A walled enclosure, like that of a fortress, a massive door on grating hinges--such is your first impression of this lonely fane (Fig. 155). My illustration shows the long line of monastic buildings on the south; the gateway is on the west. You enter a spacious court, and face a handsome belfry and porch, the façade inlaid with slabs of white marble with bas-reliefs (Fig. 156). We were conducted to a long chamber, with walls of prodigious thickness, recalling our Norman refectories. It was nearly six o'clock; the monks received us without surprise, and had probably been forewarned by the Mutesarrif. When I asked for a separate room, it was pleaded that none was vacant; and the preparations of Mevlud to sleep by our side in the long chamber convinced me that resistance would as yet be vain. With the best humour we joined in a meal of extreme frugality, which was spread upon trays and partaken of by all the monks. Of these there were six in residence and six absent, one being confined in a Turkish prison. Four deacons were also of the company; but conversation was difficult in the presence of the silent Mevlud. Our hosts were superior people, judged by the standards in this country; and after supper, over the glow of a number of braziers, we were drawn together by common sympathies. In particular I was attracted to a well-read monk of quiet demeanour, whose personality and name I hesitate to disclose. The morning broke serene and clear; a brilliant sun embraced the landscape which from the terrace outside the walls, where is situated a little cemetery, was outspread at our feet (Fig. 157). The eye sank to the floor of the plain or was lifted to the summits of the mountains, which were seen in all the variety of their many forms and myriad facets above beds of vapour, clinging captive to the middle slopes. This sea of clouds concealed the river where it issues from the expanse to be buried in the amphitheatre of heights. But my companion, the mild-tempered monk, told me they could sometimes hear from this terrace the hissing of the waters as they enter the passage. They call the place Gurgur, a name imitative of the sound which, when the air is heavy with cloud towards the end of winter, is loud and long-maintained. Then they say that spring is near at hand. He added that the ruins of an Armenian fortress may still be seen within the gorge. Its ancient name was Haykaberd.