From him we learn that the steamer we expect to take at Bunder Guz, the port of Asterabad, eight farsakhs distant, will not sail until six days later.  Mindful of the fever, from which he is still a sufferer to an uncomfortable extent, E------looks a trifle glum at this announcement, and, after our traps are unpacked at Mahmoud Turki Aghi’s, he ferrets out a book of travels that I had often heard him refer to as an authority on sundry subjects.  Turning over the leaves, he finds a reference to Bunder Guz, and reads out the story of a certain “gimlet-tailed fly” that makes life a burden to the unwary traveller who elects to linger there on the Caspian shore.  Between this gimlet-tailed pest, however, and the mosquitoes of Asterabad we decide that there can be very little to choose, and so make up our minds to accept our host’s hospitality for a day and then push on.

During the day we call on the Russian consul to get our passports vised.  As between English and Russian prestige, the latter are decidedly to the fore in Asterabad.  The bear has his big paw firmly planted on this fruitful province—­it is more Russian than Persian now; before long it will be Russian altogether.  Nothing is plainer to us than this, as we reach the Russian Consulate and are introduced by Mahmoud Turki Aghi to the consul.  He is no “native agent.”  On the contrary, he is one of the biggest “personages” I have seen anywhere.  He is the sort of man that the Russian Government invariably picks out for its representation at such important points in Asia as Asterabad.

A six-footer of magnificent physique, with a smooth and polished address, all smiles and politeness, the Russian consul wears a leonine mustache that could easily be tied in a knot at the back of his head.  Although he is the only European resident of Asterabad save a few Cossack attendants, he wears fashionable Parisian clothes, a wealth of watch-chain, rings, and flash jewellery, patent-leather shoes, and all the accompaniments of an ostentatious show of wealth and personal magnificence.  His rooms are equally gorgeous, and contain large colored portraits of the Czar and Czarina.

The intent and purpose of all this display is to fill the minds of the natives, and particularly the native officials, with an overwhelming sense of Russian grandeur and power.  No Persian can enter the presence of this Russian consul in his rooms without experiencing a certain measure of awe and admiration.  They regard with covetous eyes the rich and comfortable appointments of the rooms, and the big gold watch-chains and rings on the consul’s person.  They too would like to be in the Russian service if its rewards are on such a magnificent scale.  Of patriotism to the Shah they know nothing—­self-interest is the only master they willingly serve.

No one knows this better than the Russian consul; and in the case of influential officials and other useful persons, he sees to it that gold watches and such-like tokens of the Czar’s esteem are not lacking.  The result is that Asterabad, both city and province, is even now more Russian than Persian, and when the proper time arrives will drop into the bear’s capacious maw like a ripe plum.