The best hotels are Kavkaz, Rossiya, London; all pretty good. If
the traveller intends to make a prolonged stay, he can easily find
furnished apartments and dine at a restaurant (e.g. the French
Restaurant d'Europe, opposite the Palace). The best plan of all is
to board with a Georgian family; but without good introductions it
is somewhat difficult to do this. Although beef only costs 1-1/2d. a
pound and chickens 2d. each, living is dear in Tiflis; the necessaries
of life, except house-rent and clothing, are cheap, and one need not,
like Alexandre Dumas, pay three roubles for having his hair cut, but
the "extras" are heavy, and if the visitor is not disposed to spend
his roubles with a free hand and a light heart, he will meet with a
poor reception, for the Georgian hates nothing more than meanness,
a vice from which he firmly believes Englishmen to be free.
Tiflis takes its name from the hot medicinal springs, for which
it has been famous for fourteen centuries at least; in Georgian it
is called Tphilisi, which philologists assert to be derived from a
root akin to or identical with the Indo-European tep; the meaning
of Toeplitz and Tiflis is thus the same. In the fifth century king
Vakhtang Gurgaslan founded Tiflis, and began to build the Cathedral
of Sion, which still stands in the midst of the city. The castle,
situated on a high, steep rock, near the Kura, is older than the city
itself, and its construction is attributed to the Persians. Tiflis
has shared in all the triumphs and misfortunes which have befallen
Georgia, and the history of the capital would only be a repetition
of the history of the nation.
The city is built on both sides of the Kura, at an elevation of 1200
feet, between two ranges of steep, bare hills, which rise to a height
of 2500 feet, and hem it in on all sides, thus it lies at the bottom
of a deep rock basin, and this accounts for the terrible heat which
renders it such an unpleasant dwelling-place in July and August. The
river Kura is crossed by several fine bridges, the best of which is
named after Prince Vorontsov, who during his governorship did great
things for Trans-Caucasia, and gained for himself the lasting gratitude
of all the peoples committed to his care. The population of 105,000
consists not only of Georgians, but of Russians (civil servants and
soldiers), Armenians (traders and money-lenders), Persians, Tatars,
and a few Europeans, viz. Germans (colonists from Suabia), Frenchmen
(milliners, hotel-keepers), &c. Although the English residents might be
counted on one's fingers, it seems a pity that her Majesty's Consulate
should have been closed in 1881; surely Great Britain has in Georgia
interests at least equal to those of France, Germany, Belgium, and
the other nations which have representatives in Tiflis.
The effect which Tiflis produces on the mind of the stranger is
perfectly unique; its position, its surroundings, the varied nature
of its street-life, the gaiety and simplicity of its social life, all
combine to form a most powerful and most pleasurable impression. If
the reader will mentally accompany me, I shall take him through some
of the more interesting quarters, and endeavour to give him some idea
of the place. First of all, starting from the fashionable district
called Salalaki, let us climb the rocky road which leads to the ruins
of the castle, whence we obtain the finest view of the city. The best
time to enjoy the panorama is evening, and in summer no one would
ever think of making the toilsome ascent much before sunset. From
these crumbling walls one looks over a vast expanse of house-tops and
church spires, through the midst of which winds the muddy Kura. At
our feet lies the old town, a labyrinth of narrow, crooked streets,
stretching from the square of Erivan down to the waterside, where
stands the Cathedral of Sion. Quite near at hand the river becomes
very narrow, and advantage of this circumstance has been taken by
building a bridge, which leads to the citadel of Metekh (now used as
a prison) and the large Asiatic quarter called Avlabar. On this side
of the river, forming a continuation of the range of hills on which
we are standing, rises the Holy Mount (Mtatsminda), and perched
high up near its summit is the pretty white church of St. David,
behind which rises a wall of bare, black rock; half-way between it
and the river is the Governor's palace, with its extensive gardens,
just at the beginning of the Golovinskii Prospekt, a long boulevard
with fine shops and public buildings; between the boulevard and the
river lies the Municipal Garden, named after Alexander I. Turning
our eyes towards the other side of the Kura, beyond Avlabar, we see,
on the hill facing St. David's, a large block of buildings used
as a military depôt, arsenal, and barracks, and still farther on,
on the river bank, is a thick green belt which we recognize as the
gardens of Mikhailovskaya Street, ending in the splendid park called
Mushtaïd. Crossing the ridge, we now turn our back on the city and
descend into the Botanical Garden, situated in a sheltered ravine,
a delightful place for an evening stroll; on the opposite side of
the ravine is a Tatar village with a lonely graveyard.
The Erivan Square is the great centre of activity; in its midst is the
Caravanserai, a vast rectangular building full of shops, not unlike
the Gostinoï Dvor, in Petersburg, but poorer. From that corner of
the square in which is the Hôtel du Caucase, runs Palace Street,
all one side of which is occupied by the Caravanserai of the late
Mr. Artsruni, a wealthy Armenian, and behind, in a fine garden,
is the Georgian theatre; both the garden and the theatre belong
to the Land Bank of the Nobles, an institution which deserves the
attention of all who are interested in the Iverian nation. The bank
was founded in 1874 in order to aid farmers to work their lands by
advancing them money at the lowest possible rate of interest; all
the profits are spent in the furtherance of philanthropic schemes
and in the encouragement of national education. It is a significant
fact that the more intelligent members of Georgian society should
have chosen this mode of activity in preference to any other, but
the reason of their choice is apparent; from the bitter experience of
the last hundred years they have learnt that although munificence is
one of the noblest of the virtues, extravagance and ostentation are
hurtful, and they have, therefore, wisely determined to do all they
can to improve the economic condition of the country. The public
meetings of the shareholders give an opportunity for discussion
and speech-making, and it is in this "Gruzinskii Parlament" (as the
Russians have nicknamed it) that Prince Chavchavadze has gained for
himself the not unmerited title of the "Georgian Gambetta." I was
an occupant of the Ladies' Gallery at one of these assemblies, and
I shall never forget the impression produced upon me by the sight of
these handsome, warlike Asians in their picturesque garb, conducting
their proceedings exactly in the same order as British investors
do every day in the City of London. Try and imagine the heroes of
the Elizabethan Age at Cannon Street Hotel discussing the current
dividend of the S.E.R., and you will have some idea of my feelings.
Only those who have lived the life of the people in Trans-Caucasia know
what a terrible curse the money-lending community are. A local proverb
says, "A Greek will cheat three Jews, but an Armenian will cheat three
Greeks," and the Georgian, straightforward, honest fellow, is but too
often cruelly swindled by the artful children of Haïk. When the fraud
is very apparent the Armenian often pays for his greed with all the
blood that can be extracted from his jugular vein. During my stay in
Tiflis, a certain wild young prince, Avalov, had made himself popular
by slaughtering a few Armenians; his latest exploit made so much stir
that a prosecution was talked of; but Avalov was no dweller in towns,
he spent his time merrily out in the greenwood, and it would have
needed a company of Kazaks to arrest him. While the authorities were
deliberating, the prince sent a polite message to say that if they
tried to make matters unpleasant for him, he would, with God's help,
devote the remainder of his natural life to running amuck of every
"salted" Armenian (a reference to their habit of salting children as
soon as they are born) that crossed his path. Another young nobleman
got three years' imprisonment for "perforating" an insulting usurer,
and the cruelty of the sentence was much spoken of; a lady said to me,
"Just fancy, that fine young fellow imprisoned among common criminals
for killing a rascal of an Armenian," as who should say for killing
a dog.
Let it be clearly understood that I say nothing against the Armenian
nation; I have the strongest admiration for their undoubted literary
and administrative talent, and for the energy with which they resist
all attempts to destroy their national spirit. The Armenian not being
a money-lender or trader, is a citizen of which any country might
be proud; but the usurer, whether he be Jew, Armenian, or Briton,
is a most despicable character, and, unfortunately, the peculiar
conditions under which the Armenians have lived for many centuries
have necessarily made Shylocks of a large percentage of them.
Continuing our walk, we emerge from Palace Street into the
wide Golovinskii Prospekt, which takes its name from Golovin,
a former governor of the Caucasus. On the left lies the palace,
a fine modern building in the European style, and on the right is
the Caucasian Museum, in which the student will find geological,
zoological, ethnographical, entomological, botanical, archeological,
and numismatic collections of the highest interest. On the walls of
the staircase are several large pictures, the most interesting of
which are, a portrait of Queen Tamara, copied from the painting at
Gelati, and "The Arrival of the Argonauts in Colchis," the figures
in which are all portraits, the Grand Duke Nicholas Mikhailovich
being represented as Jason. There is also a very large collection
of photographs, comprising all that is worth seeing in the Caucasus
and in Persia. In the same block of buildings is the Public Library,
in which will be found most of the literature relating to the country,
and a fair number of books on general subjects.
The library is at the corner of the Prospekt and Baronovskaya Street,
and turning down the latter, the first turning on the right brings
us to the Post Office, facing which is a girls' grammar school. The
traveller who happens to pass that way when the lessons for the day are
over (and he might do worse if he likes to see pretty young faces),
will be surprised, unless he has been in Russia, to see that all
the children are dressed alike, regardless of age, complexion, and
taste; he will be still more surprised when he hears that if one of
these uniforms is seen out after 5 p.m., the fair wearer is severely
punished, it being the opinion of the Tsar's Minister of Education
that school-girls, and school-boys too, should after that hour be at
home preparing their tasks for next day. The school accommodation is
lamentably inadequate; in the government of Tiflis there are only
about 280 children at school for every 10,000 of the population,
in the government of Kutaïs only 250.
Returning to Golovinskii Prospekt, we pass on the right the Staff
Headquarters of the army of the Caucasus, the best restaurant in the
city, some good shops, and then arrive at the Aleksandrovskii Garden,
which slopes down to the river bank; its shady walks are thronged every
evening when a military band performs. Near its extreme corner, and
almost on the waterside, is the Russian theatre; although the house
is a small one and only used as a makeshift until the new theatre
is finished, it is a very pleasant place to spend an evening; good
companies from Petersburg and Moscow play during the season, and I
saw some of the stars of the profession there. Unfortunately, there is
a preference for translations of French and German pieces with which
the European is already familiar, but Russian plays are not totally
ignored. I once saw a version of "Le Monde où l'on s'ennuie" which
was in the smallest details of gesture and property a photographic
reproduction of the comedy as I have seen it on the classic boards
of the Théâtre Français--but there was one startling innovation,
Bellac was described on the programme as an abbé (sic!). The great
charm of the Tifliskii Theatre is, however, its open air crush-room,
a fine large garden where a band plays between the acts, and where
refreshments may be partaken of and smoking indulged in.
The new theatre on Golovinskii Prospekt is a handsome edifice which
was still unfinished at the time of my visit. The farther you get from
the Erivan Square the less aristocratic does the Boulevard become,
the only other building of note in that part of it being the Cadets'
College; the opening of the new theatre will, however, make a great
difference, and in a few years the dirty little beershops on the left
will doubtless disappear, and Golovinskii Prospekt will be one of the
finest streets in the world. Its situation is a splendid one, and is
not unworthy of comparison with that of Princes' Street, Edinburgh;
the Holy Mount, rising black and steep to a considerable height, and
adorned with the pretty white church of St. David, might not inaptly be
said to be to Tiflis what the Castle Hill is to the modern Athens. At
the end of the Boulevard is the posting-station, whence we can return
to our starting-place by tram-car. All the main thoroughfares of the
city are now laid with tram-lines, the construction of which is due
to a Belgian company which is paying very good dividends.
Thursday afternoon is the best time for visiting the Church of
St. David, for a service is then held and large numbers of women
attend. Proceeding from Salalaki along Laboratornaya, which is
parallel to the Boulevard and is the most select street in Tiflis,
we reach the street of the Holy Mount (Mtatsmindskaya), a steep,
roughly-paved thoroughfare which leads up to St. David's Place, and
a winding mountain path takes us thence to the church. St. David
was a Syrian monk who came to Georgia in the sixth century, and
lived a hermit's life among the woods which at that time covered the
hill. Tradition says that the daughter of a wealthy man who lived near
there, finding herself in an interesting condition, thought the best
way of getting out of the difficulty would be to accuse the saint of
being the cause of this state of affairs. The holy man, naturally,
objected, and having made his accuser appear in an assembly of the
people, he proved his innocence by making the unborn child say audibly
who was its father. Whereupon, in answer to the prayers of the saint,
the child was converted into a stone, which the damsel brought forth
immediately. This stone was made the foundation of a church. David then
asked that a spring of living water of fructifying virtue might be made
to flow; this fountain is still visible, and its water is largely used
by married ladies; the climb of twenty minutes from St. David's Place
is so toilsome that even the most bitter Malthusian would hasten to
quench his thirst there; as far as I know, it is the only water in
Tiflis fit for human consumption. Every pious lady who visits the
shrine carries a stone or brick up the hill with her, and it is from
these that the church was built and is still kept in repair. There
is another interesting custom in which maidens and matrons alike take
part; after adoring the picture of the Virgin, the suppliant silently
walks round the building three times, unwinding as she goes a reel of
thread, fit symbol of the boundlessness of her love and veneration for
the Immaculate Mother of God. Then picking up one of the pebbles with
which the ground is covered, she rubs it against the plastered wall,
and with beating heart waits to see if it will stick--if it does,
then her prayer has been heard, the lass will have a sweetheart,
the wife will have a son. The church is of modern construction, but
its design differs in no respect from the ancient Byzantine style,
specimens of which may be seen all over Georgia. The interior is
like that of any other Greek church, and on the walls there are some
quaint but rather crude pictures. The mass is, of course, in Georgian,
and the choral service strikes rather strangely on Western ears,
although not wanting in melody.
Just below the church is a monument bearing the inscription in Russian:
"Aleksandr Sergeyevich Griboyedov, born January 4th, 1795, killed in
Teheran, January 30th, 1829. Thy mind and thy deeds will never die in
the memory of Russia, but why did my love outlive thee?" The story of
Griboyedov's life is a sad but interesting one. By birth, education,
and talents he was fitted to become one of the most brilliant members
of Russian society, but he was early infected with the restless
critical spirit of the century, and at the age of seventeen he had
already thought out the plot of his great comedy Goré ot uma, which
is a bitter satire on the fashionable life of his day. In 1812 his
patriotism led him to join in the national defence, but he never saw
active service; like his brother officers he enlivened the monotony
of barrack life with the wildest dissipation and folly; for instance,
we read that he galloped up two flights of stairs and into a ball-room,
that he took advantage of his position as organist in a Polish church,
to strike up a well-known comical tune in the midst of high mass. But
he soon abandoned this unsatisfactory life, went to Petersburg in
1815, turned his attention to dramatic literature, and produced some
successful pieces. In 1818 we find him in Persia as secretary to
the embassy at Tavriz; there he led a solitary life and studied the
Persian language, he read all the poetical literature of the country,
and himself wrote Persian lyrics. In 1823 he took a year's leave of
absence, and employed much of the time in revising his great work; it
was his aim to make his verse "as smooth as glass," and he sometimes
re-wrote a phrase a dozen times before it pleased him. When it was
at length finished, the severe censure prevented its representation,
and it was many years after the poet's death before the full text of
the play was heard in Russia. After taking part in a war against the
Caucasian Mountaineers, the Persian war gave him an opportunity of
exhibiting a bravery bordering on recklessness, and when Erivan had
been stormed it was through his skilful diplomacy that Russia obtained
such favourable terms of peace, although the British Minister aided
Persia with his counsels. In 1828 he left Petersburg with the rank
of ambassador at the Persian Court. Before leaving he expressed to
his friends the most gloomy forebodings, he was sure that he would
not return to Russia alive. At Tiflis, however, he found temporary
relief from his mournful feelings in the society of Nina Chavchavadze,
daughter of Prince Alexander Chavchavadze, the poet, a lady whom he
described as a "very Madonna of Murillo;" he married her, and she
went with him as far as Tavriz, he promising to come back to her as
soon as possible. He had no sooner reached Teheran, than his enemies
at the court of the Shah began to excite popular feeling against
him, and an incident soon occurred which gave some excuse for an
attack on the embassy. An Armenian prisoner who had risen to the
dignity of chief eunuch in the Shah's household, and two women, an
Armenian and a German, from the harem of a powerful personage, fled
to the Russian ambassador and asked him to assist them to return to
Russian territory. Griboyedov insisted that, according to the treaty
of peace, all prisoners had a right to freedom, and he refused to give
up the refugees. On the 30th of January, 1829, a mad, yelling crowd of
100,000 men made an attack on the embassy. Griboyedov, sword in hand,
led out his handful of horsemen and was immediately killed; only one
member of the embassy escaped death. It was Griboyedov's wish that he
should be buried in Georgia, and they chose this romantic spot which
the poet had loved so much during his stay in Tiflis. The beautiful
Nina remained faithful to her husband's memory, and mourned for him
eight-and-twenty years, until she was carried up the winding path to
share his grave.
The view from the churchyard is a splendid one; the whole city, with
its wonderful diversity of form and colour, lies at your feet; on
the right you can see far along the Kakhetian road, and on the left
the great highway to Vladikavkaz follows the winding course of the
Kura. In the evening we often climbed to the top of a bare crag not
far from the church, carrying with us a large earthenware flagon of
wine, a roast leg of mutton, fruit, cucumbers, and other delicacies,
and spreading out our cloaks on the ground lay there making merry,
singing and telling tales until long after midnight; the lights of the
town below us seemed like a reflection of the bright stars above us,
and the music and laughter of many a jovial group came up the hillside
to mingle with our own.
After descending the hill, we cross the Boulevard at the publishing
office of Kavkaz, the official organ, and skirting the Alexandrovskii
Garden, soon reach the finest bridge in the town, Vorontsovskii Most,
from which we get an interesting view of the waterside part of the
Asiatic quarter; most of the houses have balconies overhanging the
river, and one is involuntarily reminded of the Tiber banks at Rome. On
the other side of the bridge, in a small square, is a statue of Prince
Vorontsov, Governor of the Caucasus, from 1844 to 1854. During my
stay the good people of that district were astonished one morning to
see the Prince's head surmounted by a tall, well-worn sheepskin hat,
such as the Lesghians wear; the effect was exceedingly ridiculous,
and the youthful revellers who, at considerable risk of breaking
their necks, were the authors of the joke, were well rewarded for
their pains by the laughter of all who passed that way, for your
Georgian is a merry fellow.
Turning to the right, we traverse Peski, a quarter very different
from Salalaki. Here we see small open-fronted Oriental shops in which
dark Persians ply their trades, making arms, saddlery, jewellery,
selling carpets, and doing a hundred other things all before the eyes
of men and in the open air. There is a strange confusion of tongues
and dresses; a smart little grammar-school girl rubs shoulders with
a veiled Mussulman woman, and occasionally you see the uniform of
a Russian officer elbowing his way through a crowd of Lesghians,
Armenians, Georgians, Persians; through the midst of all this
confusion runs the tram-car. We are not beyond all the influences
of civilization, for, besides the tram-way, we see on a sign-board
the legend "Deiches Bir" (? Deutsches Bier), over the picture of a
flowing tankard.
We cross the narrow bridge and pay a visit to the baths. Perhaps
the reader knows something of the so-called Turkish bath, and
imagines that the baths of Tiflis are of the same sort? There is
certainly some similarity between the two, but there are profound
differences; the treatment to which the visitor is subjected at a
Turkish bath in Constantinople is not to be compared with what the
Persian shampooer puts you through in Tiflis. He goes through a whole
course of gymnastics with you, during which he jumps on your chest,
on the small of your back, doubles you up as if you were a fowl ready
for cooking, and, besides removing every particle of your epidermis,
performs sundry other experiments at which the novice stares aghast. At
the end of it all you make up your mind that it is not so terrible
as it looks, and as you feel wonderfully refreshed you resolve to
return again before long. The water is of a heat of about 100° Fahr.,
and is impregnated with sulphur and other substances which give it a
healing virtue; it is to these springs that Tiflis owes its existence,
and they have always been of much importance in the daily life of
the people. Formerly it used to be the fashion for ladies of rank to
hire baths and dressing-rooms for a whole day, spending the time in
perfuming themselves, staining their finger tips, dressing the hair,
and performing a dozen other ceremonies of the toilette, concluding
with dinner, but the growth of European habits has rendered this
custom less common.
The Cathedral of Sion is, as we said before, as old as the city
itself, but, of course, it has suffered considerably at the hands of
destroyers and restorers. Its style is the same as that of all the
other churches in Georgia, and it doubtless served as a pattern for
most of them. The inside has been tastefully decorated in modern times,
and produces a pleasing effect, although it seems small to anybody
who is familiar with the cathedrals of Europe. In front of the altar
is the Cross of St. Nina, formed of two vine branches bound together
with the saint's hair; this cross has always been the most sacred
relic in Georgia. There is also a modest tomb, which contains the
body of Prince Tsitsishvili, a Georgian who was appointed Governor
of the Caucasus by Alexander I., and who, after a glorious career,
was foully murdered outside the walls of Baku by the treacherous khan
of that city.
From the cathedral the way to the European quarter leads through
the so-called Armenian Bazar, one of the most interesting parts of
the city. Old arms, coats of mail, helmets and shields, such as are
still used by the Khevsurs up in the mountains, silver ornaments and
many other interesting trifles, may be purchased here, but nothing of
great value is offered for sale, and the jewellery, with the exception
of filigree work from Akhaltsikhe (which is hard to get and very
expensive) is not very good. On the birthday of the Tsarevich, I was
walking down to the cathedral in order to be present at High Mass,
when I saw an incident thoroughly characteristic of the arbitrary
proceedings of the Russian police. A burly gorodovoi, clad in white
uniform and fully armed, was forcing the Asiatic shopkeepers in the
bazar to close their premises in order to do honour to the son of
the autocrat. I remembered how I had seen the Turkish soldiery in
Jerusalem perform a similar task a few months before, when the young
Prince of Naples entered the Holy City; it is true that the Turks
went a step further than the Muscovites, for they drove the people
out into the main street, and refused to let them go home until the
evening, but the idea was the same in both cases. The best native
tailor of Tiflis lives in this neighbourhood, and I had the honour
of having a Circassian suit made for me by him; it fitted like a
glove. I may say that, although a great many people in Tiflis wear
European dress, in the country it is almost unknown. I found that
for travelling there is nothing better than the Circassian garb;
it stands a great deal of rough usage, and always looks respectable.
Mushtaid is the finest promenade in the city. It is situated at the
west end, and is approached by the Mikhailovskaya, a long, straight
street, with fine gardens on either side of it. Some of the best
restaurants in the city are in these vine-shaded gardens, and one
of them is devoted to wrestling matches. It was my good fortune to
be present at a famous contest in which the Kakhetian champion,
Grdaneli, fought a certain bold Imeretian professor of the fancy
art. The performance was highly interesting, and it was gratifying to
learn from the bills that the proceeds were to be for the benefit of a
young man who wanted to study at Petersburg, but had not the necessary
means. The inner ring was formed of country gentlemen and officers,
all sitting cross-legged on the ground; behind them, tier above tier,
were at least a thousand spectators, breathless with expectation. A
primitive band, consisting of a drum and a zurna (an instrument which
sounds like the bagpipes), played a warlike air, to the sound of which
the heroes danced round the arena amid the frantic applause of the
crowd. Both men were fine fellows, but Grdaneli was a very Hercules,
and withal amiable-looking; he was the favourite, and justified his
reputation of being invincible by utterly demolishing the Western man
in a very short space of time. Every incident of the battle called
forth from the bystanders loud yells of praise and encouragement
which might have been heard miles off.
The two best clubs have summer quarters in Mikhailovskaya Street, by
the waterside--the Kruzhok (near the Vera Bridge) and the Georgian
Club (nearer Vorontsovskii Bridge); both have concert-rooms and
gardens attached to them, and the famous dance called Lesginka may
be seen there with its accompaniment of hand-clapping. The costumes
worn by both sexes are picturesque and rich, and one meets people of
all nationalities including political exiles from Poland, Russian
officers and officials, German professors and representatives of
many other races besides Georgians. All arms must be left at the
entrance. Georgian music is very unlike our own, and at first it
strikes the European as loud, wild, discordant, positively unpleasant,
but when one is accustomed to it, it is very agreeable. Before I
had heard many of the national melodies, I was very much astonished
when an accomplished lady told me that her reason for preferring the
Georgian Club to the Kruzhok was, that at the former Asiatic music
was performed; but I can now understand her liking for the music of
her country. In the Appendix I have written down a few melodies which
will not, I think, grate harshly on English ears.
The beauty of the Georgian women has been called in question by some
travellers, but these are nearly all men whose acquaintance with the
people has been extremely limited. The favourite observation of these
critics is a stereotyped phrase about "undeniably good features, but
want of animation." Surely Alexandre Dumas the elder knew a beautiful
face when he saw it; he says: "La Grèce, c'est Galatée encore marbre;
la Géorgie, c'est Galatée devenue femme."
Mushtaid, the town garden, owes nearly all its charms to nature,
the walks and open spaces are neatly kept, but nearly the whole
area is a forest in the recesses of which we may lie undisturbed
for hours, looking down on the turbid waters of Kura and listening
to the rustling of the leaves above and around. Every evening its
avenues are crowded with carriages and horsemen; beautiful faces,
tasteful toilettes, gay uniforms all combine to form a charming
picture. Fancy fairs are occasionally held, at which the visitor may
mingle with all the social celebrities, lose his money in raffles,
buy things he doesn't want--in short enjoy himself just as if he were
at home. But I doubt whether many frequenters of bazaars in England
have seen such an acrobatic feat as was performed in Mushtaid last
summer; an individual in tights hung himself by the neck on the upper
end of an inclined wire, stretched over the heads of the spectators,
and slid down it at lightning speed, firing half a dozen pistol-shots
as he went. No week passes without a popular fête of some kind,
for the Georgians are as fond of gaiety as any nation in the world.
From the above brief sketch the reader will see that Tiflis is
a city where one can live for a long time without suffering from
ennui. Although the immediate neighbourhood looks bare and uninviting,
there are, within a few miles, many beautiful spots well worth a
visit. The climate has been much abused by some writers, and it must
be admitted that during the months of July and August the heat is very
trying, but in my opinion Tiflis is a healthy place; since the great
plague of ninety years ago it has been pretty free from epidemics,
and although fever and dysentery kill a good many people every year,
the victims are nearly all residents of low-lying parts of the city,
where no European would live if he could help it. During the warm
weather there are often storms, characterized by all the grandeur that
might be expected in a region of great mountains so near the tropics;
after one of these the steep streets become foaming torrents. The
sheltered position of the city protects it from the terrible gusts of
wind which make the plain to the eastward almost uninhabitable, and
the storms seldom cause any more serious damage than broken windows
and flooded houses. Hitherto all the town water was obtained from
the Kura, and delivered to the consumer from bullock-skins, but a
well has now been dug a little below St. David's, whence the dwellers
on the right bank will get a supply of a liquid which is not tepid,
not opaque, not evil-smelling, and not semi-solid.