Oriental cities—and Erivan is still essentially Oriental—may perhaps be said to be built upon two planes. There is the plane of the street, and there is the plane of the flat roofs, all at about the same level. Where the climate during summer renders the rooms of the house untenantable after the walls have been heated through by the sun, the daily life of the inhabitants undergoes a corresponding division into the life of the street and the life of the roof. About an hour before sunset the entire population mounts from the lower apartments, or even from the cellars, to the open platforms, floored with mud and sometimes protected by a low balustrade, which receive the freshness of the evening breeze. It is there that the last and first meals of the day are served, and the quilts spread upon which sleep is enjoyed beneath the stars. A strange scene it is when the faint light of morning has broken, and when the recumbent forms commence to stir. The divisions made by the narrow streets are scarcely perceptible; your own roof appears to join the roofs of your neighbours, and these to compose a single and elevated stage above the landscape of dim earth and flashing stream. Figures, erect from the waist, are revealed in every posture; and it may happen that the cotton drapery has dropped from a woman’s shoulders as she stretches her arms in the fancied seclusion of some partial screen. Such scenes are the daily accompaniment of a summer sojourn in the towns upon the lowlands through which the Euphrates and the Tigris flow. In Armenia, with a mean level of several thousand feet above the sea, the practice of sleeping in the open is confined to the depression of this plain of the Araxes; and even here it is only partially indulged. The better-to-do among the inhabitants take refuge in the adjacent mountains when their dwellings have become little better than furnaces. The traveller is advised to swelter within four walls rather than tempt fever from the expanse of irrigated land by exposing himself to the night air.

Yet the twofold division of the city into an upper and a lower region is nowhere more productive of startling contrast than in this town of gardens which is Erivan. In the streets, lined as they are with the rude stone walls of the enclosures, surmounted by a crumbling ridge of clay, the vistas are confined by inexorable foliage to the space of a stone’s throw. The central park, with its wide spaces, enjoys no further landscape than that which is limited by the zones of the adjacent buildings or by its own lofty forest trees. Where you are not threading the narrow alleys of the more thickly inhabited quarters, you will be winding by irregular ways, deep in white dust, by the side of swirling water or within hearing of its murmur beyond the bulwark which screens the orchard from the lane. But from the standpoint of the roof the horizon expands to boundaries which are so remote that they are scarcely conceivable by a European mind. The foliage or the hollow of the site eliminates the middle distance; and the opposite piles of Great Ararat in the south (Fig. 40) and of AlagÖz in the north (Fig. 41) rise immediately from the soft foreground of the embowered houses. The landscape from the high ground on the north, as you approach Erivan by the road from Tiflis, is difficult to forget (Fig. 42). The whole fabric of Ararat is exposed from base to summits; but so tall are the poplars and luxuriant the countless varieties of fruit trees, that they almost conceal the domes of the mosques and the cupolas of the churches, spread over the straggling township at your feet.

All this verdure is mainly due to the river Zanga, the Hrazdan of the Armenians, which collects the drainage of a section of the southern slopes of the border range, and which is fed by the waters of Lake Sevan, called also GÖkcheh, from its sky-blue colour, and by Armenian writers the Lake of Gegham. This beautiful alpine sea is surrounded by lofty mountains and has an area 2½ times as large as that of Geneva. It produces salmon trout of delicious flavour which are seldom absent from the bill of fare in the provincial capital. It finds an outlet through the Zanga into the Araxes at a difference in the level of 3600 feet. The brawling Zanga, already weakened by the canals which diffuse its waters, pursues a devious course at the foot of high and rocky banks on the western outskirts of the town. Further eastwards the irrigation is supplied by the Kirk Bulakh, a stream of which the name signifies forty springs, and which has its sources at no great distance from Erivan. Such abundance of running water should secure to this growing city a large measure of prosperity under settled government. As the centre of the most populous of the Armenian provinces of the Russian Empire, to which it gives its name, it is already a place of some pretensions. But the inhabitants do not at present number more than 15,000, of whom half are Tartars and half Armenians. This total also comprises about 300 Russians, whose most conspicuous units are the drivers of the carriages on hire, belonging, I believe, exclusively to the Molokan sect.1

Erivan does not possess any monuments of first-rate merit or of great antiquity. Her origin is obscure. Noah may quite well have lived here before the Deluge, as one of the earliest of modern European visitors was informed by his Armenian friends.2 The popular derivation of the name is from the Armenian verb erevel, and it is said to signify appearing. The place would, indeed, be about the first locality in the plain region to appear to the eyes of the patriarch of old.3 Hither may have been directed his steps and those of his family when the waters had receded from a world renewed. This may be the site of the original city of Noah, perhaps preserved beneath the soil upon which is built the present town. The more learned are inclined to a much later foundation, but do not yield in point of philological plausibility to the champions of the identification with Noah’s city. They say that the name has been shortened from Erovantavan, which they render the place where Erovant was defeated. Erovant or Ervand was an Armenian monarch of the first century who was vanquished in this region by the lawful heir to the throne of the Arsakids at the head of a Persian army. The event and the survival of the name Erovantavan are attested by Moses of Khorene.4 The Mohammedan derivation from Revan Kul, a prince of the reign of Shah Ismail (1502–1524),5 who is said to have fortified the place by his master’s order, cannot be reconciled with the fact that Erivan was already in existence certainly in the eleventh and probably in the seventh century.6 But it played no prominent part whether in ancient or mediÆval history until the advent of the Ottoman Empire. From the sixteenth century into modern times it was continually disputed between the Sultans and their powerful neighbours on the east, the Persian Shahs. The enumeration of the sieges it sustained at the hands of Turks and Persians would be a tax upon my reader’s patience which I am not disposed to levy. When the Russians appeared on the scene it was in Persian possession; and an unsuccessful attempt on their part to capture the fortress in 1804 supplied the ground for the firm belief in its impregnability which was cherished by its Persian governors. This confidence was rudely shattered by Paskevich in October 1827. His shells wrought fearful havoc in the unsubstantial town, and one is said to have pierced the dome of the mosque in the citadel, whither thousands of the wretched inhabitants had fled for protection against the hail of the cannon. The Russian army entered the place without encountering any serious obstacle, and the Russian flag has waved there ever since.7

One might expect to find some mosques of considerable age in a city which flourished under its Mohammedan masters. One must, however, recollect that the Ottoman Turks are Sunnis and the Persians Shiahs; what the one may erect the other loves to destroy. We are expressly told that when Shah Safi took the place in A.D. 1635 all the mosques built by the Turks were razed to the ground.8 About the same time the position of the town, or perhaps only of the fortress, underwent a change, being removed some eight hundred paces to its present site on the rocky cliffs at the foot of which the Zanga flows.9 The Persians do not appear to have enriched it at that period with any remarkable buildings; and it was recovered by the Turks in 1724.10 Some ten years later it again fell into the hands of the Persians as one of the conquests of Nadir Shah. The principal mosque is said to date from the reign of this monarch. The curious old tower which was seen by Chardin as well as by Tournefort, and of which the lineaments have been handed down to us by the former of these travellers, has long since disappeared.

Still the buildings which at present exist are well worth a visit; and I propose to invite my reader to accompany me in a leisurely ramble through the alleys of Erivan. The more populous quarters are divided into a western and an eastern half, at first by the broad, metalled road which comes from Tiflis, and, further south, by the central park. Speaking generally, the eastern half is inhabited by the Tartars and the western by the Armenians. In the one you will discover the mosques, in the other the churches. But the churches are either small and quite insignificant stone structures, or have been restored beyond recognition in comparatively recent and tasteless times. I counted no less than six, including the Russian church at the southern extremity of the town. Of these the oldest foundation would appear to be that of Surb KatholikeSurb Katholike, which stands in a pleasant walled garden, adjoining the great road, in the upper or northern quarter. An ancient elm dwarfs the humble oblong edifice, which is entered from a portal on the south side, added in 1861. The interior, which is very low, is disposed in a nave and aisles, an apse and two side apses or chapels. Chardin attributes a church of this name to the latest kings of Armenia, and the priests assured me that it was indeed the earliest in date at Erivan. It was here that in Persian times the katholikos would officiate, while residing in the provincial capital.

A little lower down the road we pass Paulos PetrosPaulos Petros. (Paul and Peter), the largest and the least pleasing of the town churches. But once we have left the wide avenue to become involved in the network of gardens on the north and north-west, any mediocrity in the buildings we visit is amply compensated by the charm of the enclosures in which they stand. Such verdure of every shade and constant hum of flowing water! To Surb JoannesSurb Joannes. we come first—four walls and a metal roof, to which is attached a wooden belfry, painted green. You see the Zanga issuing from a cleft in the barren hills, of which the hardness contrasts with the foliage at their base. The little portal of Joannes is quite a pretty feature, and I was informed that the church dates from the latter part of the seventeenth century. A more ambitious structure is Surb ZoravarSurb Zoravar., situated some little distance in an easterly direction, but still within the zone of these high slopes on the north. It is surrounded by old gardens and overshadowed by walnut trees. The body of the church is quite plain, four walls and a roof of low pitch; but an elaborate portal, surmounted by a belfry and supported by four massive piers, extends the whole length of the west front. Two piers in the centre are panelled and richly carved by the most delicate of chisels. There is a very old doorway on the south side with spiral mouldings, and the frescos over the principal entrance—a rare feature—are well drawn and show good feeling for colour. I understand that the present church has supplanted an older building; but I will not vouch for the statement that the portal is due to Moses Katholikos (A.D. 1629–1632), as I was informed by the aged and ignorant priest. He came at last, after many peals from the belfry, his tottering frame supported by a lay companion. The clergy of Erivan are not more enlightened than the most backward of their profession in remote districts of the Turkish provinces.

On the other hand the greater material well-being of the laity is made manifest by the air of comparative comfort presented by the interiors of their places of worship. Of course one misses the pews of our English churches, or the serried lines of chairs which furnish the temples of the Continent. But the floors are well carpeted and the bare walls kept in repair. From Surb Zoravar one may readily regain the Tiflis road and pass in a southerly direction along the central park. Thence it is no great distance to the principal mosque of the city, the GÖk JamiGÖk Jami. or mosque of heaven. This edifice is situated in the western half of Erivan, and is surrounded by dwellings of Tartars in considerable number, overlapping into the Armenian quarters. It is approached from the narrow streets of a bazar consisting of booths, and is entered by a handsome doorway at the side of an imposing minaret, of which the surface is diversified by designs in polychrome tiles (Fig. 43). You pass through a vaulted passage into the great court (Fig. 44). It is a vast place, shady and serene. Lofty elms of great age shadow the basin of overflowing water which bubbles in the centre of the paved spaces. Upon its margin are gathered figures in long robes and turbans, or attired in the Persian fashion and wearing the Persian lambskin hat. These are busy with their ablutions; while elsewhere, beneath the shade, mollahs are instructing groups of their younger pupils, seated on mats spread upon the flags. Beds of single dahlias refresh and please the eye. Of life and movement there is no lack; people are coming and going; there in the distance a train of shapeless forms in deep blue draperies makes its way to the women’s mosque. But the absence of the least suspicion of haste spreads an atmosphere of delightful repose. It requires no small fortitude—they would call it diseased curiosity—to pace from side to side and ascertain that this quadrangle measures 87 paces by 58. The latter is the dimension of the side on the south, upon which is built the temple itself (Fig. 45). Beneath the spacious dome men and women are gathered indiscriminately, the women veiled in Persian fashion. There is nothing very remarkable in the architecture of the mosque; but the floral paintings which adorn the ceiling of a companion and smaller edifice on the north side of the court are of very high merit. The remainder of the quadrangle is taken up by rows of low buildings, containing chambers in which the older scholars pursue their studies. One wonders what they may be learning. A mollah of importance informs us that the GÖk Jami was built in the time of Nadir Shah (A.D. 1736–1747) by the sirdar, Hoseyn Ali Khan.

With the exception of the mosque in the fortress, the religious edifices of the Mohammedans are extremely well maintained. I counted three mosques in the Tartar quarters. That of Haji Nusrallah Bey and the Shehr JamiHaji Nusrallah Bey.
Shehr Jami. (town mosque) are almost exactly similar in design. The former is evidently a replica of the latter, which displays a Turkish inscription on the outer door with a date which we read as 1098 (A.D. 1687). But it must have been restored since that time. Although much smaller than GÖk Jami, it bears some resemblance to that building; and the walled court with its fountain and beds of long-stalked dahlias is as pleasant a refuge from dusty alleys as man could desire.

But perhaps the most interesting monument is the kiosque of the sirdarsKiosque of the sirdars., in the extreme southern angle of the town. We may approach it from the west, and take Surb SargisSurb Sargis. on the way. That church and pleasant terrace on the high land above the Zanga commands an extensive view over the southern quarters and across the plain to Ararat. The deeply-bedded river is flowing on an easterly course towards the fortress and the gardens of the sirdars outside its walls. After skirting those parapets it will turn abruptly in the reverse direction, and pursue a more tranquil career to the Araxes. The fortress to which we proceed is still some distance off, and the walls of mud and rubble which line the cliffs on the left bank of the Zanga are rapidly falling into total ruin. While they are flanked by the swirling stream they may once have possessed some power of resistance; but after the river has deserted the site beyond the abrupt bend, the town is exposed immediately to the plain. The sirdar’s palace composes the kernel of the fortified area, and its windows overlook the river. But the extensive buildings of his well-stocked harem, the magazines of his garrison and the abodes of his courtiers have either disappeared altogether or are rapidly crumbling away. From among a heap of ruins rises intact a single edifice, which is kept in repair by the Russians. It is the pavilion in which the sirdar was wont to beguile his leisure. From the window in the alcove of this elaborate interior (Fig. 46) he would feast his eyes on the landscape—the river at his feet, his own shady garden in the plain, the dim spaces backed by the fabric of Ararat. Here he exercised his skill as a marksman upon the donkeys of the unfortunate peasants, sending a ball through them as they wound along the road on the right bank of the Zanga towards the bridge with its two pointed arches.11 This bridge is placed just below the pavilion, and is still the only avenue of communication between Erivan and the country beyond the river. What consummation of Oriental felicity to sit on cushions in this glittering apartment and watch the caravans which fill your coffers defiling below! From time to time there may come an embassy to your overlord of Persia, and there will be a report to dictate upon the size and splendour of the cavalcade. The beauties of Georgia and Circassia luxuriate in the adjoining halls, and water flows in abundance everywhere. The governor of Erivan was quite a little king in the country, and, when he travelled, the inhabitants of the villages along his route would immolate an ox in his honour.12

The incrustation which my reader may admire upon the vaulting of the alcove is composed of pieces of mirror which shine like the facets of a jewel. An encrusted cornice of the same material surmounts the walls of the pavilion below a ceiling profusely adorned with floral designs, conspicuous being the iris and the rose. Eight paintings on canvas, applied to shallow recesses, are distributed around the room. I believe they are copies, made since the Russian occupation, of originals which had fallen into decay. The two which are comprised by my illustration, one on either side of the alcove, represent on the left hand the figure of Hoseyn Khan Sirdar, and, on the right, the Persian hero Feramez. Of the remainder, three are portraits—Fath Ali, Shah of Persia (1797–1834), his son Abbas Mirza and Hasan Khan, brother to the Sirdar Hoseyn; while an equal number are indifferent renderings of heroic personages—the warriors Sherab and Rustem, and a Persian Amazon. One of my predecessors has recorded that at the time of his visit in 1834 the panels in the alcove were adorned with four pictures setting forth subjects which were well conceived to amuse the fancy of an old debauchee. A Mussulman was receiving wine from a fair Georgian in the presence of the monks of Edgmiatsin, whose arguments had been less potent to effect his conversion than the fleshly charms of the Christian girl. A Persian beauty in loose trousers and diaphanous upper garment was making her obeisance to the Shah. Here a prince of the blood royal in costume of the chase dallied with a maiden while her aged father lay asleep; there the beautiful features of Joseph spread havoc among the assembled ladies at the house of the wife of Potiphar.13 These various incitements to delight no longer grace the forlorn kiosque, and perhaps their disappearance is no great loss to the world of art. The original decoration, which is quite intact, upon the walls and ceiling enables us to judge how great had been the artistic decadence of Persia since her painters displayed their skill upon the walls of the Chehel Situn, the noble pavilion on the banks of the Zenda Rud.

From this kiosque we may make our way to the adjoining mosque of the fortressMosque of the fortress., which is now no longer frequented by the faithful. It stands a little east of the old palace; the interior beneath the spacious dome is decorated with much skill by means of little bricks of many colours. The great court is already ruinous. An old henna-stained attendant informed us that it was erected in the reign of Fath Ali Shah and that it was known as the Abbas Mirza Jami. Walls and palace and mosque are, I conclude, already doomed. Hard by their crumbling remains are seen the barracks of the Russian garrison and the metal roof of a Russian church. The last of the sirdars is already long since dead, he whose portrait hangs on the wall of the pavilion. He died in a miserable stable, bereft of everything but the squalid garment which clothed his aged body. Yet his memory is pleasantly associated with one of the favourite episodes of Persian romance. It is related that a young Georgian travelled to this fortress above the Zanga to catch a glimpse of his betrothed in the sirdar’s harem. The girl, espying her lover, precipitated herself towards him from the window, and was saved from certain death by a willow which broke her fall. The pair were captured; but the incident touched the heart of her jealous owner, who pardoned them both and let them go. His generous speech has been preserved: “Hearts so closely united let no man endeavour to part.”14

Perhaps the best introduction to the population of a city consists in a visit to the schools. Erivan is better supplied in respect both of elementary and secondary education than any other town in the Armenian provinces of the Russian Empire. But, before recording my personal impressions of what I saw during a brief inspection, I should like to review the conditions which govern the schools. When Russia became mistress of a large portion of Armenia, her rulers found that their Armenian subjects were already in possession of a school system of which, with their customary tenacity, they were extremely jealous, and which probably dated from the invention of the Armenian alphabet as early as the fifth century. The Church has been for long ages the pillar of Armenian nationality; and the schools were affiliated to the Church. There were not therefore wanting all the elements of a bitter quarrel; and if any question more than another has envenomed the relations between the Armenians and their Russian rulers it is this question of the schools.

When the constitution of the Armenian Church and its relations to the Government were embodied in a State document, a chapter was inserted by virtue of which the Tsar of Russia formally recognised the Church schools.15 They were stated to have as their object the religious and moral education of the children, and to be under the guidance and supervision of the bishops. It was provided that their rules and curricula should be submitted to the synod at Edgmiatsin, and that this body should in turn transmit them for acceptance to the Minister of the Interior. A rider was added to the effect that it was a matter of importance that the clergy should become acquainted with the Russian language, and with the history and geography of the Russian Empire.

It is only fair to the Government to remark, by way of parenthesis, that although a period of over half a century has elapsed since the promulgation of this document, few teachers and still fewer pupils have yet displayed even moderate proficiency in the speaking and writing of Russian. With the growth of material prosperity, which was the outcome of the Russian occupation, the Armenian schools prospered and their standards rose. The teachers, who were laymen, were taken from good families; and one may safely assert that at the present day the Armenian youth are instructed by the best educated and best informed among their countrymen. Many of them have studied in Europe, principally in Germany, and are men of far higher attainments in the field of knowledge than such as might be required by the teaching which they are permitted to dispense. The first step taken by Government to cut the wings of the national schools was the limitation of the standard of instruction. The class is in Russia the measure of this standard, the first class standing at the bottom of the scale. Schools of five classes were frequently attached to the churches; and the scholars who desired to pursue their studies still further passed to the so-called seminary of the diocese in which they lived. In this manner it was possible for a youth to receive all but the highest university education in his native language and through his native institutions. It is true that the Minister of the Interior had a right of censorship; but in view of the gravity of the fancied danger this safeguard was only partial. So the Government drew the pen through the third, fourth, and fifth classes and left the Armenians nothing more than the elementary course. Such action was thought to be arbitrary in view of the fact that these schools are supported by purely voluntary contributions.

Empire! what insidious wickedness, surpassing the horrors of war, is committed in the name of empire! Surely it is a right as elementary as that of security for life and property to supervise the education of your children. One might sympathise with the Russian Government had they merely required that the standard of instruction should not fall below the standard of schools in Russia. Nor should we be inclined to withhold our sympathy if they had only renewed their insistence upon the necessity of a knowledge of Russian. That was the wise as well as the humane policy. The ukase of 1884 was conceived in a very different spirit, and may be branded as an infamous document. It provided that Church schools with more than two classes should be placed upon the same basis as private schools in Russia, that is to say that the whole of the instruction should be conducted in the Russian language. This was tantamount to closing such schools. The supreme control of the elementary schools was transferred from the Ministry of the Interior to the Department of Education. The seminaries were suffered to exist upon the basis of the decree of 1836, but their object was defined to be the preparation of clergymen to meet the requirements of the Armenian Church.

The synod at Edgmiatsin, although already placed in leading strings by Government, did not see their way to accept this decree. They urged that, since it had been issued during a vacancy of the Chair, its consideration should be postponed until the election of a new katholikos. Government retaliated by closing the schools. Nor were they again opened until in 1886 the pontiff Makar signified his consent to the provisions of the ukase, subject to some small concession as to the scope of the curricula in schools of two classes. The higher classes remained closed. Such was the situation at the time of my visit. It had, however, been further enacted that after the lapse of a prescribed period every teacher in an Armenian school should be required to possess a certificate from the Russian Department of Education. In order to obtain this certificate the candidate must pass an examination conducted in the Russian language. The term of grace was coming to an end in a few months, and I gathered that few teachers had acquired the necessary linguistic proficiency.16

Education is not a department of human activity which can be properly conducted upon military principles. The only discipline healthy for the mind is that which is derived from the unfettered exercise of the faculties with which it has been endowed. In Erivan I had occasion to remark the contrast in intellectual atmosphere between the Russian and the Armenian school. Here were offered two typical examples of these diverse species, still existing side by side. As the capital of a diocese, the Church has still the right to possess a seminary in the town of Erivan. The seminary embraces the standards which we may call secondary education, and has no less than six classes. It has contrived to evade the restrictions which are in the spirit of the ukase of 1884 in respect of the character of its pupils. It was quite obvious that very few were destined to take orders, although perhaps the majority of the 360 scholars were included in the elementary classes. There was no trace of any clerical bias in the choice of treatises; and the teachers in secular subjects were, I believe, all laymen. One at least was a young man of exceptional ability, trained in Europe at his own expense. It would be difficult to find among the staff of our secondary schools a master better equipped for his task. The pupils, whose age extended from ten to twenty years, did not appear to acquire knowledge by rote. The Principal spoke the German language fluently and was in touch with the thought of the West. Yet even this privileged institution has been clipped of much of its usefulness by being placed at an unfair advantage as compared to the Russian school. It is interdicted the seventh and eighth classes, although there can be no doubt in respect of the competency of its staff. It is perhaps for this reason that it is not as a rule attended by sons of the richest citizens. Its income of £1800 a year is principally subscribed by Armenians of means. Only about a sixth of the sum comes from the pupils. The majority receive their education free of charge.

The subjects taught in the highest class are theology and psychology, mathematics, physics, logic, modern history and modern languages. In the latter category they are restricted by order to Russian and French. The instruction is conducted in Armenian except in the case of Russian language and literature, when the Russian tongue is used. Their text-book in psychology was a Russian translation of Alexander Bain and in logic of W. S. Jevons. Besides this seminary, which is attached to the church of Surb Sargis, there is a school for girls with 200 pupils.

The Russian school is mainly supported by the State out of revenues derived from taxation. It has the rank and is known by the name of a gymnasium in the German acceptation of that term. Its subvention produces a yearly income of £4500, which is supplemented by the fees paid by nine-tenths of the scholars, amounting to about £4 a head. Out of 260 boys and youths some 26 were boarders and the rest day pupils. The boarders sleep in a long dormitory, kept scrupulously clean and neat. The majority pay for their maintenance £25 a year; the poorer can only afford £15. The school is housed in a commodious building in the centre of the town and exhibits every sign of prosperity. It has large and well-furnished reception rooms for days of fÊte. The class rooms, with their rows of forms and large black-boards, inspire a salutary awe. The library is well stocked and does the Russian Director great credit, as does the general organisation of the institution.

But the spirit of the place is that of the camp; the methods are purely military, and one almost expects the sound of a bugle to announce which lesson shall be rehearsed. Since human memory is of brief span and the recollection of facts is of no great value, it is not so much this faculty that requires cultivation as the habit of study and the power to collate facts. The education dispensed by this school will not produce scholars or thinkers; indeed the pen is here the servant of the sword. But at least it serves to sharpen the wits, and to induce a nimbleness of mind which can scarcely fail to be of use to its Mohammedan members.

All who can afford to buy a uniform appear in trousers and tunic of blue cloth, enlivened with brass buttons. A dress of similar material is worn by the ushers. The pupils are drilled and put through simple military exercises; they may be seen marching with music at their head. Yet this is a civil institution. It is the only gymnasium or High School in the Russian provinces of the Armenian plateau. At the time of my visit the school list contained the names of 159 Armenians, 67 Russians, 9 Georgians, 7 Poles and 18 Tartars. Only the last belonged to the Mohammedan religion.

When it is remembered that the Tartars compose one-half of the inhabitants and are numerous in the districts about Erivan, the poor show which they make among the inmates of this important school is a very significant fact. As a body, they shut themselves off from Western education; and for this reason they appear destined to be edged out by the Armenians, as a species unable to adapt itself to the new environment. They are still in possession of some of the richest land in the province, and many among them are wealthy men of leisure. These khans occasionally send a son to the school. But the Director informed me that youths of this class were rarely successful; they were indolent and left at an early age. Those who belonged to the middle class stayed longer and were much more hopeful. Although I passed through every room while the students were pursuing their tasks, I only counted six Tartars, all told. The method of procedure was extremely entertaining. Accompanied by the amiable Director, I was introduced to the presiding usher, who would descend from his daÏs and extend his hand. Some fifty to a hundred bright black eyes were focussed upon us; all were standing, not a muscle moved and not a sound was heard. Then some such little comedy as this would be gone through:—

The Director (addressing myself in German). “This is the Latin class. Permit me to present you to M. ——off”. (In Russian) “Pupils, you may sit down” (a single clap and shuffle—perfect silence). “You, Sir, will please address the Professor in the Latin tongue.”

Myself (after a long and embarrassed pause). “Gratias ago; clementiam, benigne rector, reposco. Consuetudinem linguÆ LatinÆ parum conservo. Verum versus video in nigra ista tabula inscriptos, mihi valde familiares: ‘O utinam tunc quum LacedÆmona classe petebat, obrutus insanis esset adulter aquis.’ Vellem interrogare discipulos quisnam ille fuerit adulter.”

The Usher (a forlorn and crushed individual. At first listless; but he encounters the flashing eyes of the little Director, and stammers). “Sv ... svit ... niet, niet ...” (and he proceeds in Russian).

The Director. “My colleague desires me to state that he quite understands what you said. You wished to express admiration of our new blackboards. I thank you in his and my name. Is there any question you would like to put?”

Myself. “There appear to be about thirty boys in this class. I wonder what proportion Tartars bear to Armenians among them.”

The Director. “Russians, stand up!” (some four or five fair-haired and closely-cropped youths rise in their places. Their faces show intelligence, and one likes them)—“Armenians, stand up!” (the first batch sit down; practically the whole class springs to its feet)—“Tartars, stand up!” (one little boy at the extreme end of the class confronts his seated schoolmates).

One feature of this institution seemed specially well conceived; it was the manner in which the religious difficulty was solved. Two different religions—the Mohammedan and the Christian—and three distinct professions of the latter—the Gregorian Armenian, Roman Catholic (Poles), and so-called Russian Orthodox—were represented among the pupils and were expounded to their several votaries by as many diverse types of the holders of sacerdotal office. Separate rooms were set aside in which the mollah taught Islam, and the papa or padre or vardapet explained the New Testament. In this manner each youth received instruction in the faith of his fathers at the hands of one of its official exponents; while the rub and wear of continual intercourse in the secular classes accustomed Mohammedan and Christian, Russian Orthodox and Gregorian Armenian to respect their classmates and to tolerate each other’s faith. The extension of such a system over the whole of these provinces would be likely to work incalculable good; and, side by side with glaring defects in the methods of secular instruction, it is a real pleasure to be able to congratulate the State schools upon such a salutary feature and cordially to wish them success.

The Tartars of Erivan are for the most part of Turkish descent, and of kindred race to the bulk of the inhabitants of the neighbouring Persian province of Azerbaijan. But some of the number included under this name in the statistics may more properly be designated as Persians. All profess the Shiah tenets. I had expected to find them extremely fanatical, judging by my experience of their co-religionists in Persia, and by an account given of them by a French traveller.17 But not only are Christians permitted to enter their mosques; they are even received with cordiality by the groups assembled in the outer courts. I do not know whether this altered demeanour may be due to a policy of no nonsense pursued by the Russian Government. If such be the case it is a significant fact. How often have I stood before the door of a mosque in Persia, casting eager glances at the vista of priceless treasures within! On each occasion I have in vain appealed to the Governor, who would urge that he could not be responsible for my safety, and beg me not to attempt to enter. At Erivan I was invited to penetrate into every part, and to stand by the side of the faithful while they prayed. I have already stated that the Tartar inhabitants include many men of means, who live on the proceeds of their extensive gardens. But a good proportion of the large shop-keepers belong to this race, and are well-mannered and fairly well-educated men. I fancy, however, that they would scarcely be able to compete with the Armenians, were it not for the support of patrons of their own blood. For the rest, the small hucksters and the sellers of fruit are in a very large proportion Tartar. So, almost exclusively, are the workers in mud after their various kinds: plasterers, embankers, makers of ducts to water the gardens. The gardeners and drivers of carts largely belong to this nation; but there is scarcely a carpenter or a skilled mason who is not an Armenian.

While the Tartars are reputed to hoard, the Armenians are excessively lavish, and spend large sums in building themselves fine houses. Many an ornate villa in Italian style may be seen emerging from the foliage of the gardens. Here and there quite a little palace faces the street. Yet, with all their comparative wealth, they have not yet emerged from the material stage, and I searched in vain for a bookseller. Indeed, in spite of many signs of progress and of her favourable geographical position, Erivan can scarcely yet be said to be connected with the pulse of the great world. Here is a city not so far from Europe, and needing capital for her development; yet scarcely any capital has found its way in. Teheran, although much more distant, has a numerous European colony; and there is not an enterprise, from banks to electric lighting and tramways, which a number of candidates are not contending with each other to supply. You will not meet a single foreign industrialist in Erivan, nor be able to purchase any but Russian newspapers. Even the Armenians are not encouraged to develop the resources of the country. The following question which I addressed to a prominent Armenian capitalist may exhibit, together with the answer, the magnitude of those resources and the reasons assigned for the fact that they are not exploited.

Q. “Can you explain to me why so little use is made of your natural advantages—the immense extent of idle soil and the abundance of water? In the north you have the vast reservoir of Lake Sevan; in the south the Araxes, running in full stream to the Caspian Sea. Cultivation might surely be increased to many times its present area without any great expense.”

A. “The waste lands are for the most part in the hands of the Russian Government, and they are not inclined to sell or lease them to Armenians. They are believed to be keeping them for Russians, but the Russians do not come. A successful piece of reclamation has been made by General Cheremetieff in the neighbourhood of Ararat. We have made repeated proposals to take lands and irrigate them, but we have never been able to obtain permission.”

Perhaps, if these lines come to the eyes of M. Witte, he will give the matter the attention which it deserves.

The same exclusive economical policy, as manifested in protective duties, has deflected commerce from the natural avenue of the valley of the Araxes, and caused it to pursue more lengthy and less convenient routes. There is scarcely any transit trade with Persia. The prosperity of the place is therefore dependent on native industries, which comprise the cultivation and export of cotton, wine and rice. Cotton to the value of about £400,000 is annually despatched by waggon or camel to the station of Akstafa on the Tiflis railway, and thence, vi Batum and the Black Sea or Baku and the Caspian, to the manufacturing centres of Russia. Three large Russian firms are locally represented by offices and factories, where the cotton is purchased and cleaned and pressed. The presses, which are of English make, are driven by horse power. While this industry is in the hands of Russians the trade in wine is conducted by Armenians; and very excellent wine have they succeeded in producing. The value of the yearly export, which goes exclusively to Russia, is as yet only £20,000. But the enterprise of M. Karapet Afrikean, who has closely studied his subject in Germany, has already effected a marked improvement in the quality of the wine, and is likely to lead to a great increase in the demand. Rice is also exported and in considerable quantities to Erzerum and the Turkish provinces. The fruits of Erivan are almost unrivalled in the world; but I do not know that they are preserved and sent away.

Such is the city which, with its vast and populous province, absorbs all the time and all the energies of its Russian governor, sitting at his green baize table overlooking the park. General Frese has a real affection for that table, which he has shaped to fit his figure. From early morning to late night his erect and military form is condemned to that inactive but rigid posture. He never indulges in the relaxation of an arm-chair. While you puff your cigarette among his hospitable cushions, he will discourse upon the mighty rivers and forests of Siberia from across the field of green baize. Dinner is served in a room displaying all the skill of Persian artists, and overlooking, through a window composed of tiny panes of glass, a miniature garden disposed as for the stage of a theatre. I need hardly say that this work of fancy was not created by the order of the present occupant of Government House. Still the fare at his table is worthy of the most refined palate; such excellent trout and tender chickens and the pick of the native wine! Immediately after the meal he resumes his seat in the adjoining room behind the green baize. He attributes the backwardness of the country to excessive centralisation at St. Petersburg, a process which has been tending to assume increasing proportions now that the Caucasus is no longer administered by a Grand Duke.