hem have
been licked! That is the trouble. An Eton boy of fifteen could give them
all points, and beat them with his hands in his pockets.

I am quite sure that the British nation is really superior to all
others. Ours is the only well-bred race, and the only generous or
hospitable nation. Fancy a foreigner keeping "open house"! Here the
entertainment is a glass of thickened tea, and the stove is frequently
not lighted even on a chilly evening. Since I have been in Russia I have
had nothing better or more substantial given to me (by the Russians)
than a piece of cake, except by the Grand Duke. We brought heaps of
letters of introduction, and people called, but that is all, or else
they gave an "evening" with the very lightest refreshments I have ever
seen. Someone plays badly on the piano, there is a little bridge, and a
samovar!

_6 February._--The queer epidemic of "gathered fingers" continues here.
Having two I am in the fashion. They make one awkward, and more idle
than ever. A lot of people come in and out of my sitting-room to "cheer
me up," and everyone wants me to tell their fortune. Mrs. Wynne and Mr.
Bevan are still at Baku.

Last night I went to Prince Orloff's box to hear Lipkofskaya in "Faust."

My car has come back, and is running well, but the weather has been cold
and stormy, with snow drifting in from the hills. I took Mme. Derfelden
and her husband to Kajura to-day. Now that I have the car everyone wants
me to work with them. The difficulty of transport is indescribable.
Without a car is like being without a leg. One simply can't get about.
In order to get a seat on a train people walk up the line and bribe the
officials at the place where it is standing to allow them to get on
board.{11}

CHAPTER IV

ON THE PERSIAN FRONT

_8 February._--A "platteforme" having been found for my car, I and M.
Ignatieff of the Red Cross started for Baku to-day. We found our little
party at the Metropole Hotel. Went to the MacDonell's to lunch. He is
Consul. They are quite charming people, and their little flat was open
to us all the time we were at Baku.

The place itself is wind-blown and fly-blown and brown, but the harbour
is very pretty, with its crowds of shipping, painted with red hulls,
which make a nice bit of colour in the general drab of the hills and the
town. There are no gardens and no trees, and all enterprise in the way
of town-planning and the like is impossible owing to the Russian habi