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 Full contents

List of contributors xiii

Acknowledgements xiv

Introduction: the need for a heterodox approach to

economic analysis 1
Louis-Philippe Rochon and Sergio Rossi

PART I ECONOMICS, ECONOMIC ANALYSIS AND

ECONOMIC SYSTEMS

1 What is economics? 21
Louis-Philippe Rochon and Sergio Rossi
Introduction 21
The role of ideology in economics 25
Is economics a science? 28
The use of models and of mathematics 30
Economics and the social sciences 33
What then is economics? 36
Micro- versus macroeconomics 38
A portrait of Adam Smith (1723–90) 41

2 The history of economic theories 42

Heinrich Bortis
Why are these topics important? 44
Two broad groups of economic theories 44
The history of economics 46
The history of political economy 54
Neoclassical–Walrasian economics and classical–Keynesian
political economy assessed 72
A portrait of David Ricardo (1772–1823) 75

3 Monetary economies of production 76

Louis-Philippe Rochon
Why are these topics important? 77
The neoclassical/mainstream view 77

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 viii · An introduction to macroeconomics

The heterodox view 80

Conclusion 90
A portrait of John Maynard Keynes (1883–1946) 93

PART II MONEY, BANKS AND FINANCIAL ACTIVITIES

4 Money and banking 97

Marc Lavoie and Mario Seccareccia
Why are these topics important? 98
Money, banks, and their origins 98
Understanding the heterodox approach to banks
and the modern payment system from a simple
balance-sheet perspective 107
Concluding remarks 114
A portrait of Alain Parguez (1940–) 116

5 The financial system 117

Jan Toporowski
Why are these topics important? 118
Mainstream economic theory 119
What is wrong with the textbook approach? 123
The financing needs of modern capitalism 126
The economic consequences of long-term finance 128
Finance in Keynes’s analysis 130
A portrait of Hyman Philip Minsky (1919–96) 133

6 The central bank and monetary policy 134

Louis-Philippe Rochon and Sergio Rossi
Why are these topics important? 135
The mainstream perspective 136
The heterodox perspective 141
A portrait of Alfred S. Eichner (1937–88) 148

PART III THE MACROECONOMICS OF THE SHORT

AND LONG RUN

7 Aggregate demand 151

Jesper Jespersen
Why are these topics important? 152
The National Accounting System: some principles
and definitions 152
From statistical concepts to macroeconomic theory 154

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 Full contents · ix

The neoclassical theory of aggregate demand 156

The Keynesian theory of aggregate demand and
output 159
The income multiplier 164
Expected aggregate demand and supply: effective demand 166
Demand management policies 168
A portrait of Richard Kahn (1905–89) 171

8 Inflation and unemployment 172

Alvaro Cencini and Sergio Rossi
Why are these topics important? 173
Inflation 174
Unemployment 180
Towards a monetary macroeconomic analysis of
inflation and unemployment 183
A portrait of Bernard Schmitt (1929–2014) 192

9 The role of fiscal policy 193

Malcolm Sawyer
Why are these topics important? 194
Is there a need for fiscal policy? 194
The role of automatic stabilizers 200
Functional finance and the post-Keynesian
approach to fiscal policy 201
Conclusion 207
Appendix A 208
Appendix B 209
A portrait of Michał Kalecki (1899–1970) 210

10 Economic growth and development 211

Mark Setterfield
Why are these topics important? 212
Economic growth: the statistical record 213
Supply versus demand in the determination of
long-run growth 218
What forces shape demand formation and growth
in the long run? 220
Keynesian growth theory 222
Properties of Keynesian growth theory 225
A portrait of Nicholas Kaldor (1908–86) 232

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 x · An introduction to macroeconomics

11 Wealth distribution 233

Omar Hamouda
Why are these topics important? 234
Some introductory remarks 235
Mainstream economic theory of wealth distribution 236
States of income distribution: a description 241
Heterodox perspectives 246
A new macroeconomics approach: stock of wealth
and social well-being 250
Some concluding remarks 254
A portrait of Karl Marx (1818–83) 256

PART IV INTERNATIONAL ECONOMY

12 International trade and development 259

Robert A. Blecker
Why are these topics important? 260
The orthodox approach: the theory of comparative
advantage 261
The heterodox alternative: imbalanced trade,
unemployment, and absolute competitive
advantages 267
Long-run development and infant-industry
protection 271
Trade liberalization and trade agreements 273
Manufactured exports and the fallacy of
composition 276
Conclusions 278
A portrait of Joan Robinson (1903–83) 281

13 Balance-of-payments-constrained growth 282

John McCombie and Nat Tharnpanich
Why are these topics important? 283
The determination of the balance-of-payments
equilibrium growth rate 284
The Harrod foreign trade multiplier and the Hicks
supermultiplier 286
Price and non-price competitiveness in
international trade 288
The role of the growth of capital flows 290
Resource-constrained, policy-constrained and
balance-of-payments-constrained growth 292

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 Full contents · xi

Structural change and the multi-sectoral Thirlwall’s

Law 294
Tests of the model and empirical evidence 294
A portrait of Paul Davidson (1930–) 299

14 European monetary union 300

Sergio Rossi
Why are these topics important? 301
The mainstream perspective 301
The heterodox perspective 306
A portrait of Robert Triffin (1911–93) 315

PART V RECENT TRENDS

15 Financialization 319
Gerald A. Epstein
Why are these topics important? 320
What is financialization? 320
How old is financialization? 322
Dimensions of financialization 322
Impacts of financialization 327
Conclusion 331
A portrait of Karl Paul Polanyi (1886–1964) 334

16 Imbalances and crises 336

Robert Guttmann
Why are these topics important? 337
The mainstream view of a self-adjusting economy 337
Overproduction versus underconsumption 338
Growth and distribution 342
Cyclical growth dynamics 343
External imbalances and adjustments 349
Concluding remarks 354
A portrait of Mikhail Tugan-Baranovsky
(1865–1919) 358

17 Sustainable development 359

Richard P.F. Holt
Why are these topics important? 360
The neoclassical model of economic growth and
development 361
The debate over ‘strong’ and ‘weak’ sustainability 362

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 xii · An introduction to macroeconomics

Growth versus development 365

Heterodox economics and true economic
development 367
Investments for sustainable development 371
Measuring a new standard of living for sustainable
development 374
Conclusion 376
A portrait of Amartya Sen (1933–) 380

Conclusion: do we need microfoundations for

macroeconomics? 381
John King
Why are these topics important? 382
The mainstream perspective 383
A heterodox critique 388
Why it all matters 395
A portrait of Robert Skidelsky (1939–) 398

Index 399

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 Contributors

Robert A. Blecker, American University, Washington, DC, United States

Heinrich Bortis, University of Fribourg, Switzerland
Alvaro Cencini, University of Lugano, Switzerland
Gerald A. Epstein, University of Massachusetts Amherst, United States
Robert Guttmann, Hofstra University, New York, United States and CEPN–
Université Paris XIII, France
Omar Hamouda, York University, Canada
Richard P.F. Holt, Southern Oregon University, Ashland, United States
Jesper Jespersen, University of Roskilde, Denmark
John King, La Trobe University, Melbourne, Australia and Federation
University Australia
Marc Lavoie, University of Ottawa, Canada
John McCombie, University of Cambridge, United Kingdom
Louis-Philippe Rochon, Laurentian University, Sudbury, Canada
Sergio Rossi, University of Fribourg, Switzerland
Malcolm Sawyer, University of Leeds, United Kingdom
Mario Seccareccia, University of Ottawa, Canada
Mark Setterfield, New School for Social Research, New York and Trinity
College, Connecticut, United States
Nat Tharnpanich, Trade Policy and Strategy Office, Ministry of Commerce,
Thailand
Jan Toporowski, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of
London, United Kingdom

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 Acknowledgements

The editors would like to thank all the contributors to this book for their
collaboration in preparing this volume to enhance the understanding of eco-
nomic analysis in a pluralistic perspective. They also wish to express their
gratitude to Edward Elgar Publishing for their enthusiastic and professional
support during the development of the book. Finally, they are most grateful
to Amos Pesenti for his excellent research assistance, to Denise Converso–
Grangier for her contribution in preparing the full typescript for the pub-
lication process, and to Dee Compson for her professional efficiency in
copy-editing the whole book.

Louis-Philippe Rochon and Sergio Rossi

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 Introduction: the need for
a heterodox approach to
economic analysis
Louis-Philippe Rochon and Sergio Rossi

This textbook explains that there is an urgent need to consider a heterodox

approach to economic analysis, as regards macroeconomic theory as well as
policy. To be sure, the global financial and economic crisis that erupted in
2007–08 illustrates this need; this crisis is eventually a crisis of economics,
since it originates in an essentially wrong approach to the working of our
economic systems. Hence, it does not come as a surprise that the majority
of economic policy actions taken in the aftermath of this crisis do not work
as expected by their proponents. In fact, neither ‘fiscal consolidation’ (that
is, austerity) measures nor ‘quantitative easing’ policies can live up to their
promises, which amount to wishful thinking (to jump-start the economic
engine dramatically hit by the crisis). A fundamentally different approach to
economic analysis is actually necessary in order to understand and eventually
solve this crisis for good.

In this introduction we provide a detailed overview of the contents of this

volume, and point out its distinguishing features with respect to ortho-
dox thinking. We thereby show that another, largely different perspective
is required to avoid the fundamental flaws of orthodox economic analyses.
This allows us also to point out the need for pluralism in economic research
and education, because the lack of it led the economics profession astray
under the neoliberal regime that has been increasingly dominating the global
economy since the demise of the Bretton Woods system in the early 1970s.

The first chapter, written by the co-editors of this textbook, explains the
meaning and purpose of economic analysis. In the first section, the authors
present and criticize the mainstream definition of economics, which aims at
the ‘efficient allocation of scarce resources’. This definition includes three
main concepts, each with very specific and powerful meanings in economics,

ROCHON 9781782549369 PRINT (M3984).indd 1 23/06/2016 13:59

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 2 · An introduction to macroeconomics

namely, efficiency, allocation and scarcity. In this view, the main issue to
address thereby is how to allocate a given supply of resources. The first
section also briefly discusses the differences between microeconomics and
macroeconomics, emphasizing how mainstream macroeconomics is cru-
cially built on the key assumption of aggregating individuals’ behaviour, that
is, on microeconomic foundations. Rochon and Rossi also point out that
there is no need for money to exist in mainstream models. Indeed, orthodox
models explaining consumption, investment, and economic growth contain
no money essentially. Money is introduced much later, as part of a discus-
sion about the banking system, as an afterthought, or as an attempt to make
these economic models appear more realistic. This is the reason why the
first chapter offers an alternative interpretation of the scope and contents of
economics.

First, the authors argue that macroeconomics should not be a simple aggre-
gation of individual behaviour and microeconomic magnitudes, that there
are characteristics special to macroeconomics, and that social classes (or
macro-groups) play an important role in determining economic outcomes.
Based on macro-groups, economic dynamics become very important in
explaining consumption, investment, prices and economic growth. Further,
by emphasizing groups, one can ask a different set of questions and cast these
questions within the framework of political economy rather than econom-
ics, as clearly explained in Chapter 2. The first chapter shows thereby that
markets are not free, but governed by laws and institutions that play a central
role in any economic activity. Moreover, in casting this view with regard to
social groups, the importance of power becomes paramount, notably, the
power over the determination of wages, the power over access to credit, and
the power of the state. Ultimately, we live in a money-using economy, so, as
Schumpeter argued, money should be introduced at the beginning of the
discussion of economics (Chapter 3 delves into this subject matter in more
detail). That is why this textbook, in contrast to all other macroeconomics
textbooks, begins with an explanation of money (Chapter 3) and the banking
system and finance (Chapters 4, 5 and 6) after a survey chapter on the history
of economic theories, which is required in order to understand the general
framework of any economic analysis, be it theoretical or policy oriented.

Chapter 2, contributed by Heinrich Bortis, therefore presents the bigger

picture within which economic theories have developed, ranging between
two camps, namely, economics and political economy. The first section of
this chapter provides the essential reason for studying the history of eco-
nomic thought – dealing with differing or even contradictory theories of
value, distribution, employment and money induces one to independent and

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 Introduction · 3

open-minded thinking, that is, what John Maynard Keynes (1926) called
the ‘emancipation of the mind’. This should enable students of the history of
economic thought to distil the most plausible theoretical principles, which
are the grounds on which policy proposals may be eventually made. Indeed,
economic theorizing must be based on the history of economic thinking
to have an informed broader picture of the state of the art. In light of this,
the second section presents two broad groups of theories – economics and
political economy – to bring into the open the fundamental differences in
economic theorizing. In economics, the great problems (value and price,
distribution and employment) are market issues essentially, and money is
neutral. By contrast, the starting point of political economy is the social and
circular process of production: the fundamental prices are the prices of pro-
duction, not market prices; income and wealth distribution are governed by
social forces, and employment by effective demand; money and finance play
an essential role. The third and fourth sections sketch the historical develop-
ment of economics and political economy respectively. Economics starts with
Adam Smith, who conceived of the economy and society as a self-regulating
system. Jean-Baptiste Say (a follower of Adam Smith) claimed therefore that
there can be no unemployment. The great systems of economics were then
created in the course of the Marginalist Revolution (1870–90). Léon Walras
worked out the general equilibrium model; Alfred Marshall the partial equi-
librium approach. Both became constitutive of contemporary mainstream
economics. By contrast, the French surgeon François Quesnay is at the origin
of the political economy line. He considered the flows of goods and money
within the social and circular process of production to produce the net
output at the free disposal of society. As regards production, David Ricardo
worked out the labour value principle and the surplus principle of distribu-
tion. Piero Sraffa revived the classical (Ricardian–Marxian) approach, which
had been submerged by the Marginalist Revolution. John Maynard Keynes
elaborated the principle of effective demand, represented by the multiplier
relation, implying the existence of involuntary unemployment. At the time of
writing, the post-Keynesian and classical–Keynesian followers of Sraffa and
Keynes form, together with Marxists, the core of modern political economy,
representing an alternative to the neoclassical mainstream. The last section
of Chapter 2 discusses the plausibility of these two approaches. The capital-
theory debate emerges thereby as the theoretical watershed between eco-
nomics and political economy.

The third chapter focuses on monetary economies of production. Everybody

knows the old song, ‘Money makes the world go round’. In reality, this is
a good approximation of how our economic system operates. Indeed,
as Louis-Philippe Rochon explains in this chapter, we live in a monetary

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 4 · An introduction to macroeconomics

economy. This means that we cannot purchase goods without money; we

cannot invest without money; we cannot hire workers without paying them a
wage in money. Money is indeed at the core of our economic system. While
this may be quite apparent to many, money does not feature in neoclassical
economics, or if it does, it is merely there to give some semblance of reality
to an otherwise unrealistic view of the world. This chapter first discusses
the barter view of money in neoclassical analysis, and how in this view what
serves as ‘money’ has evolved through time. In this framework money is
introduced to facilitate trade and has no other purposes. In this sense, there
is no need for money in discussing employment, wages, supply and demand,
investment, and economic growth. In fact, there is no need for money even to
discuss prices in neoclassical analysis. This chapter offers a criticism and an
alternative view, which is focused on the creation and circulation of money,
and its relationship with debt, which characterizes a ‘revolutionary’ approach.
To be sure, money is necessary to explain production, employment as well as
economic growth.

Chapter 4, written by Marc Lavoie and Mario Seccareccia, elaborates on this.

It provides a brief analysis of the historical evolution of money and recalls
some debates about it. Since money, in its essence, is merely the outcome of
a balance-sheet operation, banks play a key role in any monetary economy.
The purpose of this chapter is to describe why all aspects of macroeconomic
analysis in a modern economy must necessarily involve the monetary system.
Monetary relations result from the existence of a group of key institutions in
a monetary economy, namely banks, which, together with the central bank,
are crucial in the modern payment system and are the purveyors of liquidity
to the whole economy. This chapter starts therefore with an explanation of
how banks are the principal creators of money in nearly all modern econo-
mies, and why, by their very nature, they are private–public partnerships,
especially evident at times of crisis when the public ‘trust’ that is so critical to
their existence is broken, therefore requiring a regulatory framework within
which the activity of creators of money is severely circumscribed. Lavoie
and Seccareccia consider the composition of this creation of money by the
banking system, including the central bank, and show why it varies with the
performance of the economic system. This is followed by an investigation of
the logic of money creation in the traditional analysis of the monetary circuit
and how this has been transformed somewhat under the so-called regime of
financialization (which is discussed in Chapter 15), especially with the per-
verse incentives generated by off-balance-sheet operations via securitization.
As in most first-year textbooks, Lavoie and Seccareccia begin by discuss-
ing the specifics of bank balance-sheet operations and how bank money is
created endogenously either to finance productive activity, as in the tradi-

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 Introduction · 5

tional circuit model of financing production, or more recently through the

financing of household consumption spending. They thus consider how dif-
ferent forms of spending behaviour by either the private or public sector lead
to the creation or destruction of money. They thereby comment on the role
that the public sector plays on the asset side of banks’ balance sheets, which
is also critical to how the banking sector’s net worth is usually re-established
after recessions. Finally, this chapter provides a discussion of payment and
settlement systems and of the role played by the interbank market, where
the central bank can set the overnight rate of interest and thus largely control
interest rates in the economy. The interbank rate of interest is a critical
instrument for the conduct of monetary policy. This discussion establishes
a bridge with Chapters 5 and 6 (on the financial system and monetary policy
respectively).

Chapter 5, by Jan Toporowski, explains notably that the financial system

emerges out of the financing needs of production and exchange in a capital-
ist economy. A special role is played by the financing needs of the state, for
which are created the institutional foundations of the long-term debt markets
that characterize the modern capitalist economy (that is, stock markets,
insurance, and investment funds). These markets develop further with finan-
cial innovations that provide new scope for financial operations alongside
production and exchange. Financial operations are a distinguishing feature
of Marxist political economy – in the case of Hilferding’s Finanzkapital
(Hilferding, [1910] 1981) and the financial theories of Kalecki and Steindl
derived from Hilferding’s work – as well as Keynes’s macroeconomics and
post-Keynesian theories. By way of contrast, consistently with the irrelevance
of money in neoclassical economics as explained in Chapter 3, mainstream
macroeconomics and portfolio theory do not integrate the financial sector
within a theory of how a capitalist economy operates with a complex finan-
cial system. The mainstream view also confuses saving with credit, exem-
plified in the theory of interest. The financial approach to macroeconomic
theory is developed, by way of contrast, in the ‘financial instability hypoth-
esis’ of Hyman Minsky, considering how debt changes over a business cycle.
Minsky’s view is distinguished from post-Keynesian theories by Minsky’s
denial of Keynes’s interest rate theory of investment, but has contributed the
notion of usury (due to excessive debt) common in post-Keynesian theories
of financialization, as explained in Chapter 15.

Chapter 6, written by Louis-Philippe Rochon and Sergio Rossi, points

out the specific role of the central bank in domestic payment and settle-
ment systems – as money and credit provider. It focuses on the emission
of central bank money as the means of final payment for every transaction

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 6 · An introduction to macroeconomics

on the interbank market. It thereby distinguishes between the monetary

intermediation carried out by the central bank as a matter of routine – and
necessity – and the financial intermediation that it carries out, as a lender
of last resort, when its counterparties are not in a position to obtain enough
credit on the interbank market. The authors show thereby that the central
bank is crucial for financial stability, thus introducing the reader to the need
to go much beyond price stability (particularly as measured on the goods
market) for monetary policy-making. This chapter then focuses on mon-
etary policy strategies, instruments and transmission mechanisms. Two
major strategies (monetary targeting and inflation targeting) are discussed,
criticizing their conceptual framework, and observing their macroeconomic
costs as measured by so-called ‘sacrifice ratios’ with respect to output and
employment losses. As the authors explain, monetary policy must contribute
to macroeconomic stabilization and not just worry about price stability on
the goods market. This discussion is elaborated on to present traditional as
well as ‘unconventional’ monetary policy tools, critically considering their
consequences on the whole economy. This framework is further expanded to
present the ‘transmission channels’ of monetary policy, considering also the
ongoing discussion about regulatory capital and financial reforms as well as
banking supervision at national and international levels that aim to influence
aggregate demand and thus achieve the relevant monetary policy goals.

Chapter 7, contributed by Jesper Jespersen, explains that aggregate demand

comprises private consumption, private investment, government expendi-
ture and net exports. Connected with this, it points out that neoclassical
economists consider aggregate demand as rather unimportant. They argue
that output (gross domestic product – GDP) is determined mainly by the
supply of labour and capital, quite independently of demand. They consider
the market system as self-adjusting, which leads them to conclude that, in
the long run, ‘the supply of goods creates their demand’. By contrast, accord-
ing to heterodox economists and Keynesian macroeconomic theory, aggre-
gate demand is an important analytical concept: it is the major driving force
behind the level of output and employment in the short and longer run.
This consideration makes demand management policies instrumental for
creating macroeconomic stability and economic growth. Richard Kahn was
notably one of the first Keynesian economists who contributed to the theory
of aggregate demand: he invented the analytical concept of the investment
multiplier as a short-run dynamic phenomenon. This chapter expands on
this, presenting Keynesian demand management policies, notably in periods
where aggregate demand is lower than potential GDP: fiscal policy, mon-
etary policy, and exchange rate policy should be expansionary in recessions,
and might be restrictive in boom periods. Demand management policies can

ROCHON 9781782549369 PRINT (M3984).indd 6 23/06/2016 13:59

Exploring the Variety of Random
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which they dread to look. The approach to some place hideous to the
memory produces the shivering of horror before it is beheld; and
even within the spirit, in like manner, the approach to those dark
places of thought where unsoothed sorrows lie buried, startles the
mind, and warns it to turn the steps of thought another way.
TALBOYS.
The feeling that “that way madness lies;” and the recoiling from it,
through a forefeeling of the pain which lies in the thoughts that
might arise, is common to all strong passion that has held long
possession of the mind.
NORTH.
A similar state is known in these imitations of passion, the works
of art;—Music has power over us, not by the feelings which it
produces distinctly in the mind, but by those many deep and
passionate feelings which it barely touches, and of which it raises up,
therefore, from moment to moment, obscure and undefined
anticipations. In Painting, the Imagination is most powerfully
excited often not by what is shown, but by what is dimly indicated.
What is shown exhausts and limits the feelings that belong to it; what
is indicated merely, opens up an insight into a whole world of
feelings inexhaustible and illimitable.
SEWARD.
Such, indeed, is the nature of our mind; and these are examples of
a general principle of thought and feeling.
NORTH.
This capacity of the Mind to be affected in slighter degree, but in
similar manner, by anticipated feeling, is to be noticed in respect to
all its more fixed and important emotions. It enters as a great
element into all its moral judgments. The judgment of right or wrong
is quick and decisive, but is rather unfrequently attended with very
strong emotion. Those strongest emotions belong to rare
occurrences; for the greater part of life is calm. But they have been
felt, nevertheless, at times; so that the soul distinctly knows what is
its emotion of moral abhorrence, and what its emotion of moral
veneration. When lesser occasions arise, which do not put its feeling
to the proof, it still is affected by a half-remembrance of what those
feelings have been: a slighter emotion comes over it—an
apprehension of that emotion which would be felt in strength, if it
could be given way to. Thus even the very name of crimes affects the
mind with a dim horror, though the Imagination is still remote from
picturing to itself anything of the reality of acting them. Whatever
great conceptions, then, are so linked in actual Nature with our
moral emotions, that under the passionate strength of these
emotions they must arise, some slight shadow of the same
conceptions, some touch of the feelings which they are able to call
up, will be present to the mind whenever it is morally moved.
SEWARD.
Ay, sir, I now see the meaning—of the application—of all your
discourse. If there is in the depth of our Nature such a connection
between our Moral and our Religious conceptions, that our moral
feelings, when exalted or appalled in the highest degree, will assume
a decidedly religious character, then even in their slighter affection
they will be touched, even from a distance, with that religious
temper.
NORTH.
And does not this appear to be precisely the case?
SEWARD.
It does appear that the two kinds of feelings are so connected, that
in the strongest moral feeling Religion is sensibly present, and that in
its weaker emotion there is a slight colouring of the same feeling—
faint and indistinct indeed, but such as to give to all our judgments of
right and wrong a something of solemnity that is distinct from the
ordinary complexion of human affairs, from the ordinary judgment
of human interests or passions.
NORTH.
This connection which is perceived in individual Minds may be
observed in considering the differences of national character. The
different nations of the earth have exhibited the moral nature of man
in very different degrees of strength. It will be found that they have
also possessed in very different degrees the spirit of Religion; and
that the two have risen or declined together. This is true both of the
nations of the old world who were enlightened, and of the Christian
nations, who have preserved their Religion in various degrees of
purity and truth, and whose morals have always borne a
corresponding character. If there is a people light and fickle in their
moral character, the same unfixedness and levity will be found in
their religion. But whatever nation has embraced with deep and
solemn feeling the tenets of their faith, will be found to be
distinguished in proportion by the depth of their moral spirit. The
dignity of their Mind appears not in one without the other, but in the
two united.
TALBOYS.
Thus, then, in those minds in which the two are imperfectly
unfolded, they are united, as in those in whom they are most
perfectly unfolded. But with this difference:—that where Religion in
its most perfect form is known, there it enlightens and exalts the
moral feelings. Under its imperfect and erroneous forms, conscience
applies to men’s hearts in some degree the defects of religion.
 FROM STAMBOUL TO TABRIZ.[1]

Politics, since the year 1848, have engrossed so unwonted a share

of the attention of the reading world, that there can be no doubt that,
in more than one European country, books of great literary and
scientific interest have been withheld from publication until more
tranquil days should give them a better chance of the welcome they
merit. Such has avowedly been the case with Dr Wagner’s latest
work, the fourth and most important of a series suggested to him by
several years of Oriental travel and study. It was, if we rightly
remember, in the second book of this series, relating to Armenia,[2]
that he announced his intention of reserving for a final work the
more important results of his rambles and observations. Previously
to the Armenian volume he had published his account of Caucasus
and the Cossacks,[3] to the general reader more interesting than any
of its successors. Third in order of appearance came the Journey to
Colchis;[4] and now, believing that his countrymen’s taste for books of
foreign travel and adventure is reviving, he puts forth two copious
volumes, containing all that he has to say, and that he has not
previously published, concerning his Eastern journeyings and
residence.
Dr Wagner is one of the most experienced, indefatigable, and, as
we believe, one of the most trustworthy and impartial of foreign
literary travellers. On a former occasion we explained how his strong
natural bent for travel and scientific research had overcome many
and great obstacles, and had conducted him not only through various
European countries, but with a French army to Constantina, and
afterwards over a great part of Western Asia. His present book is
comprehensive and somewhat desultory in its character. It details
the author’s residence in the Alpine region of Turkish Armenia, his
travels in Persia, and his adventurous visits to certain independent
tribes of Kourds, whose country is immediately adjacent to that
interesting but unsafe district of Kourdistan, where Schulze, the
German antiquarian, and the Englishman Browne (the discoverer of
Darfour) met a bloody death, and rest in solitary graves. Dr Wagner
is sanguine that, now that the revolutionary fever has abated, many
will gladly quit the study of newspapers, and the contemplation of
Europe’s misty future, to follow him into distant lands, rarely
trodden by European foot, and some of which have hitherto been
undescribed “by any German who has actually visited them.” As the
most novel portions of his book, he indicates his visits to the
mountain district south of Erzroum, and his excursions east, south,
and west of the great salt lake of Urumiah, the Dead Sea of Persia. A
keen politician, and this book being, as we have already observed, a
sort of omnium-gatherum of his Eastern experiences, political,
scientific, and miscellaneous, he devotes his first chapter to what he
terms “a dispassionate appreciation of Prince Metternich’s Oriental
policy,” (chiefly with respect to Servia,) which chapter we shall avail
ourselves of his prefatory permission to pass unnoticed, as irrelevant
to the main subject of the book. Equally foreign to the objects
announced in the title-page are the contents of Chapter the Second,
in which, before taking ship for Trebizond, he gives a hundred pages
to the Turkish capital, promising, notwithstanding all that has of late
years been written concerning it, to tell us something new about
Constantinople, and bidding his readers not to fear that he is about
to impose upon them a compilation from the innumerable printed
accounts of that city, which have issued from female as well as male
pens, “from the days of Lady Montague down to Mrs Ida Pfeiffer the
far-travelled, and Madame Ida Hahn Hahn the devotee.” He fulfils
his promise. His sketches from the Bosphorus are not only amusingly
written, but novel and original. Dr Wagner, it must be observed, set
out upon his Eastern wanderings well provided with circular letters
of recommendation from Lord Aberdeen and M. Guizot to the
various British and French agents in the countries he anticipated
visiting. From the Russian government he also obtained, although
with greater difficulty, similar documents. The natural consequence
was, that, at Constantinople, and elsewhere, he passed much of his
time in diplomatic and consular circles, and to such intercourse was
doubtless indebted for much useful information, as his readers
unquestionably are for many pungent anecdotes and entertaining
reminiscences.
Upon an early day of his stay in Constantinople, Dr Wagner was so
fortunate as to enjoy a near and leisurely view of his Highness Abdul
Meschid. It was a Friday, upon which day the Grand Seignior is wont
to perform his devotions in one of the principal mosques of his
capital. In the court of the great Achmet mosque, Dr Wagner saw a
crowd assembled round a group of twenty horses, amongst which
was a slender, richly-caparisoned, silver-grey Arabian, of
extraordinary beauty and gentleness. It was a favourite steed of the
Sultan’s. Presently the door of the mosque opened; the grey was led
close up to the lowest step; a slender Turk came forth, descended the
steps stiffly and rather unsteadily, was assisted into saddle and
stirrup by black slaves, and rode silently away through the silent
crowd, which gave back respectfully as he passed, whilst every head
was bowed and every hand placed upon the left breast. No shout or
cheer was heard—Turkish custom forbidding such demonstrations—
nor did the sovereign requite by salute or smile his subjects’ mute
reverence. At that time Abdul Meschid was but twenty years old. His
appearance was that of a sickly man of thirty. Early excesses had
prematurely aged him. His cheeks were sunken; lines, rarely seen in
youth, were visible at the corners of his eyes and mouth; his gaze was
fixed and glassy. Dr Wagner is witty at the expense of another
German writer,[5] who saw the Sultan since he did, and sketched his
personal appearance far more favourably.
“It is possible, however,” he says, “that with improved health the
Sultan’s figure may have improved and his countenance have
acquired nobility, so as to justify the description of the genial author
of the ‘Fragments.’ Possible is it that Dr Spitzer’s[6] steel pills,
combined with the seraglio-cook’s strong chicken broth and baths of
Burgundy wine, may have wrought this physical marvel, have given
new vigour to the muscles, have braced the nerves, and have
imparted to his Highness’s drooping cheeks that firm and healthful
look which the learned German declares he noted on the occasion of
his audience. Abdul Meschid has still youth on his side; and when
such is the case, nature often willingly aids the physician’s
inadequate art. At the time I speak of, it is quite certain that the
young Sultan looked like a candidate for the hospital. His aspect
excited compassion, and corresponded with the description given to
us of him by the German sculptor Streichenberg, who certainly
contemplated his Highness more closely and minutely than the
‘Fragment’ writer, seeing that his business was to carve the Padisha’s
likeness in ivory. As an artist, Mr Streichenberg was not particularly
edified by the lean frame and flabby countenance of so young a
prince. Not to displease his sublime patron, he was compelled to
follow the example of that other German sculptor, who,
commissioned by his royal Mæcenas to model his hand and leg for a
celebrated dancer, adopted, instead of the meagre reality, the
graceful ideal of the Belvidere Apollo, and so earned both praise and
guerdon. The person of the Grand Seignior appeared to
Streichenberg, as it did to me, emaciated, relaxed, narrow-breasted,
and faded. Two years later, when I again saw the Sultan, in the
solemn procession of the Kur-ban-Beiram, a renegade, who stood
beside me, exclaimed, ‘Were I the Sultan, and looked as he looks, I
would never show myself in public.’”
Close behind the Sultan rode the chief of the eunuchs, a fat negro
from Sudan, mounted upon a horse as black as himself; and behind
him came a young Turk of remarkable beauty, whose thick raven-
black beard contrasted with the whiteness of his complexion, as did
his whole appearance with that of the sickly sovereign, and with the
dingy, monkey-like physiognomy of the Kisslar Aga. Beside such
foils, no wonder that the picturesque young Oriental, with his profile
like that of some Saracen warrior, and his dreamy thoughtful eyes,
found favour with the fair. Riza Pasha was his name; he was then the
seraglio-favourite, the lover of Valide, the mother of the Sultan. He
alone pulled the strings of Turkish politics, and made the lame old
Grand Vizier, Rauf Pasha, dance like a puppet to whatever tune he
piped.
The Sultan and his suite were attired in the reformed costume—in
blue frocks of Polish cut, red trousers, and the red fez, with its
abundant blue tassel drooping over it on all sides. Scarcely had they
ridden out of sight when a group of very different character and
appearance issued from the chief gate of the mosque, gathering on its
way far more demonstrations of popularity than did Abdul Meschid
and his Kisslar Aga. It was composed of Turkish priests and doctors
—Ulemas, with their Mufti at their head—all in the old Turkish garb,
with ample turbans and huge beards. The sympathy of the people
with these representatives of the old régime was expressed by far
lower bows, by more fervent pressure of hand on heart, than had
greeted the Sultan’s passage. The holy men looked kindly upon the
crowd, amongst whom the Mufti occasionally threw small coins,
which naturally augmented his popularity, and secured him many
followers and good wishes. Dr Wagner remarks upon the present
contradictory and anomalous state of Turkish dress. At the festival of
the Kurban-Beiram he saw the Sultan and all the state officials, from
the Grand Vizier downwards, in European uniforms—narrow
trousers, gold epaulets, tight-buttoned coats, collars stiff with
embroidery. But at the collar the Frank ceased, and the Oriental
reappeared. There was the long beard, and the brimless fez. With this
last item of costume, the boldest Turkish reformer has not as yet
dared to interfere. The covering of the forehead with a peak or brim
to the cap is an innovation for which the Turks are not yet ripe. It is
considered the outward and visible sign of the Giaour, and a Turk
who should walk the streets of Constantinople in a hat, or in a cap
with a peak, would be stoned by the mob. The prejudice springs from
the duty stringently enjoined upon every true believer, to touch the
ground with his forehead when praying. Hence, to wear a vizard over
the brow appears to the Turk like contempt of a religious law. A bold
European in the service of the Porte advised Sultan Mahmoud to put
leathern peaks to his soldiers’ caps. On duty they would keep off the
sun; at prayer-time the caps might be turned round upon the head.
But Mahmoud, passionate reformer though he was, shrank from
offering so deadly an affront to Turkish fanaticism. Neither did he
dare, like Peter the Great, to crop his subjects’ beards. The well-
intended changes which he did introduce were sufficiently startling,
and to many of them, even at the present day, the nation is scarcely
reconciled. In a picturesque point of view, the new style of dress,
intended as the signal of a general change in Turkish usages and
institutions, is anything but an improvement upon the old one. The
physical prestige of the Oriental departed with his flowing robe, with
his shawls and his rich turban.
“These fat-paunched, crooked-legged pashas,” exclaims Dr
Wagner, “what caricatures they appear in their buttoned-up
uniforms! Formerly, when the folds of their wide garments concealed
bodily imperfections, the Turks were held to be a handsome race.
Now, in Constantinople, a handsome man, in the reformed dress, is
an exception to the rule. The Turks of the towns are rarely slender
and well-built; and the tall, muscular figures which one so commonly
finds amongst Arabs, Persians, and Tyrolese, are scarcely ever to be
seen in Turkey. Neither do we see in Turkish cities anything to
remind us of the fine knightly figures of the Circassians—although,
from the female side, so much Circassian blood runs in the veins of
the higher classes of Turks. The indolent manner of life, the bringing
up of boys in the harem until the age of puberty, too early indulgence
in tschibouk-smoking and coffee-drinking, and premature excesses
of another kind, have all contributed to enervate and degrade an
originally vigorous and handsome race.”
In the whole Beiram procession, Dr Wagner declares, there were,
besides Riza Pasha, but two handsome men amongst all the Turks of
the higher class there present. Of the numerous array of officers and
soldiers, it was but here and there that he saw one tolerably well-
made, and athletic figures were still more rarely observable. Worse
than any looked the debilitated Sultan, cramped in his tight coat,
oppressed by his heavy epaulets and gold lace, his diamonds and his
plumes, and leaning languidly forward on his fine charger. What a
contrast with the portrait of the Emperor Nicholas, which Dr Wagner
saw when visiting the summer seraglio of Kadi-Köi! Opposite to a
divan upon which Abdul Meschid was wont to repose—whilst his
tympanum was agreeably tickled by the harmony of half-a-dozen
musical boxes, playing different tunes at the same time—stood two
costly porcelain vases, whereon were painted likenesses of the
Emperor and Empress of all the Russias. They were presents from
Nicholas to the Sultan. “The Emperor’s gigantic and powerful frame
and martial countenance were admirably portrayed. The painter had
given him a mien and bearing as though he were in the act of
commanding his grenadiers. As a contrast, I pictured to myself the
Turkish monarch reposing his feeble frame upon the luxurious velvet
divan; the harmless ruler who prefers ease in his harem to a gallop at
the head of his troops; the trill of his musical boxes, and the flutes of
dancing dervishes, to the clatter of cuirasses and the thunder of
twelve-pounders.” Russia and Turkey are well typified by their
rulers. On the one hand, vigour, energy, and power; on the other,
weakness, decrepitude, and decline. What wonder if, as Dr Wagner
relates, the young Archduke Constantine, when visiting the city that
bears his name, gazed wistfully and hopefully from the lofty gallery
of the Galata tower on the splendid panorama spread before him, as
though dreaming that, one day, perhaps, the double eagle might
replace the crescent upon the stately pinnacles of Stamboul!
After passing in review several of the most remarkable men in
Turkey, Reschid Pasha, Omar Pasha the Renegade, Tahir Pasha, the
fierce old admiral who commanded the Turkish fleet at Navarino,
and who—never well disposed towards Christians—regarded them,
from that disastrous day forward, with inextinguishable hatred, Dr
Wagner speaks of the representatives at Constantinople of various
European courts, briefly retracing some of the insults and cruelties to
which, in former times, the ambassadors of Christian sovereigns
were subjected by the arrogant Porte, and noting the energy and
success with which Great Britain alone, of all the aggrieved powers,
and even before the empire of the seas had become indisputably
hers, invariably exacted and obtained satisfaction for such injuries.
He remarks with admiration upon the signal reparation extorted by
Lord Ponsonby in the Churchill case, and proceeds to speak in the
highest terms of that diplomatist’s able successor.
“The most prominent man, by his political influence, as well as by
his spirit, character, energy, and nobility of mind, in the diplomatic
world of Pera, was and is, to the present day, the Englishman
Stratford Canning. With external advantages, also, Nature has
endowed this man more richly than any of his colleagues, whether
Turks or Franks. He is of a very noble figure, and possesses that
innate, calmly dignified majesty which characterises Britannia’s
aristocracy. Totally free from affectation or theatrical manner, he has
a thoughtful brow, marked with the lines of reflection and labour,
and fine deep blue eyes, whose meaning glance seems to reveal a
host of great qualities, and to tell, at the same time, that with the
highest gifts of a statesman is here combined a warm, a generous,
and a sympathetic heart.”
Dr Wagner was presented to Sir Stratford Canning by a German
friend, and the ambassador seems completely to have won his heart,
partly by the admiration he expressed of Circassia’s heroic struggle
against the overwhelming power of the Czar, and by his sympathy
with the Nestorian Christians of Djulamerk—at that time persecuted
and cruelly handled by Beder Khan—but still more by the general
liberality of his views, and by his un-diplomatic frankness of speech
and manner. The Doctor pays a warm tribute to his high qualities,
and to his success and diplomatic triumphs at Constantinople; and
Dr Wagner’s eulogiums are, in this instance, the more to be valued
that he does not often bestow them upon our countrymen, but more
frequently dwells upon their less amiable qualities. As a
philanthropist and man of high honour, he says, Sir Stratford
Canning is really a rarity in old Byzantium, where, for so many
centuries, tyranny and servility, corruption and lies, have established
their seat. And he proceeds to exhibit the less favourable side of the
character of the diplomatic corps at Constantinople, bearing with
particular severity upon an Austrian envoy, concerning whom he
tells some good stories—one, amongst others, of a diamond
ornament, which brought great ridicule and discredit upon the
internuncio. When Ibrahim Pasha was driven out of Syria, the
Sultan, in token of his gratitude, ordered the court jeweller to
manufacture costly diamond ornaments for the ladies of the British
and Austrian ambassadors. Lady Ponsonby (we abridge from Dr
Wagner) duly received hers, but Count Stürmer intimated, on behalf
of his lady, that she would prefer ducats to diamonds. The cunning
Austrian well knew that upon such occasions the jewellers were wont
to take large profits. So he had it mentioned at the seraglio, by one of
his dragomans, that the ambassadress was no lover of trinkets, but
would willingly receive their value. To this there was no objection,
and the pleasant sum of half a million of piastres was transferred
from the Sultan’s treasury to the internuncio’s strong box. If the
Austrian flattered himself that the transaction would be unknown, he
was terribly mistaken. Pera is the Paradise of evil tongues, and next
day the ambassadress’s dealings in diamonds were the talk of the
town. Count Stürmer had many enemies and no friends; even his
attachés had little attachment for him; the story was too piquant to
be lost, and it was repeated with a thousand good-natured
embellishments and commentaries, until it came round to the ears of
the person principally concerned. Thereupon, the wily ambassador
devised a plan to outwit the gossips. The finest diamond ornaments
in the best jeweller’s shop in the bazaar were ordered to be sent to
the Austrian embassy, on approval. An order for diamonds had been
received from Vienna. The jeweller, anticipating a prompt sale and
good profit, hastened to send the best he had. Meantime a number of
the members of the different embassies were asked to dinner. At
dessert, Count Stürmer led the conversation to the Sultan’s
generosity and gallantry to ladies, and, turning to the Countess,
asked her to show their guests the beautiful set of diamonds she had
received as a present from his Highness. Great was the company’s
admiration of the costly jewels—far greater their astonishment at this
ocular refutation of the current tale which had transformed the
brilliants into piastres. They had thought the sources of their
information so sure! The ambassador noted and enjoyed their
confusion. But, clever as the trick was—in political matters its author
had never exhibited such ingenuity and inventive talent—its success
was but temporary. The sharp noses of the Pera gossips smelled out
the truth. Having served their purpose, the jewels were returned to
the jeweller, and one may imagine the shout and halloo that
resounded through the drawing-rooms, coffee-houses, and barbers’
shops of Pera and Galata, when the real facts of the case were at
length verified beyond a doubt.
The admission made by Dr Wagner in another place, that the hotel
of the Austrian internuncio was remarkable for its hospitality, and
was the chief place of meeting in Constantinople for foreigners and
natives of distinction, should perhaps have induced him to take a
more indulgent view of Count Stürmer’s dealings in diamonds. Go
where you will, says a French proverb, you shall always be welcome if
you take with you a fiddle and a frying-pan. Dinners and dances are
amongst the most important of diplomatic duties; and the Austrian
may have thought he could better dispense with diamonds than with
these. At his hotel, during one of Dr Wagner’s visits to
Constantinople, that singularly successful soldier of fortune, General
Jochmus, was a constant guest. This fortunate adventurer, of
insignificant family at Hamburg, who has been indebted, for his
remarkable rise, partly to his gallantry and talents, partly to
extraordinary good luck, and who has passed through half-a-dozen
services, always with more or less distinction, began his career in
Greece, afterwards joined the Anglo-Spanish Legion, passed thence
into the native Spanish army with the rank of general, quitted it on
account of an insult received from a French tailor settled in Spain,
and for which the feeble and Afrancesado Christino government
dared not give him the satisfaction he justly demanded, and, at the
time referred to by Dr Wagner, was Ferik-Pasha in the Turkish
service—subsequently to become Imperial minister under the brief
rule of the Archduke John. His skill as a chess-player, Dr Wagner
informs us, is still more remarkable than his military talent. When in
command of the Turkish army in Syria, at the time that Ibrahim
Pasha and his Egyptians were about to retreat through the desert,
Jochmus, entering Damascus—long a stronghold of chess—
challenged the best players in the place to a match, and carried off
the victory. From this officer, and from other Europeans of high rank
in the Turkish service, Dr Wagner, who loves to speculate on the
political future of the East, and on the probable or possible
infringements of Russia upon the territories of her weaker
neighbours, gathered opinions, valuable although very various, as to
the military power of Turkey, and her means of resistance to
Muscovite aggression. The Doctor entertains a very high respect for
the power of Russia, strikingly illustrated by the recent crisis, when,
with one army guarding Poland and another warring in the
Caucasus, she was able to lend a third—not far short of two hundred
thousand men—to the neighbouring empire, which was on the point
of being overturned by an insurgent province. In his second volume
he talks ominously of the result of an anticipated conflict between an
Anglo-Indian and a Russian army, predicting victory to the latter,
even whilst recognising the justice of the high encomiums passed by
another German writer on the corps of British officers in India. “An
impartial and competent observer and judge of most of the armies of
Europe, Leopold von Orlich, who has written a valuable book of
travels in India, assures us that that numerous body of officers (eight
hundred and twenty staff officers, and five thousand five hundred of
inferior rank) has not its equal in the world with respect to military
spirit and efficiency, and that he never witnessed in any army so
much mutual self-devotion as amongst the officers and soldiers of
the British Indian host. Thirst for action, high spirit, self-confidence
and practical good sense, are the special characteristics of the
English officers.” Than this, nothing can be truer. Dr Wagner
proceeds to theorise on the probable defection of the Sepoys, in the
event of a Russian army showing itself on our Indian frontier.
Theories referring to such remote and improbable contingencies we
need hardly be at the pains to combat; and, indeed, were we to take
up the argumentative cudgels every time that Dr Wagner’s frequent
political digressions hold out temptation so to do, we should get to
the end of our paper and have got never a step from Constantinople.
Our present object being the general examination of a book of
travels, we prefer accompanying the Doctor on board the Austrian
steamer Stamboul, bound for Trebizond. Thence his road was by
land, south-eastward to Erzroum, travelling with Turkish post-
horses—not in a carriage, but in the saddle and with baggage animals
—at first through a garden of azaleas and rhododendrons, of
geraniums and ranunculuses; afterwards through an Alpine district,
over dangerous mountain-paths, unequalled, he declares, for the
hazards of the passage, by anything he ever met with in the European
Alps. Whilst traversing these bridle-roads, which are often scarcely
two feet broad, with precipices of giddy depth now on the right hand
and then upon the left, travellers keep their saddles and trust to the
good legs, prudence, and experience of their horses. Dr Wagner
witnessed more than one accident. A pack-mule fell over a precipice,
but escaped with the fright and a few bruises. A Turkish official had a
very narrow escape. His horse slipped upon a wet rock, fell, and lay
where he fell. The Turk found himself with half his body under the
horse, the other half hanging over a gulf which gaped, in frightful
profundity, at the edge of the road. “I had passed the dangerous
spot,” says the Doctor, “but one minute before him; I heard the fall,
looked round, and saw the Turk just below me, in that horrible
position. The horse lay with the saddle turned towards the precipice,
down which it seemed inevitable that, at the first effort to rise, he
and his rider must fall. But the animal’s fine instinct saved both itself
and its rider. Snorting, with dilated nostrils and ears erect, the brave
horse gazed down into the chasm, but made not the slightest
movement. The Turk remained as motionless; he saw the peril and
dared not even shout for aid, lest he should scare his horse. The
utmost caution was necessary in approaching him. Whilst the Pole
and I quickly alighted and descended to his assistance, the Turk’s
companions had already got hold of his bridle and coat skirts, and
soon horse and man stood in safety upon their six legs.”
The Pole here referred to—John Saremba was his name—
accompanied Dr Wagner from Constantinople as a sort of guide or
travelling servant, and was his stanch and faithful follower during
very long and often dangerous wanderings. He spoke Turkish and
Italian, could cook a good pilau, and handled his sabre, upon
occasion, with dexterity and effect. The story of his eventful life,
which he related to his employer after dinner at Gumysh Haneh, a
town between Trebizond and Erzroum, whilst their companions
enjoyed the Kef, or Oriental idleness after meat, is unquestionably
the most interesting digression of the many in Dr Wagner’s book.
Wonderful to relate, Saremba, although a Pole and a refugee,
claimed not to be either a count or a colonel. His father had been a
glazier in Warsaw, and brought his son up to the same trade. When
the Polish revolution broke out, in November 1830, young Saremba
entered the service as a volunteer, was present at the battles of
Grochow, Praga, Iganie, Ostrolenka, but neither received wounds nor
obtained promotion. It is rare to meet a Pole who has not been at
least a captain, (the Polish army lists of that period being now out of
print.) Saremba admitted that he had never attained even to a
corporal’s worsted honours. After the capture of Warsaw, his
regiment retreated upon Prussian ground. Their hope was that the
Prussian king would permit their passage through his territory, and
their emigration to America. This hope was unfulfilled. They were
disarmed; for a few weeks they were taken good care of; then they
were sent back to Poland, there to be drafted into various Russian
regiments, or sent, by troops, to the interior, or to Caucasus. The
latter was Saremba’s lot. Incorporated in a Russian regiment of the
line, and after many changes of garrison, he found himself stationed
at the camp of Manglis, in the neighbourhood of Teflis.
In Saremba’s company there were sixteen Poles besides himself.
Seven of them had fought in the revolutionary war; the others were
recruits, enlisted since its conclusion. One of the number was
married. Their treatment by the Russian officers was something
better than that of the other soldiers, Russians by birth. This
proceeded from no sympathy with the Polish cause, but from an
involuntary feeling of compassion for men superior in breeding and
education to the Russian boors, and who were condemned for
political offences to the hard life of a private soldier. More dexterous
and intelligent than the Russians, the Poles quickly learn their duty,
and would monopolise most of the chevrons of non-commissioned
officers, had not the colonels of regiments instructions on this head
from the Czar, who has little confidence in Polish loyalty. Saremba
was tolerably fortunate in his commanding officer; but the latter
could not always be at his subaltern’s elbow, and the poor Poles had
much to put up with—bad food, frequent beatings, and extra duty, as
punishment for imaginary offences. When to these hardships and
sufferings was added the constant heimweh—the ardent and
passionate longing after home, which has often driven Swiss soldiers,
in foreign services, to desertion, and even to suicide—no wonder that
every thought of the Poles was fixed upon escape from their worse
than Egyptian bondage. There is peculiar and affecting interest in
Saremba’s narrative of this portion of his adventures, which Dr
Wagner gives in substance, he says, but, as we are disposed to
believe, pretty nearly in the Pole’s own words.
“When off duty, we Poles often assembled behind the bushes of the
forest that encircles the camp of Manglis; sang, when no Russian was
within earshot, our national Polish airs, which we had sung, during
the revolution, in the ranks of our national army; spoke of our
homes, of days gone by, and of hopes for the future; and often, when
we thought of all we had lost, and of our bitter exile in a wild foreign
land, we all wept aloud together! Well for us that none of our officers
witnessed that. It would have gone hard with us.
“We formed innumerable plans of flight into Turkey, but, lacking
any accurate knowledge of the country, we for a long time dared not
come to a positive resolution. Meanwhile, we took much trouble to
acquire the Tartar tongue, and to extract information from the
inhabitants concerning the way to Turkey. One of our comrades
helped a Tartar peasant in the neighbourhood of Manglis to cultivate
his fields, receiving no payment, in order to make a friend of him,
and to question him about the country. The Tartar soon divined his
project, and willingly lent himself to facilitate our escape. Flight to
Persia would have been easiest; but the Tartar would not hear of
that, for he was a Sunnite, and detested the heretic followers of Ali.
He advised us to fly to Lasistan, as easier to reach than Turkish
Armenia. My comrade was compelled to promise him that, once
beyond the Russian frontier, we would adopt Islamism. The Tartar
minutely explained to him the bearings of the heavens, taught him
the names of all the mountains and rivers we should have to cross,
and of the villages in whose vicinity we must cautiously conceal our
passage. Should we find ourselves in extreme difficulty or danger, he
advised us to appeal to the hospitality and protection of the nearest
Mollah, to confide to him our position, and not to forget to assure
him of our intention to become good Mussulmans as soon as we were
on Turkish territory. After we had quite made up our minds to desert
at all risks, we required full three months for preparation. Wretched
as was our pay, and scanty and bad our rations, we husbanded both,
sold our bread and sought to accustom ourselves to hunger. Some of
us were mechanics, and earned a few kopeks daily by work in our
leisure hours. I worked as glazier for the Russian officers. Our
earnings were cast into a common fund. The summer drew near its
end: already the birds of passage assembled and flew away in large
flocks over the high mountains of Manglis. We watched their flight
with longing and envy. We lacked their wings, their knowledge of the
way.
“More than once we faltered in our resolution. Some Russian
deserters, who had been captured and brought back to camp by
Cossacks, when attempting to desert into Lesghistan, were
condemned to run the gauntlet thrice through a thousand men, and
we Poles were compelled to assist in flogging the poor wretches
almost to death. Deep and painful as was the impression this made
upon us, hope and the ardent longing for freedom were yet more
powerful. We fixed the day for flight. Only one Pole of our company,
who was married to a Cossack’s widow, and had a child by her,
detached himself from us and remained behind. With knapsacks
packed, and loaded muskets, we met, at nightfall, in the forest. There
we all fell upon our knees and prayed aloud to God, and to the
blessed Virgin Mary, that they would favour our design, and extend
over us their protection. Then we grasped each other’s hands, and
swore to defend ourselves to the utmost, and to perish to the last
man sooner than submit to be taken back to camp and flogged to
death by the Russians.
“We were fourteen men in all. Some had suffered from fever;
others were debilitated by bad nourishment. But the burning desire
for liberty, and dread of the fate which awaited us in case of failure,
gave vigour to our limbs. We marched for thirteen nights without
intermission. By day we concealed ourselves in the forests; during
the darkness we sometimes risked ourselves in the vicinity of the
roads. When the provisions we had in our knapsacks were exhausted,
we supported ourselves partly with the berries we found in the
woods, and partly with half-raw game. Fortunately, there was no
want of deer in the woods. Towards evening we dispersed in quest of
them, but ventured to fire at them only when very near, in order not
to squander our ammunition and betray our hiding-place to the
Cossack piquets. For this latter reason we dared not light a fire at
night, preferring to suffer from cold, and to devour the flesh of the
slain beasts in a half-raw state.
“After our thirteen nights’ wanderings, we had reached the
neighbourhood of the river Arpatschai, but did not rightly know
where we were. From the high and barren mountain peaks on which
we lay, we beheld, in the far distance, the houses of a large town. We
knew not whether it was Russian or Turkish. Without knowledge of
the country, without a compass, without intercourse with the
inhabitants, whom we anxiously avoided, because we constantly
feared discovery and betrayal, we roamed at random in the
mountains, ignorant what direction we should take to reach the
frontier. Latterly the chase had been unproductive, and we suffered
from hunger, as well as from fatigue and severe cold. We saw a herd
of wild goats upon the heights, but all our attempts stealthily to
approach them were unsuccessful; with extraordinary swiftness they
scoured across the fields of snow which covered those lofty
mountains, and we lost a whole day in a fruitless pursuit. The sharp
mountain air, the toilsome march on foot, increased our hunger.
Driven almost to despair, we resolved to run a risk and approach the
first village we saw, calling to mind the oath we had taken to defend
ourselves to the last drop of our blood, and rather to put each other
to death than to fall alive into the hands of the Russians.
“On the upper margin of the forest we discovered the minarets of a
Tartar mosque. At dusk we cautiously approached and fell in with
two Tartars, cutting bushes. From them we learned that we were
about thirty versts from the town of Gumri, where the Russians were
building a great fort. The frontier was but a short day’s journey
distant, and the long blue line which we had seen from the mountain
tops was really the river Arpatschai, whose farther bank is Turkish.
We did not conceal from the Tartars our condition and design. The
state of our uniforms, all torn by the brambles, and our wild hungry
aspect, would hardly have allowed us to be taken for Russian soldiers
on service, and they had at once recognised us for what we were.
Mindful of the advice of the old Tartar at Manglis, we told them it
was our firm resolution to become good Mahometans as soon as we
got to Turkey. We adjured them, in the name of Allah and the
Prophet, to send us provisions from the village, into which they
themselves advised us not to venture. According to their account,
there was a Cossack post in the neighbourhood, and the banks of the
Arpatschai were, they assured us, so strictly watched by Russian
piquets, that there was little hope of our getting across the frontier in
that direction.
“At a rapid pace, the Tartars returned to their village. One of our
party, well acquainted with the Tartar tongue, followed them,
concealing himself behind the bushes, in order to overhear, if
possible, their conversation, and to satisfy himself whether they were
honest people, in whom we might confide. But the Tartars exchanged
not a word upon their way home. In an hour they came to us again,
bringing three other men, one of whom wore a white turban. As they
passed before some brushwood in which our comrade lay concealed,
he heard them in animated conversation. Following them stealthily
through the thicket, he caught enough of their discourse to ascertain
that they were of different opinions with respect to the line of
conduct to be adopted with respect to us. One of them, who, as we
subsequently learned, had served at Warsaw in Prince Paskewitch’s
Oriental body-guard, would at once have informed the Cossacks of
our hiding-place. But the man in the white turban sought to restrain
him, and wished first to speak with us.
“The Tartars found us at the appointed place. The White Turban
was a Mollah, a fine grey-haired old man with a venerable
countenance. To him we frankly confided the history of our
sufferings and the object we had in view. After hearing us, he
remained for some time buried in thought. To our great surprise one
of the Tartars now addressed us in broken Polish, and told us that he
had been at Warsaw. At this we were so overjoyed that we were near
embracing the man. But the comrade we had sent out to reconnoitre
had rejoined us. He seized the Tartar furiously by the beard,
upbraided him with the treacherous advice he had given to his
countrymen, and threatened to kill him. The old Mollah interfered as
peacemaker, and assured us of his assistance and protection, if it
were seriously our intention to escape into Turkey and become
converts to the creed of Mahomet. We protested that such was our
design, although we mentally prayed to our God and to the Virgin to
forgive us this necessary lie, for our design was to escape from the
Russian hell, but not to become faithless to our holy religion. Before
the Mollah departed, he had to swear by his beard and by the
Prophet that he would not betray us. We made the others take the
same oath. The ex-life-guardsman we proposed keeping as a hostage.
But the Mollah begged us not to do so, and to trust to his word,
which he pledged for the man’s silence. Above all we wanted
provisions. The Tartars had unfortunately come empty-handed. The
pangs of hunger almost drove us to accompany them into the village.
But the Mollah warned us that we should there find families of
Armenian peasants, who would certainly betray us to the Russians.
Fluctuating between hope and fear, we saw them depart. The
Mollah’s last advice was to be vigilant during the night, since our
presence might have been observed by others, who might report it to
the Russians.
“Two heavy hours went by. Night had set in, and the stillness was
broken only by the occasional howling of the village dogs. As the
distance to the village was not great, and as the Mollah had so
positively promised to send us food immediately, our suspicions
were again aroused, and we mutually reproached each other with
having been so foolish as to trust to the oaths of the Tartars and with
having suffered them all to depart, instead of keeping the Mollah and
the Warsaw man as hostages. Taking our muskets, we stationed
ourselves upon the look-out. Our apprehensions were not
unfounded. Soon we heard through the darkness the neighing of
horses and distant voices. Those of our comrades who were strongest
on their legs went out to reconnoitre, and came back with the terrible
intelligence that they had plainly distinguished the voices of
Russians. Meanwhile the noise of horses’ feet died away; once more
all was still as the grave; and even the vigilant dogs seemed sunk in
sleep.
“Before the first grey of morning appeared, one of the Tartars
whom we had met the day before, in the wood, came to us, with three
others whom we had not yet seen. They brought us a great dish of
rice, and half a roasted lamb; also bread and fruit. Our presence in
the neighbourhood, they said, had been disclosed to the Russians by
an Armenian of the village. The Cossack captain had sent for the
Mollah and threatened him, but the old man had revealed nothing.
The Cossacks did not know our exact hiding-place, and one of the
Tartars had led them in a wrong direction. As we were already
considered as Mahometans, no Tartar would betray us, unless it were
that man who had been in Warsaw, and who was an object of
contempt with the people of the village on account of his dissolute
and drunken habits.
“Our fierce hunger appeased, our spirits and courage revived, and
we decided to continue our march at once. The Tartars advised us
not to cross the Arpatschai, which was too closely guarded by the
Russian frontier piquets, but to move more northwards, across the
mountains of Achalziche, in which direction we should find it far
easier to reach Turkish territory. We bade them a grateful farewell.
But with the first beam of morning we heard the wild hurra of the
Cossacks and saw them in the distance, galloping, accompanied by a
number of Tartar horsemen, to cut us off from the valley. We drew
back amongst the bushes, and fired a full volley at the nearest group
of horsemen, as it tried to force its way into the thicket. Two
Cossacks and a Tartar fell, and the rest took to a cowardly flight. We
retreated forthwith to the mountain summits whence we had so
recently descended, and did not even wait to search the fallen men.
Soon a single horseman rode towards us, waving a green branch. We
recognised one of the Tartars who had brought us food. He said that
the Mollah was at the old place in the wood, and wished to speak
with us. We had nothing more to fear from the Cossacks. They took
us to be twice as numerous as we really were, had returned to their
post and sent to Gumri for reinforcements, which could not arrive
before evening. Observing that we harboured mistrust, the man
offered to remain as a hostage. I and three of my comrades went to
the appointed place. The others remained on the mountain, with the
Tartar in custody. The Mollah was really waiting for us, with two of
the men who had accompanied him the previous evening. We
learned, to our astonishment, that the Tartar whom we had shot was
the same old soldier who had been at Warsaw and had spoken Polish
to us. We held this to be a judgment of God. For, notwithstanding his
oath, the man had betrayed our hiding-place to the Russians, who
were already aware of our vicinity. The other villagers had been
compelled to mount and follow the Cossacks, but, at the first volley,
gladly joined the latter in their flight.”
 The Mollah gave the unfortunate Poles directions as to the road,
and as to how they should act if they fell into the hands of the Pasha
of Kars, who was well disposed towards Russia, and might deliver
them up through fear or greed of gain. All that day they toiled over
the rude mountain peaks, and next morning they were so lucky as to
kill a wild goat; but on those barren heights not a stick of wood was
to be found, and they had to eat the flesh raw. After a few hours’ rest
they continued their arduous journey. It was bitterly cold, the snow
fell in thick flakes, and a cutting wind beat in their faces. Towards
evening, guided by a light, they reached the wretched huts of some
poor Russian frontier settlers, who were cooking their food over fires
of dried cow-dung. From these people they obtained meat and drink,
gave them the few kopeks they had left, which they knew would not
pass current in Turkey, and departed, their flasks filled with brandy,
and bearing with them the best wishes of their poor but hospitable
entertainers. Their march next day was through a dense fog, which
covered the high ground. They could not see ten paces before them,
and risked, at every step, a fall over a precipice. On the other hand,
they flattered themselves that they could pass the frontier—there
marked by the mountain chain—unseen by the Russian troops. To
guard against smuggling and the plague, as well as against military
desertion and the flight of the natives into Turkey, the frontier line
had latterly been greatly strengthened. But, once on the southern
slope of the mountains, the fugitives had been assured, they would
meet no more Cossacks and would be on Turkish ground.
Accordingly they gave themselves up to unbounded joy at being out
of Russia and of danger.
“How great was our horror,” continued Saremba, “when, on
descending into the valley, the fog lifted, and we found ourselves
close to a post of Cossacks. It was too late to retreat. We marched
forward in military order, keeping step as upon parade. The
stratagem succeeded. The Cossack sentinel took us for a Russian
patrol. We surrounded the house, made prisoners of the sentry and
of seven half-drunken Cossacks, and learned from them that in the
fog we had missed our way over the frontier. The piquet was thirty
men strong, but two and twenty had marched that very day on patrol
duty. The report of our flight had been received from Gumri, as well
as information that the Cossacks should be reinforced by a
detachment of infantry. The sentry had taken us for this expected
detachment. We were well pleased with the issue of our adventure.
The contents of the Cossacks’ larder revived and strengthened us,
and we packed the fragments of the feast in our knapsacks. We also
took their horses, and finally, at their own request bound them hand
and foot; for, now that they were sober, they trembled for the
consequences of having allowed themselves to be surprised and
unresistingly overpowered. They anticipated a severe punishment,
and consulted together how they should best extenuate their fault.
The dense morning fog was a good circumstance to plead, and so was
our superiority of numbers, and also the expectation of a Russian
infantry piquet from Gumri. But when all was said, the poor fellows
were still pretty sure to get the stick. At their request we fastened the
door of the piquet-house before marching away with our booty. That
afternoon we crossed the mountains, and reached, without further
adventure, a Turkish military post.”
The sufferings and disasters of these fourteen hardy Poles were not
yet at an end. After their arms had been taken from them, their
arrival was reported to the Pasha of Kars, to whom the Russian
commandant at Gumri forthwith sent a threatening letter,
demanding the bodies of the fugitives. Four days of anxious suspense
ensued, during which orderlies rode to and fro, carrying the
correspondence between the Pasha and the commandant, and at last
the Poles were told that their only chance to avoid being delivered up
was instantly to become Mahometans. In this perplexity they
accepted the secret offer of the son of a Lasistan bey to aid their flight
into the Pashalik of Trebizond. They started in the night with a
caravan of armed mountaineers. On the first day they were divided
into two parties, which were separated from each other. On the
second day, four, out of the six who were with Saremba, disappeared,
although they entreated to be left together. Finally, when Saremba
awoke upon the third morning, he found himself alone. Thus torn
from the true and steadfast friends in whose brave companionship he
had faced and surmounted so many perils, his courage deserted him;
he wept aloud, and cursed his fate. There was good cause for his grief
when he came to know all. The rascally Turk who had facilitated
their flight had sold them into slavery. For six months Saremba
toiled under a cruel taskmaster, until fever robbed him of his
strength; when his owner, Ali Bey, took him to Trebizond, where the
Pole had invented the existence of a brother who would pay his
ransom. There he obtained the protection of the French consul, was
forwarded to Constantinople, married a Greek woman, and managed
to eke out an existence. Of the thirteen comrades who had fled with
him from Manglis he had never seen or heard anything, and tears fell
upon the honest fellow’s weather-beaten moustache as he deplored
their probable fate—that of numbers of Polish deserters, who drag
out a wretched existence, as slaves to the infidel, in the frontier
provinces of Asiatic Turkey.
Dr Wagner found his follower’s narrative so striking, and so
illustrative of the characteristics of the inhabitants of the trans-
Caucasian frontier, that he at once wrote it down in his journal; and
he did quite right, for certainly Saremba’s adventures equal, if they
do not exceed, in interest, any of the Doctor’s own.
After Gumysh Haneh, the next town on the road to Erzroum is
Baiburt, once noted for its inhabitants’ fanaticism and hatred of all
Europeans. Poverty, misery, and the visit of the Russians in 1828,
have broken their spirit, and humbled them to the dust. Theirs was
the last effort of resistance against Paskewitch, but all their fierce
fanaticism did not qualify them to cope with the well-drilled Russian
troops. “Is it true,” asked Saremba, with a little irony in his tone, of a
white-bearded Turk, in the expression of whose hard and furrowed
features something of the old spirit was still plainly to be read—“is it
true that the Moskof has come as far as this?” “Geldi!” (he came) was
the old man’s laconic but melancholy reply. At Baiburt the traveller
has a foretaste of the impoverished, decayed, half-ruined towns
which extend thence through the whole of Asiatic Turkey to the
Persian frontier, and to whose deplorable condition Erzroum
constitutes the sole exception. Journeying south-east from Baiburt to
the latter city, the first day’s march brings the traveller, by the usual
caravan road, to no regular halting-place for the night. At Baiburt Dr
Wagner parted from his Turkish travelling companions, and
proceeded with only Saremba and a horse-guide, “a man of most
horrible physiognomy, who professed to be a Turk, but whose long
distorted visage, great crooked nose, bushy brows, dingy complexion,
puffy turban, and ragged clothes, gave him more the look of a Kourd
or Yezidee. The fellow spoke a Turkish,” continues the Doctor, “of
which I understood nothing, and my servant, although well
acquainted with the language of Stamboul, but little. He was very
taciturn, and replied to the questions I occasionally put to him by
croaking out inarticulate guttural sounds, something between the cry
of a screech-owl and the snarl of a jackal. Then he twisted his ugly
face so strangely, and grinned and ground his teeth in so hyena-like a
fashion, that I was reminded of that horrible Texas Bob, whom
Charles Sealsfield, in his Cabin-Book, has so graphically sketched.”
The most unsuspicious and confiding of men, Dr Wagner here
remarks, will become mistrustful, and prone to suspect evil, before
he has been long a resident or rambler in the East, and will acquire a
habit of constant caution and vigilance in a country where all classes,
from the Pasha to the horse-keeper, lay themselves out to plunder
and overreach Europeans. The Doctor had been for three years
wandering in Oriental lands, where he had encountered some perils
and innumerable attempts at imposition. He was much upon his
guard, and kept a sharp eye upon his hyena-looking guide, especially
when the latter, under pretence of conducting him to quarters for the
night, struck off from the road, and led him over crag and fell,
through rain and darkness, into a wild, cut-throat district, where he
every moment expected to be handed over to the gentle mercies of a
band of Kourd brigands. Putting a pistol to the fellow’s ugly head, the
Doctor swore he would shoot him at the first sign of treachery. The
Turk said nothing, but presently—“Here is the village,” he quietly
remarked, as he led the drenched travellers round the angle of a
mass of rock, whence they perceived the lights of the village of
Massat, where Hamilton had passed a night some years previously,
and where they soon were comfortably seated by a fire, and supping
on a very tolerable pilau; whilst Dr Wagner was fain to atone for his
ill-founded suspicions by a double bakshish to his uncouth but
trustworthy guide. The next day, the Doctor, whilst riding over the
mountains with loaded pistols in his belt, and a double gun across
his shoulders, fell over a precipice nearly a hundred feet high. The
soil of a narrow ledge, softened by the rain, had given way under his
horse’s feet. Man and beast rolled over and over five or six times in
the course of the descent. Fortunately there were no rocks in the way
—nothing but soft earth. They reached the bottom bruised and
bleeding, but without broken bones, and were able to continue their
march.
 The journey from Erzroum to Persia, through the Alpine district of
Armenia, is usually made with a caravan or with post-horses—more
rarely in company with a Tartar in the employ of the Turkish
government, who rides courier-fashion, changes his horse every four
or five leagues, goes at a gallop, never rests for more than an hour,
rides many horses to death, and performs the distance from Erzroum
to Tabriz (nearly a hundred leagues) in the extraordinarily short time
of two days and a half. Dr Wagner had no taste for travelling in such
true Tartar fashion. Would he go post? There are no postmasters in
Turkey, nor post-horses, nor posting-stables, nor even postilions,
properly so called. Posting in the East has nothing in common with
European posting. But on presentation of a firman from the Sublime
Porte or the Pasha of the province, every town or village is bound to
supply the traveller with the needful horses, and with a horse-guide,
at moderate charge. The expense is greatly augmented by the
necessity of being accompanied by a Turkish cavass. Without such
escort the journey from Erzroum to the Persian frontier is unsafe,
and, even with it, all danger is not removed; for in the
neighbourhood of the Alpine passes of Armenia lurk the lynx-eyed
Kourds, watching for prey. Less daring and dangerous than they
were, they are still sufficiently audacious. When pursued by the
Pashas—who occasionally make expeditions, at the head of bodies of
the Nizam soldiery, to chastise them, and to wrench from them their
booty—they take refuge upon Persian ground, send a present to the
Sardar of Tabriz, and are suffered to pasture their flocks amongst the
mountains of Azerbijan, until they again give way to their predatory
propensities, and are threatened or pursued by the Persian
authorities. Over the rugged summits of the Agri Dagh they then fly
to Russian territory, where the gift of a horse to the Cossack officer in
command usually procures them tolerance upon the grassy slopes of
Ararat. When driven thence, for a repetition of their lawless raids,
they have still a last refuge in the high mountains of Kourdistan,
where they purchase the protection of a chief, and whose inaccessible
fastnesses defy Turkish pursuers.
“Not long before my departure from Erzroum,” says Dr Wagner,
“Mr Abbott, the English consul at Teheran, had fallen into the hands
of Kourd robbers, and, with his travelling companions, had been
stripped to the shirt, inclusively. It was a serio-comic affair. They
were attacked near Diadin. Mr Abbott, a man of great personal
courage, fired a pistol at the first Kourd who rode at him with his
long bamboo lance, and missed—fortunately for him, for had he
killed or wounded him, his own life would assuredly have paid the
penalty. Two vigorous lance thrusts, which fortunately pierced his
burka, not his body, cast the courageous Briton from his horse. His
Oriental servants and companions had no portion of his combative
spirit, but laid down their arms, terrified by the jackal-like yells and
hideous figures of the Kourds. The robbers were tolerably generous,
after their manner. They took away horses, baggage, and clothes,
stripping their victims stark naked, but they left them their lives. And
if Mr Abbott had a taste of lance staves and horse-whip, that was
only in requital of the pistol-shot. His Armenian servants, who
resisted not, received no injury. Amidst the infernal laughter of the
Kourds, the naked travellers set off for the nearest village, where they
were scantily provided with clothes by compassionate Armenians.
Consul Brant at Teheran made a great noise about this business, and
the Pasha had to make compensation. But the Kourds retreated
southwards to the high mountains, and there, in inaccessible hiding-
places, laughed alike at the British consul’s anger, and at the Turkish
Pasha’s threats.”
With such a warning before him, Dr Wagner preferred adopting
the safest, and at the same time the most convenient, although the
slowest mode of travelling in those regions—namely, per caravan.
Almost weekly a commercial caravan starts from Erzroum for Tabriz.
It consists of from 300 to 900 horses, laden chiefly with English
manufactures, also with Bohemian glass, furs, and cloth from the
Leipzig fair, and even with toys from Nuremberg. If the convoy be
particularly valuable, the Pasha sends with it a cavass, who rides a
head, a horse’s tail at the end of his long lance, as a warning to
predatory Kourds not to meddle with that which is under the high
protection of the muschir of Erzroum. But the caravan’s own
strength is its best protection. There is a man to every three or four
horses, armed with a gun, often with sabre and dagger also; and the
Armenians, although tame enough in general, will fight fiercely for
their goods, or for those intrusted to their care. Of course there is no
security against nocturnal theft, at which the Kourds are as skilful as
North-American red-skins, or as the Hadjouts of the African Metidja.
 A rich Armenian, by name Kara Gos, (Black-eye,) led the caravan
to which Dr Wagner annexed himself. Half the 360 horses
comprising it were his. A considerable rogue was Kara Gos, who
asked the Doctor double the fair price for the use of six horses, a
place under the principal tent, and daily rations from his kitchen.
When the Doctor pointed out the overcharge, Kara Gos turned away
in silence and in dudgeon, and spoke no word to him during the
whole journey. Dr Wagner made his bargain with another Armenian,
one Karapet Bedochil, and the journey was prosperously
accomplished in twenty-seven days from Erzroum to Tabriz. This
was rather slow work—scarcely twelve miles a-day on an average; but
Dr Wagner was well pleased to have leisure during the long hours of
repose—rendered necessary by hot weather and scanty pasturage—to
pursue his geological researches, to go shooting, and to collect rare
insects and beautiful Alpine plants. He took interest, also, in
observing the habits and intelligence of the horses of the caravan.
These were as disciplined as any Russian soldiers, and understood
their duty almost as well as their human masters. When, at two in
the morning, the Karivan-Baschi gave the signal to march, they
responded by a general neighing, snorting, and tinkling of the bells
hung to their necks. Notwithstanding the thick darkness, every horse
found his right place, his owner, and his groom, and stood
motionless till pack-saddle and bales were placed upon his back. The
load duly balanced, he instantly started off of his own accord. The
march was in file, two abreast. The oldest and most experienced
horse took the lead, seemingly proud of the distinction, and
displaying an instinct almost amounting to reason. No danger was
there of his going astray, or shying at some oddly-shaped rock, dimly
seen through the twilight, or at a corpse upon the road, or even at the
passage of camels, to which horses have a special antipathy. If
stream or torrent barred the way, he halted, unbidden, until the
nearest horseman had sought out a ford, and then calmly entered the
water, his example giving confidence to his followers. These caravan
horses love society, soon attach themselves to their companions,
whether biped or quadruped, but are very inhospitable, and do not
easily admit strange horses to their company. They dislike separation
from the caravan, just as cavalry chargers often object to leave the
ranks. Karapet Bedochil gave up his best and youngest horse to Dr
Wagner for the journey. This was a well-shaped brown mare, of
excellent paces, and easy to govern, so long as her habits were
respected. But it took some time to accustom her to quit the caravan,
and carry Dr Wagner on his rambles off the road.
“To ride in the rank and file of a caravan,” says the Doctor, “is
wearisome enough. When morning dawned, and the first sunbeams
illumined the green Alpine plateau, I loved to ride up some rising
ground by the wayside, to contemplate the landscape, and to enjoy
the picturesque aspect of the Kourd camps, and of the long-line of
the caravan. My horse did not share my enjoyment. Much spurring
did it cost me to habituate him to even a few minutes’ separation
from his friends. Love of society, and aversion to solitude, are
amongst the most striking and affecting characteristics of these
animals. At times I remained behind the caravan, when I found an
interesting spot, where the geological formation or the mountain
vegetation invited to examination and collection. My horse, well
secured near at hand, kept his gaze immovably fixed upon the
vanishing caravan. When the last straggler had disappeared, he still
pricked up his ears so long as he could hear the bells. When these
were no longer audible, he drooped his head, and looked inquiringly
and reproachfully at his botanising rider. If it cost me trouble to
detach him from the caravan, he needed no urging to rejoin it.
Suddenly displaying the fire of the Oriental courser, he galloped with
winged swiftness, till the bells were once more heard, and broke into
loud and joyous neighings on again joining his friends.”
The gregarious and sociable propensities of Armenian horses are a
great obstacle to the designs of the Kourd thieves, who at nightfall
prowl around the camp. To lessen the difficulty they come mounted
upon stolen caravan horses, which they train to the work. A noose is
flung round the neck of a grazing horse, and whilst one thief pulls the
animal along, another drives it with a whip. The Armenian horse-
keepers fire their guns to give the alarm, and mount their best horses
to pursue the marauders. If they overtake them, they at first
endeavour to obtain restitution by fair words or by threats. Only at
the last extremity do they use their firearms, for they have a not
unfounded fear of Kourd vengeance for bloodshed.
Less dreaded, and far less frequent than these depredations, are
attacks upon caravans by wolves. These occur scarcely once in ten
years, and then only in very severe winters, when long frosts keep the
flocks from the pastures. Under such circumstances, the wolves,
spurred by extreme hunger, sometimes overcome their natural
cowardice, and make a dash at a caravan, breaking suddenly into the
column on the march, pulling down horses, and tearing them in
pieces, before there is time to drive them away with bullets. But these
cases are of extremely rare occurrence. It more often happens that, in
summer, a single wolf will sneak down upon the grazing caravan
horses, whose instinct, however, soon detects his approach. They
form a circle, heads inwards and heels out, and if the wolf does not
succeed, at a first spring, in fixing upon one of their throats, his best
plan is to decamp, before he gets shot. The attacks of these wolves
are always nocturnal. From other beasts of prey the caravans
between Erzroum and Tabriz have nothing to fear. The jackals are
weak and timid, and content themselves with dead horses; and bears
are few in number, and confine their feeding to sheep and goats.
Southwards from Tabriz to Teheran, and thence to Ispahan, the
danger increases. Kourds are replaced by Turkomans; wolves by
panthers and tigers. But even from these, so far as Dr Wagner could
gather from repeated conversations with caravan leaders, the peril is
trifling, except far south, towards Shiraz, or eastwards in the deserts
of Khorassan, where tigers are more numerous and aggressive.
Of other animals accustomed to follow caravans, the Doctor
particularly mentions ravens and carrion birds, which in winter
consume the excrement, in summer the carcasses, of horses. In
Armenia and Persia, he recognised an old friend whom he had often
seen hovering over the expeditionary column which he had
accompanied to Constantina. The white-headed vulture (Vultur
fulvus) floated in the air at a prodigious height above the caravan,
and as often as a horse fell dead, dozens of the loathsome birds
lowered their powerful pinions, and sank plumb-down upon the
carrion. The beasts of the caravan, even the dogs, were pretty good
friends with these obscene creatures; or at least, from the force of
habit, usually endured their proximity. Dr Wagner speculates on the
possibility of some eccentric sympathy between the horse and his
future coffin. He often saw the little carrion kite (Cathartes
percnopterus,) when it had gorged itself with the flesh of some dead
animal, settle down, its feathers all puffed out, upon a horse’s back,
there to digest its copious meal—a process which the horse, by his
immobility, seemed studiously to avoid disturbing. Grouped together