Latest / The Story of Armenia: Survival Through Empires and Genocide — Fexingo History / The Melikdoms of Karabakh: Armenia's Mountain Autonomy
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've talked a lot about the big Armenian kingdoms and the empire collapses, but there's a quieter, stubborn chapter that I think we haven't touched yet—the melikdoms of Karabakh. These were small Armenian principalities that held on into the eighteenth century, right in the mountains between the Ottoman and Persian empires. Luna: Melikdoms—I've heard the word, but I don't know what it really means. Lucas: Melik comes from the Arabic and Persian word for king, but in the Armenian context it was a semi-autonomous prince. The meliks of Karabakh were the ones who famously survived. For centuries, while the rest of the Armenian highlands were squeezed by the Ottomans on one side and the Safavids on the other, these five principalities—began, Ktish, Khachen, Dizak, and Varanda—managed to keep a degree of self-rule. Luna: Five separate principalities, all in Karabakh? That's a tiny area. Lucas: It is small, but the terrain is brutal. Deep gorges, dense forests—perfect for a scrappy autonomy. Their origins go back to the collapse of the Bagratuni kingdom in the eleventh century, but they really solidified under Safavid rule. The Shahs found it practical to let local Christian lords manage the mountain valleys, as long as they paid tribute and kept the pass routes open. Lucas: The meliks were fierce. They built fortified seats like the ones at Gandzasar and Haterk, and they maintained their own armed retinues. They spoke Armenian, kept the Apostolic Church going, and patronized manuscript production. A lot of Armenian culture survived because of these little courts. Luna: And they were completely on their own? No external support? Lucas: For most of the time, yes. They had to play the Ottomans and Persians against each other, and sometimes they paid off one side to get protection from the other. But in the late seventeenth century, a figure emerged from one of these melik families—Israel Ori, from the principality of Dizak. He went off to Europe looking for a Christian power to liberate Armenia. Luna: Wait, Israel Ori—wasn't he the one who went to see Peter the Great? Lucas: Exactly. Ori spent years traveling—Vienna, then Venice, then Moscow. He presented a plan to Peter the Great for a joint Armenian-Russian campaign in the Caucasus. Peter was interested, but the timing never worked out. Ori died in 1711 on his way back, and the dream never materialized. Still, his mission planted a seed: Russia as a potential protector of Armenians. Luna: So the meliks were looking to Russia even that early? Lucas: That's right. And the idea resurfaced in the 1720s when the Safavid Empire was collapsing—Nader Shah was just one general in that chaos. The meliks actually rose up and fought against the Ottomans who were moving in. They even managed to hold their own for a few years with support from local Armenians in the lowlands. Lucas: But then Nader Shah, now the ruler of Persia, came and reasserted Persian control. He confirmed the meliks' rights as long as they accepted his suzerainty. He even used them in his campaigns against the Ottomans. The meliks kept their autonomy, but it was always conditional, always a negotiation. Luna: It sounds like they had to be incredibly diplomatic just to survive. Lucas: Absolutely. And it worked until the late eighteenth century. That's when the Qajar dynasty took over Persia, and the power balance shifted. The meliks faced pressure from the new rulers, and some of them made a strategic choice: they started sending ambassadors, literally, to the Russian court again. By 1804, as Russia was expanding into the Caucasus, these ties paid off. Lucas: In 1813, the Treaty of Gulistan formally ended the Russo-Persian war, and Karabakh—with its melikdoms—was ceded to Russia. The meliks hoped for a new golden age of Armenian autonomy under Christian rule. They didn't fully get that, but the region did enter a peaceful period. And that's how the idea of Karabakh as an Armenian cultural heartland got a new lease on life into the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Luna: So the melikdoms kind of bridged the old medieval Armenia and the modern era? Lucas: Yes, and that's why I find them so compelling. They weren't grand, they weren't famous, but they kept the flame burning in a corner of the map that almost no one outside the region knew about. And their legacy is still woven into the identity of Karabakh Armenians today. Lucas: You know, thinking about the meliks holding on for three centuries—it makes you appreciate how small, local structures can outlast empires. A bit like this podcast relying on listener support rather than corporate sponsors. If today's conversation felt worth a coffee to you, that's the link—buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. No pressure, keeps it independent. Luna: Yeah, it's a good reminder that big things often come from small, steady efforts. Lucas: Exactly. And speaking of lasting legacies, the melikdoms didn't just survive—they left physical marks. The fortress of Shushi, for instance, became a major Armenian town, and the cathedral at Gandzasar still stands today as a testament to their patronage. Even after the melikdoms were dissolved by the Russians, those stones kept telling their story. Luna: So when exactly did the melikdoms cease to exist? Lucas: It was a gradual process. The Russian tsars abolished the last remnants of the melik system in the 1820s, after they were securely in control. They replaced the hereditary lords with Russian-appointed administrators. But by then, the Armenian population in Karabakh was deeply rooted, and that demographic reality shaped everything that followed. Lucas: There's also a bit of romantic legend around the meliks. Some Armenian sources claim they were descendants of the ancient Aranshahik dynasty. Historians aren't sure, but the meliks themselves played up that lineage to legitimize their rule. It shows how much they cared about continuity—tying themselves to a deep past even as they navigated a precarious present. Luna: I love that kind of mythological self-fashioning—it's so human. Lucas: It certainly was. And it wasn't just about image. The meliks actively supported the Armenian Church, funding monasteries and scribal schools. Gandzasar was the seat of the Catholicos of Aghvank, a separate Armenian church jurisdiction. That gave the region a spiritual authority that crossed political borders. Lucas: If you want to see a tangible symbol of their era, the khachkars at Haghpat and Sanahin in the north are beautiful, but the ones in Karabakh are just as intricate. Some of the best medieval Armenian art is hidden in those villages. Luna: I'm realizing I knew almost nothing about this. It changes the whole picture of Armenian survival. Lucas: That's the thing—Armenian history isn't just one epic story, it's a mosaic of local resilience. The melikdoms are a perfect example of how even a small, mountain-bound community can preserve identity against all odds. And that story is still being written in the modern Karabakh conflict, where the names of those valleys and towns are front-page news. Lucas: For now, though, I think it's worth sitting with the image of those meliks in their stone halls—negotiating, building, keeping the lamp lit. It's a humbling reminder that history is often made in the margins. And maybe that's where the most important lessons are.