MY kit for the Caucasus was composed of the following:—

and a trunk full of miscellaneous clothes. The books and papers of my recovered box I lent out to Moscow acquaintances or posted to England. My plan for the summer was to find an izba in the depths of the mountains and make a home there. On reaching Vladikavkaz Station I would put my luggage in the cloak-room and set out right away to tramp the mountains until I found what I wanted. Then I would return to Vladikavkaz and fetch my luggage in a cart.

Nicholas professed to be very much alarmed for my safety. He thought the place good, but he foresaw misadventures. He himself had been in Tiflis and Chiatouri in 1906 and had seen robbery and murder committed in broad daylight. He talked cut-throats for several days, and brought a number of students to back him up; he even urged that I take a trip down the Volga instead. But when he saw finally that I was not to be dissuaded, he promised to give me a letter of protection. He would write a letter to the Priests of the Caucasus. At each village I came to I should inquire where the pope lived and go to him at once and present my letter. I agreed: no doubt the priest in a village would know where there was an empty izba to be found, and he would help me to get it at a fair rate. So Nicholas wrote the following epistle:—

“Dear Little Father,—Knowing that all our southern clergy are holily bound to give hospitality and help to fellowmen, I have taken upon myself the liberty—under unusual circumstances—to recommend to your care my friend, the Englishman Graham, who brings you this letter. I have taken, I repeat, the liberty upon myself to recommend him to your tenderness and care. He is an important man. I trust you will help him in his life in any way that stands within your power, that you will advise him in difficulty or introduce him to priests who can advise him. He may be often in danger among mountain people, and may have you only for a refuge. Money will not be necessary to him—only advice. As you are kind to him, may the Lord God be good to you and the holy work will be advanced, for Mr Graham is a writer who much loves Russia, is a great Christian, and writes many things about Russia and Russian things.—In confidence, I thank you,

Vladikavkaz is a town of forty thousand inhabitants, and is situated about two hundred miles from the Black Sea on the west, and from the Caspian on the east. It has been called the key of the Caucasus; it is certainly the most convenient town from which to enter. The English tourist, when he gets there, will be surprised to find it a European city with handsome buildings and shops, with a “Grand Hotel” and “Hotel Imperial” furnished as any other establishment of such name. There is a good service of electric trams and an abundance of two-horse cabs; very occasionally one may see a motor-car there. The people are, for the most part, Russians and Georgians, though there are great numbers of Ossetines, Tatars, Persians and Ingooshi. It is very interesting to watch the crowds of promenaders on the Alexandrovsky Boulevard on a festival; one sees men and women of almost every nationality under the Russian flag.

The Georgians, famous for their beauty, are the greatest dandies in the world. The young men, dressed in handsome and high-coloured tunics, well armed, show such extraordinarily slender and constricted waists that one is tempted to think they wear corsets. The leather belt round the middle of a young Georgian is strapped so tightly that he cannot use his legs freely. He walks in a jerky little swagger, swaying his shoulders ever so slightly from one side to another, and holding his head high. Then the Georgian and Ossetine girls are dark and arch; they are of large proportions and might not be thought attractive by English people. Their hair generally hangs down their backs in plaits, but is screened from view by coloured veils. They laugh and talk with ordinary freedom on the streets, and it never struck me that they lived very retired lives, as is reputed. In Vladikavkaz and in the Caucasus, however, the outsider sees little sign of love-making in the street. It is very exceptional to see a young couple, and as for kissing in public, I should say it must be the height of indelicacy—judging from the rarity of such a sight. I read in a modern English book that if a Georgian husband or wife were unfaithful, the offender and the corespondent were exposed naked to the public gaze. If it is true it must afford an exciting spectacle. Apparently no divorce cases came on this summer.

The traveller can obtain very good lodging at Vladikavkaz, and French and German is spoken at the hotels. I stayed some days in a hotel which I found most comfortable. The nights as yet were probably cold for sleeping out, and I doubted the possibility of getting safely housed in mountain villages. For some time I made daily expeditions over the Steppes, tasting the new air and bringing back bouquets of spring flowers.

Yet at length one morning at the end of April I slung my travelling-bed across my back and set out to explore.

There are only two regular roads over the Caucasus, and although both start near Vladikavkaz I took neither of them. One goes to Tiflis and the other to Kutais. The former is the well-known Georgian Military Road, the other is a very ill-made, broken track, ascending to an elevation of 9000 feet, and impassable many months of the year.

A brawling river flows past the town from the mountains, the Terek. It is an impetuous, shallow stream that one could almost jump across at some seasons of the year, but having a bed a hundred yards wide. Looking into the valley from the mountains one sees a vast field of grey stones and boulders; and the river, meandering along it, gleams like a silver chain. Sometimes, however, after a few very hot days in July, it rises in flood and covers the whole bed, and washes away bridges and cottages and cattle. The hotter the weather the deeper the water; in June or July it is impossible to ford it, even on a strong horse. It follows that in midwinter it is shallowest and clearest. The Georgian road has been constructed on one side, and there have been several occasions when it has been flooded. There is a number of villages in the valley; it is convenient to be near water. They are inhabited by mountain people, Georgians, Ossetines, Ingooshi. It is strange that villages on opposite banks are near neighbours in the winter, but are cut off from mutual intercourse in the summer. Fortoug, for instance, is half a mile distant from Maximkina in January, but is thirty miles away in June, and both villages are inhabited by the same tribe—Ingooshi. I took the cart track that leads to Fortoug, and thought to be able to cross over to the opposite village. I found out my mistake later on. Mistakes, however, were not going to disturb me. I had no destination. It didn’t matter what happened or how far I strayed. The Caucasus was my host; I left him the arrangements. The mountains provided the entertainment, and I would not doubt their hospitality and generosity.

I passed through meadows; they were purple with a little flower which grew in clusters, a labiate, common in England, but incomparably brighter there than here. Early purple orchis was just blossoming, and crimson iris and fig-wort and crane’s-bill. In one deep tangled ditch where thistles, barberry, teasle, hollyhock and mallow struggled with nettles and convolvulus, one read the promises for July and August. Nature stood there like a host with drawn bows; in a moment ten thousand arrows would have sped into the air. The orchis and the crane’s-bill were heralds. Even the butterflies on the wing were forerunners—tattered old brimstones and tortoiseshells that had lived through the winter, only to wake up in the spring and lay their eggs and prepare the way for their children. And among the birds it was nesting-time; as I climbed a grassy slope I suddenly disturbed a lark, and just at my feet found the little nest with the familiar little cluster of dark eggs.