Kelly Laurence, Diplomacy and Murder in Tehran

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‘my father, my commanding officer’,

and trusted him completely. A rich

man whose grandfather had made money from a monopoly of salt in the

Crimea under Catherine the Great, he had only recently married

Griboyedov’s cousin. She would later hold court with great magnificence

as the Governor’s wife in Tiflis; one English visitor (Captain Mignan)

described her later as festooned with pearls the size of peas.

The struggle for power between Yermolov and Paskievich continued

until the spring of 1827. Paskievich, driven to distraction by Yermolov’s

obstructive policies, laid all the blame for the war and the lamentable

situation in the Caucasus on Yermolov,

and finally declared that either

he or Yermolov must go. The Emperor, still playing for time, sent Dibich

to investigate the situation, but gave him authority to choose between

the two commanders. Dibich, after several weeks of hesitation, came

down on the side of Paskievich. Yermolov was forced to resign, his

humiliation compounded by an official reprimand, and on 27 March

Paskievich was appointed as Supreme Commander in the Caucasus.

Yermolov left Tiflis a few days later, never to return. At Taganrog, he

turned aside to visit the spot where Alexander I had died – ‘with whom

was buried all my good fortune’.

It is hard to believe that Griboyedov saw the departure of his old

patron without a feeling of pity and regret. But in the meantime he had

learned to work with Paskievich, and found his new role in many ways

more interesting than the old. Not only was Paskievich favourably

disposed towards him as a relative, but he was far more ready to make

use of him. Unlike Yermolov, who delegated as little as possible, even in

the writing of reports, Paskievich was inexperienced in dealing with the

Byzantine ways of the St Petersburg bureaucracy, and needed secretarial

help. Involved as he was with the war, he was content to delegate all

he could to Griboyedov’s tirelessly fluent pen. For the first time in his

working life, Griboyedov had a taste of real administrative power;

Paskievich, delighted to be relieved of bureaucratic detail, came to rely on

his clever subordinate more and more. ‘Do not expect any poetry from

me,’ Griboyedov wrote to Bulgarin.

‘The highlanders, the Persians,

the Turks, the needs of the administration, and the huge volume of

paper generated by my present superior, overwhelm me and demand all

my activity.’

Griboyedov spent six months in Tiflis, keeping his head down while

the rival commanders jostled for position, renewing his acquaintances

among the Georgian gentry. There were visits to the Chavchavadzes and

their neighbour Praskovya Nikolayevna Akhverdova, the widow of a

former artillery general and the guardian of a clutch of marriageable

girls. Prince Chavchavadze, as a serving soldier, had entrusted his wife

and family to Madame Akhverdova’s care; they lived in a wing of her

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house in Tiflis, a wooden mansion in a leafy park above the town. Other

members of the household included her ward, Alexandrina Perfileyeva,

her step-daughter Sofiya, and her own two children. Griboyedov had

first been introduced to the family by Muravyov, who was officially

courting Sofiya, but also had an eye on Chavchavadze’s fourteen-year-

old daughter Nina, a dark-eyed beauty who was already causing a flutter

amongst the young officers of Tiflis. After the stresses and intrigues of

the general staff guard-room, it was delightful for Griboyedov to escape

to this enchanting world of jeunes filles en fleur, with their accommodat-

ing chaperones and their light-hearted round of picnics, balls and sup-

per parties. He would call there almost daily, holding them spellbound

with his exquisite piano playing and giving piano lessons to the girls.

Paskievich’s appointment as Commander-in-Chief brought this

pleasurable interlude to an end. For the rest of the war, Griboyedov was

in constant attendance on him, accompanying him on his military

campaigns and acting as his chief adviser on diplomatic matters. Never

before had he worked so close to the centre of power. Paskievich, serving

in the Caucasus for the first time, found Griboyedov’s experience of

local conditions and topography invaluable; his knowledge of languages,

in particular his fluency in Persian, was a further asset.

Writing to his

brother Alexander in June 1827, Griboyedov’s old friend Nikita

Vsevolozhsky seized the essence of the situation when he described him

as Paskievich’s ‘factotum’:

‘What he says becomes holy writ. This is

confirmed by Denis Davydov, who I see every day’.

The departure of Yermolov meant that a whole range of his hard-line

policies could be reversed. Peaceful intervention and respect for Muslim

laws and institutions could replace his tactics of scorched earth and

terror; local potentates could be wooed into becoming allies rather than

beaten into submission. The new approach coincided with the views of

Nicholas I. Dedicated to the principle of legitimacy in the Middle Eastern

cockpit, as elsewhere, he did not wish to see the Shah or Abbas Mirza

entirely overthrown; the same applied to a lesser extent to those khans

with a hereditary title to rule.

Throughout the campaign, Paskievich would back up his military

efforts with a series of side deals with local tribes, avoiding conflict

wherever possible and ensuring the continuity of his supplies. His most

notable success was regaining the key province of Karabakh, thus

securing Georgia’s eastern flank, by the time-honoured weapon of bribing

the ruler, Mehdi Kuli Khan, with an annual subsidy, and the promise

that he would carry out no military operations there. Griboyedov acted

as Paskievich’s adviser and interpreter in the negotiations, and dealt

with the ensuing mass of paper. He was helped by a trusted colleague,

Abbas Kuli Agha Balikhanov, an Azherbaijani whom he had first met

The Persian Campaign

145

with Yermolov in 1819. Clever and well-read, Balikhanov could teach

Griboyedov much about the ethnic background and culture of the area,

and frequently pitched his campaign tent next to his. Paskievich was

soon induced to share Griboyedov’s faith in his ‘Asiatic’ mentor.

Paskievich would never acquire Yermolov’s legendary status as a

great pro-consul, but in many ways he was a better commander in the

field. His first move after Yermolov’s departure was to carry out the

strategic instructions set by St Petersburg to capture Erivan.

Early in

May, he moved off with his staff to join up with General Benckendorff,

a brother of Nicholas’s head of security, who was leapfrogging his way

southwards, via the venerable Monastery of Etchmiadzin, in order to

besiege the capital of Armenia. After replacing Benckendorff’s exhausted

troops at Erivan with a fresh force under General Krasovsky, he then

turned south to attack the khanate of Nakhichevan, thus securing his

rear against any interference by Abbas Mirza from Tabriz. He took the

provincial capital unopposed on 26 June, then moved on to besiege the

fortress of Abbas Abad, controlling the crossing of the river Araxes; the

fort was commanded by a brother-in-law of Abbas Mirza, with a garrison

of 2700.

Griboyedov, as a civilian, was delighted that some of the military

glories of the campaign could rub off on him. Writing to Madame

Akhverdova, he describes the searing heat and dusty winds, the

excitement of coming under fire in a dawn raid with the Cossacks, the

sporadic sound of cannonades, the dramatic sight of Benckendorff’s

cavalry as they fought their way across the Araxes to seize the domi-

nating heights opposite, the beauty of the laboriously cultivated river

valley and its wild backdrop of hills and mountain ranges, culminating

in the snowy peak of Mount Ararat on the horizon. Joining the other

young bloods round their tents, Griboyedov was forced to beat a retreat

when no less than seven cannonballs whizzed past. ‘All this makes life

more cheerful!’ he exclaimed.

After a short siege and discreet approaches from the Russians, the

garrison commander of Abbas Abad decided to capitulate; Abbas Mirza’s

troops had failed to relieve the fortress, and Paskievich’s assurances,

through Griboyedov, that there would be no looting or reprisals were

enough to clinch the matter. On 7 July, the garrison surrendered, and

the whole province of Nakhichevan passed into Russian hands, thus

opening the way to Tabriz. But for sickness in his army and delays in

his provision trains, Paskievich would have marched on Tabriz straight

away. As it was, he decided to withdraw his troops to cooler conditions

in the mountains near Karababa to regroup.

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146

Abbas Mirza’s blitzkrieg of early victories had given way to a series of

defections and disasters, culminating in the threat to his own capital.

Paskievich had let it be known, through the former Governor of Abbas

Abad, that he was ready to receive an official from the Persians to dis-

cuss an armistice. Abbas Mirza seized the olive branch, sending one of

his most trusted officials, an English-educated Persian named Mirza

Saleh, to open negotiations. Mirza Saleh’s journal, preserved in the

India Office, gives a vivid picture of his visit to the Russian camp and

his subsequent exchanges. He describes his ‘gracious and hospitable

reception’ by Griboyedov, Amburgherr and a certain Prince Dolgorukov,

all previously known to him in Tabriz. But he found Paskievich in no

mood to make concessions. When he suggested that the Shah was ready

to make peace along the lines of the Treaty of Gulistan, Paskievich

brushed his overtures aside.

‘Come, come,’ he said, ‘let us have no

shuffling, but let us know what sacrifices you are prepared to make. The

offers must come from you, not from me, as I now hold the key of

Azherbaijan [the newly captured fortress of Abbas Abad] in my hands.’

He went on to demand the formal cession of the provinces of

Nakhichevan and Erivan, the full cost of the war and a substantial

indemnity for the ravages of the Persian troops: if not, he threatened, he

would dictate his terms beneath the walls of Tabriz or Tehran.

Since Mirza Saleh was not entitled to discuss such major questions,

it was agreed that he should return to Abbas Mirza, accompanied by an

official from the Russian side. Paskievich chose Griboyedov for the role,

147

XVIII

Armistice

Negotiations

and on 7 August he and Mirza Saleh set off for the Persian camp.

Griboyedov was received with every courtesy. ‘Accommodation was

prepared for him in the garden of Karaziadin,’ wrote Saleh. ‘Fifty

soldiers were assigned to him as an honorary guard. Mirza Muhammad

Ali [Abbas Mirza’s Secretary of State] delivered a complimentary mes-

sage from his Royal Highness.’

Griboyedov met Abbas Mirza the following morning. He reiterated

the Russian demands in their entirety, allowing just a hint of flexibility

by suggesting that they might be open to discussion in St Petersburg;

meanwhile Abbas Mirza suggested a five-week armistice, and evaded all

the main demands, causing Griboyedov to remark that his answers bore

no reference to the Russian proposals, and counter-proposed an

armistice of ten months rather than five weeks. This was a question for

Paskievich, and Griboyedov returned with Mirza Saleh to the Russian

camp. They reached the picket lines at midnight. Paskievich and his

Chief of Staff, General Shablovsky, rode out to meet them. They rejected

the request for an armistice of ten months without even dismounting,

Paskievich arguing that he could not possibly provision his army over

such a length of time, Shablovsky saying bluntly, ‘You may tell your gov-

ernment that no prevarication will be tolerated. You shall have neither

an armistice nor peace till you agree to our conditions.’ Mirza Saleh,

privately aware of the half-starving state of the Persian army, was hard

put to find an adequate reply.

Mirza Saleh returned to Abbas Mirza with a letter from Paskievich,

repeating his answer in somewhat more diplomatic terms, then went on

to inform the Shah of his discussions. After these preliminary

exchanges, in which Griboyedov had been little more than a messenger

(though he probably drafted Paskievich’s letter), it was agreed that formal

negotiations should begin. Despite the presence of a diplomatic adviser

from St Petersburg, State Counsellor A.M. Obreskov, on his staff,

Paskievich nominated Griboyedov to conduct the talks.

It was a singular

tribute to his abilities, offering him a unique opportunity to show off

his patriotism and grasp of Russia’s essential interests. It was also

a chance to justify the trust Paskievich had placed in him and his

knowledge of the Persian character. His despatch, when approved by

Paskievich, would be forwarded to Nesselrode in St Petersburg, who in

turn would show it to the Emperor. He could thus be sure that all those

whose judgements could affect his career and promotion would see it.

It was only a year since he had emerged from prison; in a startling

reversal of his fate, his prospects now looked more promising than they

had ever been.

Griboyedov’s despatch to Paskievich, written at the conclusion of his

talks, is worth quoting at some length, if only to show the confrontation

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148

between two opposing cultures, one Eastern and almost medieval, the

other Western and colonialist. Griboyedov was outspoken to the point of

brusqueness, Abbas Mirza flattering, evasive and silkily polite: ‘All the

courtesies were observed, even to excess,’ remarked Griboyedov. But

behind their very different manners the outlines of the situation were

clear: the Russians held the upper hand, the Persians were desperate to

minimise their losses.

After politely recalling their earlier acquaintance in Tabriz, Abbas

Mirza opened the talks by blaming Yermolov’s arrogance and incursions

into Persian territory for the outbreak of the war. Griboyedov replied

that the presence of Prince Menshikov, as the new Tsar’s ambassador

to the Shah, was evidence that Russia had been prepared to listen

reasonably to the Persian point of view. ‘Your Royal Highness took

matters into your own hands by the use of force,’ he said, adding rather

tactlessly in view of Russia’s recent military successes, ‘One never

knows where the use of force will end’. He referred to the fall of Abbas

Abad, provoking Abbas Mirza to exclaim that his brother-in-law was ‘a

coward and a woman, nay indeed, worse than a woman!’

Griboyedov then invoked the name of his Sovereign and August

Master, who expected some reasonable response to Russia’s demands

from the Persians, based on military realities. ‘It is my duty,’ he

continued, ‘to outline to you, if you will hear them, our conditions’. But

Abbas Mirza, postponing the evil moment with a lengthy diatribe,

explained how he had always sought a peaceful accommodation with the

Russian Emperor. The more he insisted on his admiration for the new

Tsar, the more Griboyedov reproached him for the Shah’s behaviour to

his envoy Menshikov, who had been held against his will in Tehran, in

violation of every diplomatic convention. ‘Sovereigns have their honour,

as much as their people!’ exclaimed the wily young diplomat. Abbas

Mirza then played into his hands. How much was the Tsar prepared

to delegate? Griboyedov answered firmly that the Tsar’s conditions

were not negotiable: ‘The Sovereign’s will is not open to modification by

his subjects’.

With a meaningful gesture towards the curtain where Allah Yar Khan,

the military commander of Tabriz, was hidden, the Crown Prince stated:

We too have only one will. But in St Petersburg they pronounced one

policy and Yermolov another. If Paskievich will not modify these conditions,

we will have to conclude an armistice with him. I and my son will then

come to your camp and ask him to direct us to your Sovereign and leave

for St Petersburg where we will lie prostrate at the foot of the throne.

We have offended him and ask his forgiveness. He is all-powerful and

seeks our provinces and our fortune. I will seek the protection of the

Russian Tsar.

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149

Griboyedov replied that these praiseworthy intentions would have been

better carried out ‘last year during the Coronation in Moscow. Instead

the Crown Prince had seized his sword to attack us’. Abbas Mirza

returned again and again to the theme that he had insulted the Tsar,

and now wished to make amends and throw himself upon the Emperor’s

generosity. ‘If we cede the provinces and pay you,’ he continued,

what do we get in exchange? At the last Treaty we ceded vast provinces

and territories to you, indeed all that you demanded. The English can

witness that. Thereafter what happened? More and more demands.

Peace has been a hundred times worse than war! I have endured so

many humiliations over the last decade. I, or my son and heir must travel

to St Petersburg and be received by the Emperor.

‘Next,’ wrote Griboyedov,

he insisted that I should guarantee that he would be received by the

Emperor. I countered by saying that such proposals could not be

accepted in wartime. The Persian practice of trying to turn affairs of

state into cosy talks, conducted as it were in the relaxed atmosphere of

a harem, was unacceptable.

The Crown Prince ignored this comment, and reverted to the proposal

of an armistice lasting four to six weeks, time enough for his views to

reach St Petersburg, and a substantive reply to arrive. When Griboyedov

attempted to bring the talk back to the working arrangements for an

armistice, Abbas Mirza proposed that the Russians should evacuate the

province of Nakhichevan, to be treated as neutral, excepting Abbas

Abad, whose garrison he undertook to provision. He himself would

retire to Tabriz.

‘We appeared to agree on most points,’ Griboyedov reported. ‘I asked

for a break to retire and prepare a draft.’ However, the Crown Prince

disagreed. ‘We must take decisions now. I do not want a letter. You will

be inflexible later about each word.’

Griboyedov then stated the Russian conditions and proposals,

Abbas Mirza showering him with incessant compliments throughout his

exposition. ‘This lasted for about six hours,’ wrote Griboyedov. ‘In all my

time in Tabriz, I have never seen him so ready to reach agreement, or to

be in such a heat of repentance and contrition.’

By 22 July, the written draft of the Russian terms was ready for

agreement. Meanwhile Griboyedov had received a visit from Mirza

Muhammad Ali to explain the difficulties of Abbas Mirza’s position vis-

à-vis the Shah, and the weaknesses of the Persian army. All their proud

pretensions had evaporated. Griboyedov hinted to Mirza Muhammad Ali

that he was

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150

Armistice Negotiations

151

concerned at Abbas’s unenviable future position in the context of the

succession once Azherbaijan, his power-base, was ours, lost by his

rashness. If the war were to continue Abbas Mirza would be blamed for

all the troubles affecting Persia. This might affect his role as Heir to the

throne. Mirza Muhammed Ali promised to pass this poisoned message

on to Abbas Mirza.

I was due to appear before Abbas Mirza the next day, but in the heat

of 47 degrees Reaumur, I fell ill with a fever and took to my bed. I

received every kind of Persian honour, demonstrating their duplicity at

this parlous moment of their affairs: the Chief Master of Ceremonies,

Muhammad Husayn Khan, followed by a huge suite and bearers of every

kind of delicacy handed me a ferman, sealed by Abbas, congratulating

the Emperor and the late Emperor’s widow on the Feast day of her

patron saint. I believe Mirza Saleh is responsible as I had mentioned

this solemnity to him.

Meanwhile the Shah, encamped at Chur, not far away, had received

the Russian draft proposals, and had sent back his officials with an

alternative version, using ‘all the dialectic of the thirteenth century,’ and

contradicting most of what had been agreed. The Russians were asked

to abandon the two conquered provinces and the request for a ten-

month armistice was renewed.

‘Considering the uselessness of the talks,’ wrote Griboyedov, ‘I

requested permission to leave.’ It had been the Persians, he insisted,

who had asked for an armistice; the Russians had no need for it. He

went on to issue an ultimatum: ‘Take them [the Russian proposals]

freely or leave them’. He pointed out that Azherbaijan was so rich that

once captured it could support an occupying militia of 20,000 men.

‘Russia would then be permanently installed there. She would have no

political relations with Persia in the future; such a country could not

honour its treaties; they would be treated as non-persons in the same

category as the Afghans and other remote peoples lost in Asia.’

Griboyedov had arranged to leave the Persian camp on 25 July. On

the morning of that day, he was received by Abbas Mirza, flanked by two

of his brothers, the Princes of Qazvin and Urmia, Allah Yar Khan and

the brother of the Sardar of Erivan, a hardliner, who had intervened

with the Shah to reject the Russian conditions. Griboyedov had

assumed that before such a distinguished audience his terms would

either be accepted or negotiated. It was not to be. The Crown Prince

renewed his request for an armistice of ten months, Griboyedov again

refused: ‘How could we justify this loss of time, so much at odds with

our military success!’ Stung to the quick, Abbas Mirza retorted that he

would indeed sign all the proposals of the Emperor if he put them to

him, or his son, in person. He would present his son to Paskievich as a

hostage, and in addition two of his brothers would set off to his camp.

Griboyedov could not accept these suggestions, but the pleading and

humble tone in which they were offered made a curt reply impossible.

Instead he repeated his advice that the Persians should accept the

inevitable, rather than invite further misfortunes. He also instanced

recent diplomatic successes, such as the defection of the ruler of

Karabakh, to show that those seeking Russian protection would be fairly

treated. Abbas Mirza picked this up and commented,

Without doubt one of General Paskievich’s most effective weapons is to

establish a policy of fair and even-handed justice towards the Muslims,

both his and ours. We know how he acted towards the nomadic tribes of

Erevan and Nakhichevan [a policy proposed by Griboyedov himself]. His

troops never harmed them and treated them equitably …General Yermolov,

in contrast, was a latterday Genghis Khan, who would have revenged

himself by depopulating these provinces and utterly destroying them.

The talks finished on this self-justifying note, and Griboyedov was

offered a farewell feast of the greatest luxury and distinction. No terms

had been agreed, but during his stay there he had noted the relative

weakness of the Persian forces, and had included valuable intelligence

on the numbers of men and guns in his report. ‘I left the Persian camp,’

he wrote, ‘with the encouraging impression that the enemy do not

have the stomach for war. Their cumulative setbacks have been both

frightening and damaging to their morale, which is destroyed and

dejected.’

He added that the Kurds who escorted him back to the

Russian lines had indicated that they were ready to defect. The Shah

had caused great anger locally by paying only one toman for a standard

measure of bread, instead of the market price of five.

‘It is clear from the Crown Prince’s humble tone,’ concluded Griboyedov,

that he does not find himself militarily to be our equal. It would be unreal-

istic to find him ready to pay the price of our conditions immediately.

We must be tough and resolute about this. In the counsels of the Crown

Prince the predominating voices are still those of the hardliners such

as Allah Yar Khan and the Sardar and his brother, who are against

making peace. The Sardar fears very much that he and his brother will

be ousted with the cession of the province of Erevan. Only after the fall

of Erevan will the Persians really feel threatened as far as the capital of

Azherbaijan, i.e Tabriz. These events will allow us to conclude peace on

our own terms.

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152

Griboyedov’s prediction that the Persians would not come to terms

before Erivan had fallen was well-founded, but he had underestimated

Abbas Mirza’s will to fight. While Paskievich and the bulk of his troops

remained inactive at Karababa, Krasovsky, further north, had been

forced by the heat and lack of supplies to abandon the siege of Erivan

till reinforcements came. He retired to the mountains beyond Etchmiadzin,

leaving only a small garrison to guard the monastery. Abbas Mirza

seized his opportunity. In early August, only days after Griboyedov’s

departure, he moved his troops northward and attacked the monastery

with an overwhelming force. His plan was to capture Etchmiadzin, then

march on Tiflis through Gumri, devastate the capital and return through

Karabakh. Only the outstanding courage of Krasovsky, who fought his

way back to the monastery through the mountains, with some 2000

troops against 30,000, prevented him from succeeding. The monastery

was saved, though at a heavy cost, and the Persians, losing heart,

retired to Azherbaijan. It was several weeks before Paskievich, 100 miles

away, with communications interrupted by the Persian army, heard the

news. Immediately postponing all thoughts of marching on Tabriz, he

hurried to reinforce the depleted garrison at Etchmiadzin, then moved

on to resume the siege of Erivan. On 23 September, after heavy fighting

at the fortified village of Sardar Abad, his troops drew up beneath the

lowering walls of the city, and the siege of Erivan began in earnest.

The capture of Erivan, which would earn Paskievich the title of

Prince Paskievich Erevansky,

was the first great military victory of

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The Treaty of

Turkmanchai