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 habit of cheating.  They have tried for sixteen years to start electric trams, but everyone wants too much for his own pocket.  The morals become dingier and dingier as one gets nearer Tartar influence, and no shame is thought of it.  Most of the stories one hears would blister the pages of a diary.  When a house of ill-fame is opened it is publicly blessed by the priest!

Kasvin. 18 February..—­We spent a week at Baku and grumbled all the time, although really we were not at all unhappy.  The MacDonells were always with us, and we had good games of bridge with Ignatieff in the evenings.  We went to see the oil city at Baku, and one day we motored to the far larger one further out.  One of the directors, an Armenian, went with us, and gave us at his house the very largest lunch I have ever seen.  It began with many plates of zakouska (hors d’oeuvres), and went on to a cold entree of cream and chickens’ livers; then grilled salmon, with some excellent sauce, and a salad of beetroot and cranberries.  This was followed by an entree of kidneys, and then we came to soup, the best I have ever eaten; after soup, roast turkey, followed by chicken pilau, sweets and cheese.  It was impossible even to taste all the things, but the Georgian cook must have been a “cordon bleu.”

On February 16th one of the long-delayed cars arrived, and we were in ecstasies, and took our places on the steamer for Persia; but the radiator had been broken on the way down, and Mrs. Wynne was delayed again.  I started, as my car was arranged for, and had to go on board.  Also, I found I could be of use to Mr. Scott of the Tehran Legation, who was going there.  We travelled on the boat together, and had an excellent crossing to Enzeli, a lovely little port, and then we took my car and drove to Resht, where Mr. and Mrs. McLaren, the Consul and his wife, kindly put us up.  Their garden is quiet and damp; the house is damp too, and very ugly.  There are only two other English people (at the bank) to form the society of the place, and it must be a bit lonely for a young woman.  I found the situation a little tragic.

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