GEORGIA, THE BEAUTIFUL

New Zealand Times, Volume LII, Issue 12151, 30 May 1925, Page 16

GEORGIA, THE BEAUTIFUL

STRANGE SIGHTS AND CUSTOMS. “THE BRAVEST OF THE BRAVE.”

How many Englishmen know even of the existence of the Georgia which in south of the Black Sea, and not in the United States? It is better known lately because the action of the Soviet Government in seizing it has brought it under observation. Georgia is a wonderfully beautiful cojmtry, with a fascinating history and a culture older, much older, than our own. Its people for many, many centuries have been known as the bravest of the l-rave. During the time of the Crusades Saladin permitted some of the Crusaders to enter the Holy City and ro view it. But the Georgians had shown such bravery and chivalry in their fighting that they were permitted to enter Jerusalem with their flags flying. To them, and to them alone, was that proud honour given. It is indeed difficult' to write without discussing the Bolshevist occupation, but I must try to confine mvself to some fleeting impressions of Georgia’s glorious beauty, its strange discrepancies. its perfectly charming incongruities, its Biblical customs, am perhaps of the comical side of life in a nation with one foot in 1500 B.C. and the other in the twentieth century FOOT MASSAGE Let the last come first. Wc were talking in the lounge at the hotel after arriving at Tiflis. I had heard of some 'famous sulphur baths. I inquired I was answered, “You have rheumatism, my dear Mr Shaw. Then there is nothing like in the whole wide world our baths here in Tiflis. You suffer much then you enter once. Witn one bath you are good, with two bath that last yon one year, with three hath you know rheumatism notany more.” Good enough, surely, even if one must take off a little for Eastern exaggeration. So I went. The water is so heavily impregnated with sulphur that an unpleasant smell greets one fifty yards away. But it is inside, and not outside, that revelations begin. * The hot, slimy, sulphurous water was not tha shock. Oh, no. A strapping youth of a Tartar, weighing about one hundred pounds, provided all the sensation necessary—or desirable. We could not speak to each other about his methods. A jolly good job. too. I.have heard of massage, I nave experienced :t, but only in Tiflis have 1 known what foot massage was Only once have I been literally trodden underfoot by five score pounds of Jacobean oak-coloured Tartar. He began in a way that wa9 not too pleasing. He tried to pull off my head as one pulls off the bowl of’ a pipe for cleaning purposes. When the head refused to part with the body he look#! as if the death of the whole of his family was due to me. When my right arm also declined to leave his cup was full. IN THE BAZAARS Then ,he began his wild career with his feet. They' were prehensible, like a monkey’s feet. But there were occasions when I suspected that he was paying me out fpr being- foolish enough to wear a head that was fastened on. There were lady members 6f otic party who had also been to the baths, and had probably met a female relative of my Tartar. I never got to kno.v. All Ido know is that the ladies did not go twice. . I did, to my very great physical comfort. After an hour, of mv Tartar I felt a suppleness which was vary pleasing. I cannot say I think a great deal of Tiflis as a city. It is interesting mainly by its contrasts. European buildings, i leotrio light the - ringing and the rattle of trams, nr.d two streets away the bazaar, in- some parts of which nothing appears to be sold which ’9 less than three centuries old. I have never seen nny more beautiful metal inlay work than is to be seen on the scabbards of the huge knives still worn in Georgia. Ivory, gold, silver. precious stones. the' inherited craft of 'thousands of years, traditions' going to +he cradle of history, all these are embodied in some of the exquisite workmanship to he seen in.the'bazaar.

For the rest, much the same as a hundred other cities which are half commercial. half somnolent, and rooted in time. What a country it i6l Mountain and torrent, snow and sunshine, frowning crag and smiling valley. I have seen nothing more beautiful than the rich valleys, flowing with “milk and honey.” No small town was ever set in a more regal setting than the “watering town” of Borjom. But Georgia is. after all, pre-emi-nently a mountaineer’s country. The . mountain pass road from Tiflis to Kasbek is surelv one of the most beautiful in the world. And what wealth of timber, of minerals, of manganese, of mineral waters, of fruit and grain. It could be made a beautiful little haven (or. its people, if it had a Government which was trying to develop it for the good of its people, the whole of them, not a part. But the pipe-line from Baku passes through Georgia. Russia needs the oil, the liberty of a small people is of no account when Imperialism is on the rampage, and Russian troops are now in Tiflis. The old Government, elected by an open vote of the people, having received 80 per cent, of the votes cast, is driven out. Not by the votes of the people—that would have been impossible—but by bayonets, against which voces are sometimes-, for some time, useless? I was with a party that had unique opportunities of seeing the country. We travelled it from north to south, from east to west. We were met at the entrances to the villages by the village elders and offered bread and salt. ■ The children were never far behind with fruit and flowers. We saw everywhere the Georgian dancing, young and old alike seemed to enter fully into the heart of it. CANDLELIGHT MEETING But occasionally the Hospitality waa overpowering: For instance, at six o’clock one evening we arrived at the entrance to a village. There we found it was traditional that the first visitor should empty a horn of wine to the health and well-being of the village and its people. Had the ceremony been carried out as was intended a certain well-known politician would have not since “staggered humanity.” I took oh the job. The horn was rimmed with silver—it certainly did not seem to have been cleaned for two centuries—and the wine came out of a skin. It was one of the biggest sacrifices I ever made. The same night I remember a meeting, held in the open air. There was no electric light, no gas, just half a dozen guttering candles carried on the end of long poles. The speakers stood at the edge of a graveyard which waa there when Britons were roaming one country painted with woad. Behind the candle-bearers a few priests had crept up from the religious buildings bevond. The audience stood in the toad below, and in the adjacent fields The British speaker at that meeting has since been Prime Minister of England, but he has never spoken under more impressive circumstances than under the light of those candles, to the rough mountaineers balow When 1 saw Georgia it was a queer mixture oP apparent contradictions. Women and men were perfectly equal before the law. but few married women were to be seen in the streets. The custom of centuries is not lightly broken. I am sure that our motor-cars often were cheek by jowl with ploughs similar to those used before Christ; one could see even m shop windows the first century jostling the twentieth. The Georgians are a fine, hardy people, traditionally liberty-loving, inhabiting a wonderfully beautiful country : is there any wonder that one wishes for them a speedy end to all tyranny? I for' one sincerely hope that Georgia herself mav soon have on opnortunitv of saving, by equal secret ballot, what her Gnrernment shall bo. AtAt -NAS*it -“- A