There were four of us--two Frenchmen, an Italian, and an Englishman. We
had ridden from Damascus to Baalbek, and had seen the ruins;
after dinner, we were lying on heaps of cushions on the floor, in
a hostelry little known to Europeans. For some minutes the bubbling
of our narghilés was the only sound that broke the stillness of the
night. Then the ex-cuirassier spoke out in a strong voice--the voice
of a man accustomed to command--"Gentlemen! I propose that we solemnly
pass a vote of censure on the late M. de Lamartine." "Bravo!" was
our unanimous cry; and the vote was carried, nemine contradicente. A
rider was added, to the effect that poets should be discouraged from
writing books of travel.
"Surely a strange proceeding!" says the reader. Let me explain. We had
been shut up in Damascus for a long time by heavy snow-storms which
blocked the roads; the most interesting book we had was Lamartine's
"Voyage en Orient," and we had read the long description of Baalbek
over and over again, until we almost knew it by heart. Need I say that
the reality disappointed us? If we had never read Lamartine's book,
we should have been delighted with the place; but having read it,
we wanted the poet's eyes in order to see the temples as he saw them.
But what has all this to do with Georgia? Simply this: the following
pages are not written by a poet, and, gentle sir, if you ever pass a
vote of censure on the writer of them, it will not be for the reason
that he has painted things and places in a rose-coloured atmosphere.
In publishing these notes I have had but one object--to excite the
curiosity of my fellow-countrymen; the means of gratifying this
curiosity are indicated in the bibliographical section. Georgia is
practically unknown to the British public; well-educated people know
that the country is famous for its beautiful women, but they are
not very sure whether those charming creatures live under Persian,
Turkish, or Russian rule, while not one person in a thousand knows
that the Georgians and Circassians are distinct peoples.
If you suggest that Transcaucasia is a good place for a holiday, you
meet with a look of blank astonishment--it is just as if you had said
the Sooloo Islands, or Vladivostok. When you explain that Georgia is
now a part of the Russian Empire, you hear stereotyped remarks about
police and passports. The intending visitor need have no anxiety on
this score; even in Moscow a foreigner is seldom or never put to any
inconvenience, in the Caucasus he almost forgets that he has such a
thing as a passport.
There is no reason why Georgia should not become as popular a resort
as Norway or Switzerland. It is not so far away as people imagine--you
can go from London to Tiflis, overland, in a week; it is at least
as beautiful as either of the countries just named; it has the great
advantage of being almost unknown to tourists; there is none of the
impudent extortion which ruffles our tempers nearer home, and it is,
after all, a cheaper place to travel in than Scotland. All these
circumstances ought to have an influence on the holiday-maker in
search of health and recreation.
The botanist, the geologist, the archæologist, the philologist
will all find there mines of rich materials yet unknown to their
respective sciences. The mountaineer knows the country already,
through Mr. Freshfield's excellent book; the sportsman knows it too,
thanks to Mr. Wolley. Artists will get there a new field for the brush,
the pencil, and the camera. But, after all, Georgia's chief attraction
lies in its people; the Georgians are not only fair to look upon, but
they are essentially a lovable people; it is a true proverb that says,
"The Armenian's soul is in his head, the Georgian's in his eyes;"
to live among such gay, open-hearted, open-handed, honest, innocent
folk is the best cure for melancholy and misanthropy that could well
be imagined.
The language will occur to most people as a difficulty. Either
Russian or Georgian carries the traveller from the Black Sea to the
Caspian, even Turkish is pretty well known; in the larger towns one
can always find hotels where French or German is understood, and
where interpreters can be hired. Those who have travelled know that
a very slight knowledge of a language is sufficient for all practical
purposes, and such a knowledge of Georgian could be picked up in a week
or so; Russian is more difficult, both in grammar and pronunciation. It
may be a consolation to some, to know that a lady, Mme. Carla Serena,
who travelled alone, and spent a long time in the wildest part of
the Caucasus, could not speak a dozen words of Russian or Georgian.
Let me clearly repeat what I said in the first paragraphs of this
preface: in the following plain, matter-of-fact record of travel my
aim has not been to give immediate pleasure, but rather to show how
and where pleasure may be obtained. Autumn is the best season for a
visit, and spring is the next best time.
My hearty thanks are due to Mr. W. R. Morfill, for his kindness in
reading through the chapters on the history and literature of Georgia.