stable institution which the Armenian people possess. No Armenian of education—whether priest or layman—doubts that it is in need of reform. Reform will come from within as the result of the growing enlightenment which the Church herself is engaged in propagating under extraordinary difficulties among her scattered communities. To wean her children from her, while she is still in the stress of a noble purpose, would be to promote that cruel spirit which lurks in all religions when they are assailed in their instincts of maternity from without. Such an endeavour would be at once in a high degree impolitic, and alien to the highest principles of Christianity—mutual tolerance, humility, love.

The circumstances are not the same as when Luther reared the standard of rebellion; nor are Americans sons of the Armenian Church. Their true mission is to compose rather than to accentuate the internal differences which the strong wine of their personality can scarcely fail to elicit among the congregations with whom they are brought in touch. The Armenians are scarcely less Protestant than themselves in their attitude towards the Church of Rome. I should hesitate to expound such arguments in a manner so didactic were I not convinced that they are recognised in their full force by the thinking minds who influence the aims of the Mission. Throughout the extensive field which is worked from this centre only seventy-five adults have been received into the Protestant Church. But the standard of wholesome living has been incalculably raised both in the material and in the moral sphere. The sick receive skilled treatment; schools are opened in the most needy villages; the alms of Europe, as well as of America, are distributed among the necessitous poor. The effect of a massacre is somewhat softened by the institution of numerous orphanages. Such are some of the results of over twenty years of labour, upon which the Society may look back with unmixed pride. In the eyes of the traveller they are likely to outvalue the long roll of converts which some of the constituents of the Mission might desire to possess. There is always a certain element of selfishness in proselytism which is peculiarly repugnant to the ordinary visitor to distant lands.

The healthy absence or subordination of such an element among the Americans has contributed in no small measure to their success. The missionaries live on good terms with the Armenian clergy, and are sometimes invited to preach in their churches. They are loud in their praise of the tolerance of the Armenian hierarchy. They assured me that no attempt is made in their schools to convert the pupils from their ancestral religion. An early opportunity was afforded me of visiting these schools. They are two in number, one in the gardens and the other in the walled city. To both are attached companion institutions for girls. The school in the gardens was attended by 110 boys and 115 girls. That in the city had only a third of this number. The better-to-do among the people pay a small yearly fee, ranging, according to the standard of education which they may be receiving, from 15 to 60 piastres.79 The highest class are expected to pay the last-named sum. Boys enter the school at seven years of age, and some remain as late as their sixteenth year or even into their eighteenth. The course consists of primary, intermediary and high-school classes; and to each class it would be usual to devote three years. The curriculum of the highest class consists of English and French among foreign languages, algebra and geometry in the domain of mathematics, and physics and physiology in that of natural science. History is taught under certain drawbacks. I saw a copy of Xenophon’s Anabasis which had been abstracted from the trunk of a teacher, and in which the name of Armenia had been erased with a penknife from the map!

Indeed, one of the greatest difficulties under which they labour within recent years consists in the enforced mimicry of Russian methods by the little Turkish officials. Their books are stopped on the road or sent back. Restrictions are placed upon the choice of books; and both Milton and Shakespeare are suspect. The Bible comes through; and a very handsome Bible it is, printed by the Society in modern Armenian. They sell it for a small sum. The Armenian clergy prefer the old, classical Bible, which, however, few of their flock quite understand. The enterprise of the missionaries has also produced a Testament in the Kurdish language, which they dispense to those Armenians living in the recesses of the peripheral region who have forgotten their native tongue.

Mr. Greene was of opinion that the sons of parents who possess some education are not inferior in natural abilities to the average American boy. In the English class I listened to some very fair reading, certainly as good as in the Russian seminary at Erivan. Some very practical theses were expounded; why, for instance, should one sleep in a bed and not on the floor? For four reasons: a floor is cold, dirt collects upon the floor, gases hang to the floor, damp affects the floor. There can be little doubt that the Armenian schools are greatly benefited by competition with the less fashionable American institutions. They at least receive a certain stimulus and some new ideas. This is notably the case in respect of their schools for girls, which owe their development to the American example.

The ecclesiastical schools are housed in buildings adjoining the several churches to which they are attached. But they do not necessarily bear the same name as the church. Coming from Russia, it is curious to hear the loud grumblings which are called forth among the Armenians by their obligation to pay to Government a tax of two per cent upon their incomes towards the expenses of education. Government pockets the money but fails to provide a Christian school. In Russia they do not complain of the imposition of the corresponding tax, but would be eager to throw away at least double the amount in consideration of being permitted to retain and develop their own unassisted schools. What the Armenians would desire above all things both in Russia and in Turkey is the refund by Government under certain conditions of the tax levied upon them for education. Taking into account the efficiency of their schools, the purely political nature of the opposition they encounter, and all the peculiar circumstances of the case, one is inclined to come to the conclusion that both Empires would be well advised to accede to the wishes of their Armenian subjects upon this point. At least those wishes are likely to enlist the sympathies of impartial men.

Except for the protection which is afforded in their relations with Government by the close connection with the ecclesiastical organisation, the Armenian schools display a detachment from hierarchical influences which no friend of true education can fail to admire. The teachers are almost without exception laymen; and knowledge is allowed to pursue its own salvation. Formerly there existed in Van an institution for preparing teachers; but it was closed by Government for political reasons some years ago. Its place might probably be taken by the Sanasarean college at Erzerum; yet I only met one master who had been equipped by that wealthy foundation, and the fact deserves remark. The rest had been chosen from the ranks of the best-educated citizens; and, in the absence of any other but a commercial career for young men thus qualified, the teaching staff attracts a fairly high class. No limits are placed by Government upon the standard of instruction—the sentence sounds strange; and one requires to have come from Russia to appreciate the magnanimity of the concession. But Russian methods have crept in within recent years, and the private schools have already been regulated. In all schools gymnastics are rigidly prohibited, on the ground that the boys might be drilled and might rebel! Such puerilities are balanced on the other side by the comparative latitude which on the whole the schools enjoy.

Text-books, translated or compiled from European sources, are supplied by the printing presses of the Mekhitarist order in Venice and Vienna. I enquired why the Bible had not been issued in modern Armenian by the organisers of the Church schools. The reply came that the difference between the ancient and modern tongues was not so great as between Latin and Italian; and that it was desirable that Armenians should be familiar with their best literature, written in the same classical speech. The curriculum comprises, besides the Armenian language, religion and literature, a fairly thorough study of the Turkish tongue, both written and spoken. French is also taught; and two of the masters at Yisusean conversed in fluent French. The natural science course includes astronomy and physical geography; while mathematics, anatomy, geography and general history figure in the routine of one or other of the grades. Leaving out of account the primary course, most of the schools have a higher as well as an intermediary grade. In both a pupil remains some three to four years. He might complete the course in about his sixteenth year. But the majority are much too poor to be able to remain more than half this term; and in the school of Arakh, the largest in Van, I counted only sixteen youths attending classes in the highest grade. Only five were in the last year. About one-half were competent to contribute a small payment, the highest sum being a couple of mejidiehs or 40 piastres a year.

The oldest of these schools are Yisusean and Arakh, both founded nearly fifty years ago. The latter may perhaps serve as a typical example of the scholastic institutions attached to the churches. Its proper name is the somewhat cacophonous one of Thargmanchatz, or the school of the translators—Sahak, Mesrop and their companions. It is situated in the Arakh quarter of the gardens and in the same enclosure with the church. You are shown into a reception-room of moderate proportions with a coarse divan at one end and a few chairs. Upon the walls are suspended a photograph or two, displaying the features of well-known ecclesiastics. A single priest and a bevy of lay teachers will be assembled to do the honours. On the occasion of our visit there were not less than twenty people present, and we were addressed in passable English by one of the teachers who had come from the American school. Coffee was served and cigarettes. No matter what the subject of conversation might happen to be, a certain middle-aged and sour-faced individual who sat in a corner would always insist upon putting in his say. To the remonstrances of his companions he would retort with much vehemence that his only privilege left in life was freedom of speech. In that cause he had withered in prison, from which he had only just been set free, and to which he was likely soon to return. Then he proceeded to heap curses upon the Turks and their government, until I was obliged to say that one of us two must leave the room. As a guest in a Turkish city, it would ill become me to listen to treason against hospitable and considerate hosts. The strange thing about this incident was the fact that these teachers should be willing to harbour such a suspicious character. He did not belong to the school. The reputation of the place was jeopardised by his presence. What children—so one reflected—these people are!

The younger pupils in the primary class will be collected in one vast room, seated on benches or on the floor. They are attired in nondescript and ragged cotton garments; and few even of the older scholars are possessed of suits in cloth. A number of smaller classrooms, with forms and blackboards, are approached from a long passage. Although the windows are all open, an unpleasant odour pervades the air; this is a characteristic which we deplored to our cost in every school at Van. It was evident that not even the American missionaries had yet succeeded in inculcating personal cleanliness. Perhaps some of the young people display the Jewish type—a relic probably of the colony settled in Van by the Arsakid king and said to have been removed into Persia by Shapur. These are by far the most favoured. The vast majority, however, have the less pronounced and more irregular features common among the youth of Europe. But their eyes are all very dark and very bright, shining like big beads. They look extremely intelligent. The little girls did not impress me as being very attractive; though, again, among the older maidens some beautiful Biblical types may be seen. These betray Semitic blood. The teachers in the girls’ schools were all very plain—broad as galleons, with round faces, straight hair and crooked eyes; what was wanting in their busts seemed to have been added below the waist.

Van, at the time of our visit, was the proud possessor of no less a dignitary than a Director of Public Instruction. Whatever may have been his full Turkish title, he was always addressed by the less ornate style of Mudir. By origin he was an Albanian, by religion a Mussulman; he spoke French well, and impressed me strongly as a zealous and capable man. It is a pity, and indeed a shame, that such material is not employed to fill the higher administrative posts. Although the Turkish schools fell more particularly within his province, to him was assigned the regulation of the Armenian private schools. They were constrained to submit their syllabus for his approval, and also their text-books. Changes or additions to their teaching staff were subject to the same sanction. I am not quite sure that these rules did not equally apply to the Church schools; but, however that may have been, they were in practice mildly enforced. The Turkish scholastic system, as it is operative in Van, comprises three grades. There is first the primary; then the secondary, which is termed Rushdiyeh; and last the college or lycée, called Idadiyeh. Of official primary schools not one existed prior to the arrival of the Mudir, only a few months before ourselves. The Mussulmans were in the habit of sending their children to small schools attached to the mosques. This practice had only partially been discontinued since the institution by the new functionary of six primary schools, numbering altogether some 240 boys. Of these fresh foundations I was only invited to visit one. Secondary education was dispensed in three institutions of the Rushdiyeh class to about 350 students in all. The Mudir was in hopes of opening an Idadiyeh during the following summer; and it was also his ambition that Christians as well as Mussulmans should attend the course. The bringing together of the two elements would certainly work to their mutual advantage; and the experiment might succeed if it were tried on social and educational grounds, and not as a political thrust against the Armenian schools.

Of the three secondary institutions only two deserve remark, the third being apparently in an inchoate state. Both are situated on the great avenue leading from the walled town and forming the artery of the gardens. So far as I could ascertain, neither dated more than a few years back. The spacious buildings in which they are housed, the fine classrooms, the dress of the pupils—everything contrasts to their advantage in external matters with the comparative squalor of the Armenian schools. We did not see a single untidy youth; the air was sweet, the floors scrupulously clean. Scholars and teachers, with the exception of a mollah or two, were attired in a distinctive uniform. Such, indeed, was the case in both institutions; but it was a more noticeable feature in the more numerously attended of the two, popularly known as the military school. The Mudir was careful to explain that it was not in fact a military school; that it so appeared was due to the circumstance that they had been unable to obtain good civilian teachers, and had been obliged to have recourse to the military academy at Constantinople. I was the more inclined to give implicit credit to this statement after making the acquaintance of the staff of the purely civilian school. It was evident, however, that the instructors in the companion establishment had not abandoned any of their military methods. They wore their uniforms, and all their pupils, even the youngest, had been drilled. Here again we were introduced to a copy of Russian institutions; and we might almost have been visiting the Russian High School at Erivan. The curriculum included the French, Persian and Arabic languages. The boys had evidently learnt by rote, but had learned well. They could draw maps of the countries of Europe on the blackboard. One of their number stood up and answered all geographical questions with an accuracy which no German boy could excel. The outline of England was rapidly sketched in from memory; and, when I enquired the situations of even Greenwich and Gravesend, they were each assigned their proper place. The population of London was correctly given. Most of the faces one saw around one were extremely intelligent; and only in a few instances were those dull, stupid features conspicuous which are not rare among the settled Mussulman population. All, without exception, were Mohammedans, and the majority the sons of officials. Unlike the Armenian boys, most of whom wear a shapeless cap, every youth had a clean fez with tassel upon his head. In the evening they would canter off on richly caparisoned horses; but, to sum up the relative merits of the Armenian and the Turkish schools, while the first contemplate Knowledge, the second pursue her image, heedless of the resentment which the sensitive goddess keeps in store.

While one is walking through the gardens, paying visits to the various schools, the attention will often be distracted to the very interesting churches, of a type which I have not seen in any other Armenian town. It might not be inappropriate to call them log churches, although the outer walls are built of stone. The oldest is no doubt that of Haykavank, situated in the quarter of the same name. I was unable to ascertain its age. But it represents a transition form from the usual stone edifice to the style of the other four churches in the gardens, in which the columns of the nave, the roofs and the interior fittings are exclusively of wood. The exteriors of all are featureless and plain. In Haykavank the nave is separated from the aisles by four stone piers as well as by sixteen wooden shafts, eight on each side. The face of the daïs supporting the altar is also of stone. Light is thrown upon the interior through three box-shaped structures in the roof, each containing four windows (Fig. 128). The shafts are in every church mere trunks of trees with the bark lopped off them; and at the west end, seen in the background of my illustration, will always be situated a wooden gallery for the women. The floors are carpeted. The most attractive of the five is Norashen, remarkable for its two octagonal domes in wood. The largest is Arakh, with a length inside of 135 feet and a breadth of a little over 56 feet. It appears to have been built as late as 1884 on the site of a smaller edifice. Nor is Norashen said to have been constructed more than about fifty years ago. It is remarkable that of these five churches of the gardens—the remainder are known respectively as Hankusner and Yakob—all, with the exception of the last, are dedicated to the Virgin. The same may be said of two out of six in the walled town. The fact would seem to point to something approaching a cult of the Virgin, though plainly not for the reason for which, according to Voltaire, she was worshipped in old France.

One may be disposed to linger awhile in two of these churches—Haykavank and Hankusner. The first is filled with the musty memories of the dark ages, and the second with the vivid magnetism of a personality which has not yet been removed from our midst. The ancient stone crosses inlaid into the daïs of Haykavank, the painted reliefs of angels in the screen of the altar, and a most barbarous carved panel of the Last Supper are so many survivals of pure mediævalism. The dingy logs and the rickety boxes in the roof, through the little windows of which the sweet light falls, are in harmony with the stiff figures, overlaid with gaudy but faded colours, which turn towards one from the shrine. From an adjoining apartment comes the sound of a chant by the choir at practice—a graceless music, sung through the nose. During a respite from this discord you hear the tick of an old standard clock; and, moving towards it, read the name of its English maker years ago—Markwick Markham of the city of London. It has a companion of its own kind in this same church. Here they have stood and ticked in company for, I wonder, how many years! The colleague is by Michael Paieff of Vienna, and has a song chime, so sweet and clear and pure.... Hankusner, on the other hand, if devoid of any antiquities, is associated with a name which should always be honoured in Armenian history, and with a spirit which calls to the Church to throw off her mediæval fetters and look into the light of the day. It was in that humble structure across the river, beneath the cliff of Toprak Kala, that Mekertich Khrimean was for many years accustomed to address his countrymen, standing upon the low daïs by the altar beneath the roof of logs. His humble residence is situated on the Van side of the stream. You knock, and a man in the garb of a peasant steps forth and holds your reins as you dismount. Yet he is the nephew of the supreme pontiff of the Armenians. He informs you that this was the house in which the Hayrik was born. It is now tenanted by the girls’ school. The rooms are neatly maintained, but their walls of mud are neither plastered nor papered. That which used to serve as his sleeping apartment contains a couple of wooden divans, used as seats by day and couches by night. Two pictures, one in oil and the other a crayon, portray the familiar face in youth as well as in age. What a handsome type, with the magnificent features and silky black beard! The remaining frames, most, no doubt, due to the piety of his relations, display by the side of Armenian texts the title page of a journal upon which figures in all his splendour the eagle of Vaspurakan.

It is quite a ride from the heart of the gardens to the walled city. The central avenue leads through great open spaces some time before the gate in the east wall is reached. On the left hand, across the fields, lie the less dense plantations of the quarter of Shamiram. The main entrance adjoins the rock which supports the battlements of the citadel, and is called the gate of Tabriz. Extremely picturesque is the appearance from this side of the precipitous ridge, with the long serration of the mediæval wall sharply outlined against the sky, and the ponderous towers crowning the hump of the mass (Fig. 129). It forms the northern side of the irregular parallelogram which is described by the walls of the city at its southern base. The area thus enclosed is of very moderate size, and the central and southern quarters seem pressed for room. These constitute the busy portion of the town, containing the bazars and the mosques. The former are, as usual in the East, thronged with motley figures; and quite a crowd collected as I set up the camera inside a booth upon which were spread out a variety of cheap comestibles (Fig. 130). The mosques, of which there are three besides smaller places of prayer, are not, I think, worthy of remark. Only two, Kaia Chellaby and Khusrevieh, are at present frequented by the faithful. The third, Topchi Oglu, in the more northerly quarter, is now no longer used. Its minaret may be seen on the right side of my illustration depicting the house of a rich Armenian in this district (Fig. 127). In addition, there is at least one mosque in the garden suburb, known as the Hafizieh. Khusrevieh deserves attention for its cuneiform slab, built into the pavement upon the threshold of the building. It was swimming in mud when we elbowed our way towards it through a Friday’s assembly of not too friendly bystanders. I had been informed of the existence of a second tablet, but could not discover its whereabouts.81

But there exists in the city a ruined mosque which mocks these Turkish edifices and is really a noteworthy example of Arab art. It is strange that it does not appear to have been mentioned by any traveller. The Ulu Jami, or great mosque, is situated in the western quarter, under the precipice of the citadel rock, which is here at its highest, and of which the sheer escarpments tower into the sky. The rareness and humility of the adjoining houses permit the view to wander from the remains of this beautiful building along the face of the upstanding limestone to the great tablet with the inscription of Xerxes some little distance east of where you stand. Two great periods of world history are embodied in these two monuments; and, as we gazed upon them, the rock and tablet were bathed in the yellow light of evening, while the mosque was in shade. No one could tell us by whom it had been constructed, nor when it fell into decay. The pigeons build their nests in the crannies of the kiln-burnt bricks of which it is composed. In the centre rises a pillar, seen on the left of my illustration; the angles are filled with the stalactite architecture dear to the Arabs (Fig. 131). The clay traceries upon the walls are as hard as stone and as delicate as ivory (Fig. 132).

The Armenian churches are in general situated in the close vicinity of the overhanging parapet from which the works of the citadel frown. Although for the most part of considerable antiquity, none has any claim to architectural pretensions, such as one might expect in the capital of the mediæval kingdom of Vaspurakan. Indeed in their original form they are small and quite plain stone chapels; and the church proper has probably been added at a much later period, being furnished with the log pillars and plank boxes in the roof characteristic of the churches in the gardens. Access to the chapel is gained through an opening in the daïs at the east end of the church. The entrance will usually be closed by a door with double folds. In some churches or on some occasions this door will be thrown open when service is being held. The priest will then stand with his back to the congregation upon the step on the threshold of the chapel. On the other hand, I have also attended when one would scarcely divine the existence of such an inner sanctuary. The priest performed his functions upon the daïs of the church before an altar of the usual gaudy order. It is therefore evident that the uses of the larger building oscillate between those of a mere pronaos and a church in the proper sense.

These edifices are six in number: Surb Tiramayr (the mother of the Master, i.e. Jesus Christ), Surb Vardan, Surb Paulos, Surb Neshan or the token, so called from a relic of the Cross, Surb Sahak, Surb Tsiranavor. The last is of almost tiny proportions, and is named after the Virgin with the purple robes. A seventh chapel, close to Surb Paulos, bears the name of Surb Petros, or St. Peter, but was severely shaken by an earthquake a few years ago, and has been partially destroyed to prevent it collapsing. High mud walls, such as may be seen on the left of the photograph of the house in Van (Fig. 127), enclose the courts in which the churches are built. You enter through a low door of great weight after hammering with a ponderous knocker. The most interesting of all is certainly Surb Paulos; and the teachers in Yisusean, who accompanied me on my visit, were inclined to ascribe it to the times of St. Thaddeus. I see no reason to doubt that certain parts of the chapel date back to an epoch before the advent of St. Gregory, when Christianity must have flourished in Vaspurakan. Surb Paulos seems to have served as a model to the other churches; and the chapel is approached through the usual pronaos or church proper. The inside dimensions of the chapel are 57 feet by 27½ feet; and the thickness of the stone wall on the west side, where it is capable of being measured, is not less than 7 feet. Of rectangular shape, the disposition of the interior is not abnormal. You have an apse on the east side, preceded by a daïs or raised stage in stone; and the roof centres in a conical dome of great depth and admirable masonry, in which a row of loophole apertures admit a scanty light. The dome is supported by piers adhering to the walls. There is not a trace of plaster or ornament in the place; and the dark hue of the naked stone enhances the gloom. We observed three blocks which had been built into the walls and were inscribed with cuneiform characters. But they appeared to have been hewn without any regard to the inscriptions, which must have suffered considerable mutilation. Better treatment had evidently befallen a large inscribed slab which had been used as a lintel or upper stone, roofing a niche in a recess of the south wall. The arrowhead writing was well preserved. In this same wall we admired a most beautiful Armenian cross, carved in bold relief upon a stone panel 5 feet high and 4 feet broad. We seemed to be able to read a date—409 of the Armenian era or A.D. 960. My reader is already familiar with these crosses (Fig. 59, Vol. I. p. 271); but I regret that the light in the sanctuary was much too dim to enable me to photograph the most artistic specimen of this form of ornament which I remember to have seen.82

The citadel crowns the summit of the isolated ridge which forms the northern side of the fortified town. This is the famous rock of Van (Fig. 129). It rises to the height of about 300 feet from level land on all sides. The ridge is narrow in proportion to its length, and has a direction a few points north of an east-west line. In shape it has been compared to the back of a camel, the citadel occupying the hump. The sides of the mass, which is composed of a limestone so hard that it resists a knife, are most precipitous on the south. They are most amenable at the western and eastern extremities. The remains of an ancient wall with inscriptions of Sarduris the First may be discovered at the western end. The wall was probably protracted to the lake in the neighbourhood of the present harbour. There are no houses on the north side. The ground in that direction is waste or disposed for pasture; and a little marsh adjoins in one part the base of the rock. We tried our best, but in vain, to obtain permission to visit the citadel. The Pasha was powerless and the Commandant obdurate. The majority of modern travellers have met with the same refusal, due, no doubt, to a desire to hide the nakedness of the place. The blandishments of Schulz, as well, perhaps, as the hopes he held out of discovering treasure, were successful in effecting a temporary breach in the tradition of official obstinacy. He was admitted within the gate of the inmost fortress, to find it occupied by a garrison of two living creatures—an old janissary and a tame bear. Later visitors, more privileged than ourselves, tell of a few obsolete cannon. The disappointment which is engendered by the attitude of the authorities may be appreciated by the fact that the caves of Khorkhor and other antiquities are included within the fortified area. I have endeavoured in the accompanying note83 to offer some description of them, largely at second hand. The general impression which we may receive is that the ancient works upon the ridge belie the hopes excited by the account contained in the pages of Moses of Khorene. They do not amount to much more than a few groups of chambers excavated in the rock. The purpose which these caves served was almost certainly that of tombs; though they may also have been used as refuges in time of war. It must, however, be remembered that all the ancient structures upon the rock have long since been destroyed. The same fate has befallen even the staircases. Some of the recesses appear to have been destined to receive bas-reliefs; and if such may have been the case, these images have been demolished. Yet enough remains, especially the elegant characters of the many inscriptions, to fill the mind with admiration of that old race and vanished culture. They were certainly not lacking in the instincts of imagination; and, year by year, they must have taken pleasure in gazing out upon the landscape from the grottos constructed to receive them when they died. A people of Cyclopean walls, embossed shields and chariots, they would almost seem to have belonged to the race of giants, preceding the evolution of fox-like man.

I must not close this chapter and dismiss the memories of the paradise of Van without bestowing some little space upon the surroundings of the city, which abundantly justify the Armenian proverb. The governing feature of the nearer landscape is the lofty parapet of Mount Varag, distant from the citadel some eight miles in an easterly direction and nearly ten miles from the margin of the lake. The plain rises gradually beyond the limits of field and garden to meet and mingle with those slopes. Spurs connect the mountain with the irregular hill mass on the north of the suburbs, which in its totality appears to be known under the name of Zemzem Dagh. Like Varag itself, these hills are composed of a hard limestone; and their south-westerly extremity is signalised by a very bold, detached crag, standing forth like a sentinel (Fig. 133, and see the plan). This portion of the mass is known as Ak Köpri, which means in Turkish “the white bridge.” That is the name of a straggling quarter, inhabited by Mussulmans, on the north side of the little river and close to the crag.84

The stream itself is also called Ak Köpri; and, coming from Van gardens, we crossed it by a little bridge. Standing close to the crag, which we reached after a short ride, the view ranged widely in all directions except that of the cliffs at our back. Looking west and south we had the great plain before us, bounded only at an interval of many miles by low hills circling from Varag into the lake in front of the distant barrier of the Kurdish mountains. Turning round, we commanded a view of uncultivated flats, extending several miles to another line of bare hills ending on the west in a crag, called Kalajik. The only trace of verdure in that landscape were the gardens of the village of Shahbagh. But the outlines of the promontories, the blue lake, the distant fabrics of Nimrud and Sipan, composed into a picture it would be difficult to forget.

The level ground in the direction of Kalajik forms the first of two extensions of the plain of Van, properly called. Retracing our steps for a short distance, we soon turned off in an easterly direction, and rounded the bluff of Ak Köpri. We found ourselves in the bay of cliffs which faces Van gardens; and we were soon standing in front of the great cuneiform inscription, which contains such an interesting list of the gods worshipped by the Vannic people, and of the sacrifices which were appointed for each god.85 The tablet is hewn into the rocky slope of the cliff, about 50 feet above the level and cultivated ground (Fig. 134). Some 10 feet below it is a shallow cave. Three successive jambs recess inwards to the face of the tablet from that of the rock, which has been flattened on either side. The depth of the recess is 4 feet 2 inches. The dimensions of the tablet or polished surface containing the inscription are a breadth of 6 feet 5 inches and a height of about 17 feet 6 inches. From a distance the recessed slab has all the appearance of a door giving access to a grotto behind.

After continuing our direction for no great space we mounted to the summit of the cliff. It may be some 200 feet high. But the flat top rises at its southerly extremity to a level of about double that altitude above the gardens of Van. These are the heights of Toprak Kala. From a cleft in the mass we opened out the upper valley of the Ak Köpri Su, the second of the extensions of the plain of Van of which I have spoken (Fig. 135). The mountain in the background of my photograph is Varag.

The monastery of Yedi Kilisa, situated on the slopes of that mountain, is the most frequented of the numerous cloisters in the neighbourhood; and thither we made our way on a fine November day. The first snowstorm of the coming winter had raged during the night; and the snow was lying in spite of a brilliant sun. A ride of some seven miles along the windings of the track brought us to the door of the enclosure. We had passed over rising ground, in places furrowed by the plough, but, except for the oasis of the village and monastery of Shushantz, entirely devoid of trees. A mere fleck upon the white canopy of the hills on our right hand had been named to us as the cloister of Surb Khach. Our Armenian friends in Van were fond of speaking of these foundations as centres of light and learning in the older and happier times. They have been scattered with a liberal hand over this magnificent landscape; yet how they have fallen from their estate! Two poor monks, who lived on gritty bread and salted cheese inlaid with herbs, received us at the gate. One was the abbot, or rather the deputy of the abbot; for that office is still held by the present Katholikos, the Hayrik or Little Father of the Armenians. Daniel Vardapet—for so he was addressed—is a type of the better-educated priest. A delicate man some fifty years of age, his features were those of a Casaubon. I am afraid his attainments would not compare with those of that scholar; yet he had the suavity and the speech of a cultivated man. His assistant was a monk of the peasant class. Some fifteen youths were housed in the cloister—the remnant of the school founded there years ago by Khrimean. A cloud of unusual gloom enveloped the destinies of the ancient place; and one might doubt whether the gentle Daniel had ever experienced so many calamities during the thirty-five years which he had passed within these walls. The most severely felt of all the blows which the Turkish Government had been raining upon them was the loss of their printing press. Some short while back the officials appeared and walked off with the precious instrument, of which the voice had been mute for many years. They erected it in Van, and, having kidnapped an Armenian compositor, used it to publish an official gazette. In company with the Mudir I had happened to pass the building where it was lodged; and my companion remarked to me that he was looking forward to obtaining some money for his schools with the proceeds of the sale of the paper.86

The site of the monastery is a dip or pass upon the outline of gentle hills which stretch from the more southerly slopes of the mountain to confine the plain upon the south (Fig. 136). From its windows only a vista of the lake is obtained. The church consists of a larger pronaos with the usual conical dome, communicating on the east by a richly moulded and spacious doorway with a chapel or sanctuary.87 The interior of this chapel recalls features in St. Ripsime at Edgmiatsin. It has four apses or recesses, one on each wall, separated from one another by deep niches. The whole is surmounted by a conical dome (Fig. 137). In the floor of the pronaos are seen three stone slabs with inscriptions. They cover the remains of King Senekerim, of the Armenian mediæval dynasty, his queen Khoshkhosh and the Katholikos Petros. The frame of an altar erected upon the site of these slabs has been stripped of all its ornaments. This act appears to have been committed by the Hayrik, and out of anger against Senekerim.88 The mild features of Daniel Vardapet contracted as we spoke of that monarch; and he assured me with some vehemence that he would dig out his bones and cast them on the rocks were it not for his title of king of Armenia. The chapel of Yedi Kilisa is most interesting to the student of architecture, and is no doubt a work of considerable antiquity. A ruined chapel on the south of the building contains a much-effaced inscription to the effect that it was constructed by the lady Khoshkhosh, daughter of Gagik and queen of Senekerim.89