256 CASUALS IN THE CAUCASUS 



alone with us. Two sinister-looking individuals 

 waited on us, " buttling " with kinjals at their waists 

 and sheepskin hats on their heads. The Prince, too, 

 clung to his varied arsenal, even indoors. In fact the 

 whole lot of them looked as though they were just 

 ready to repel a German attack, or whatever is the 

 equivalent of predatory Germans in Caucasia, at any 

 moment. 



Often the servants joined in the conversation, 

 asking their master questions, about us apparently. 

 There were no maid-servants, but an antiquated lady 

 of the baboushka tribe tottered about the stone 

 passages, scuttling away like a startled rabbit whenever 

 she caught sight of us. We could hear her crooning 

 to herself in a dreary monotone o' nights. I would I 

 knew what her song was all about. Ali Ghirik, whom we 

 instructed to listen and report, said that the prolonged 

 chant was a Russian one, and woven round a drunken 

 berry. It set out to describe that vegetable's feelings 

 as it looked on Kakhetian wine when the latter was red. 

 He couldn't tell us how the berry obtained the wine. 

 It did get it, he maintained, and surely that was 

 enough for us. 



We always breakfasted alone, and in spite of its 

 being peculiarly bad taste to look a gift -horse in the 

 mouth, I must say that we had a very un-English, 

 unsatisfying sort of meal. Little brown cakes, sour 

 cream masquerading as butter, and tea, which was 

 also served throughout the day at the very oddest of 

 hours. 



At I p.m., if we were at home, we dined, always 



