176 RETURN TO KERTCIL 



smelling, even in their earliest stages. Close by, 

 in the midst of a crowd of the ugliest old women 

 on earth (and herein I do not malign the Russian 

 * baboushka '), is a pedlar selling knitting-needles 

 and other housewife's gear. They must be hard to 

 please from the noise they make, for the sound of 

 their bargaining would silence the morning babel 

 of Billingsgate. 



At the back of the fair is a long row of fires on 

 the plain, whereat the Tartar is cooking the savoury 

 ' shushlik ' (kabob). This is the refreshment-stall 

 department of the fair, or at least a part of it ; the 

 other part is to be found at the little square tables 

 at every corner, on whicli are a dirty bottle and 

 two dirtier glasses, behind which stands a red- 

 shirted moujik, and around him drunken Ivans 

 and Stepans embrace and fight, or argue and 

 abuse, for a Russian never fights as our English 

 rough does. Never, perhaps, is too strong a word ; 

 but in my three or four years in Russia, though I 

 have known men dirked in broad daylight in the 

 bazaar, and have never entered a bazaar without 

 seeing one or two rows going on, I have not seen 

 two real stand-up fights. The Russian rough 

 barks loudly, and possesses a fathomless repertoire 

 of abuse, which he supplements with ready inven- 

 tion, but he rarely goes beyond words. At these 

 tables too, ' Macha,' the demure peasant girl, as well 

 as the ' staruka ' (crone), are frequently to be found; 



