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Title: In the land of the lion and sun, or modern Persia : Being experiences of life in Persia from 1866 to 1881
Author: Wills, C. J. (Charles James)
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "In the land of the lion and sun, or modern Persia : Being experiences of life in Persia from 1866 to 1881" ***
IN THE LAND OF THE LION AND SUN.
The Minerva Library.
1. DARWIN’S JOURNAL IN THE “BEAGLE.”
2. THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS.
3. BORROW’S BIBLE IN SPAIN.
4. EMERSON’S PROSE WORKS.
5. GALTON’S TROPICAL SOUTH AFRICA.
6. MANZONI’S THE BETROTHED LOVERS.
7. GOETHE’S FAUST (Complete). Bayard Taylor.
8. WALLACE’S TRAVELS ON THE AMAZON.
9. DEAN STANLEY’S LIFE OF DR. ARNOLD.
10. POE’S TALES.
11. COMEDIES BY MOLIÈRE.
12. FORSTER’S LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.
13. LANE’S MODERN EGYPTIANS.
14. TORRENS’ LIFE OF MELBOURNE.
15. THACKERAY’S VANITY FAIR.
16. BARTH’S TRAVELS IN AFRICA.
17. VICTOR HUGO: SELECT POEMS, &c.
18. DARWIN’S CORAL REEFS, &c.
19. LOCKHART’S LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
20. BARTH’S TRAVELS IN AFRICA (II.)
21. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. Locker-Lampson.
22. CARLYLE’S SARTOR RESARTUS, &c.
23. LIFE AND LETTERS OF FRANKLIN.
24. BECKFORD’S VATHEK, AND TRAVELS.
25. MACAULAY’S HISTORICAL AND LITERARY ESSAYS.
26. YONGE’S LIFE OF WELLINGTON.
27. CARLYLE’S FRENCH REVOLUTION.
28. WILLS’ LAND OF THE LION AND SUN.
London: WARD, LOCK & CO.
[Illustration: SOLOMON IN ALL HIS GLORY.
(_From a Native Drawing._)]
IN THE
LAND OF THE LION AND SUN,
MODERN PERSIA.
_BEING EXPERIENCES OF LIFE IN PERSIA FROM
1866 TO 1881._
ILLUSTRATED BY FULL-PAGE PLATES FROM PHOTOGRAPHS AND FROM
NATIVE DRAWINGS.
BY
C. J. WILLS, M.D.,
LATE ONE OF THE MEDICAL OFFICERS OF HER MAJESTY’S TELEGRAPH
DEPARTMENT IN PERSIA.
[Illustration: THE ARMS OF PERSIA (_from the Teheran Gazette_).]
_NEW EDITION._
WARD, LOCK AND Co.,
LONDON, NEW YORK, AND MELBOURNE,
1891.
_The right of translation is reserved._
EDITORIAL NOTE.
The author of the _Land of the Lion and Sun_ may claim an exceptional
degree of credit for his book on one of the most interesting countries
in the world; for he derived his knowledge not merely from a journey
through the country, but from a sufficiently prolonged residence to make
him thoroughly at home with the people, and to understand their inner
life. The _Times_, on its first appearance in 1883, characterized it
as probably the most amusing book of travel that had been published in
recent years. The author’s profession gave him access to the personality
of the people to a marked extent, giving origin to many of the amusing
anecdotes referred to. The verdict of the _Times_ was endorsed by very
many journals. _Nature_ described the anecdotes as “distinguished by
three cardinal virtues: they are characteristic, they are well told, and
they are infinitely varied.”
Since his return to England, Dr. Wills has become well known as a
novelist and writer of short stories, which he has contributed to most
of the leading magazines and society journals. His novels, some of which
have been written in collaboration with Mr. F. C. Philips, have been
widely read and highly appreciated.
The illustrations, on separate plates, appear here for the first
time. They are reproduced from native drawings, and from Dr. Wills’s
photographs and drawings.
G. T. B.
TO
MAJOR-GENERAL SIR F. J. GOLDSMID,
C.B., K.C.S.I.,
FORMERLY DIRECTOR IN CHIEF OF THE INDO-EUROPEAN
GOVERNMENT TELEGRAPH DEPARTMENT,
SPECIAL COMMISSIONER FOR THE SETTLEMENT OF THE
PERSIAN FRONTIER,
This Book is Dedicated,
WITH AFFECTIONATE ESTEEM, IN GRATITUDE FOR MANY
KINDNESSES,
BY HIS MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
My reason for calling my book ‘The Land of the Lion and Sun’ is that the
Lion and Sun are the national emblems of Persia, while the second title
alone, ‘Modern Persia,’ would have suggested an exhaustive and elaborate
array of matter which is beyond the scope of this work.
In a personal narrative, it is necessary to use a good many I’s; and to
avoid being obscure, I fear I have been at times over minute, but I have
preferred this to the risk of giving a false impression.
I have striven to describe life in Persia as I saw it, not exaggerating
or softening anything, but speaking of Persia as it is. The whole
narrative may be considered as a record of life in an out-of-the-way
corner of the world; and the reader being left to make his own
reflections, is not troubled with mine.
Usually no names are given, save of those of the dead, or public men.
The important subject of our fast-dying commerce with Persia, and the
means of really opening the country, I have relegated to an Appendix.[1]
As to the spelling and transliteration of Persian words used, it is
not classical, it does not pretend to be; but it will convey to the
_ordinary_ reader the _local_ pronunciation of the colloquial; and the
reader not knowing anything of Oriental languages is troubled very seldom
with accents and (apparently) unpronounceable words. Thus Mūnshi is spelt
Moonshee, as that gives the exact sound: _ū_ is often used to avoid the
barbarous appearance of _oo_. Of course there is no C in Persian; still
as, from habit, we write Calcutta and not Kalkutta, so some words, like
Cah, that use has rendered common, are inserted under C and K. I think
that all that is required is, that the ordinary English reader shall
pronounce the words not too incorrectly; and it is only when a work is
philological that accuracy in transliteration is of any real importance.
With this end in view, I have tried so to spell Persian words that _by
following ordinary rules_, the general reader may not be very wide of
the mark. To avoid continual explanation I have added a Glossary, with a
_correct_ transliteration. I have to gratefully acknowledge the valuable
help of Mr. Guy le Strange in correcting this Glossary, and kindly
favouring me with the transliteration according to the system adopted by
Johnson, in several cases in which that author has not noted words, &c.
ORIENTAL CLUB, _Hanover Square._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
I GO TO PERSIA.
Wanted a doctor—The Director-in-chief—Doubt and distrust—Simple
advice—Am referred to ‘Hadji Baba’—My kit—Saddle for riding
post—Vienna—Rustchuk—Quarantine—Galatz—Kustendji—Constantinople—Turkish
ladies—Stamboul—I have my hair cut—“Karagews”—Turkish
coffee—A philo-Turk—Shooting party—The theatres—The
Opera—Armenian theatre—Gambling house—A Bashi-bazouk—We
leave, _viâ_ the Black Sea—The Russian captain—Unarmed
vessels—White Crimean wine—Foreign wines in Russia—Deck
passengers—Sinope—Batoum—Poti—The post-house—Difficulty in
getting food—Travelling _en tröika_—Kutais—A tarantass—Apply
for horses—An itching palm—We start—Tiflis—Lecoq’s
beer—A happy reprieve—The joys of travel—Chief of the
Telegraph in Tiflis—Uniforms—Persian Consulate—Coffee and
pipes—Smoking, an art—Effects on the tyro—Tea—The Consul—His
age—Dyeing the hair—The Opera, varied costumes at—The
Tiflis ballet—Leave Tiflis—Erivan—The Pass—We lighten our
load—Hotel—Washing—Nakchewan—Julfa, the frontier of Persia 1
CHAPTER II.
POST JOURNEY TO THE CAPITAL.
Preparations for the start—Costume—Chaff bed—First fall—Extra
luggage—The whip—Stages and their length—Appearance of
the country, and climate—First stage—Turk guides—Welcome
rest—Weighing firewood—Meana bug—Turcomanchai—Distances—New
friends—Palace of Kerrij 20
CHAPTER III.
TEHERAN.
Teheran—The Director’s house—Persian visits—Etiquette—Pipes,
details of—Tumbakū—Ceremony—Anecdote—The voice of the
sluggard—Persian medicine explained—My prospects as a
medico—Zoological Gardens 28
CHAPTER IV.
TEHERAN.
The Gulhaek Road—Visit to a virtuoso—His story—Persian
New Year—Persian ladies—Titles—The harem—Its
inhabitants—A eunuch—Lovely visions—The Dervish—The great
festival—Miscellaneous uniform—At the Court of Persia—The
Shah—The ceremony—Baksheesh—Rejoicings 36
CHAPTER V.
HAMADAN.
Start for Hamadan—Bedding—Luggage makes the man—Stages—Meet
Pierson—Istikhbals—Badraghah—Pierson’s house—Hamadan
wine—Mode of storing it—My horses—Abu Saif Mirza—His
stratagem—Disinterested services—Persian logic—Pierson’s
horse’s death—Horses put through their paces—I buy Salts and
Senna—The prince’s opinion—Money table—Edict 54
CHAPTER VI.
HAMADAN.
Morning rides—Engage servants—Dispensary—A bear-garden—Odd
complaints—My servants get rich—Modakel—The distinction
between picking and stealing—Servants—Their pay—Vails—Hakim
Bashi—Delleh—Quinine—Discipline—I commence the cornet—The
result of rivalry—Syud Houssein—Armenians—Cavalry officer—Claim
to sanctity of the Armenians—Their position in the country—Jews 64
CHAPTER VII.
HAMADAN.
Tomb of Esther and Mordecai—Spurious
coins—Treasure-finding—Interest—A gunge—Oppression—A cautious
finder—Yari Khan—We become treasure-seekers—We find—Our
cook—Toffee—Pole-buying—Modakel—I am nearly caught—A mad
dog—Rioters punished—Murder of the innocents 75
CHAPTER VIII.
HAMADAN.
Antelope—Hunting and hawking—Shooting from the
saddle—Thief-catching—The prince offers his services
as head-servant—Our hunting party—The prince takes the
honours—Kabobs—A provincial grandee—His stud—Quail-shooting—A
relative of the king—Persian dinner—Musicians and
singers—Parlour magic—The anderūn—Cucumber-jam—Persian
home-life—Grateful Armenians—Lizards—Talking
lark—Pigeon-flying—Fantails—Pigeons’ ornaments—Immorality of
pigeon-flying—Card-playing—Chess—Games—Wrestling—Pehliwans—Gymnastics
84
CHAPTER IX.
KERMANSHAH.
Leave for Kermanshah, marching—Detail of
arrangements—Horse-feeding—Peculiar way of bedding
horses—Barley—Grape-feeding—On grass—Nawalla—Colt, anecdote
of—Horses, various breeds of—Turkomans—Karabagh—Ispahan
cobs—Gulf Arabs—Arabs—Rise in price of horses—Road
cooking—Kangawar temple—Double snipe—Tents—Kara-Su
River—Susmanis—Sana—Besitūn—Sir H. Rawlinson—Agha
Hassan—Istikhbal—Kermanshah—As we turn in another turns
out—Armenians—Their reason for apostatising—Presents of
sweetmeats 100
CHAPTER X.
KERMANSHAH.
Kermanshah—Imād-u-dowlet—We visit him—Signs of his wealth—Man
nailed to a post—Injuring the wire—Serrum-u-dowlet—Visits—We
dine with the son of the Governor—His decorations
and nightingales—Dancing girls—Various dances—The
belly dance—Heavy dinner—Turf—_Wild_ geese—The
swamp—A ducking through obstinacy—Imādieh—Wealth of
the Imād-u-dowlet—The Shah loots him—Squeezing—Rock
sculptures—Astrologers—Astrolabes—Fortune-telling—Rammals—Detection
of thieves—Honesty of servants—Thefts through pique—My lost
pipe-head—Tragedy of two women 112
CHAPTER XI.
I GO TO ISPAHAN.
Deficiency of furniture—Novel screws—Pseudo-masonry—Fate
of the Imād-u-dowlet’s son—House-building—Kerind—New
horse—Mule-buying—Start for Ispahan—Kanaats—Curious
accident—Fish in kanaats—Loss of a
dog—Pigeons—Pigeon-towers—Alarm of robbers—Put up in a
mosque—Armenian village—Armenian villagers—Travellers’
law—Tax-man at Dehbeed—Ispahan—The bridge—Julfa 123
CHAPTER XII.
JULFA.
Illness and death of horse—Groom takes
sanctuary—Sharpness of Armenians—Julfa
houses—Kūrsis—Priests—Arachnoort—Monastery—Nunnery—Call
to prayer—Girls’ school—Ancient language of the
Scriptures—Ignorance of priests—Liquor traffic—Sunday
market—Loafers—Turkeys—Church Missionary school—Armenian
schools 136
CHAPTER XIII.
ISPAHAN.
Prince’s physician—Visit the Prince-Governor—Justice—The
bastinado—Its effects—The doctor’s difficulties—Carpets—Aniline
dyes—How to choose—Varieties—Nammad—Felt coats—Bad
water—Baabis—A tragedy—The prince’s view 145
CHAPTER XIV.
JULFA AND ISPAHAN.
Julfa cathedral—The campanile—The monk—Gez—Kishmish
wine—The bishop—The church—Its decorations—The day of
judgment—The cemetery—Establishment of the Armenian captives
in Julfa—Lost arts—Armenian artificers—Graves—Story of
Rodolphe—Coffee-house—Tombstone bridges—Nunnery—Schools—Medical
missionary—Church Missionary establishment—The Lazarist Fathers 157
CHAPTER XV.
ISPAHAN AND ITS ENVIRONS.
Tame gazelle—Croquet-lawn under difficulties—Wild
asparagus—First-fruits—Common fruits—Mode of preparing
dried fruits—Ordinary vegetables of Persia—Wild
rhubarb—Potatoes a comparative novelty—Ispahan quinces: their
fragrance—Bamiah—Grapes, Numerous varieties of—At times used as
horse-feed—Grape-sugar—Pickles—Fruits an ordinary food—Curdled
milk—Mode of obtaining cream—Buttermilk—Economy of the
middle or trading classes—Tale of the phantom cheese—Common
flowers—Painting the lily—_Lilium candidum_—Wild flowers—The
crops—Poppies—Collecting opium—Manuring—Barley—Wheat—Minor
crops—Mode of extracting grain—Cut straw: its uses—Irrigation 167
CHAPTER XVI.
ISPAHAN AND ITS ENVIRONS.
Pig-sticking expedition—Ducks not tame, but wild—Ruined
mosque with tile inscription—Ancient watch-towers—The
hunting-ground—Beaters—We sight the pig—Our first victims—The
bold Gholam—Our success—Pig’s flesh—A present of pork—How
Persians can be managed—Opium—Adulteration—Collection
and preparation—Packing—Manœuvres of the native
maker—Opium-eating—Moderate use by aged Persians—My dispensary
over the prison—I shift my quarters—Practice in the bazaar—An
ungrateful baker—Sealing in lieu of signing—Seals—Wisdom of a
village judge 176
CHAPTER XVII.
ISPAHAN.
Cost of living—Servants—Our expenses—Price of
provisions—Bargains—Crying off—Trade credits—Merchants—Civil
suits—Bribery—Shopkeepers—Handicrafts—Damascening—Shoemakers—Other
trades—Bankers—An Ispahani’s estimate of the honesty of his
fellow-townsmen 186
CHAPTER XVIII.
ISPAHAN.
Daily round—The river—Calico-rinsers—Worn-out mules and
horses—Mode of treating the printed calico—Imitations
of marks on T-cloths—Rise of the waters of the
Zend-a-Rūd—Pul-i-Kojū—Char Bagh—Plane-trees—The college—Silver
doors—Tiled halls and mosque—Pulpit—Boorio—Hassir—Sleepers
in the mosque—Cells of the students—Ispahan
priests—Telegraph-office—Tanks—Causeways—Gate
of royal garden—Governor’s garden—Courtiers and
hangers-on—Prisoners—Priests—The Imām-i-Juma—My
dispensary—Ruined bazaar—A day in the town—Bazaar
breakfasts—Calico-printing—Painters—The
maker of antiquities—Jade teapot—Visit to
the Baabis—Hakim-bashi—Horse-market—The
“Dar”—Executions—Ordinary—Blowing from guns—A girl trampled
to death—Dying twice—Blowing from a mortar—Wholesale walling
up alive—A narrow escape from, and horrible miscarriage in
carrying it out—Burning alive—Crucifixions—Severity: its
results 193
CHAPTER XIX.
MY JOURNEY HOME AND MARCH TO SHIRAZ.
Julfa quarters—Buy a freehold house—I ornament, and make
it comfortable—Become ill—Apply for sick leave—Start
marching—Telegram—Begin to post—Reach Teheran—Obtain
leave—Difficulty at Kasvin—Punishment of the
postmaster—Catch and pass the courier—Horses knock up—Wild
beasts—Light a fire—Grateful rest—Arrive at Resht—Swamp
to Peri-Bazaar—Boat—Steamer—Moscow—Opera—Ballet—Arrive
in England—Start again for Persia—Journey _viâ_
Constantinople—Trebizonde—Courier—Snow—Swollen eyes—Detail
of journey from Erzeroum to Teheran—The races—Ispahan—Leave
for Shiraz—Persian companions—Road-beetles—Mole
crickets—Lizards—Animals and birds—The road to Shiraz—Ussher’s
description—Meana bug legend again 206
CHAPTER XX.
SHIRAZ.
Entry into Shiraz—Gaiety of Shirazis of both sexes—Public
promenade—Different from the rest of Persians—Shiraz wine—Early
lamb—Weights: their variety—Steelyards—Local custom of
weighing—Wetting grass—Game—Wild animals—Buildings—Ornamental
brickwork—Orange-trees—Fruits in bazaar—Type of ancient
Persian—Ladies’ dress—Fondness for music—Picnics—Warmth of
climate—Diseases—The traveller Stanley—His magazine rifle
and my landlord’s chimney—Cholera—Great mortality—We march
out and camp—Mysterious occurrence—Life in a garden—The
“Shitoor-gooloo”—Bear and dog fight—The bear is killed 218
CHAPTER XXI.
SHIRAZ WINE-MAKING.
Buy grapes for wine-making—Difficulty in getting them to the
house—Wine-jars—Their preparation—Grapes rescued and brought
in—Treading the grapes—Fermentation—Plunger-sticks—Varieties
of Shiraz wine and their production—Stirring the
liquor—Clearing the wine—My share, and its cost—Improvement
by bottling—Wasps—Carboys—Covering them—Native manner
of packing—Difficulties at custom-house—The Governor’s
photographic apparatus—Too many for me—A lūti-pūti 229
CHAPTER XXII.
SHIRAZ AND FUSSA.
Cheapness of ice—Variety of ices—Their size—Mode of procuring
ice—Water of Shiraz: its impurity—Camel-fight—Mode of
obtaining the combatants—Mode of securing camels—Visit to
Fussa—Mean-looking nag—His powers—See the patient—State
of the sick-room—Dinner sent away—A second one arrives—A
would-be room-fellow—I provide him with a bedroom—Progress
of the case—Fertility of Fussa—Salt lake—End of the
patient—Boat-building—Dog-cart—Want of roads—Tarantulas—Suicide
of scorpions—Varieties—Experiment—Stings of scorpions—The
Nishan 240
CHAPTER XXIII.
SHIRAZ—THE FAMINE.
Approach of famine—Closing of shops—Rise in mule-hire—Laying in
of stores—Seizures of grain—Sale of goods by poor—Immigrations
of villagers to the towns—Desertions of children—Increase
of crime—Arrival of money from England—Orphanage—Labour
question—Kūmishah—Village ruffian—His punishment—Prince’s
accident—The kalāat—Mode of bringing it—Invitation to the
ceremony—Procession—Gala dress of the prince—The arrival of
the firman—Assemblage of grandees—The kalāat—The Kawam’s
kalāat—Return to town—Sacrifice of an ox 251
CHAPTER XXIV.
I FALL INTO THE HANDS OF BRIGANDS.
A call to a patient—Start on post-horses—No horses—I carry
a lantern—The Bakhtiaris—Fall among thieves—They strip
me—And march me off—Mode of disguise of thieves—Attacked
by footmen—Division of spoils—Fate of a priest—Valuing my
kit—Ignorance of my captors—A welcome sight—My escape—I get
a horse—Reach Yezdikhast—Old women get thorns out of my
feet—Want of hospitality of head-man of Yezdikhast—Arrive at
Kūmishah—Kindness of a postmaster—More robbers—Avoid them—Am
repaid for my lost kit—Fate of my robbers 259
CHAPTER XXV.
SHIRAZ.
The Muschir—His policy and wealth—His struggle with the
king’s uncle—He is bastinadoed—His banishment to Kerbela—The
Kawam—Mirza Naim—Siege of Zinjan—Cruelties to Mirza Naim—Reply
to an author’s statement—Cashmere shawls—Anecdote—Garden
of Dilgoosha—Warm spring—“Sau-Sau-Rac”—The Well of
Death—Execution—Wife-killing—Tomb of Rich—Tomb of Hafiz—Tomb of
Saadi—A moral tale—Omens—Incident at tomb of Hafiz 270
CHAPTER XXVI.
SHIRAZ—PERSIAN CUSTOMS.
The Tazzia—Persian pulpit—Prince’s flirtations—Month of
mourning—Details of performance—Breast-beaters—Hymn in
honour of the king—The performers—Processions—Detail
of the tragedy—Interludes—Rosehkhaneh—The Ramazan—The
fast—Hospitalities—Zalābi—Religious affectation—Reading
poetry—A paraphrase—A quotation—Books and their
covers—Calamdans—Writing a letter—Sealing—Specimen of an
ordinary letter—Apparent piety—The evil eye—Talismans—I procure
one 279
CHAPTER XXVII.
SHIRAZ.
Bagh-i-Takht—Jews’ burial-ground—Christians’ cemetery—Its
desecration—Sergeant Collins’s murder—Capture and
execution of the robbers—How it was brought home to
them—Memorial to Collins—Health of the staff—Persians as
servants—Persian cuisine—Kabobs, varieties of—English
dinners—Confectionery—Fruits—Vegetables—Pickles,
etc.—Cook-shops—Trotters—Mode of selling meat—Game—Eggs—Wild
vegetables—Potatoes—Disinclination to use new seeds, and
its cause—Narcissus—General use of flower decoration—Tame
birds—Wild birds—White ants—Damaging the line—Hamilton poles 292
CHAPTER XXVIII.
BEASTS, BIRDS, FRUITS, AND FLOWERS.
Tamed pigs—“Marjahn”—Mongoose—Persian cats—Their
value—Van cats—A fierce cat—How to obtain a Persian
cat—Grey-hounds—Toolahs—Watch-dogs—Monkeys—Tame
lions—Tame and cage birds—Superstition concerning
house-snakes—I kill a clockwinder—Wild ass—Fighting
rams—Tame partridges—Gardening—Ordinary
flowers—The broom-plant—Vine-culture—Quinces and
pomegranates—Orchards—Garden parties 302
CHAPTER XXIX.
PERSIAN CHARACTER, COSTUMES, AND MANNERS.
Character of the
Persians—Exaggeration—Mercifulness—Anecdote—Costumes of
men—Hair—Beards—Arms—Costumes of women—Jewellery—Glass
bangles—Nose-rings—Painting of the face—Tattooing—Hair—Out-door
costume—Dress of children—Their manners—Strange custom—Love of
mothers—The uncle—Cousins—Slaves—Servants—Slavery 314
CHAPTER XXX.
TRAVELLING—ART WORK—FOODS.
Travelling—Difficulties of posting—Saddles and bits—Cruel
joke—Old stories—Pastimes—Enamels—Persian pictures—Curio
buyer—Carvings—Metal-work—Calligraphy—Kahtam—Incised
work on iron—Embroideries—Silver-work—Washing of
linen—Ironing—Needlework—The bath—Washing the hair with
clay—Bread and baking—Unleavened bread—Other kinds—Travellers’
food—Inordinate appetites—Food of the poor 328
CHAPTER XXXI.
EDUCATION—LEAVE, AND RETURN VIÂ INDIA.
Education—Schools—Punishments—Love of poetry—Colleges—Education
of women—Religion—March to Bushire—Extremes of
cold and heat—Good luck—Go home to England—Leave
_viâ_ India—The “Boys”—Lisbon—Algiers—Port Said and
Suez—Jeddah—Donkeys—Coral reef—Sea-slugs—Aden—Madagascar
oranges—“Grimes”—Kurrachee—Drives—Visit to the alligators at
Muggerpir—Disgusting scene—A legatee—Black-wood furniture—A
lost bargain—Persian Gulf—Bushire—Leave for Shiraz 337
CHAPTER XXXII.
FROM THE PERSIAN GULF TO ISPAHAN.
Our start for Shiraz—Camp out—Borasjūn—Spring at
Dalliké—Kotuls—Kazerūn—Buy a horse—A tough climb—Place
of Collins’s murder—Arrive in Shiraz—Hire a house—Settle
down—Breaking horses—Night marching—Difficulties
of start—Mūrghab—Find our muleteer and
loads—Abadeh—Yezdikhast—Kūmishah—Mayar—Marg—Arrive in Julfa 347
CHAPTER XXXIII.
JULFA.
Hire a house—Coolness of streets—Idleness of men—Industry
of women—Stone mortars—Arrack—Hire a vineyard—A wily
Armenian—Treasure-trove—The “Shaking Minarets”—A
hereditary functionary—A permanent miracle—Its probable
explanation—Vaccination—Julfa priests—Arrack as an
anæsthetic—Road-making—Crops of firewood—Fire temple—Huge
trees—The racecourse—Disappearance of ancient brick
buildings—Donkeys—Healthiness of Julfa—Zil-es-Sultan—His
armoury—Prospects of the succession to the
throne—Bull-terriers—Mastiffs—Politeness and rudeness of the
prince 359
CHAPTER XXXIV.
JOURNEY TO AND FROM TEHERAN.
Proceed to Teheran—Takhtrowan—Duties—Gulhaek—Lawn-tennis—Guebre
gardener—A good road—The Shah—Custom of the Kūrūk—M.
Gersteiger—Cossack regiments—Austrian officers—New
coinage—Count Monteforte—New police—Boulevard des
Ambassadeurs—English Embassy—Tile gates—Summer
palaces—Bazaars—Russian goods—Demarvend—Drive to
Ispahan—Difficulties of the journey—Accidents—Danger of
sunstroke—Turkeys—Keeping peacocks—Armenian tribute of
poultry—Burmese and Japanese embassies—Entertainment and
fireworks—Cruel treatment of Jews—Oil paintings—Bahram and his
queen—Practice makes perfect—Pharaoh and the Red Sea—Pharaoh
and the magicians 368
CHAPTER XXXV.
WE RETURN VIÂ THE CASPIAN.
New Year’s presents—Shiraz custom—Our cook’s weaknesses—He
takes the pledge—And becomes an opium-eater—Decide to go
home—Dispose of kit—Start for Europe—Our own arrangements—Diary
of our journey home—Arrival 379
APPENDIX A.
Table of Post Stages and Ordinary Marches from Bushire, Persian
Gulf, to Teheran 410
APPENDIX B.
Duration of our Journey from Ispahan to London 412
APPENDIX C.
Travelling in Persia 413
APPENDIX D.
RUSSIAN GOODS VERSUS ENGLISH.
The Karūn River route—The best means of reaching the Commercial
Centres of Persia—Opinions of Experts—Wishes of Merchants 417
GLOSSARY OF PERSIAN WORDS 420
INDEX 429
LIST OF FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.
SOLOMON IN ALL HIS GLORY _Frontispiece._
PERSIAN BAND _To face page_ 91
FEMALE DANCERS AND EQUILIBRIST ” 114
THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS (NAKSH-I-RŪSTAM) ” 119
ARMENIAN WOMEN ” 132
THE BASTINADO ” 147
THREE SHOPS IN BAZAAR ” 189
THE PUL-I-KOJŪ ” 195
TENT LIFE—WANDERING TRIBES ” 262
A ROSEH-KHANA, OR PRAYER-MEETING ” 283
LION AND LUHLIS ” 307
MIDDLE-CLASS PERSIANS—PERSIAN BOY ” 317
OUTDOOR DRESS OF PERSIAN WOMEN ” 325
DR. WILLS’S HOUSE IN JULFA ” 360
A CHUPPER-KHANA, OR POST-HOUSE ” 386
IN THE LAND OF THE LION AND SUN.
CHAPTER I.
I GO TO PERSIA.
Wanted, a doctor—The Director-in-chief—Doubt
and distrust—Simple advice—Am referred
to ‘Hadji Baba’—My kit—Saddle for riding
post—Vienna—Rustchuk—Quarantine—Galatz—Kustendji—Constantinople—Turkish
ladies—Stamboul—I have my hair cut—“Karagews”—Turkish
coffee—A philo-Turk—Shooting party—The theatres—The
Opera—Armenian theatre—Gambling-house—A Bashi-bazouk—We
leave, _viâ_ the Black Sea—The Russian captain—Unarmed
vessels—White Crimean wine—Foreign wines in Russia—Deck
passengers—Sinope—Batoum—Poti—The post-house—Difficulty in
getting food—Travelling _en tröika_—Kutais—A tarantass—Apply
for horses—An itching palm—We start—Tiflis—Lecoq’s
beer—A happy reprieve—The joys of travel—Chief of the
Telegraph in Tiflis—Uniforms—Persian Consulate—Coffee and
pipes—Smoking an art—Effects on the tyro—Tea—The Consul—His
age—Dyeing the hair—The Opera, varied costumes at—The
Tiflis ballet—Leave Tiflis—Erivan—The Pass—We lighten our
load—Hotel—Washing—Nakchewan—Julfa, the frontier of Persia.
I think that there is no more painful position than that of the young
medical man. I had “passed,” and had got my qualifications. An assistant
I did not wish to be, and I therefore consulted the advertisement columns
of the _Lancet_, and was prepared to go anywhere, if I might see the
world, and have what Americans call a good time.
At my first attempt I came on an advertisement of three appointments,
under the Indian Government, in Persia; the address was the Adelphi.
Off I started for the Adelphi, which I had always looked on as a
neighbourhood full of mystery, and whose inhabitants were to be
mistrusted. _Timeo Danaos._
A first-floor—this looked well. I knocked, was told to enter. Two
gentlemen, kneeling on the floor, looked at me in a disturbed manner.
The whole room is strewn with sheets of written foolscap, and it appears
that I have arrived inopportunely, as official documents are being
sorted. I am asked to take a seat, having stated to the elder of the two
that I am come to see the director on business.
Now I couldn’t at that time fancy a director who _knelt_—in fact, my only
idea of one was the typical director of the novel, a stout, bechained
man—and my astonishment was great at being quietly informed by one of the
gentlemen that he was Colonel G⸺, and should be glad to hear anything I
had to communicate. I stated my wish to obtain such an appointment as was
advertised; the duties, pay, &c., were pointed out, and I came to the
conclusion that it would suit me as a “pastime” till the happy day when I
should have a brass plate of my own. But if my ideas of a director were
lofty, my ideas of a colonel were loftier; and I said to myself, one who
combines these two functions, and can be polite to a humble doctor—must
be an impostor.
I was asked for my credentials. I gave them, and was told to call in the
morning, but distrust had taken hold of me; I got an ‘Army List,’ and,
not finding my chief-that-was-to-be’s name in it, I, forgetting that we
had then an Indian as well as an English army, came to the conclusion
that he _must_ be an impostor, and that I should be asked for a deposit
in the morning, which was, I believed, the general way of obtaining money
from the unwary.
With, I fear, a certain amount of truculent defiance, I presented myself
at the appointed hour, and was told that my references were satisfactory,
that a contract would be drawn up that I should have to sign, and that I
should be ready to start in a fortnight; but, rather to my astonishment,
no mention was made of a deposit. “I think there is nothing more,” said
Colonel G⸺.
This, I concluded, indicated the termination of the interview; and, after
considerable humming and hawing, I came to the point, and blurted out
that, after searching the ‘Army List,’ I couldn’t find any Colonel G⸺,
and that no one had ever heard of the Telegraph Department in Persia.
Instead of being annoyed, the Colonel merely asked if I knew any one at
the War Office. As it happened I did. “Well, go to him, and he will tell
you all about it.”
Off I went to the War Office, found my friend, and, to his horror, told
him that I wanted to know if the Persian Telegraph Department existed or
not, and if the director was or was not a myth. He easily satisfied me,
and I felt that I had been stupidly suspicious.
I then announced to my friends and relatives my probably immediate
departure for Persia. Strange to say, they declined to see it in any
other light than a peculiarly elaborate and stupid joke. Instead of
congratulations, I was treated as an unamiable and tiring lunatic, and
from none of my friends was I able to get any information as to Persia.
One man had a son in _Baghdad_! but it was no good his writing him, as it
took six months to get an answer.
After a day or two I again presented myself at the office, and I had the
country described to me, and various recommendations as to outfit given
me, and I also was introduced to Major C⸺, the assistant-director. His
advice was delightfully simple. “You’ll be able to wear out all your old
clothes; don’t buy any new ones; have a ‘Dayrell’ bridle; get nothing but
flannel shirts.” Colonel G⸺ certainly took great trouble to explain to me
all about the country, and, taking me out to lunch with him, bought me
Morier’s ‘Hadji Baba,’ saying, “When you read this you will know more of
Persia and the Persians than you will if you had lived there with your
eyes open for twenty years.” This is going a long way; it is seventeen
years since I went to Persia, and I read ‘Hadji Baba’ now, and still
learn something new from it. As Persia was in Morier’s time so it is now;
and, though one sees plenty of decay, there is very little change.
Two other candidates came forward, to whom I was deputed to explain
matters. They accepted the conditions, and, the deeds being prepared, we
all three went to the India Office and signed a contract for three years.
On going to the Adelphi I was told that a sum of one hundred pounds had
been handed to each of my two colleagues to take them to Persia. But
I was glad to seize the opportunity kindly given me by Colonel G⸺ of
travelling with him, and he told me to meet him in Vienna on a certain
day.
I had now no time to lose, and proceeded to buy my kit; what that kit was
it is as well the reader should know.
I got enough ordinary clothing for three years, such as we use in
England for morning or country wear, also two pairs of riding-boots;
these fitted me, and were consequently useless, for I soon found that
in riding long distances boots much too big are the thing, as then the
foot is neither cold in winter or crippled in summer; a knife, fork, and
spoon, to shut up; a revolver; a small bradawl, with the point buried in
a cork, for boring holes in straps; a military saddle (hussar officer’s),
with wallet-holsters and a high cantle (this cantle keeps one’s rugs off
one’s back when riding post, which is the only way of quick travelling
in the country); a double-barrelled fowling-piece (nearly useless). My
kit was packed in a couple of bullock-trunks, and my saddle sewn up in my
rugs, which were thick and good. I also had a blanket-lined waterproof
sheet.
I gave myself a week in Paris previous to my nominal start, and thence I
proceeded to Vienna, to be ready to leave with Colonel G⸺ as soon as he
arrived there.
I went to the “Golden Lamb,” a very comfortable hotel which the Colonel
had chosen, and beguiled my time pleasantly enough in going nightly to
the theatre to hear Offenbach’s operas done in German. I saw ‘Bluebeard,’
‘La Belle Hélène,’ &c. I was a fortnight in Vienna, and I began to pick
up a smattering, for, of course, the German learnt at school is useless;
_my_ Offenbach system I found more effectual than the usual one of “the
gardener’s wife has brought the hat of the merchant’s little boy,” &c.
A week after the Colonel’s arrival our stay in Vienna ended. We left for
Basiatch (by rail twenty-seven hours); slept there, and started early in
the morning for Rustchuk by steamer. There we found that passengers from
up the river were in quarantine; and the letters were taken with a pair
of tongs, with immense precautions, for fumigation; we were advised not
to land, as we should certainly have to go to the lazaretto; and we were
told that if we quietly went on to Galatz, and said nothing, we could
return _the next day_ as from a healthy port.
We were lucky in taking the advice, as a passenger did venture on to the
lighter, and was, willy-nilly, marched off to what we learnt afterwards
was a six weeks’ quarantine.
We went on to Galatz, which we reached the next day.
Galatz is like a rural Wapping, but muddier. We went to bed, to find
ourselves under weigh in the morning. We soon got to Tchernavoda, which
seemed a mere village. There we landed, and thence, by a very slow train
indeed, to Kustendji. At this place we heard the ravages of the cholera
had been very great. We slept there that night, and started at noon next
day for Constantinople by steamer.
It blew hard, and we were very glad indeed to find ourselves in the
Bosphorus. There the scenery became splendid; no description of mine
can do justice to the castles and palaces hanging on the water’s edge;
the crowded picturesque villages that were reflected in the clear blue
water; the shoals of porpoises that accompanied the ship at full speed,
ploughing the water with a loud noise, and then, in their course,
leaping, still continuing the race, from the water; and then entering
it again amid a shower of spray. This wonderful scene continued for
eighteen miles. At 5 P.M. we anchored in the Golden Horn. The scene was
indescribable; all I had ever seen or read of paled before it. We were
too late to land, as one cannot do so after sunset.
Next morning we went ashore in a caique, rowed by very picturesque
boatmen in white kilts, passed the Custom House, and went straight
to Misseri’s, preceded by our baggage, borne by three porters. These
“hammals” bear gigantic burdens, and as in most Eastern towns there are
no carriage-roads, they are of great use, and generally form a distinct
corporation.
At Misseri’s the Colonel was well known, having stayed there several
times before. In Constantinople, happily for me, instead of going on at
once, my chief was delayed by orders from home for nearly two months; and
I was enabled to see a good deal of the town.
Great was my delight to watch the Turkish ladies, their muslin yashmaks
lending a fictitious delicacy to their complexions, going about in
handsome carriages. Innumerable were the mysterious stories I heard
after _table d’hôte_ of these veiled beauties. Many a time have I gone
on long expeditions into Stamboul with Mr. Ayrton, a brother of “Board
of Works Ayrton,” who, with a thorough knowledge of Turkey and the Turk,
took me under his wing in his daily pilgrimages to the most unsavoury
but interesting nooks of the Mahommedan portion of the city. We went to
coffee-houses, and listened to story-tellers; we dined on savoury kabobs;
and, alas! I well remember my philo-Turk friend persuaded me to have
my hair cut by a Turkish barber. It was only too well done; when the
satisfied shaver handed me the glass I was as a sheep before the shearer,
dumb, but with horror; my head was _pink_, so closely was it cropped, and
my only consolation was the remark of my introducer to oriental life,
that “in the East they generally did things thoroughly.”
I saw too the Turkish Punch (“Karagews”), a most immoral puppet; and the
mildest and most favourable description of him was that “his manners
were none, his customs disgusting,” but then my mentor said he was “very
oriental”—perhaps the terms mean much the same thing.
As the coffee seemed particularly delicious in the native cafés, I, after
some trouble, ascertained the real receipt for coffee _à la Turca_ (not
_à la Turque_), as they call it. Here it is; for each tiny cup (about a
small wineglassful), a teaspoonful of coffee fresh roasted, and ground at
once while hot to a fine powder in a brass hand-mill, or at times pounded
in a mortar, is thrown into a small and heated saucepan; add the required
quantity of boiling water. Place on the embers; when it threatens to
boil over, remove; replace, and remove a second and a third time; serve.
All the dregs go to the bottom. No sugar or milk used—NEVER clean the
saucepan!
At these cafés long chibouques with yellow clay heads are smoked, the
heads being rested on a brass tray. A ball of live charcoal is placed on
the long-cut Samsoon tobacco (or if the customer be liberal, Macedonian),
the stem is jasmine or cherry wood, and the grander the pipe the longer
the stem; rich customers bring their own mouth-pieces, which have a long
inner conical tube that fits any stem. These mouth-pieces are of amber,
and are frequently ornamented with a hoop of brilliants. The pieces of
amber are two in number, and if of large size and of good colour cost
two pounds, upwards to even five-and-twenty: the ordinary fashion is to
separate these two pieces by a thin circle of lapis-lazuli or other stone.
The narghilé is also much used. It will be fully described as the
“kalian” further on. In it is smoked the tumbaku of Persia. A few pence
is charged for the whole entertainment of coffee, smoke, shelter, and
music, such as it is, generally a guitar or flute-player, who is glad
to play to order for a cup of coffee. The customers sit on little low
stools like the French church chairs without their backs. In some of the
grander cafés divans, and even chairs, are provided.
Mr. Ayrton had spent many years in Egypt. He wore a coat made by a
Turkish tailor, a shawl waistcoat and a fez, and with his cropped grey
hairs (it was _his_ barber who operated on me) and his big chibouque
with the amber mouth-piece (he had a large collection of them) with the
ring of diamonds, he looked a thorough Turk, and I fancy posed and was
treated as such. I remember myself thinking that the get-up was assumed
for the purpose of getting a deeper insight into Turkish life. From what
I know now, I merely suppose that, from his wearing the fez, he was, or
had been, in Turkish employ; all government servants in Turkey have to
wear it. Dr. Millengen, in whose arms Byron died, and who was an old
government employé (physician to three Sultans), wore it; so did his son,
who was in the Turkish Government Telegraph; and another son of his, I
afterwards met in the Turkish Quarantine Service at Teheran, told me he
wore it always while in Turkey.
I was introduced to a M. la Fontaine, a most enthusiastic sportsman, and
his many nephews, and by him I was given a day’s cock-shooting, and there
was plenty of it. As for me, I was an utter muff and cockney, or rather
town-reared; but had I not a new pin-fire breechloader, and was it not
my first day’s real shooting? And as I really did shoot two brace, I
returned a delighted but tired youth. That night will be ever memorable.
I ate my first _pillaw_, with fowls boiled to rags in it, and followed by
curds with thick cream on the top called “yaourt.” How we all ate!
We had come from Pera, crossing in a steamer, and had to ride some
twenty miles on rough little ponies to the sleeping place, and—horror of
horrors!—_on Turkish saddles_. Now to the timid rider a Turkish saddle is
at first a delight, for to leave it without great effort is impossible,
and there is a pommel which is so high that it appears the height of
folly not to cling to it; but when one’s knees are in one’s mouth, when
one’s saddle is hard as iron and cuts like a knife, when one has new and
heavy shooting-boots on, and one’s unmentionables have a tendency to
ruck, besides having the glory of carrying a forty-guinea gun slung (oh,
demon cockney gun-maker!) by a sling that slips along the barrel, and was
highly recommended, with the addition of one hundred loaded cartridges
distributed over the many pockets of a very new shooting-coat, in the
sun, with a fur cap on—is it to be wondered at that the sufferings of
the tortured Indian at the stake were child’s-play to what I endured
without a groan, and repeating constantly assurances of my delight and
enjoyment?—and remember, reader, we went at a brisk canter all the time.
How glad I was to lie down! How grieved I was, at 4.30 A.M. the next day,
to be called, and, after a hurried wash, to start in the half dawn in my
tight and heavy boots! But the firing began; I forgot the tightness of my
boots, the stiffness of my back. Do you remember how stiff you felt after
your _first riding lesson_, my friend? and you hadn’t one hundred loaded
cartridges about you, and an intermittent garotte with your knees in your
mouth; and I thanked Heaven I need not sit down, for weighty reasons.
Of course I fired wildly; of course I missed continually, but it was my
first day, and I never enjoyed anything so much in my life. I hobbled
bravely on till there was no more daylight, but I did feel thoroughly
done on getting in, and I did not enjoy my ride back the next day.
I used to try and learn Persian in my idle hours, and I soon mastered
the printed character and could read fluently, but without the slightest
idea of meaning. Kind Colonel G⸺ gave me many a lesson, but I fear that
loafing in Stamboul by day and going to the French or Italian theatre in
the evening had greater attractions.
I was always passionately fond of the stage, and, as we were always going
_in a day or two_, I used, on the principle that I might never be able to
go to the play again, to go every evening.
Of course there was only a third-rate French company, but how very
good they were! The term “stick,” so justly applied to many of our
actors, could not be attached to any player in the little band. All were
good, and all were good all round, and though the leading man might be
everything in the drama, yet he didn’t object to play the lover in the
little vaudeville, and played it well. An Englishman, in the event of
anything so dreadful happening to him, would soon let his audience see
that he was only doing it under protest.
At the Opera the prima donna was ridiculously fat, and to a man unmusical
this somewhat destroys the illusion—but then the _fauteuils d’orchestre_
only cost ten francs. I also went to an Armenian theatre, but it had the
national characteristics, squalor and misery, and I did not repeat the
visit. I failed even to see an Armenian piece (if such a thing exists),
but sat out a fearful edition of ‘The Chiffonier of Paris;’ and I was
told that all the pieces played in Constantinople (Pera) in Armenian were
mere translations.
Even the delights of gaming were permitted in Pera. A few doors from
Messeri’s was the Café “Flam,” as it was affectionately called by the
Pera youth. “Café Flamand” was, I fancy, its real title. Here were played
“pharaon” and roulette. I was recommended the former game, for economical
reasons—it took _longer_ to lose a napoleon. Nobody seemed to win at
either game, but pharaon certainly “took longer.” I was not tempted to
make frequent visits, as I had played for some small sums at Baden-Baden
a year or two before. There one was at least cheated fairly; here the
robbery was open.
A few days after the New Year the Colonel told me that we should really
leave for Persia by the very first opportunity. I bid farewell to all
the kind friends I had made, had my photo taken in breeches, boots,
and revolver at Abdullah’s—a weakness every Englishman who reaches
Constantinople is guilty of. It does not do to be too oriental. At
Abdullah’s I purchased a fearful-looking type, marked a Bashi-bazouk, and
found it out afterwards to be the portrait of a man whose acquaintance
I made in Persia, the Dutch Consul in Bushire; but he made a very good
type, being a big man; and he literally bristled with weapons, and seemed
capable of any atrocities.
One fine afternoon, on January 5th, 1867, we were rowed on board the
Russian steamer _Oleg_. We had an English-speaking captain, who was
genial and communicative. My chief was confined to his cabin; and as
there was nothing to read and nothing to do, I saw a good deal of
the Russian. He told me that all the commanders of their mail-boats
were naval officers, and that all the mail-boats could be turned into
war-steamers at a few hours’ notice, merely requiring the guns to be put
into them: “so that, as you English don’t let us have war-vessels on the
Black Sea, we run a superior class of mail-boat” (built, however, on the
Clyde). And a very superior boat she was.
I was told by the captain to avoid the high-priced wines, and stick to
white Crimean. This was a particularly delicious light wine, like a good
Sauterne; and I find, from after experience of Russian railway buffets,
which far exceed anything of the sort we have in grandeur, that, as a
rule, the liquor is simply fair red and white country wine, the only
difference being in price and label.
In some of these labels the Muscovite imagination fairly runs riot. You
see “Château d’Yquem,” “Schloss Johannisberg,” &c., but nobody ever seems
to drink them, and they are mere table ornaments. The rich drink nothing
but champagne of known and expensive brands, and bottled stout; while the
middle classes stick to “piver” (Russian beer) and vodki.
Tea, in tumblers, was continually being served, with a big slice of lemon
in it. The deck passengers, among whom were many rough Circassians, all
armed to the teeth, cuddled down into the nooks of the cargo, and managed
to keep themselves warm as best they could. They too always were drinking
tea, but they adopted a plan to economise sugar that I have noticed
constantly among the Russian poor: a bit of sugar is placed in the cheek,
and then the tea is swallowed in gulps; the poor fellows thus keeping up
a sort of delusion that they are swallowing sweet and hot tea, though the
mouth only, and not the tea, is really sweetened. There was none of the
exclusiveness of the Englishman. _A_ made tea, and regaled _B_, _C_, and
_D_; then _B_ treated the rest, and so on; when not asleep, eating, or
tea-drinking, the deck people were card-playing and smoking. The short
pipe was a good deal used, and passed from hand to hand, while the trader
class smoked the cigarette. All the men, and most of the women, wore a
sort of rough butcher-boot; and, from the state of the roads at Poti, any
other foot clothing for pedestrians would have been impossible.
We lay to off Sinope on the 7th (here the Russians, our little captain
took care to remind me, destroyed the Turkish fleet), but could not land
passengers, a gale blowing. We changed steamers at Batoum on the 10th.
The scenery at Batoum is very fine; the sea, without a wave, of a deep
blue; well-wooded hills and the Elburz range of the Caucasus covered with
snows forming the horizon. So warm was it here that we lay on the beach
throwing stones into the tranquil sea.
At last we arrived at Poti, being the fifth day from Constantinople. We
were put on a lighter with our baggage, and taken direct to the Custom
House; thence we got on a little steamer that was to take us up the Riom
river, and of this we had some twelve hours, the great part of the time
being occupied in getting aground, and getting off again.
From Poti to Merand we went in a telega, _en tröika_, some sixty versts,
over what was rather a track than a road, in thirteen hours.
A telega, or road-waggon, is easily described as an oblong box on
wheels, and of the _severest_ simplicity. The box is about five feet by
three feet six inches at the top, and five feet by three feet at the
bottom, with a plank in the front for the driver. There are no attempts
at springs; strength and lightness are all that is aimed at; these are
attained—also the maximum of discomfort. To this machine are harnessed
three horses: one trots in the shafts with a yoke four feet high, the
other two, in traces at either side, gallop. The harness is rope, the
driver often drunk.
Travelling thus is monotonous, and after a time very painful. To the
Russian officer, with his big pillow, little or no luggage, and plenty of
hay, a tröika is comparatively comfortable, for he can lie stretched out,
and be tolerably free from bruises, but, doing as we did, we suffered
grinding torments. One telega was full of our luggage, and in the other
we sat on a portmanteau of the Colonel’s; at each jolt we were obliged
to clutch the edge of the machine to prevent knocking one against the
other, and there was no support of any kind. To people accustomed to ride
on springs our sufferings would only be apparent if they had once tried
what it was to travel in this way for many hours over the roughest roads,
_day and night and at full speed_, and without springs of any kind. When
our hands got painfully bruised we changed sides, and bruised the other
ones, for we were forced to hold on. When we were lucky enough to get a
broadish telega we got some hay, and sat on it, thus resting our knees.
On our way we only saw one woman and, say, a hundred men. The country
seemed to me very thinly populated after teeming England. On our arrival
at the post-house at Merand we were shown a room with two plank bedsteads
and a fireplace. I little thought that in Persia the post-houses hadn’t
even the plank bedsteads.
Neither of us could speak one word of the language; we tried French,
German, Italian, Turkish, Persian—all of no avail—and we had no food. At
last we obtained fire and a samovar, or Russian tea urn; the first by
pantomime, the second by looking fierce and repeating the word.
We pointed to our mouths, heads were shaken (perhaps they thought we
wanted a dentist); at last I had a happy thought, and, by drawing a hen
and egg, and hopping about the room clucking, the postmaster’s wife at
last produced the required eggs; they then brought bread and sausage, the
latter much decomposed.
Colonel G⸺ was taken ill in the night, and I feared we could not proceed.
But by 8 A.M. (of the 12th) we were again on the road, and did the
thirty-four versts on a good military road by noon. The 12th is with
Russians New Year’s Day, and we found the town of Kutais for the most
part drunk and letting off its firearms.
Here our landlord informed us that there was an opportunity to buy a
tarantass, which we could dispose of when we reached the Persian frontier
or at Tiflis.
I was greatly delighted when the Colonel decided on purchasing this very
primitive carriage. Fancy an old-fashioned open carriage to hold two,
with cushions stuffed in prehistoric ages with hay, a tarpaulin apron, a
huge hood provided with a leather curtain which, when dropped, plunged
the traveller into black darkness, but kept the wind and rain out; a
gigantic box and boot, the whole slung on a perch from four posts by
thick straps, and having very small fore and very large hind wheels, a
plumb-line dropped from the top of the latter being quite a foot beyond
the bottom. But it kept us warm and dry, would hold all the luggage, and
would in theory enable us to travel with three horses instead of six. We
found out afterwards that we had to take five, when we were lucky enough
to get them.
I fancy the whole machine cost one hundred and fifty roubles, or, at the
then exchange, fifteen pounds. Then came a wheelwright, and he took some
seven hours at the wheels. At length, about five, all was pronounced
ready, and we sent our “padoroschna,” or permit to take post-horses, to
the postmaster for horses. Reply: “None just at present; would send them
over as soon as they came in.” To lose no time, we carefully filled the
boot with our luggage, and my bullock-trunks were firmly roped on behind.
We took tea preparatory to our start, and laid in provisions of bread,
beer, &c., with a couple of fowls; for we were told we should find
nothing but black bread and hot water on the road. Still no horses.
We went to the post-house, where we found nine beasts, but were told that
these were all reserved for special service. The Colonel then smelt a
rat; but what were we to do? the postmaster (a major) was dining out, and
no one knew where he was.
The waiter told us at length that what was wanted was a bribe; but
then we could hardly believe him, for had we not conversed with the
postmaster—a uniformed and decorated individual, who spoke French and
smoked cigarettes with an air?
However, there was nothing else for it; the postmaster was, much against
the grain, asked to breakfast; a fifteen-rouble note was put under his
plate, and an hour afterwards horses were actually being put to.
In we got, having a portmanteau, a hat-box, a cocked-hat case, a
sword-case, umbrellas, rugs, pillows (these last a very needful thing
in Russia; travellers even by rail carry them, and they are almost a
necessity) in the carriage with us; the apron was buttoned down, the
curtain triced up, and, with a wrench and a creak, off we went at a hard
gallop. It is not a comfortable mode of travelling, far less a luxurious
one; but one does get over the ground; one is dry; and certainly, as
compared with the telega, one’s sufferings are less intense.
We occasionally left the tarantass to take tea at a post-house, where,
ever for lack of fresh horses, we had to feed and rest our old ones. Our
Kutais informant was right; nothing to be got but the samovar (or Russian
urn) full of boiling water; no furniture, save two wooden bedsteads, with
a slanting board at the head; the tariff for horses, and the “icon” (or
religious picture) in the corner. Still, there was freedom from noise and
movement, which was a great thing. The horses seemed to be fed on nothing
in particular; they were turned out in the mud to graze, and were given
branches of trees, which they gnawed as a _bonne bouche_, but I saw no
grain given; but these horses went, and they _were_ lashed and howled
at; in fact, the driving seemed very hard work indeed. We travel day and
night, and never halt but to change horses. After seventy-two hours, we
at length reached Tiflis.
I didn’t see much of the road; in most places it was mud, and in many it
seemed dangerous. Often our tarantass was repaired with nails and ropes,
but we arrived unbroken at the Hôtel du Kaukase of M. Arsène Barberon.
This man kept a really comfortable house, and as it was suggested to us
that this was the last civilised place, we were only too glad to make the
most of it. We were given sheets to our beds as a favour and as a luxury;
and we got a good dinner, with some “Lecoq” English stout, very good and
strong. One never hears the name in England, and whether really English
or not I don’t know, but it is very _double_, and much esteemed by the
Russians.
Our bedrooms unfortunately abutted on the billiard-room; and as the
Russian officers, by whom the hotel was frequented, seemed to be very
loth to stop play, it was difficult to sleep till, about 4 A.M., even
these festive gentlemen retired.
When I came down, I found that the Colonel, an old traveller, had
preceded me, and was engaged upon a pile of official letters and
telegrams.
“I shall be unfortunately detained here some days.”
I was overcome by a deep sense of gratitude that words cannot express;
for I really was so tired and bruised that I felt as if I had been
pummelled all over; in fact, that I should have been glad to be taken to
pieces and put away for a time.
Now this perhaps will be looked on as affectation, but it is not so; as
one gets used to the various modes of travelling, one ceases to have any
grievance, and to feel fatigue, looking on the whole matter as in the
day’s work; but the _first time_, it’s all very well, but we none of us
like it in our hearts. Of course we called it glorious, and so it was, in
the sense that it was a change.
But who would care to travel from, say, London to York in an
old-fashioned bathing-machine, with a companion of greater age and social
position than your own, pride preventing one’s grumbling, and going at a
hard gallop over the worst of roads, and a good deal of loose and angular
luggage with you, day and night?
My chief next day was waited on by a young man of prepossessing
appearance, in a stylish uniform, the embroidered shoulder-straps of
which were decorated by lightning-flashes. I was somewhat surprised to
hear that this was a signalling-clerk of the Russian department.
In Russia every officer, however small, has his uniform, which is cheap,
and stylish wear. I, being very young, perhaps felt a little jealous; but
the Colonel assured me that, as uniform was always typical, mine would
probably have silver leeches running up the red stripe of my trousers,
and a gilt mustard-plaister in miniature on the collar. This contented
me, and reconciled me to my position as “a plain-clothes officer.”
The chief of the telegraph, too, called, and we called on him; many
cigarettes were smoked, and much very hot tea in tumblers drunk.
We went also to see the Persian consul, who was very civil, and
apparently a very intelligent man; he gave us coffee in the Persian
manner. Small silver filagree cup-holders, the size of egg-cups, were
handed round on a tray; and placed in each was a smaller vessel of china,
holding about a liqueur-glassful of strong sweet black coffee, flavoured
with cloves. It was not bad.
When the cups were emptied two servants advanced, one bearing the tray,
the other taking with both hands the empty coffee-cups and holders, and
placing them upon the tray.
Then came the water-pipe or kalian; three of these were brought in. My
first inhalation provided me with a mouthful of peculiarly filthy-tasting
water (I learnt afterwards that the water from the kalian is commonly
used in Persia as an emetic); having, with some difficulty, got rid of
this, I commenced to smoke, and to do as I had seen our host do, eject
huge clouds from my nostrils. But I perceived that the other kalians were
gone; I asked the Colonel if there were any etiquette as to sending the
pipe away. He said—
“Oh, no; our host is an old friend. Smoke as long as it gives you
pleasure.”
The consul asked me how I liked the Persian pipe. I eagerly replied that
I had never smoked anything so mild and so delicious.
He was delighted, but seemed surprised at my calling it mild. The old
gentleman spoke French, and said, “Du tout—_très_-fort.”
And so I found it, for I began to feel giddy. It appears that the tobacco
used was particularly choice and strong, and that, as a rule, of such
tobacco only a few whiffs are ever taken. I could smoke no more, and
collapsed, for the next five minutes having the awful sensations of the
youth who smokes his first “real foreigner.” But this feeling passed away
as quickly as it came, and I was soon myself. Another pipe was brought,
and then tea, _à la Russe_, with lemon.
Tea _à la Persane_ consists of a very small cup, holding some two ounces;
in this lump-sugar is placed, in big lumps, and if much honour is wished
to be shown to the guest, when the cup is full the sugar should project
from the centre of the liquid in an _island_!
The tea used is generally scented Pekoe among the rich, and made very
weak. It is also always washed before it is allowed to draw. Persians do
not like strong tea.
In after years, in Persia, I was somewhat intrigued to make out why my
sweeper objected to sweep his carpets with tea-leaves, and it was only
on pressure that I extracted the fact that “the servants always dried my
strong black tea-leaves and sold them _as tea_ in the bazaar.”
After some chat in Persian, which Colonel G⸺ spoke in a masterly manner,
the Colonel asked for “the pipe of departure,” which, it appears, is
the best way of going, as it is considered polite to ask permission to
depart, and not to get up and go.
Our host was a largely-built, well-set-up man, dressed in a pair of
uniform trousers, stockings (he had removed his shoes on entering the
room), and a thick black frock-coat, such as the Turks wear, lined with
fur; he did not show any linen. His hair and beard were jetty black, as
was his heavy moustache. He wore a black Astrachan hat, which he did not
remove, and a sword. He insisted on coming to the door with us, and shook
hands in the most cordial manner.
As we were on the road home the Colonel asked me if I could give a guess
as to our friend’s age. I said, confidently, “From forty to forty-five.”
“He is probably eighty—certainly over seventy. The black hair which
you see is the result of dye. The whole of the upper classes, and all
townsmen, military or government employés, dye their hair; it is done
usually once or twice a week, and the substances used are, first henna,
then indigo. They are allowed to remain on many hours; the result is the
fine black dye you see. The villagers, as a rule, use only the henna,
which gives a deep purply-black to black hair, and a bright red to white.”
I was also told that when in deep mourning a Persian ceases to dye at all
(and, alas! at first he also ceases to wash); the result is comical in
the extreme, for one sees men with beards of some foot or more in length
half red or rusty black, and the rest quite white. When ill, too, he does
not dye.
Afterwards I could always by this means make a pretty shrewd guess, even
before asking the question, as to how long a patient had been on the
sick-list, by the length of the undyed part of his beard.
The next evening we went to the opera, and saw ‘Don Giovanni’; the acting
and singing was fairly good, but the auditorium, though it was not by any
means a gala night, was brilliant in the extreme. Circassian officers, in
their long coats of white, pale blue, black, &c., their breasts covered
with the ornamental little silver boxes of niello-work that contain,
or are supposed to contain, the charges for their picturesque weapons;
their long straight swords, silver or silver-gilt; and the belts, that
would delight South Kensington people, covered with bosses of this same
niello-work; their boots, reaching in some cases to the knee, fitting
like gloves at the foot, and so wrinkly down the shin as to certainly
drive a West End coachman mad with jealousy. Then the hats—cylinders of
shaggy sheepskins—white, gray, black, surmounted by a bit of inner cap
of blue, red, scarlet, or white, elaborately embroidered in gold. And
good-looking men, too; no little fellows—_all_ big strapping men, who
looked as if they could ride and fight, as well as come to the Tiflis
Opera. Nearly all were decorated; some had many medals and orders. This
decoration is overdone in the Russian Army.
With the ladies I was disappointed—the Georgians and Immeritians were
in the large majority. They were heavy-jowled females, who seemed to
wear a profusion of rich clothes; they had a sort of crown of velvet and
gold lace, over which hung down at the back an embroidered kerchief and
hideous jewelry. They never smiled—still the brilliant officers hung over
their chairs; and perhaps they may have been very charming. They all had
big eyes and a quantity of coarse hair. One or two blonde Russian ladies
were present, and they were much dressed.
The little theatre was peculiarly decorated in a semi-oriental style, and
the _coup d’œil_ was really very striking. The portion of the opera which
seemed to give the greatest satisfaction was the introduced ballet, which
I understand was composed of Tiflis girls; they did not dance well, but
were remarkably handsome, and much applauded. This theatre has been since
burnt down, and a larger one erected.
As Colonel G⸺ was compelled to remain here eight days I was able to go
again to the Opera, and I saw ‘Masaniello’ very fairly done.
I went all over the town looking out for a souvenir, but there was
nothing but silver work, which was dear, and beyond my means at that time.
We had here our first taste of the celebrated Kakheiti wine. There are
two sorts, white and red—the latter is the best; it is a strong, coarse,
rough wine, and has a very leathery taste. As it is kept in skins, and
not casks, this is not to be wondered at. It contains a great deal of
tannin, and our landlord told me if kept in casks it turned black,
probably from this excess of tannin (or perhaps bad casks). It costs at
the hotel a rouble a bottle.
One thing that strikes one in Russia is the peculiarly good bread. I have
now been in Russia five times, and I never have tasted anywhere bread so
white or so delicious. Often have I made a breakfast of it, and sent my
cutlet untasted away.
We laid in a good supply; and, with some Kakheiti wine, some stout, cold
fowls, and tea, we left Tiflis, knowing we should get nothing till we got
to Tabriz. The tarantass had been thoroughly overhauled; and, in a heavy
drizzle, off we went, well provisioned by Arsène Barberon.
After four days’ severe travelling we reached Erivan. Snow had fallen
heavily, and rendered some of the defiles of the Caucasus almost
impassable, in particular one called Delijan, at the head of Lake
Jeukjar. There we were obliged to have seven horses to the tarantass
to pull and some men to push, in which we assisted. We had a precipice
going sheer down on one side and snow twelve feet deep on the other. Our
difficulties were increased by meeting three hundred camels laden with
huge unpressed bags of Erivan (or Persian?) cotton, in a place where
there was hardly room to pass, and it was impossible for either party to
turn back. Our Cossacks, however—we had two of these gentry—by whipping
the drivers, made _them_ go on the outer or dangerous side, while _we_
remained stationary until the camels had passed; then, amid much shouting
and swearing, we did the Pass.
At four stages from Tiflis we had our luggage put on camels to be
brought on to Erivan, and went on ourselves in the tarantass, with
never less than five horses. The most slashing races take place on the
road, as he who succeeds in presenting his padoroschna (or permit to
take post-horses) first, takes as many horses as he needs; and if the
roads are bad often takes all, as he wishes to be well ahead of rival
travellers.
In Erivan we are in _savage_ Russia—the people are the ugliest and
dirtiest we have yet come across. At the so-called hotel they gave us
two wooden bunks _with_ mattresses—a great luxury after the post-houses
_without_. Our servant, a ferocious Persian lent us by the consul at
Tiflis, named Mahommed Ali, having ordered water for washing, the waiter,
if the greasy ruffian could be dignified with that title, asked if it
would not do in the morning.
On being sworn at in Turkish and Russian by Mahommed Ali, and afterwards
beaten in the passage, water in one brass jug and one basin was brought,
and the Russian stood by to pour it over our hands—this is the cleanly
mode of performing one’s ablutions here. The fellow then brought a dirty
towel, on which Mahommed Ali again remonstrated with him in the passage
in a forcible manner; in this sort of thing Mahommed Ali is very useful.
On leaving Erivan, which was covered with snow, we reached in a day and
night Nakchewan; round this place I saw cotton bushes—of course they were
bare. Here we rested a night.
Going on next morning, we came to Julfa, the frontier village of a few
hovels. Crossing the river Araxes, a shallow stream, we put up in the
windowless telegraph office. As we saw nothing but snow since we left
Tiflis, there has been little to describe in the way of scenery; as may
be fancied, the cold was intense. We are now in Persia.
CHAPTER II.
POST JOURNEY TO THE CAPITAL.
Preparations for the start—Costume—Chaff bed—First fall—Extra
luggage—The whip—Stages and their length—Appearance of
the country, and climate—First stage—Turk guides—Welcome
rest—Weighing fire-wood—Meana bug—Turcomanchai—Distances—New
friends—Palace of Kerrij.
At Julfa, on the Araxes—a muddy stream, when we were there, easily
fordable—is the Persian frontier, and here our horse-journey was to
begin. The tarantass was sold a bargain to the postmaster. A change
of clothes and boots and a few flannel shirts were stuffed in the
“koorjins,” or saddle-bags, made of rough carpet; boots were greased and
put on, so were spurs; and I, in my innocence, at the instigation of the
saddler, who I suppose wished to get rid of them, had provided myself
with a pair of huge long brass ones, such as were worn by the barons
of melodrama, and palmed off on me as real Mexican persuaders adapted
for long journeys—these awful things the Colonel suggested I should do
without, but I did not like to be shorn of any of my splendour, and I
wore them. At first I spurred myself considerably when walking, but I
got over this, and no doubt they added to the picturesqueness of my
get-up. Fur-cap, “horsey” box-cloth pilot-jacket, with big horn buttons,
cords and boots, also a huge courier’s whip and fur gloves, made, to my
youthful mind, a striking picture, and I greatly appreciated myself.
At Tiflis we had provided ourselves with bags, some seven feet long and
four feet wide—these bags were to be filled with chaff, of which there is
an abundance, at each station. It is called “kah,” and is the ordinary
horse-feed, some of it being always in the manger; at this the Persian
horse persistently munches; when he has had a bellyful of it he gets his
morning or evening feed—never before. This rather primitive mattress is
soft, cool in summer, warm in winter, free from insects, _and there is no
bed to carry_.
We each carried a small washing-basin of brass; we had also a teapot and
two tin plates. I had a wonderful expanding cup which I used to fill
with wine, but, before I had time to drink, it generally collapsed, so I
soon flung it away. We carried a few packets of candles; and, having our
chaff-bags filled, we retired early, to begin on the morrow our first
day’s posting. To my companion, an old traveller, this was nothing, but I
looked forward to it with mixed feelings of delight and awe.
Apparently in the dead of night—really at dawn—I saw the Colonel dressed
and busy; I hurried on my clothes, bundled my few odds and ends into
my saddle-bags, rolled up my rugs into a cylinder, with the waterproof
one outside, swallowed as many cups of hot tea as I could hold (it was
terribly cold), reluctantly put my long brass spurs away—the Colonel told
me I should only find them in my way—and dragged my various impedimenta
into the yard.
The fact was that, with our heavy baggage, which quite loaded one of
the horses, which was to be led, we were unable to take more than
one servant. To be without one when posting in Persia is extremely
inconvenient. Of course, if speed is a great object, a man gets along
much faster without a servant, but then he has to do everything for
himself, and to _know how to do it_.
After some three-quarters of an hour we managed to get the baggage-horse
loaded with two portmanteaux, and our own beasts saddled; the koorjins,
or saddle-bags, put on across the loins of the horses, and firmly secured
by a strap passing from the bottom of each bag to the girths. This is
most important to prevent the shaking up together of everything the
saddle-bags may contain.
My “Dayrell” bridle was fitted with a common watering bit, and as the
horses of Persia are accustomed to a very severe native machine, my
melancholy animal, as soon as he had been lashed into a canter, bolted,
and was only brought to a stop by his coming down on his nose, which he
did after some quarter of a mile. Of course, with such a bit, it was
quite impossible to pull him up. As usual, though we fell with a crash,
no one was hurt. I struggled to my feet, but the pony lay quite still,
as if injured, till the “shargird chupper,” or horse-boy, on his arrival,
by a few vigorous kicks caused him to get up and shake himself. The
Colonel now advised me to take the native bridle used by the shargird,
and with this, of course, I could easily command my pony.
Several times we had to stop to arrange the load of the pack-horse, and
also to alter the contents of our saddle-bags. These should be so packed
as to be of nearly exactly equal weight, as when they are not so they
gradually slip round, and one’s horse stops; when one finds one bag under
his belly, the other on his crupper.
The ordinary chuppering kit of saddle, rugs, and bags is well suited for
this kind of travelling, but we had besides a led horse, a tin cocked-hat
case, a leather hat-box, and a sword and umbrella of the Colonel’s.
Our shargird, after many attempts to manage differently, fixed the tin
cocked-hat case to his saddle, _en croupe_, tied the leather hat-box
on as a knapsack behind his shoulders, and carried the sword under the
surcingle of his saddle.
We kept on at a smart canter, only stopping to fix or shift the loads of
the various animals. As soon as we were a mile or two from the station
the shargird ceased to lead the baggage-horse; he had been compelled to
do so till then, as he would have turned back.
The cantering through the cold air was exhilarating; and now I had
time to look at the country—_Persia at last!_—which I was to inhabit
for three years certain. I found that the road, if such it could be
called, simply consisted of a number of tracks across country, which
ran along irregularly side by side, formed by the wear of strings of
mules and camels; there was no road _in our sense of the term_; in fact,
the judicious thing seemed to be to go as straight ahead as one could,
avoiding bad bits by a curve, and keeping to the most worn portion of the
track, unless it was deep in mud or water. The ponies did not require
much urging, and I found it expedient to keep my big chupper whip quiet,
till I had learnt how to use it with ease and effect.
This whip is provided with a short stick of hard and heavy wood, covered
with leather, and having a big loop of the same, that it may hang at the
wrist when not in use.
The lash is a round one of four thongs of Hamadan leather plaited, and is
from four to seven feet long; when the latter, it is reduced in actual
length to about three and a half feet by plaiting the lash from the
stick downwards for about two feet; it ends in a knot, and beyond this
are two flat pieces of leather some six inches long, which the expert
keeps flicking under the horse’s nose; thus, without hurting the horse or
tiring himself, letting him be aware of the punishment in store for the
lazy being at hand.
The stages are from three to eight farsakhs in length, a farsakh being
in the rough three and a half miles; they vary in different parts of the
country, and are especially long between Teheran and Hamadan, some of the
seven-farsakh stages being, in the opinion of those who have been often
over them, thirty miles and more.
The average stage is, however, five farsakhs, and from one large city to
another, as Tabriz to Teheran, Teheran to Ispahan, or Ispahan to Shiraz,
this reckoning holds good. As a rule, a very short stage has a very bad
road, a very long one a good one; but this is not invariable. The first
and last stage of a long journey, too, is as a rule a very short one, as
Persians like, in marching, to have the first stage a short one, that
omissions may be replaced before definitely starting, and the caravan got
together well outside the town. The last stage being a short one enables
friends to receive them, makes it easier to put on good clothes and to
brush up after the journey—in fact, to arrive in a presentable condition.
All around us were earth-hills, with quantities of loose stones on them;
here and there patches of snow; in the distance, in every direction,
we were surrounded by snow-covered mountains; but the sky was blue and
cloudless, the air was pure and dry. As it got warmer and warmer we felt
a sense of freedom, and that a change for the better had been made from
the noisy and stifling tarantass.
Our guide now began to shout “Yawash!” (gently), and “Nuffus! nuffus!”
(breath), and the Colonel intimated to me that we must walk our animals
to give them their second wind. This we did, and we jogged along easily
till within some six miles of the post-house. Then the guide rushed to
the front, the ponies did their best, and it appeared the correct thing
to get them along as fast as possible. The fact was that we had very
good horses, so that as we cantered up to the post-house, having done our
stage of six farsakhs (twenty-one miles) in three hours, we felt that the
Colonel, being burdened with a greenhorn and a lot of extra luggage, had
not done badly.
And now I thought that I had fairly earned a rest and something to eat.
I was hungry and rather tired, for, being determined to get no cropper,
unless my beast came down as well, I had used my knees too much. Your
experienced chupper merely rides by balance, to avoid tiring himself.
What, then, was my disgust at seeing the Colonel order out more horses at
once, and to see him set to to help with the saddling. I groaned in the
spirit, and did the same; though it was with some doubt that I agreed to
the proposition that “it was very lucky we got horses, and could get on
at once.”
The Colonel explained to me that, in travelling “chupper” (or post), it
was incumbent on the traveller _never_ to stop during the day, at least
when he could get horses. This is doubtless a safe rule, but a corollary
should be added that, unless the country is very safe indeed, it is as
well, unless very urgent, not to go on after sunset. To a neglect of this
latter rule I must put down my falling into the hands of robbers during
the famine.
I now found out what it was to get a really rough and bad horse; this
beast’s only pace was a hard trot, and the amount of shaking was
tremendous. The road was much as before, and the going was fairly good.
On reaching the next stage I was heartily glad to find there were no
horses, which gave us time to get some tea, and a breakfast of hard eggs
and harder biscuits. It was two ere we could make a start, and I did not
forget to change my steed, and profited considerably; but the shaking had
been severe, and I felt very stiff and tired. I was, however, ashamed to
say so, and I chimed in with my companion in his praises of the delights
of posting, and the glorious freedom of travel in the East.
Though the Colonel was a good Persian scholar, he could not make much
of the guides and post-house keepers, who are all Turks; and very few
of them speak Persian, Turkish being the language of the country. It is
not till some four stages past Tabriz that Persian is the dialect of the
peasant.
The reigning family, too, affect to think and speak in Turkish with their
relatives and families; but it is not the Turkish of Constantinople,
but the rougher speech of Tabriz, the cause being probably that at some
period of their early life they have resided at Tabriz, where nothing
else but Turkish is spoken; of course, it is also their ancestral tongue.
We got safely to our third post-house, at half-past three, got fresh
horses, and started. The warmth of the last two stages had ceased, and
patches of snow were getting more frequent; but I felt, though sorely
against the grain, that as long as the Colonel would go on I ought not to
object, under penalty of being thought a muff. Our steeds were bad; we
couldn’t get more than a walk out of them, and we were six hours doing
the stage, which we reached chilled to the bone. I was indeed delighted
to hear from the Colonel that “it was hardly worth while pushing on!”
and as I scrambled into the bare and blackened room which the postmaster
allotted to us, and busied myself in getting a light, I was grateful that
even the Colonel’s ideas of duty were satisfied. Of course, afterwards,
such a day’s posting came to be looked on as a joke; but sixty-eight
miles, over bad roads, to a man not accustomed to the saddle, is a
serious matter.
Our first care was to get the postmaster, a poor ragged fellow, to light
a fire of brushwood; a fierce blaze that thoroughly warmed the room, and
at the same time filled the place with smoke, was the result. Then he
bethought him that the chimney was stopped up with a brick; the brick was
removed, and more brushwood put on. Then he gave us a carpet on loan,
brought some firewood and the scales to weigh it; the weights were big
stones, the scales two baskets slung on a stick.
There were recesses some yard from the ground all round the room, which
was some eight feet by twelve. The floor was earth, the walls mud, the
roof big poles with branches of trees laid across them. In the recesses
we stuck three candles. The walls and roof were polished black from the
smoke of many fires. In the part of the room near the door were flung our
saddles and luggage. No furniture of any kind; we got the bullock-trunk
forward to use as a table.
The shargird chupper brought our chaff-bags filled, and laid one on
either side of the fireplace as a mattress; we laid our rugs, and put
our saddle-bags for pillows. We made a big fire, borrowed a kettle, got
some strong tea under weigh, enjoyed a dinner of cold fowl and biscuit;
barricaded our door, which seemed merely three planks nailed together,
and lay down to sleep like tops. The naib, or postmaster, replaced the
brick, and the ashes of our fire were alight in the morning. I _never_
enjoyed a night’s rest so much. But at 5 A.M. there was the Colonel with
the tea under weigh, and adjuring me to rise.
Up I got, gobbled down some hot tea, and we started in the snow at six,
for it had come down heavily in the night.
Ah, it _was_ cold! and hardly light, the horses trying to turn back as
we followed at a snail’s pace the shargird, who seemed not to know much
of the road. In a few minutes I was sitting on alternate hands in a vain
attempt to keep them warm. We had fortunately taken the precaution to put
on big Turkish wool socks over our boots, and this kept our feet from
freezing, for the cold stirrup-iron soon, in such weather, extracts any
warmth from the feet.
At last the light came, and we could see the village and post-house, some
half-mile off, after an hour’s wandering; but we were on the road, which
was something. And now that we could see to go, and the shargird was sure
of the way, off we went at the usual pace, a smart gallop. Nine o’clock
brought us to the next stage—five farsakhs.
We reached Meana, at which there is a fine new post-house, at about
five, but we had arranged that, unless we were compelled to sleep at
this place, we would avoid it, as the celebrated so-called _bug of
Meana_ is found here. During the whole time I have resided in Persia I
never could find any one who had suffered any ill effects from the bite
of the “Meana bug” at all in proportion to the horrors narrated; and I
must look on the description given by travellers as apocryphal: Eastwick
dilates on it. The kenneh, or camel-tic, certainly causes a particularly
irritating wound, which will be found fully described further on. But the
“Meana bug,” I am inclined to think, is nothing more than an ordinary
camel- or perhaps sheep-tic, and by no means dangerous to life (_pace_
Eastwick). But we both at that time were inclined to believe that there
_was something_ in the terrible accounts given of the insect, and so we
avoided Meana. As it was we made a very great mistake; Meana, having
at that time a brand-new post-house, was quite safe; but as we pushed
on darkness caught us, and we did not arrive till nearly ten at night
at Turcomanchai. Here was an old caravanserai only to put up in; the
post-house was in ruins. And on the Colonel asking the postmaster if he
had many insects he shrugged his shoulders in a significant manner.
We found a French merchant, with a big box of valuables, in the blackened
cell of the doorway appropriated to posting travellers. He was marching,
but had taken the room as the only water- and wind-tight one, and he
welcomed us to a share of it and his big fire. It was very cold outside,
and we were glad to get to the grateful warmth and partake of a cup of
tea. But we had not been in the place half an hour when we found that it
was literally alive. We couldn’t go on, and there was no other place to
go to.
I throw a veil over our sufferings. How we regretted the clean new
post-house at Meana, and how glad we were to leave Turcomanchai[2] at the
earliest break of dawn! The insects, however, were merely fleas, B flats,
and those nameless to ears polite.
There was little or no snow on the road as we started, but it was
sufficiently cold; the roads were hard, good, but full of loose stones.
Such was the journey—each day a repetition of that before it, varied only
in weather.
February 12, after going 480 miles chupper, we were met about twenty
miles from Teheran by Major S⸺, the director of the Persian telegraph
department, Mr. B⸺, my medical chief, and Messrs. T⸺ and M⸺, secretaries
of the English Legation, all friends of Colonel G⸺’s.
They escorted us to a place called Kerrij, a palace of the Shah’s, gave
us a sumptuous dinner, and we lay down to sleep in huge rooms gay with
paint, gilding, and coloured glass. A mighty brew of egg-flip prevented a
wakeful night; and the next morning we rode over a muddy plain to Major
S⸺’s house in Teheran, which was to be my home till I started for “down
country.”
CHAPTER III.
TEHERAN.
Teheran—The Director’s house—Persian visits—Etiquette—Pipes,
details of—Tumbakū—Ceremony—Anecdote—The voice of the
sluggard—Persian medicine explained—My prospects as a
medico—Zoological Gardens.
Teheran struck me as a poor place, particularly from the outside of the
town; the streets were narrow, and the houses seemed mostly of plastered
mud, or of mud alone. And when we reached Major S⸺’s house, on the
outside the prospect was not inviting, but no sooner were we inside than
everything was comfortable: good doors, good windows, carpets of great
beauty, _chairs_—only try to do without these for a few days, and then,
and then only, does one appreciate their comfort—big settees and divans,
and a host of smart and attentive servants. Tea and pipes at once; a warm
bath, much needed, in prospect, and, above all, the freedom from the
morning’s call to boot-and-saddle at an unearthly hour.
No sooner was breakfast over than messages were for ever arriving for my
chief as to what time he would receive this grandee or that friend; and
shortly the ceremonious visits commenced. I was, of course, only too glad
to see what a Persian visit was like.
To be a successful entertainer in Persia it is imperative to be a master
in the art of compliment, as the conversation itself is generally
trivial; but the exact amount of compliment must be meted out with a
careful hand, according to the visitor’s rank. By no means should the
thing be overdone, as an excess of good treatment, over and above what
the caller is entitled to, merely lowers the recipient of the visit in
the guest’s estimation.
Of course I did not at once appreciate the differences of the intonation
in the “Bismillah!” or invitation to be seated, but I saw that great
differences were made in the position of the guest, in the duration of
his visit, and whether he were pressed to stop or not, and in the rising
and advancing to receive him, or the refraining from so doing.
I soon found out that in addressing a great man, or at times an equal,
the third person plural was frequently used; while the expression
“bander” (literally, the slave), really “your servant,” in lieu of the
first person singular, touched on scriptural form. “Shuma” (you), the
second person plural, was, of course, frequent, but in the case of a
grandee some prefix was used, as “sircar-i-shuma” (your excellency), &c.;
these prefixes it was necessary to use correctly, giving each man his
due, or if you wished to please him, a little more than his due. To give
a man a _good deal more than his due_ was understood to be sarcasm.
The second person singular is only used to inferiors, servants or
children, or in anger. As a rule the lower-class Persian always uses to
the European the second person singular, if he thinks he can do it with
impunity; and it has to be resented, and the transgressor put in his
place at once, or all respect is gone. Of course the offender feigns
ignorance.
Each visitor was regaled with some three little cups of tea and the
same number of water-pipes; some of the more advanced among the guests
affected cigarettes, as did Major S⸺ and most Europeans. A few whiffs
would be taken from the water-pipes, and they would be removed or passed
on, at the will of their masters, for I noticed that, as a rule, the
greater personages brought their own pipes.[3]
The tobacco smoked in the kalian is called “tumbakū,” in distinction to
“tootoon,” or that smoked in pipes or cigarettes; it is sold in the leaf,
which is packed dry in layers, and is preserved in bags sewn up in raw
hide; it improves by age, and is quite unsmokable the first year. The
best comes from Jarūm, south of Shiraz.
When a visitor is offered a pipe, and there is not a second one to hand,
it is at once taken to him by the host’s servant. He then deprecatingly
suggests that his host should smoke first; this is declined by a sweeping
gesture. He now offers it to the other guests, if any, and, on receiving
a negative gesture, commences to inhale.
Should, however, the host be much superior in position, the visitor will
either refuse to smoke first, or, if he has the bad taste to do so, the
host does not smoke at all, but sends the pipe away. When there are many
visitors and only one pipe, the greatest one smokes first, then the rest
smoke in order of rank, previously paying the compliment of suggesting
that some one else should precede them. These little punctilios are
endless.
Priests or holy men do not, as a rule, like to smoke the pipe of the
European, or to smoke even out of the same pipe. Of course the only
plan to be then adopted is to feign a disinclination to smoke at all.
As a rule, Persians (the Frenchmen of the East) are usually so polite
as to prevent any sign of this disinclination to be apparent, and will
bring their own pipes, or smoke those of friends, and so get over any
hitch. But at times bigoted men will try to be offensive. I well remember
a case in point. A priest of Hamadan, high in office, had occasion to
call on our superintendent, Captain Pierson, R.E. Pierson, with whom I
lived at the time, sought to provide against any possible unpleasantness
by purchasing a pipe with a clay bottle and head (it was summer-time,
and such pipes are liked then), and told his servant that if the priest
didn’t provide his own smoke, this particular pipe was to be brought to
him, with a hint in a whisper to the guest that it was an entirely new
one.
As he had expected, so it turned out; the holy man came without his pipe,
and on the usual procession of pipebearers entering, he roughly informed
Pierson that he did not smoke after Europeans. Pierson drew his attention
to the fact that a new pipe had been specially provided.
He took it, smoked it, and then had the gross impertinence to hand it to
Pierson; the latter politely declined, but the priest was not content,
and drew from Pierson the following:—
“Just as it would be painful to you to smoke after a European, so it
would pain me to do so after a Mussulman. I provided against you having
to do without your pipe, and respected your prejudices; as you are my
guest, politeness prevents my expressing what I think of your conduct.
You can break that pipe to pieces and burn the stick”—this to his
servant—“I do not care to smoke it.”
The priest turned pale, sat silent for a minute, and then said in apology—
“Yes, yes, you say truly, I have eaten dirt.”
Strange to say, we were very friendly with him afterwards.
The pipe affected by the lower classes is the short chibouque, this
nearly every North Persian of the lower class carries at his back in his
girdle or in his pocket; there is a small clay, brass or iron head, and
a straight stem of cherry-wood, six inches to a foot long, with a bore
some half-inch in diameter through it; there is no mouth-piece, and it is
held to the lips, _and not in the teeth_. The tobacco smoked is usually
Samsoon, a common kind of coarse Turkish; or Koordi, a mild tobacco,
nearly white in colour, but with a pungent flavour; there are many other
varieties. This Koordi looks like coarse sawdust, and is _quite_ dry, and
is simply the leaf-stalk and stem of the plant coarsely pounded; to look
at it, no one would suppose on a first inspection that it was tobacco at
all: the best comes from Kermanshah.
A third kind of pipe is used by the Arabs of the Gulf and many South
Persians; it consists simply of a tube of clay, an inch in diameter, bent
at a right or acute angle, and constricted at the middle; from end to
end it measures four to seven inches; one side is crammed with tobacco,
“Tootoon i Koordi;” a coal is placed on it, and it is passed from hand to
hand till the contents are burnt out. It is a very primitive pipe.
Enough of pipes. By five all the visitors had gone; we dined at seven,
and I retired to sleep in a comfortable bed.
At about five[4] next morning I am roused by—
“Chai, sahib” (tea, sir); and a lordly individual, with huge mustachios,
a black lambskin cap, a brown cloth inner coat, a blue cloth outer coat,
a broad belt, and a long “kummer” (or straight broad-bladed sword),
dark-blue “shulwar” (what an American calls pants, and an outfitter
pyjamas), and his stockinged feet—his shoes were outside my door—places a
cup of tea, some twice-baked sweet biscuit, of delicious crispness, and
some marmalade, at my side, and departs. He soon returns with a second
cup of tea and a kalian.
As I am a griffin, he draws my attention to the latter being—“Welly good
thing, kalian.”
He then goes through a pantomime suggesting sleep, talking all the time
to me in Persian. I take his advice.
At eight he wakes me, and I find he has a warm tub ready for me. I dress
once again in the clothes of ordinary life, and go down, to find no one
about, for Major S⸺ has gone to the office, and taken the Colonel with
him.
However, my especial chief, Mr. B⸺, soon appears, accompanied by his
big black dog “Topsy,” who comes into all the rooms and sits on all the
settees: there is a fine sense of liberty in this. Mr. B⸺ warns me that I
must not hope to make anything by practice—that he never did, and I never
shall; but that there is a fine field for gratuitous work.
He then explains to me the Persian system of medicine. It has its
advantages in its delightful simplicity. All diseases are cold or hot.
All remedies are hot or cold. A hot disease requires a cold remedy, and
_vice-versâ_.
Now, if the Persian doctor is called in, and has any doubt as to the
nature of the disorder, he prescribes a hot remedy, let us say; if the
patient gets better, he was right; if worse, then he prescribes a cold
remedy, and sticks to it. He thus gets over all need for diagnosis, all
physiological treatment, and he cannot, according to his own lights, be
wrong.
His prescriptions contain a multitude of mostly obsolete and inert
drugs, ten being a small number of ingredients, twenty an ordinary one.
Before he is summoned, an omen is taken by the patient and his friends,
as to who shall be called in; when he has seen his patient, another is
taken, as to whether his advice shall be followed or not. His fee is a
few pence, or more generally he undertakes the case on speculation; _so
much_—of which he is lucky if he gets half—if the patient gets well;
nothing if he doesn’t.
Most of the relatives, friends, and neighbours prescribe various homely,
or at times, powerful remedies, which are all as a rule tried.
Quiet by the sick-bed is unknown; in fact, the patient used to fuss
and noise would be depressed by it. And remedies and contrivances of a
barbarous nature, such as putting a patient in fresh horse-dung, sewing
him up in a raw hide, are the rule rather than the exception.
Usually the European doctor is distrusted, only called in when the
patient is breathing his last, or by the very rich or very poor.
Mr. B⸺ gave me one very good piece of advice. “You will go to
Hamadan—with the Persians novelty is everything. Strike while the iron is
hot, and before the novelty is worn off, and you—well, you will get lots
of experience.”
I was astonished and incredulous—_it was all true_.[5]
We visited the telegraph-office, and looked round the Colonel’s garden,
returning to breakfast at eleven, and we sat down to a substantial
_déjeuner à la fourchette_, with country wines, and tea for those who
preferred it. It was followed by the inevitable kalian and coffee.
I wanted much to see the Zoological Gardens, but we were told that the
Shah had turned the beasts loose. We, however, decided to go, and we
found it so—they were all loose.
The leo-panther, a cross between the lion and panther, a lovely animal
like an immense cat, very tame, allowing one to pat him; two lions, a
bear, two tigers (young ones), walking about with the antelopes and wild
sheep. I must say the presence of the tigers was not quite pleasant.
There is a pretty building—a sort of summer pavilion—here, belonging to
the king, well worth seeing.
A curious incident occurred as Major S⸺, Mr. M⸺, Mr. B⸺, and I were
walking home from these Zoological Gardens; we were crossing a bit of
desert plain behind the gardens towards the Major’s house. On a sudden we
saw come from under the corner of the garden wall at a shambling trot—a
big tawny animal; to discover that it was a lioness was instantaneous,
and it was coming our way. B⸺, with whom discretion was the better part
of valour, did not hesitate; like the last of the Horatii, he “vowed
revenge, and to pursue it fled.”
We kept on, but fear was in all our hearts—I know it was in mine,
possibly the Major was exempt—but we _walked very fast_, looking ever and
anon at the advancing _lioness_. There was apparently no mistaking the
shambling pace of the wild beast; as it got nearer it turned out to be a
big dog. Of course when we arrived at the house we all laughed at B⸺.
The Major’s dignity and profession forbade his running, Mr. M⸺, as a
diplomat, never of course did anything in a hurry, so couldn’t run, and
as they were present I didn’t like to run, though I itched to do it. Of
course, B⸺ said he _knew_ it was a dog, and ran to frighten _us_; if so,
his simulation of terror was _almost lifelike_.
In the evening we dined at the English Mission,[6] where there is a
billiard-table—my last game for some time, I fancy.
CHAPTER IV.
TEHERAN.
The Gulhaek Road—Visit to a virtuoso—His story—Persian
New Year—Persian ladies—Titles—The harem—Its
inhabitants—A eunuch—Lovely visions—The Dervish—The great
festival—Miscellaneous uniform—At the Court of Persia—The
Shah—The ceremony—Baksheesh—Rejoicings.
I passed a fortnight in Major S⸺’s house, and gradually got some sort of
smattering of colloquial Persian; but I could not see much of the place,
for I had no servant of my own, and, though a horse was always at my
disposal, not knowing the language, I was unable to go out alone, and was
forced to content myself with rides on the “Gulhaek Road” with my chief,
Mr. B⸺.
This “Gulhaek Road” was the usual ride, simply because it was at that
time the only attempt at a road on our side—or, in fact, any side—of
Teheran. It led past the Kasr-i-Kajar, one of the royal palaces, to
Gulhaek, where the English Legation summered, and also to the other
numerous villages at the foot of the mountains, at each of which a
foreign legation during the summer hung out its ensign; as Zergendeh,
where the Russians lived; Tejreesh, the French, &c.
One visit we paid, to a gentleman who had been many years in the Persian
service, was rather amusing. Our host was an old Frenchman who held an
appointment as instructor in French and translator to the Shah, and was
a Mahommedan. I do not know whether the account I heard of his mode of
life was true or not. It was that he proceeded to Hamadan every year, and
invested in two wives; as the spring came round he divorced them, and
made his annual excursion, returning with two more. He was a very cheery
old man, and evidently derived great comfort from a barrel-organ that
stood in his room. Of his other comforts I know nothing, but I did see
two remarkably clean pairs of ankles and two remarkably fine pairs of
eyes. This was all one could make out of two closely-veiled females, who,
with many giggles, constantly bustled in and out of the room on divers
pretexts. The Frenchman had a large collection of valuable antiquities,
which he showed us, and they were all genuine. That was seventeen years
ago; now, in a hundred specimens from Persia, be they what they will,
ninety are shams. Amongst other treasures he had a fine balass ruby as
big as a florin, on which was cut an intaglio of a Sassanian king, which
was, I believe, afterwards purchased by Mr. Alison (then Her Majesty’s
Minister) for a large sum. At that time the craze for objects of oriental
art had not set in, and the big tiles we saw (or bricks) of _reflet
métallique_, with raised inscriptions, were such as one seldom sees
nowadays, save in national collections.
Our host’s history had doubtless been a checkered one, and I was told on
good authority that he had a faithful page who waited on him, and—gaily
dressed as a boy-pipebearer, a favourite attendant with the wealthy of
the capital—attended his master wherever he went. The page was a lady
in disguise, and a Mussulman; but, alas! this romantic episode could
not be allowed to continue. Some busybody betrayed him to the priests,
he and the lady were arrested, and he had the usual choice of Islam or
death. Under the circumstances he chose the former, and retained, under
an outward conformance to the tenets of Mussulmanism, a practical power
of jollity and “keeping it up” which few of the most advanced _viveurs_
could rival. I was afterwards led to understand that the French Minister
of the day at the Court of Persia had the power, but not the will, to
protect the poor fellow against the very unpleasant choice given him.
Years sober us all, and I saw the gentleman long afterwards, a most grave
and reverend seigneur.
The Persian New Year was about to commence, and, as there is always a
jubilee reception of all the foreign ambassadors by the Shah, it was
decided that Colonel G⸺ should be presented at it by the minister, and
I too was to have the pleasure of seeing the splendours of the Persian
Court; after which Major S⸺, who was going to Baghdad on duty, kindly
promised to allow me to accompany him as far as Hamadan, where I should
enter on my active duties.
One morning my medical chief asked me if I should like to visit the
anderūn, or ladies’ quarter, of a great Persian nobleman?
“As you are going down country you probably won’t have the chance again;
and I have seen such things too often for it to be any pleasure to me.”
Of course I was delighted. I hurriedly put on a long-tailed coat,
which is _de rigueur_ in visiting a Persian house, our short ones
being considered by them as extremely indecent. I had goloshes on over
my boots, and rode off with one of B⸺’s servants to the house of the
Eyn-ul-Molk (eye of the state); such titles, not being hereditary ones,
are usual among the statesmen and great officials of Persia.
“The Sword of the State,” “The Pillar of the Kingdom,” “The Shadow of the
King,” are all titles in actual use; they are sufficiently high-sounding
and poetical even to satisfy a Persian’s sense of dignity.
No sooner is a prince born, than the king proceeds to give him a title,
which as he grows in dignity and years is often changed for a higher one;
thus, when I came to Persia, Sultan Massūd Mirza, the eldest son of the
king, was known as Yemeen-u-dowlet, or Sword of the State; this some ten
years afterwards, when the young man became a real power in the kingdom,
was changed to Zil-es-Sultan, or Shadow of the King.
On reaching the house of Eyn-ul-Molk, I was at once conducted to his
presence, given a chair, and treated with great consideration. I removed
my goloshes at the door of his apartment. An interpreter, who spoke
pigeon French, informed me that one of the ladies was ill, and that I had
better see her and prescribe.
The Eyn-ul-Molk was a blear-eyed, venerable man of evidently high
position, very rich and very anxious; as the interpreter put it,
the patient was _trop jolie pour mourir_, and my expectations were
considerably aroused.
I was handed over to a white eunuch, who seemed to be troubled with all
the ills that flesh is heir to, and who grunted and grumbled a good deal
as he led me towards the part of the house set apart for the habitation
of the ladies.
After passing through several yards and passages, we came to a low door
with a curtain. My guide entered, and raised the curtain, previously
shouting “Bero! bero!” (be off, be off).
A crowd of children and negresses scuttled off into the various rooms
which surrounded a well-kept garden, with beds of flowers and playing
fountains, some thirty yards by fifteen.
Those who did not go out of sight drew down the big sheets of printed
calico that covered their heads, turning themselves into faceless
bundles, terminated in bare legs visible to the knee, with feet either
bare or thrust into tiny slippers; even the very little girls had veils,
though they did not cover their faces, and were mostly pretty little
round-faced things, with large eyes, and fringes of black hair cut across
their foreheads.
I had been told not to appear to notice anything, as that would be
interpreted as a desire to _look at_ the inhabitants of the anderūn,
which would be considered the height of bad breeding. So I kept my eyes
discreetly fixed on the ground, feeling certain that I should find plenty
of time for thorough investigation.
The old eunuch took me into a room, beautifully carpeted, and bare of all
furniture save one chair, on which I was directed to sit.
He left me, and I noticed that the room was decorated with small mirrors
let into elaborately cut plaster-of-Paris work; the walls were so covered
with small facets of mirror that one could hardly see anything of the
white plaster, which was arched at the ceiling, arch within arch, in
the manner so familiar to us in the decoration of the Alhambra; but a
peculiarly chaste effect was produced, for neither colour nor gilding
was used—only pure white plaster and mirror. In many places there were
panels, where plaster-work, cut (not moulded) in high relief, showed
patterns whose effectiveness could not be denied. In fact, the result
was one of chastened splendour quite new to me. The doors, which were
of polished walnut-wood, were covered by curtains of bright colours of
Yezd silk, some six feet by four, simply suspended in front of them. The
window, which occupied one entire end of the room, was composed of small
pieces of glass of all the colours of the rainbow, set in a wooden frame
of a geometrical pattern of a very elaborate nature; as the window was
some fourteen feet by ten, and no piece of glass was more than two inches
square in size, some idea may be formed of the enormous amount of work in
such a piece of carpentry. The wood employed in such work is plane, and
it does not warp.
This window was made in three compartments; each one was made to draw up
when required, thus giving a full view of the garden; all were, however,
at present down, and the coloured light which entered produced a very
rich effect—a relief, too, from the strong sunlight outside.
Round three sides of the room were nummuds, or felt carpets, some two
inches thick; as one walked on them, it was like going over the softest
turf; they were light-ochre in colour, with a pale-blue pattern inlaid.
In the centre was a carpet some twenty feet by nine. I had never seen
such a carpet; it was very beautiful, but of very subdued colours, and of
a rather large pattern.
In each of the three walls there were three recesses or takhjahs, a
yard from the ground, and in each of these was placed a glass vase of
narcissus blooms; as every vase contained some hundred stems, the perfume
was somewhat overpowering.
The eunuch now returned, seated himself on the ground at my side, and a
black woman, of hideous aspect, brought me a water-pipe.
While I was smoking it, the curtain at one of the doors was lifted, and
two young ladies entered, aged from sixteen to eighteen, though they
seemed some three or four-and-twenty to me. I must acknowledge that I
was unprepared for such a free display of loveliness, and it was the
first time I ever saw Persian ladies in their very becoming, if slightly
indelicate, home-dress.
Their feet and legs were bare; their skirts were _bouffés_ by a number
of under-skirts such as are usually worn by the ballet on our operatic
stage; but instead of these under-garments being white and gauzy, they
were of silk, and of all colours. The outer skirt was of silk also—in
the one case pale pink, in the other pale blue—with gold patterns on
them, and these voluminous skirts barely reached their knees. Each
lady wore a small zouave jacket of bright-coloured gold-embroidered
velvet, with tight-fitting sleeves, which buttoned from the elbow with a
multitude of small silver buttons, but these buttons were not fastened.
A gold-embroidered gauze shirt was worn under this jacket that left, I
am sorry to say, nothing to the imagination; the sleeves of it were wide
and open. Each lady had tied a gold-embroidered silk kerchief, called
a “chargāt,” over her head, fastened by a brooch at the chin; each had
a fringe of hair over her forehead, and each had a big love-lock, which
came from under her kerchief, at the middle of her cheek. Long tresses of
black hair came below their waists.
Both were good-looking plump girls, in robust health. Both giggled, and
both were full of fun.
The one who was supposed to be ill had not coloured a very rosy pair of
cheeks; the other was heavily rouged. Their eyelashes were darkened with
antimony, but their eyebrows were unpainted. The Persian woman’s eye
is usually very dark and large, and the painting the edges of the lids
produces a very languishing effect.
After talking to the eunuch for some minutes, in which the old fellow
evidently was calling these very gushing ladies to order, they suddenly
plumped down on their knees in front of me, and compelled me to feel
_both_ their pulses, look at _both_ their tongues, examine their throats,
and a second time to feel their pulses at the other wrist.
As I understood very little Persian, and neither they nor the eunuch
anything but that language, it was very difficult to make out what was
the matter. One thing was very certain—they looked upon the whole matter
as a very good joke; and seemed inclined to torment the eunuch and make
great fun of me.
At last one lady showed me a flea-bite on a very round and shapely arm,
which literally jangled with glass bangles and gold bracelets. As this
was the most serious symptom I had yet seen, I began to think I had
better retire, when tea was brought in by a young negress.
The ladies, the eunuch, and myself, all partook, but the two ladies did
so with shrieks of laughter, in which the negress joined.
Suddenly a cry of “Aga! aga!” (the master, the master) was raised, and I
saw the Eyn-ul-Molk coming up the garden. The two indiscreet ones became
at once staid matrons of the severest type. They sprang to the other side
of the room, they drew their kerchiefs, or rather the corners of them,
over their faces, leaving the eyes alone visible; and the young negress
who had brought the tea became a statue of propriety in ebony, pulling
her big print veil over her mouth till she looked like a living bolster.
The old nobleman came in, and I was made to feel again the pulses of
my patient, and again look at her tongue. But nothing but her eyes and
tongue were now visible, and both ladies pretended to look on the infidel
doctor with horror. They answered their husband’s questions only in a
whisper, and in a few minutes I followed the Eyn-ul-Molk to the “berūni,”
or general apartments. I noticed that these were furnished with much less
luxury than the women’s side.
I now managed to find out that the fair sufferer had that morning very
early had a slight attack of intermittent fever, and, with the help of
the interpreter, I said that I would prescribe on getting home.
The farewell pipe was brought, and I retired, I trust, gracefully. Thus
ended my first visit to a Persian patient.
I suppose that my remedies were successful, for, though I was not asked
to attend again, I received a plate of oranges and two dried salmon as a
fee, with a polite message of thanks in a day or two.
As this visit had occupied some four hours in all, I came to the
conclusion that I should not add much to my income by private practice,
the result of an attendance on the wife of a great noble being so small
in a money point of view; and though interesting at the time from its
novelty, yet I felt that that would soon pass off.
I had been regularly robbed of my rest, after the first few dreamless
nights that one has at the end of a long journey, by a sort of hooting
sound, followed by cries of “ya huc, h-u-u-u-c.” These noises were
repeated at irregular intervals all through the night, and I found also
that they occurred in the day-time whenever Major S⸺ entered or left the
house. They proceeded from the Major’s dervish, and they grew louder and
more frequent day by day.
The dervishes, or wandering mendicants, are persons who, from laziness
or inclination, take a vow of poverty, either for a time or permanently.
They form various colleges or sects, and have recognised heads
(“mūrsheds”) to whom they show great deference. It is extremely difficult
to find out what their precise tenets are, for the more learned among
them have a great disinclination to discussing religious matters with
the infidel, while the more ignorant seem, when sane, to have really no
religion, _save that of doing no work_. In many ways they resemble the
monks of old amongst ourselves, though, as—in Persia at least—they seldom
live in communities, “wandering friars” would be a safer comparison.
Persians as a rule dislike and despise them, but they fear to offend
the masses by showing it, and cede to them a great show of deference.
The more respectable simply wander about, obtaining free food and
lodging in any town they may pass through. Others combine the profession
of travelling mountebank and dealer in charms with that of religious
mendicancy.
Many are clothed all in white, having taken a vow to that effect; and
most of them refrain from shaving or from cutting the hair. All, or
nearly all, wear a tall cap of felt or cloth, shaped like a sugar-loaf,
and ornamented by inscriptions of texts from the Koran. Most of them
carry a carved almsholder, which is generally composed of a huge nut
elaborately carved, and suspended by brass or silver chains from the
waistband. A steel axe is often carried, and a panther or deer-skin worn.
All affect a striking and eccentric appearance, and all have a lean and
travel-worn air, save some few, who merely affect the costume, and are
dervishes only in dress.
One man who used to haunt the Gulhaek Road was entirely naked, and was a
most importunate and offensive beggar. A European got into some trouble
on this man’s account, for on his accosting him with great importunity,
and then proceeding to curse him because his demands were ungratified,
the despised infidel administered several lashes with the long thong of
his hunting-crop.
Another celebrated dervish, who is a man of some property, draws a good
pension from the Shah, and is sent yearly to some shrine to pray for the
king, his expenses being defrayed from the royal purse. He perpetually
rotates his head, after the manner of the harlequin of the old school,
and incessantly vociferates in a loud voice, _Ali Oh! Ali Oh!_ As he is
always bareheaded, and an old man rather inclined to corpulence, the
result is not edifying; but his perquisites must be very large, as he is
well known to possess the royal favour. Provincial governors and local
magnates treat royally “him whom the king is delighted to honour.” I
have seen this man roll his head continuously and vociferate his cry,
merely pausing for breath, for three hours at a stretch: the power of
doing this continuously can only have been attained by long practice.
His journeys over all Persia are so frequent, and he is so well known,
that in every large town great crowds turn out to gaze on and follow “Ali
Oh!”, by which name the man is always known.
A striking appearance is attained at all hazards; often the clothing
being merely a pair of short drawers, an antelope, panther, or tiger-skin
being slung across the shoulder, and an axe or huge club, often armed
with spikes, being almost invariably carried.
When a dervish meets a horseman or any one of condition he offers him in
the politest manner a flower, or even a leaf or blade of grass; as a rule
it is accepted and a trifle given. At other times the dervish will simply
stretch out his hand or his almsholder, and favour the passer-by with a
steady stare, the word “huc” (my right) being suddenly ejaculated.
Dervishes are often professional story-tellers, the costume being merely
donned for effect; or, as in the case of a highly-gifted story-teller of
my acquaintance, one Aga Nusserulla of Shiraz, a man who earned a good
living by his erudite and interesting tales, the cap only was worn, and
that merely when engaged in his public recitals; he also carried the big
iron axe, with which he gesticulated in a manner really graceful and
artistic.
I often, as I grew more acquainted with Persian, had this man in to
beguile the tedium of the long evenings, and he would sit by the hour
under the orange-trees, rattling off an endless story freely interspersed
with poetical recitations, which were always apposite and well given—in
fact, they were intoned. He never allowed the interest of his tales to
flag, and never left off, save at a point so interesting as to ensure a
request for his attendance the succeeding evening, adopting the principle
of the lady of the ‘Arabian Nights.’ I frequently, on passing through the
Maidan, or public square, of Shiraz, saw Aga Nusserulla surrounded by a
gaping crowd of peasants, porters, and muleteers squatting in a circle,
he striding up and down and waving his axe as he told his story of love
or fairyland; then he recognised my presence by merely the slightest
drop of his eyelid, for his harvest of coppers would have been blighted
had he betrayed to his gaping listeners his intimacy with a “Feringhi”
(“Frank”—the term used in Persia for all Europeans _to their face_; that
of “Kaffir,” or “unbeliever,” being carefully kept for speaking of them
in their absence).
The tales told in the bazaar to the villagers were mostly bristling with
indecency; but the dervish never transgressed in this respect on getting
a hint from me that that sort of thing was unpleasing, and his stories
were always of great interest, intensely pathetic at times, and at others
very comic. His power of imitation was great; the voices of his old men
and women were unmistakable, while the sex of the lovers was equally
distinct, and his laugh was infectious and sympathetic.
Another dervish I knew was a man six-feet-six in height, who was
possessed of the sounding title of “King Panther” (Shah Paleng).
This man’s only title to respect was his great height and startling
appearance, for he was but a stupid and pertinacious beggar, after all.
I had the misfortune to make his acquaintance, having selected him as a
good photographic type; I got my type, but could not get rid of my model,
always finding the fellow seated in my courtyard, engaged apparently in
religious meditation. It was only by the strongest remonstrance with my
servants that I could get him kept out of the house, and even then he
used to haunt my door.
Dervishes, as a rule, have many vices. They have very often vague ideas
of _meum_ and _tuum_, and debauch and rob the wives of the villagers by
tricks; in fact, their holiness is more believed in by the women than the
men throughout Persia. Many are drunkards, others take opium; this is
often the cause of their haggard appearance.
Others indulge in the smoking or drinking of bhang, or Indian hemp, and
when under the intoxicating influence of this drug, a state which is
induced prior to the coming-on of the stupefying effect, they have been
guilty of great and dreadful crimes.
In Shiraz they were credited with nightly orgies and the celebration of
unknown rites, the mysteries and horrors of which were probably much
exaggerated, being possibly merely debauches of smoking and drinking.
So common is the condition of the dervish in Persia, that in each
of the big towns there is a shop appropriated to the sale of their
paraphernalia of tiger-skins, axes, embroidered hats, &c.
The vows seem simply to consist of those of poverty and obedience to
a chief, with a payment of a portion of the alms extracted from the
charitable to him. There is no vow of continence; and, on the whole, a
dervish may be generally said to imply an idle “vagrom” man, who lives by
imposing on the good-nature of others.
We were approaching the Aid-i-No-Ruz, or festival of the New Year,
when it is the custom of the dervishes to erect a sort of tent at the
street-door of any personage, and to remain in it till dismissed with a
present.
Major S⸺, as an undoubted personage, had a dervish sent to his house. He
had suffered from the infliction before, and had bought himself off on
that occasion by a gift of fifty kerans (two pounds), but this time he
was determined to grin and bear it, thinking that by making a stand he
would escape a similar infliction in the future.
The chief of the dervishes indicates to his subordinates the houses that
they are to besiege, and they are allotted to the various members of
the fraternity according to seniority—the king, the prime minister, the
chancellor, and so on, downwards.
When I say that every man of standing had his dervish, it will be seen
that there were many of the brotherhood at that time in Teheran.
Every foreign minister had one at his door, and I am sure that any
Persian of consideration would have been very loth to be without this
very visible sign of greatness.
The Major’s dervish was to be found in the street day and night, in or
beside his so-called tent; this consisted of some two yards of thin
canvas, pegged into the wall at the side of the outer gate, and held down
by three pieces of string. The dervish sat by day on an antelope-skin,
and by night (if he ever did sleep) slept on it in his clothes.
As any one, visitor or host, entered or left the house, a shrill blast
was blown on a buffalo-horn, and the man emitted his monotonous “Huc—yah
huc” and extended his palm. He had a small pot of live charcoal before
him; and smoking, and his so-called garden (a sort of playing at
gardening, six twigs of box-tree being planted in a little heap of dust,
and an orange being placed between each), occupied a good deal of his
time.
The annoying part of it was that he was _always there_, and that we
could never forget, or fail to notice this fact, from the persistent
salutations of “Salaam, sahib!” smilingly given, or the eternal cries and
blasts of the buffalo-horn, by which he made night hideous and the day
unbearable. As time wore on and the New Year approached, the blasts and
cries became more prolonged and more frequent, and the whole household
became more and more depressed. We all knew that the servants were
providing the man with two square meals a day and unlimited tobacco, of
course quite contrary to orders.
But I think the greatest sufferers were myself and a friend, whose
bedroom-window was above the so-called tent of this demon in human form.
Patience has its limits, and one morning we determined to, as we hoped,
induce our bugbear to shift his quarters. We poured our two tubs into
one, and carefully choosing our moment, suddenly emptied the contents on
the tent.
Down it came on the head of the dervish, putting out his fire-pot, and
producing a very free succession of invocations to saints.
But, alas! when we went out in the morning, hoping to find him gone,
we were received with “Salaam, sahib!” and a solo on the horn that for
volume, Harper, of trumpet fame, might have vainly attempted to emulate.
We slunk off, but vowed further vengeance. The next day we determined on
a baptism of fire, and we carefully stoked our “mangal,” or brazier, till
it gave off a fine red heat, and was quite full of live charcoal. At that
time, when there were few fire-places in the rooms of Persian houses, it
was usual to employ these braziers to warm the rooms.
We did not impart our design to the Major, who would doubtless have
disapproved, but as soon as the coast was clear, and we were sure that
the dervish was in his tent, we prepared for action.
We had got the brazier into position, when the wretch commenced one of
his frantic solos; down came the contents, some twenty pounds of live
charcoal and wood-ashes.
The dervish laughed at such things, and blew a defiant blast; but in a
moment the charcoal, having burnt through the tent-roof, descended on
his flowing locks, and, amidst deriding shouts of “Khock ber ser um!”
(ashes on my head), a favourite form of imprecation with Persians, from
my companion, the dervish emerged considerably the worse.
We were delighted, and felt that we had been at last too many for him.
Though our minds were not quite free from visions of a severe wigging
from the Major, we felt we had triumphed, and hurried down to tell our
tale.
We then found that the dervish had exhausted even the Major’s patience,
and had received his present and gone. We maintained a discreet silence.
Whether the Major heard of our two attacks I never knew, but the man was
gone—tent, garden, fire-pot, oranges, and all. Perhaps the treatment he
got was considered too bad; anyhow, _he was gone_, and we ceased to hear
nightly “the voice which cried, Sleep no more.”
A few days after the above little drama came the Aid-i-No-Ruz, or New
Year’s Day: the excitement was great. It appeared that uniform of some
sort was _de rigueur_, and Colonel G⸺ kindly lent me a blue frock-coat
with many frogs, and a gold-laced cap; a pair of uniform inexpressibles
with a broad red stripe, were got from some one else; a cavalry sabre and
a pair of buckskin gloves completed the semi-military appearance which is
possessed by officers of the English army on the stage; there they always
live in uniform, _off it never_; a pair of goloshes were also donned!
I was only too grateful to complete my nondescript rig-out, for,
determined as I was to see the sight, and uniform of some sort being a
_sine quâ non_, Mr. Alison, Her Majesty’s Minister, had kindly placed
at my disposal the full-dress costume of a Highland chief, in which all
my friends were dying to see me, and in which I should no doubt have
presented a striking appearance; and rather than not go, I was determined
to don even so appalling a costume as that worn by the traditional
Highlander.
I had girded on my sword, when my medical chief entered in a frock-coat
similar to mine, but with fewer frogs, and a cap with much narrower lace.
We were doubtless filled with mutual admiration, but my chief’s
eye soon fell on my wealth of frogs, for was not I disguised as a
lieutenant-colonel, while he was merely a travesty of a captain?
“This will never do, Wills. Why, _I_ shall appear to be _your_
subordinate!”
There was no doubt of the justice of the remark. My plumage was decidedly
the handsomer. I consented to a change to the less-befrogged and humbler
coat; but my chief had long arms, and what was short in the sleeve for
me was only half-way down his fore-arm, and he showed all his cuff and a
good deal of shirt-sleeve. He looked now undoubtedly my senior, but also
_as if he had grown considerably_ since that coat was made. We had to
stick to our caps, as my head was too big to get into his.
We all collected, and we two doctors caused some amusement by our very
martial array; in fact, our get-up was a considerable likeness to that of
“the bold gendarmes.”
Off we went, all on horseback, to the English Mission (or Legation), and
we joined the procession of his Excellency, Mr. Alison, who was doubtless
disappointed not to have in his train a spurious Highland chief.
The streets were crowded; every one, to the poorest, in new clothes,
for the Persian on this auspicious day always puts on a new suit. Many
of the streets and bazaars were lined by soldiers of rather unmartial
appearance, and most of them were preparing plumes of white cocks’
feathers, which they got ready with a knife, a bit of stick, and some
string.
The din was tremendous. Gradually we neared the palace, and, getting down
at one of the side doors of it, we entered in the order of our rank, the
ambassador and Colonel G⸺, in full uniform, with cocked hats, leading
the procession; then came the secretaries, then the mission doctor, the
major, then my chief, while I came last and least, the junior of all.
Passing through many courtyards crowded with grandees and their servants,
we came into a handsome apartment well provided with chairs; there we
found the other ambassadors and their suites, viz., the French, Russian,
and Turkish, who had preceded our party; they were in full dress, and
wore all their orders.
Pipes were handed round, and then trays of sherbet (iced water flavoured
with syrups) and coffee; also a profusion of sweetmeats.
After some half-hour, the master of the ceremonies—who was arrayed in the
tall turban of Cashmere shawls, the long robe of the same, trimmed with
fur, and the red stockings, that constitute the Court dress of Persia;
decorated with numerous orders and the portrait of his sovereign set in
diamonds—preceded Mr. Alison, who, as the “doyen” of the ambassadors,
took precedence of the other nationalities; and ushered us in.
We entered a garden, up the path of which were laid carpets, and in the
midst was a fountain; various little formal beds, filled with narcissus
and planted with shrubs, occupied the rest of the space, while a long
“hauz,” or enclosed basin, raised some six inches from the ground, ran
down the centre; the water in this, which was quite still, was ornamented
with an elaborate _pattern_, formed on its surface by sprinkling handfuls
of rose-leaves, and the effect was pretty in the extreme. All round the
edge of the hauz were placed a continuous row of oranges.
A few of the royal body-guard, or “gholams,” with their guns in red cloth
cases, slung over their shoulders, stood about in motionless groups;
also some of the king’s ministers and more favoured servants chatted in
whispers; while at an open window sat the Shah-in-Shah, or King of kings
and Asylum of the Universe.
When we had all entered we made a military salute, to which the Shah
vouchsafed no reply; after a few more paces, we halted again and made
a second; and then we were ushered into the room itself in which his
Majesty deigned to receive us. Here we all formed in single file in order
of rank behind our respective ambassadors, thus forming four files.
The Shah was on our entrance no longer sitting, but lounged against
a table; on it lay his jewelled sword, which, covered as it was with
diamonds, literally glittered in the strong sunbeams, these also
illuminated the jewels with which the king really blazed; the royal
plume, or “jika,” of white feathers and diamonds trembled on the black
hat of finest Astrachan lambskin, shimmering with rays of many-coloured
light.
I learnt afterwards that as the Shah, _if he sits himself_, is obliged
to give seats to the ambassadors, he avoided it by not sitting down, but
lounged in the manner described. There was nothing particularly striking
in the room; it was much over-decorated, and in the most barbarous taste;
the carpets, however, were valuable.
The ambassadors now all gave the king a military salute, and so did the
suites and hangers-on. To this his Majesty returned a not over-gracious
nod. The king now addressed them in turn, and each ambassador replied
through his dragoman or Oriental secretary, replying to the questions as
to his sovereign’s health, and congratulating the Shah on his festival.
Mr. Alison presented a new secretary, and introduced Colonel G⸺, who was
favourably received, and in fluent and graceful Persian he replied to the
Shah’s queries, and made somewhat of a speech on telegraph matters, which
was also graciously received, the Shah assenting frequently. The king now
unceremoniously left the room, and every one saluted.
We all hurried off to see the great ceremony of the public salaam. We
were ushered pell-mell into a room that commanded on one side the court
of audience, on the other the public square of Teheran. In the former
were drawn up in rows, according to their degree, all the officers of
state, all the governors of provinces, all the generals and servants
of the Crown, the secretaries of various departments, and the foreign
employés, among whom I saw Mr. D⸺ and one of the signallers, of the
Telegraph Department.
We were told that in a few moments the Shah would lighten their
countenances by appearing in an open balcony above our heads.
The royal “farrashes,” or carpet-spreaders, armed with long wands of
unpeeled boughs, who surrounded the courtyard, began to beat the few
unauthorized onlookers at the far corners, and on a sudden the whole
crowd bowed nearly to the ground—a ceremony in which the unfortunate Mr.
D⸺ had to join _nolens volens_. This told us that the king had shown
himself.
The prostration was repeated a second and a third time. Then the Prime
Minister, having his rod of office, with many bows, mumbled a speech to
his Majesty; to which the king replied in a few words in a loud voice.
A priest in a green turban (being a Syud or descendant of the prophet)
now recited what was apparently a long prayer: a dress of honour on
a tray was immediately, by the king’s order, produced, and placed on
his shoulders; and this was no empty compliment, for I was told by an
experienced onlooker that the cloak was worth one hundred pounds or more.
Then a poet recited an ode, and got also a dress of honour; and then, at
the royal command, men bearing trays of gold coin distributed handfuls
to the officials, the number and size of the handful being in proportion
to rank; the bigger people, who stood in the front ranks, getting the
larger and more numerous handfuls. Even Mr. D⸺, who was in a back row,
got some seventy kerans (three pounds). The coins were gold, and very
thin, and are instituted for this special occasion; they are called
“shahis,” which is, literally, “king’s money,” and were worth some one
shilling and eightpence each. During the excitement and scramble that
the distribution occasioned, the king retired, and the orderly ranks of
Government servants became at once a seething crowd.
We lookers-on now crossed the room and stood at a balcony which commanded
the public square. This was kept clear by a double line of soldiers all
in new clothes for the occasion. The space was occupied by dancers,
buffoons, jugglers, wrestlers, sword-and-buckler men, and owners of
fighting sheep and bulls, with their animals; while in front of the big
pond or hauz, immediately below our balcony, stood twenty wretched Jews
in rags and tatters, prepared to be thrust head over heels into the water
for the royal delectation.
The king’s farrashes kept up showers of good-humoured blows on an
equally good-humoured crowd at all the entrances. Not less than fourteen
to sixteen thousand people were present; all were on the tiptoe of
expectation.
Suddenly a cannon from among a battery in the square was discharged, and
the king appeared. The entire crowd bowed to the ground three times; then
the people shouted and cheered, the dancers went through their antics,
the buffoons began their jokes, some forty pairs of wrestlers struggled
for mastery, among whom was the king’s giant, seven feet eight inches
high; gymnasts threw up and caught huge clubs, and showed feats of
strength and skill; the swordsmen engaged in cut and thrust, hacking each
other’s bucklers; the jugglers showed their sleight of hand; the fighting
bulls and sheep rushed at each other; the royal bands and the regimental
ones struck up different tunes; the zambūreks (or camel artillery)
discharged their little cannon; the Jews were cast into the tank, and on
coming out were again thrown in by the farrashes and executioners; while
the rest of the cannon fired away merrily in every direction; the bulls
got among the crowd, the women shrieked and the men shouted.
Handfuls of gold coin were thrown to the various performers, for which
they violently scrambled; and amidst the smoke and cries the king retired.
The royal salaam was over, and we struggled through the crowd within the
palace to our horses at the gate, and rode home through a happy mob,
having assisted at a great Persian festival.
I dined at the Russian, English, and French embassies several times at
Teheran. As the entertainments were European there is nothing to be
described.
CHAPTER V.
HAMADAN.
Start for Hamadan—Bedding—Luggage makes the man—Stages—Meet
Pierson—Istikhbals—Badraghah—Pierson’s house—Hamadan
wine—Mode of storing it—My horses—Abu Saif Mirza—His
stratagem—Disinterested services—Persian logic—Pierson’s
horse’s death—Horses put through their paces—I buy Salts and
Senna—The prince’s opinion—Money table—Edict.
A few days after the great festival Major S⸺, who was going down country,
kindly allowed me to accompany him as far as Hamadan. We started one
afternoon, doing the two first stages by sunset, and stopping at the
post-house at Karneabad.
The weather was fine, the roads and horses good. I had by this time
learnt to ride by balance only, and acquired the art of remaining in an
upright position on my steed whenever he suddenly dropped as if shot,
instead of going over his head by the force of momentum. The Major had
a few tinned provisions, which it had been impossible to get in a place
like Tiflis, and with a roast fowl or two our commissariat was well
provided. The intense cold was over, and I was glad to use my goggles
to protect my eyes during the middle of the day. We also never started
before the light was good, which made an immense difference in our
comfort.
I had invested in a native bridle, the severe bit of which enabled me
thoroughly to control my horses, and, being the one they were used to,
did not keep them in the perpetual state of fret that the European bit
did. My saddle-bags, too, were well packed and exactly the same weight,
so that I never had to get down to put them level, and they never annoyed
the horse.
I had my rugs, four in number, and the same size, sewn together down
one side and at the bottom, so that whichever side I might have to the
draught, and of this there is always plenty, I could have one blanket
under me, three over me, and the sewn edge to the wind, while, as the
bottom was sewn up, the blankets could never shift, and the open side
could be always kept to the wall. This arrangement, an original one, I
have never altered, for in hot weather, by lying on say three blankets,
one only was over me.
There is, however, one thing that I soon found out in travelling. To
thoroughly rest oneself it is needful to, firstly, undress and wear
a night-jacket and pyjamas; and, secondly, to sleep in a sheet. The
addition to one’s comfort is immense, particularly in warm weather, while
the extra weight of a sheet is not worth considering. An air pillow, too,
is a great luxury.
I have been in the habit of no longer using a waterproof sheet to keep my
blankets dry, but of rolling them tightly up, and then strapping them and
cramming them into an india-rubber soldier’s hold-all, which ensures a
dry bed, and straps handily to the saddle. This hold-all was the cause of
a rather amusing adventure.
On coming home once on leave, in a great hurry, I had left Persia
with only my hold-all, having given my saddle-bags and road kit to my
servant. I had come direct from Tzaritzin on the Volga to Boulogne
without stopping, but had to wait some hours on the tidal boat before she
started. I stepped on board and asked one of the men where the steward
was.
“Oh, he ain’t aboard yet, mate.”
“Can you get me a wash?”
“Come along a’ me, mate.” The man took me down to what seemed the
fo’cassel, and placed a bucket of water before me.
I said, “Come, is this the accommodation you give your first-class
passengers?”
The man roared with laughter.
“No yer doant, mate, no yer doant. I never seed no first-class passengers
with luggage like that,” pointing to my hold-all; and it was only on
producing my coupon book, that the man could be persuaded I was not a
deck passenger, and to take me to the saloon aft.
As I was covered with coal dust, and generally grimy—the opportunities
for washing being then not what they are now in Russia and Germany—the
hold-all had made the man sure that I was an impostor.
We came in the afternoon of the third day into Hamadan, having done the
stages in fair time. The journey was without incident, save that a string
of antelopes crossed the road in broad daylight some ten yards ahead of
us. As they appeared so suddenly, we neither of us thought of using our
revolvers. Hamadan looked pretty as we entered it, and was surrounded
by apparently interminable gardens. On turning a corner we came upon
Captain Pierson, under whom I was to serve, and of whose division I was
in medical charge. He had ridden out to meet us.
In the early days of the Persian Telegraph it was usual to ride out with
the departing, and to do the same to meet the coming guest.
This is the Persian custom of the “istikhbal,” or ceremonious riding out
to meet the new arrival; being a very important ceremony, regulated by
hard-and-fast rules: such as that the greater the personage, the further
must the welcomer travel; while the lesser the welcomer, the further must
he go. Thus, in the case of a new governor of Shiraz, the king’s son, the
big men rode out three stages, the ex-governor one, while some actually
went as far as Abadeh, or seven days’ journey; but these were mostly
merchants or small people.
Great fuss and parade is made, the condition of the incomer being denoted
by the grandeur of this “istikhbal,” or procession of welcome. In the
case of official personages, soldiers, both horse and foot, go out;
led-horses also are sent simply for show, splendidly caparisoned with
Cashmere shawls or embroidered housings on the saddles. And it is found
necessary, in the case of the arrival of ambassadors or envoys, such
as that of Sir F. Goldsmid (when on the duty of the definition of the
Seistan boundary), to stipulate that a _proper_ istikhbal shall be sent
out prior to the commissioners entering a large town.
There is another ceremony, that of the “badraghah,” or riding out with
the departing guest. This, however, is not so formal, and is less an act
of ceremony than one of friendship; however, it is a compliment that in
both cases is much appreciated, especially when shown by a European to a
native.
Latterly the Europeans have almost given up this riding out, which
practically is a great nuisance to those riding at an unusual or
uncomfortable time, _perhaps in the sun_, and when the arrival of the
guest is very uncertain; it is, too, very annoying, when tired with a
rapid chupper, and having ridden many hours on end, to be put on a very
lively horse, ready to jump out of his skin with condition, and to pull
one’s arms off.
As we had got in sooner than was expected, and were only some mile from
Pierson’s house, we did not change our horses for the fresh ones provided
by him, and after many turns and twists between high mud walls, we came
to the house, and here my travels ended for the time.
The courtyard was some twenty yards by thirty wide. A hauz or tank ran
the entire length, filled by a constant stream of running water, and on
either side of it was a long flower-bed sunk in the stone pavement, about
the same depth below it as the hauz was elevated above.
On a level with the ground in the basement were the cellars and servants’
quarters, and above this a platform ten feet from the ground, some four
yards broad, which extended the whole width of the courtyard. This was
covered by an enormous structure, consisting of a roof some six feet
thick, being painted wood mudded over a yard deep; and then under it a
hollow air-chamber, supported on three huge wooden octagonal columns,
likewise painted in red, blue, and yellow. Behind and beneath this talár,
or verandah, which was some thirty feet from floor to ceiling, was a
central room (orūssēe), elaborately painted and gilt in the vilest taste,
with a huge window (which could be kept wide open in hot weather) of
coloured glass, in small panes four inches by seven. This was the dining
and reception room.
On either side of this orūssēe, and having the talár still in front of
them, was a smaller apartment. One was Pierson’s bedroom, the other mine.
Thus in front of the three rooms was a covered platform, four yards by
twenty. On this during the summer, save when the sun was on it, we lived,
and when the sun was high the rooms were kept cool by the talár.
We soon sat down to a sumptuous dinner, and I tasted, for the first time,
Hamadan wine, of which I had heard many and different opinions. It was a
delicious pale, scented, straw-coloured wine, like a light hock; rather
too sweet, but apparently of no great strength. I soon found, however,
that in the latter idea I was much in error, for it was a wine that went
straight to the head, and remained there.
Delicious as it is, the fact of its newness—and it often will not
keep, a second summer generally turning it sour if in bottle—makes it
objectionable, for though it is light and delightful, especially when
iced, a headache surely follows even a third glass.
The natives, we found out in after years, are able to keep it in bulk,
and then the tendency to give an after headache goes away, but so does
the delicious flavour. In winter so cold is Hamadan, that the wine,
which is kept in huge jars holding two hundred maunds (or eight hundred
bottles), or even more, sunk half their depth in the ground, has to be
kept from freezing by making a hot-bed of fermenting horse-dung around
the upper part of these jars, and often these means fail; for I have
myself been present when blocks of frozen wine have been chopped out of
the jars for drinking; these plans of storing wine only refer to Hamadan:
in other Persian towns the wine, as soon as it is cleared, is placed in
carboys, holding from six to twenty-four bottles.
It is sold in Hamadan in baghallis, or native bottles, holding about a
pint and a half. They are of the very thinnest glass, and very fragile
_when empty_. One of these bottlefuls costs about fourpence—at least it
did when I was in Hamadan in 1869.
In a couple of days Major S⸺ left on his way to Baghdad, and Pierson
insisted on my remaining his guest, which I was only too glad to do, till
I could get servants, etc. of my own.
The first thing, however, was to buy a horse, as I could not draw my
horse allowance from Government till I had really a horse of my own, and
the three pounds a month was, considering the smallness of my pay, a
consideration. Of course at that time I knew nothing about horses, and
was fortunate in having the advice of Pierson. As soon as it was given
out that I wanted horses there was a permanent levée at our quarters of
all the owners of the lame, the halt and the blind, and their animals.
These men, however, were all sent to the right-about by Pierson, and at
last a dealer came with four likely young horses; these were examined and
pronounced sound. On their price being asked, one hundred tomans each was
demanded. I was disappointed, for this was exactly the sum (forty pounds)
that I was prepared to give for _two_ horses. But I was reassured by
Pierson, who made me understand that that was _always_ the price _asked_
for any beast worth having, and merely meant that the seller did not
mean to take less than one half the amount. I was told, too, that if one
wanted to buy a horse anywhere near its value _some weeks_ must be taken
in the negotiation. The matter ended in Pierson’s offering the dealer
fifty tomans for two of the animals, and the man leaving our courtyard
in simulated indignation, declining even to notice a bid so ridiculous.
However, as Pierson said we had not seen the last of him, I did not
despair.
Next morning, on coming out to breakfast, I saw our horse-dealer seated
with the servants, and as Pierson put it, “They are settling the amount
of commission they are each to get, and this commission they _will_ have;
ten per cent. is legitimate, more is robbery. So all we have to do is to
be very determined; if you can get any two of the four animals for your
limit you will do well, if not you must let them go.”
Pierson now sent for his head-man and told him that “I was to have two
serviceable horses for forty pounds, and that I should not pay a penny
more; so, as he knew the amount of modakel (profit) he and the rest of
the servants could make, he had better do the best he could for me, and
that _he_ (Pierson) would see that I was not done as to quality.” The man
cast up his eyes and retired.
While we were at breakfast a poor prince, Abu Saif Mirza, came, and
was invited to partake. Pierson told me that he was a very good fellow
indeed, and a grandson of Futteh-Ali Shah,[7] a former Shah of Persia,
but from the irregularity with which his very small pension was paid, he
had to live almost by his gun, and chance meals, such as the present.
Of course I could not understand what he said, but he fully entered into
the difficulty as to finding me a horse. And as _in Persia nothing can be
done without stratagem_, he suggested on the spot a means for bringing
the dealer to his senses; it was deep, “deep as the deep blue sea.” It
was simply this: he would exhibit his horse to Pierson and promise to
send it for trial to-morrow, naming a price just about its value, and
“then you will see all will be well.”
No sooner was breakfast over than the prince’s horse was brought into the
courtyard, stripped and examined, and the suggested arrangement made.
As it happened I afterwards bought this very horse for Pierson to make a
wedding present of, but he would have been more than I could manage at
the time, being a spirited beast and a puller. The Shahzadeh (prince)
took his departure, promising loudly to send his horse round in the
morning.
No sooner was he gone than the nazir, or head-servant, presented himself
and delivered to Pierson an oration somewhat of this sort. “May I
represent to the service of the sahib, that it would be very unwise to
purchase the horse of the prince? he is not young” (he was five years
old), “he is gone in the wind” (he was quite sound), “and his temper is
awful; besides this I have reason to know that he is worthless in every
respect” (he was one of the best horses I ever saw, and I knew him for
ten years). “Of course to me it would make a great difference, for the
prince has indeed offered me a handsome commission” (quite untrue),
“while from this poor dealer not a farthing can be wrung by the servants.
No! he would rather die than pay one farthing. So though the other
servants are loath to let a sale take place to my sahib’s friend, yet I,
as an old servant, and looking for a reward from my sahib for conduct so
disinterested, have after infinite trouble got the dealer to consent to a
hundred and fifty tomans for any two of his four horses.”
“Be off,” was the laconic reply of Pierson. “When we ride to-day, if the
dealer will sell for my price, let the horses be ready and I will see
them and ride them; if not he can go.”
The man sighed and replied: “Ah, I see, sahib, the prince has laughed at
your beard, and persuaded you to buy his worthless brute. I can’t offer
such terms to a respectable man like the dealer, but I will give the
message.”
I now saw the horse-dealer leave the courtyard with the air of an injured
man, and I feared I was as far off a purchase as ever. But Pierson
reassured me. I had plagued him to sell me one of his own large stud
which he wished to reduce, but he declined with a smile, saying he never
sold a horse to a friend unless he was a thorough judge, and that as I
knew nothing about horses he must decline, as I might repent when too
late; and though I pressed him a good deal, he would not relent. Few
men would have lost an opportunity to get rid of beasts they did not
require, but Pierson was a man in a thousand.
At that time he had eight horses in his stable, all good and all sound.
He had named them after heathen gods, Jupiter, Pluto, Saturn, Cupid,
Hercules, etc. But his pet nag, Apollo—a grey he had given one hundred
and twenty tomans, or fifty pounds, for, an enormous price in those
days in Persia—had a few weeks before caught his foot in a hole while
galloping over turf; horse and man came down with a crash; Pierson was
insensible; and when he came to himself he found, some four yards off,
his favourite lying dead with his neck broken.
He rode away on his groom’s horse, the man carrying his saddle and
bridle. On getting to the house he sent a gang to bury the poor beast,
but too late, for the villagers had taken off the skin and tail. Pierson
on telling me the story did it so pathetically, that he left off with wet
eyes, and I felt inclined to sob myself.
As we got ready for the afternoon ride, the horse-dealer and his four
horses appeared, and with a sigh he informed Pierson that he accepted
the terms, or nearly so. On getting out of the town the horses were
put through their paces. They were a big grey, with enormous mane and
tail, of not much breed, but in dealer’s condition, and a well-shaped
and strong-looking beast; an iron-grey, who plunged and shied and
was generally vicious, but really the most valuable of the four; a
fourteen-hand pure-bred Arab, with a huge scar of a spear-wound a foot
long on his shoulder, otherwise perfect, of angelic temper, but small
by the side of the Persian horses, as all Arabs are; his muzzle almost
touched his chest as he arched his neck, and his action was very high,
yet easy; he seemed an aristocrat compared to the rest; his thin and fine
mane and tail were like silk—he, too, was five. A big, coarse, raking
chestnut, that took all the boy who rode him could do to hold him, rising
four, completed the list.
Pierson kindly rode them all, and with considerable fear I did the same,
save the lively grey, which I wisely acknowledged to be too much for me.
The big chestnut bolted with me, but I stuck on. The other chestnut was
all I could wish, fast, paces good, no tricks, willing—but, then, the
scar. I did not wish to buy him on that account, but Pierson over-ruled
me, and I took his advice; he told me that in Persia a scar was nothing,
that I could ride the horse in comfort and safety, as he had no vices,
and that whenever I wished to sell I should lose very little. The raking
chestnut, as a young horse, Pierson told me was a speculation; he might
turn out well, he might not. And the grey—well, all I could get out of
Pierson was, that “he had a fine mane and tail,” which he certainly had,
and that “he was value, or nearly.” He was not a well-bred animal, and I
liked him, I fear, on account of the mane and tail; but he pulled. All
were entire horses.
Pierson wouldn’t let me buy the iron-grey, had I wanted to, as he said he
was dangerous, even to a good rider.
So the matter ended in my taking the chestnut for five hundred and fifty
kerans and the grey for six hundred and fifty. Pierson said the prices
ought to have been reversed. He was right. I had that chestnut Arab
ten years; he never was sick or sorry, and I never had to strike or
spur him; a pressure of the knee and a shake of the rein would make him
do his utmost. And he was a fast horse; small as he was he carried my
twelve stone comfortably, and as a ladies’ horse he was perfect, having a
beautiful mouth, while he followed like a dog, and nothing startled him
or made him shy. In the stable he was quiet, save to a new-comer, on whom
he always left his mark by a bite on the neck, and then, having asserted
his position, which was afterwards never disputed, he was always friendly
to stable companions. He never kicked. I gave him away at last, when I
left Persia on leave.
Next morning the “poor prince” called and looked over my purchases; he
approved the chestnut, but shook his head at the grey, saying he had
“ableh,” or leprosy, and that in time he would break down, pine, and die.
The only sign he had was a pink patch the size of a fourpenny-piece on
his black muzzle. “Give him back,” said the Prince.
“I can’t see anything wrong,” said Pierson. _His mane and tail decided
me._ I stuck to him, christening him “Salts”—the chestnut I called
“Senna.”
The custom in Persia is that, until a horse has been three nights _fed_
in the stable of a new master (unless specially stipulated to the
contrary before witnesses of respectability, or in writing) he may be
returned without giving any reason whatever, simply on the purchaser
repenting his bargain; this is often taken advantage of by the buyer
to return the animal in order to lower his price; the manœuvre seldom
succeeds, as the seller is prepared for it.
The European, if awake to his own interest, generally spends the three
days in giving the beast a good “bucketting” over ploughed land, when, if
there be any hidden defect, it comes out, and the animal can be returned.
We did this, but no fault showing itself, I paid my one hundred and
twenty tomans[8] (forty-eight pounds) and concluded the purchase.
CHAPTER VI.
HAMADAN.
Morning rides—Engage servants—Dispensary—A bear-garden—Odd
complaints—My servants get rich—Modakel—The distinction
between picking and stealing—Servants—Their pay—Vails—Hakim
Bashi—Delleh—Quinine—Discipline—I commence the cornet—The
result of rivalry—Syud Houssein—Armenians—Cavalry officer—Claim
to sanctity of the Armenians—Their position in the country—Jews.
As the weather got warmer we began morning rides; we used to start
regularly at six _A.M._ Pierson kindly gave me a hint occasionally, and
we had some very enjoyable canters about Hamadan, the environs of which
are very pretty and full of foliage; in this other Persian towns are
generally rather deficient. We usually managed to get in before the sun
got too high, had a second tub, and dressed for breakfast.
I engaged three servants, Abdul-Mahomed, personal or head-servant;
Abdullah, a groom-boy; and Ramazan, as sweeper and dispensary attendant.
As the staff under my official charge was very small, and they were
unmarried healthy men, my Government work was very trifling; but a
constant crowd at the door, desirous of seeing the new Hakim,[9] made me
anxious to take the advice given me while in Teheran, and make the most
of my opportunities ere the novelty had worn off. I gave out, then, that
I was prepared to see patients from eleven _A.M._, and a courtyard that
we did not use in any way, (it was originally the women’s quarter of our
house,) was kindly placed at my disposal by Pierson, who also gave me the
advantage of his knowledge of Persian as an interpreter.
I saw my servant was very busy indeed, and that all the morning a file
of people were flocking into the courtyard, in which I had installed my
dispensary. Precisely at eleven I proceeded to seat myself; what was my
astonishment to find some two hundred people sitting in groups, my two
servants vainly endeavouring to keep some sort of order; the noise was
great, and practical joking and laughter were in the ascendant.
Pierson’s presence, however, awed the rioters, and silence was after a
time obtained, some few of the more noisy among the males being ejected.
I soon found that many of the so-called patients had merely come from
curiosity, while others had old injuries to complain of, and did not
expect medicines, but miracles.
The replies to the question, “What is the matter?” were sometimes highly
ridiculous, one man informing me that he had a serpent in his inside,
while another complained of being bewitched.
Among the ladies, Pierson, who bravely stuck to his self-imposed
duty of interpreter, informed me that the principal request was for
aphrodisiacs, drugs to increase _embonpoint_, and cosmetics; while many
women of apparently great age were urgent for physic for improving their
appearance. Many cases of eye-disease presented themselves, and not a few
of surgical injury, which had been treated only in the most primitive
manner. It was only by four in the afternoon that I succeeded in getting
rid of the rabble-rout that had come to my dispensary.
Rome was not built in a day. As the novelty wore off and the sightseers
ceased to come, the sick, who generally amounted to from two hundred to
two hundred and fifty a day, more or less, became more tractable, and my
servants better able to manage them.
I made stringent rules as to seeing all in the order of their coming,
and separating the men from the women. Although I saw many thousands of
patients in Hamadan, yet I found that I made no appreciable addition to
my income; those who could pay, didn’t; and the only grist that came to
the mill my two men absorbed. These now bloomed out in silken raiment,
and my head-man, whose pay was twelve pounds a year, and clothe and feed
himself, actually kept a servant of his own, and adopted a slow and
dignified pace, which, as he day by day increased in wealth, became more
and more apparent.
I, after some weeks, on some provocation or other, determined to
discharge Ramazan, who immediately told me, with many protestations,
that on account of the great love he bore me he could not leave me, and
was desirous to stay at half-wages. On my remaining obdurate he wished
to stop on nothing a month and “find himself.” He begged so hard that I
couldn’t turn him out, and forgave him. The fact was, that his pickings
from the daily crowd of patients was some ten times as much as his pay.
Often have I been asked by Persian acquaintances, “What is your pay?”
“Little enough,” I reply. “Ah, but what is your modakel?” _i. e._
pickings and stealings.
This system of modakel it is useless to fight against. The Persians, from
the king downwards, speak of “my modakel.” The governor of a province
buys his appointment: this is _the king’s_ modakel; he farms the taxes
for one hundred thousand tomans, and sells them for half as much again;
this is _his_ modakel; the buyer exacts two hundred thousand, the
difference is _his_ modakel.
I buy a horse, a carpet, or a pound of sugar, ten per cent. is added by
my servant to my bill. I sell a horse, and ten per cent. is taken on the
price by my servant. I pay a muleteer, and ten per cent. is deducted
from the hire. These things are the so-called legitimate “modakel” of my
servant, and I cannot avoid it. If pressed, or the thing is brought home
to him, he will not even hesitate to acknowledge it.
“It is the custom, sahib. Could you have bought the thing cheaper than I,
or sold it so well, even with the modakel? No, you could not; then why
object? What stimulates me to do the best I can for you? My modakel; you
cannot fight against it.” And he is right; the ten per cent. is extracted
from all, Europeans or Persians; and it is no use to kick against the
pricks. But more than this is considered robbery (_if detected_).[10]
In the last five years of my life in Persia I kept all these servants
mentioned in the note, with the exception of a _nazir_, who is, as
a rule, a purely useless man, and only an increaser of his master’s
expenses for the sake of the addition to his own profits. Thus my cook,
through whose hands the whole expenses, eight hundred kerans a month,
or at times a thousand, used to pass, made, say, ninety kerans as his
percentage; out of the sums paid for shoeing and repairs and sale of
manure (a valuable perquisite), the grooms made theirs; while for every
penny expended by my servant a percentage was taken in money or goods.
Even the laundress would _take_ (_not steal_) a tenth or more of the soap
given her. But then it was no use fighting against it, for it was not
etiquette for the better-class European to be seen in the bazaar, save
for special things, as curios, and such a proceeding would entail a great
loss of consideration, and cause him to be classed as a “mean white.”
Again, one’s head-servant, though he took this percentage, made it a
point of honour to do his best for you _after that had been deducted_,
and no one else but himself was permitted to rob on a large scale.
I have struggled against the system repeatedly. I have even caused
muleteers to be paid in my presence, and have given them a present for
civility, and have then ordered the men off the premises, not allowing my
servants to leave the house; or I have paid by cheque on a native banker;
but I am sure the servants got their commission, and shared it in certain
proportions arranged among themselves.
Another source of revenue to servants is the system of vails. This is,
I am glad to say, being lessened. At one time the Europeans encouraged
it. I remember, after I had been about a year in the country, going
to stay with Pierson in Teheran, on a visit of five weeks: I gave his
head-servant to distribute amongst the rest two hundred and fifty kerans,
or ten pounds. The man’s face did not express a lively satisfaction,
though that was merely policy; and as I was riding out of the gate, the
“dog-boy,” a youth retained to feed the five or six dogs my friend kept,
seized my bridle, and asked me roughly, “Where was his present?” This
was more than mortal man could stand; I thonged the fellow, going back
afterwards to explain and apologise to his master, who turned him out
then and there.
Thus a servant, though he nominally feeds and clothes himself, has his
wages, his profits, his presents which each servant gets from his master
at the New Year—generally a month’s pay—his vails, and his master’s old
clothes; as these fetch a high price in a bazaar, they are an important
item in the servant’s budget. In addition to this, he gets a small
allowance when travelling, and on the road his master feeds him. So that,
taken altogether, his position is not a bad one, the emoluments of my
head-man, for instance, being more than those of a native country doctor
in fair practice.
I felt considerable satisfaction at this time at the visits to my
dispensary of the “hakim bashi” (chief doctor), or rather one of those
who had that title in Hamadan. He expressed himself as eager to learn,
and knew a few words of French. I was, of course, delighted to give him
any information I could, and he seemed very grateful for instruction; he,
however, turned out afterwards to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and was
very nearly the cause of my stay in Persia being brought to an abrupt
termination, a matter which will be duly detailed.
One day one of the servants brought a “delleh”[11] for sale, a sort of
weasel, and of similar size; he was of an olive-green colour, with a
bushy tail, having patches of yellowish-white on the body: a boy dragged
him in by a string. He was so fierce no one would go near him, and was
evidently carnivorous.
He was kept on our platform tied to a ring, till one day he gnawed his
thong and bolted into a hole. In this hole he remained, just showing
his nose in the daytime, but coming out at night, when he was generally
pursued by our dogs, who roamed about the place loose.
I had been in the habit of feeding the beast on raw meat, of which he was
immoderately fond, and after some little trouble I taught him to come to
call. The animal got very tame, though extremely pugnacious when teased,
bristling his long soft fur out, like the mongoose, biting savagely, and
emitting a short sharp cry of rage.
He used to beg for his food, sit in our hands, allow himself to be
stroked, and became a great pet with both of us; but, as he showed a
great disinclination to be tied up, we allowed him to live in his hole in
the wall. As he grew fat from good living, he discontinued his nocturnal
excursions, presenting himself at meals with great regularity; his
intelligence was great, and the servants, who hated him, and looked on
him as “nejis,” or unclean, kept carefully out of his way; as did the
dogs, most of whom had been bitten severely, and the suddenness of his
movements and the sharpness of his cries terrified them.
The beast, too, had another mode of defending himself, which I am glad to
say he only resorted to once when hard pressed. Two of the dogs had got
him in a corner, when suddenly they both bolted, and the delleh made for
his hole in a dignified manner. He had employed the mode of defence used
by the skunk, and the particular corner of the courtyard, and the two
dogs and the delleh were unapproachable for a fortnight.
However, the animal had no stronger odour than any other carnivorous
beast, _save on this occasion_, and it probably was his only means
of safety. After he had inhabited his hole some months, while he was
gambolling on our platform, I saw the head of a second delleh cautiously
protruded and rapidly withdrawn. He had been joined by a female, and
after a week or two, she too became quite tame. Like the ferret and
mongoose, these animals waged war against whatever had life, hunting
fowls, etc., with the peculiarly stealthy gait so well known.
I noticed now that a considerable number of my patients, and Persian
acquaintances, and all the servants, were continually pestering me for
quinine. The reason was that the high price of this drug, pure as I had
it, was a temptation, and as each impostor got a small quantity, my store
sensibly diminished.
I was loath to stop distributing the drug altogether, as I had been
particularly instructed that the giving away of quinine to the sick was
beneficial, indirectly, to the good feeling which we desired to produce
towards the English in Persia.
However, I made a rule only to give away the drug _in solution_, or, in
the case of servants of our own, in the dry state _in the mouth_.
This had the desired effect, and as a rule one dose of the bitter drug
caused the most grasping of the domestics to hesitate before applying
for a second. This system I adopted during the whole time I was in the
country, only giving the crystals to the European staff, and the quinine
being distributed each year in ounces, where before it had been pounds.
In fact, I did away with one of the sources of _legitimate_ (?) _modakel_
of the servants, who had traded on my innocence and simulated fever
(intermittent) to obtain what was such very “portable property.”
One morning, while we were at breakfast under the “talar,” we saw
a European enter the compound, and a little scene ensued that was
sufficiently amusing. I must premise that in those early days of the
Persian Telegraph Department, when communication was infrequent, owing to
the continual destruction of the line, orders could only be conveyed by
letters, which often never reached their destination.
The unknown sahib, without announcing himself, or asking if the
superintendent were visible, stalked up on to the platform and thrust a
paper into Pierson’s hand. On it was an order to Mr. P⸺ to proceed to
Hamadan and take charge of the office there. And he (Mr. P⸺) had that
moment alighted from his horse, having marched some twelve stages from
Ispahan.
Pierson took the paper, read it, and said, “Well?”
The stranger replied, “I’m P⸺.”
“Have you nothing else to say?” said Pierson.
“No; I’ve come to take charge of the office here.”
Pierson now called for ink, and wrote “Mr. P⸺ will proceed at once to
Shiraz, and take charge of the office there,” and signed it.
“You need not discharge your mules, and will start to-morrow. Good
morning to you.”
Mr. P⸺ was equal to the occasion; he walked out of the place without a
word, and he _did_ start the next day (on his march of sixteen stages).
So much for discipline.
Pierson, who played the concertina, cornet, and piano, suggested to me
as a pastime that he should teach me the cornet. To this I assented; and
the first thing was to learn to blow. This is not so easy as it seems,
and as the noises I produced were not pleasant, Pierson only allowed my
practising in the house when he was not at home. The flat roof at sunset
was my place to practise, and here I blew to my heart’s content. I only
blew one note of various loudness, and to my astonishment found I had a
rival, whose lungs were stronger than mine; he, too, blew one note in
rapid succession. I blew—he blew—but his were decidedly the stronger
sounds, and he blew longer. I kept up my blowing, but soon came down,
feeling my inferiority.
The next night I was alone, my rival absent. I blew my one note in rapid
succession till I could blow no more. Suddenly I heard cries, and sounds
of beating, and shouts of men and women—a row evidently. I blew on.
Next morning the British Agent, Syud Houssein (these native agents are
appointed by the English Legation in lieu of consuls throughout Persia at
the great cities; they are really news-writers, but act as consuls, and
look after English interests), came to Pierson, with a long face, saying
that a complaint had been made to him by the Governor, of the conduct of
the sahibs in his (Pierson’s) house.
It appears that when the bath is full of men, and the time allotted to
them expires, the bath is cleared, and the bath-man, _on its being
empty_, blows on a buffalo horn for a few minutes a succession of notes.
This is the signal to the expectant women, and so on, when the time for
the ladies expires, for the men. _The bath-man was my unknown rival._
The day before, the bath being full of women, I proceeded to our roof
to indulge in cornet practice. My efforts, alas! were so like the solos
of the bath-man, that the Hamadan men of our quarter rushed to, and
into the sacred precincts of, the bath. The women who were inside were
furious at the unexpected intrusion, and called on their male relatives
for protection. A fight ensued, which only ceased on both parties uniting
to give the innocent bath-man a sound thrashing; which having thoroughly
accomplished to their satisfaction, and broken his buffalo horn, they
retired, _hinc illæ lachrymæ_. The matter was soon explained, and a small
present consoled the beaten bath-man, and I gave up the cornet.
Syud Houssein was a dignified little man, with the dark complexion and
scanty black beard that is supposed to characterise the true descendants
of the prophet. I fancy myself that while his duties consisted merely
in looking after the few Persians who were British subjects in Hamadan,
and writing a monthly news-letter to the Legation at Teheran, he was
quite happy; but that the actual presence of the unbeliever in the city
itself was not very palatable to him. However, we ever found him kind and
courteous, though he avoided breaking bread with us, save in secret and
when there was no escape.
There are a great many Armenians in Hamadan, and there are villages in
the immediate neighbourhood of the place inhabited only by them. They
have mostly adopted the Persian dress and language, Armenian being in
disuse as a language among those living in Hamadan, and there being no
distinctive mark by which one can tell them in either indoor or outdoor
dress; unlike the Armenian of Teheran, who adopts the dress of those of
his nation who are Russian subjects, or the Julfa (Ispahan) Armenians,
who affect the fez to simulate the Turkish subject, or at times pretend
an ignorance of Persian, and disguise themselves as sahibs. A ludicrous
instance of this occurred once when I was coming into Shiraz chupparee.
In the distance I saw under some trees, by a running brook, where
generally travellers from Shiraz bid their friends farewell, what
appeared to me an officer in the full-dress uniform of the English (?)
army. I was intrigued, and as the trees were off the road I cantered up
to the group.
I found one of our Armenian signallers in an engineer officer’s
full-dress scarlet mess jacket, jack-boots, a full-dress uniform cap,
lambswool drawers (sewn up in front) to simulate buckskins, a huge
cavalry sabre, and _three_ revolvers. The fact was that he had assumed
what he supposed to be the correct get-up of an English officer of
rank, in order that if any highway robbers met him (the country was
very disturbed at the time) on his seven days’ march to Abadeh, they
might refrain from attacking him. He arrived safely. Unfortunately these
assumptions of the appearance of the European by Armenians does not add
to the respect which the real sahib receives.
Some of the tales these people tell to increase their own importance in
the eyes of their oppressors, the Persians, are ingenious and amusing.
When I was living in Julfa, an Armenian village close to Ispahan,
which had been for divers reasons made the headquarters of the Persian
Telegraph Department in that place, I was called upon by a great
personage, the farmer of the taxes, a Persian, one Rahim Khan.
After the usual compliments, he remarked, in conversation, that “I must
be very glad to live in so holy a place as Julfa. Full, too, of churches.”
I demurred.
“But amidst your co-religionists, men whom you so much revere.”
This was too much. I told him that “we could not respect the Armenians,
but that we pitied them for the many years of oppression they had
undergone, which probably had brought out the bad points in their
characters.”
He would not be denied. “But you _revere_ them?” he persisted.
“Quite the contrary.”
He burst into a laugh. “Ah! dogs, and sons of dogs as they are,” he
replied; “only the other day one of them told me, on my congratulating
him on the presence of their protectors, the English—for you know, sahib,
before the Feringhis came, _they were as are now the Jews_—that _they_
were not complimented, but rather the Europeans; for, said the dog, ‘we
are to them what your Syuds (descendants of the prophet) are to you,
noble sir’—in fact, holy men.”
This anecdote is characteristic of the Armenian.
The Hamadan Armenian is brighter and more civilised than his Ispahan
_confrère_, his frequent journeyings to Russia having sharpened him,
while, there being only two priests in the place, he is not bigoted. He
has adopted the manners and dress of the Persian, also his language, and
is so far less exposed to annoyance by the reigning people; in fact, in
Hamadan he is not looked on or treated as an outcast; while in Julfa the
national dress, specially apparent in the female attire, the national
language, and their ignorance and lack of politeness, make them a people
apart.
The gist of the matter is, that in Hamadan and its environs, the Armenian
is simply a Persian, not a Mahommedan; while in Julfa he is an Armenian
of the Armenians; “and the Jews have no dealings with the Samaritans.”
As to the Jews, their position is terrible. Probably in no country in
the world are they treated worse than in Persia. Beaten, despised, and
oppressed, cursed even by slaves and children, they yet manage to exist,
earning their living as musicians, dancers, singers, jewellers, silver-
and gold-smiths, midwives, makers and sellers of wine and spirits. When
anything very filthy is to be done a Jew is sent for.
CHAPTER VII.
HAMADAN.
Tomb of Esther and Mordecai—Spurious
coins—Treasure-finding—Interest—A gunge—Oppression—A cautious
finder—Yari Khan—We become treasure seekers—We find—Our
cook—Toffee—Pole-buying—Modakel—I am nearly caught—A mad
dog—Rioters punished—Murder of the innocents.
Hamadan has no show place save the shrines of Esther and Mordecai. A
poor-looking, blue-tiled dome or “gōmbeza,” some fifty feet in height,
surmounts the shrine, and covers the tombs themselves; the rest of
the building is in red brick, in many places mudded over. It presents
the appearance of an ordinary minor shrine. In the outer chamber is
nothing remarkable. A low door leads to another apartment by a passage;
on crawling through this inner passage, which can only be done with
considerable discomfort, almost on hands and knees, one enters a vaulted
chamber, floored with common blue tiles. There is no splendour here, and
nothing to attract the cupidity of the Persians.
In one corner lay a heap of common “cherragh,” or oil lamps of burnt
clay, covered with blue glaze, such as are used by the poor. They are on
the same principle as the classic lamp, a reservoir for the oil or fat,
with a projection in which lies the wick of twisted cotton or rag; these
lamps will give a dull, smoky light for some hours without trimming.
Our guides, two evil-looking and squalid Jews, informed us that twice
a year the place was illuminated. In the centre of the apartment stood
two wooden arks, almost devoid of ornament, but of considerable age;
these were thickly sprinkled with small pieces of paper, on which were
inscriptions in the Hebrew character, the paper being stuck on as is a
label. Our guides could only tell us that pious Jewish pilgrims were in
the habit of affixing these to the arks. We could not even ascertain
which was the tomb of Esther and which that of Mordecai. The arks were
shaped like dog-kennels, and had a slightly ornamented pinnacle of
wood at either extremity of their roofs. The guides declined to allow
Pierson to make a drawing of them; but I fancy this was merely done to
extract a further gratuity. Nothing else was in the place save a poor and
much-thumbed copy of the Jewish Scriptures, quite modern and in the book
form.
When we left the tomb, after having gratified the two Jews, one produced
from his pocket a large bag of what appeared to be ancient coins,
both copper and silver. We examined these, and I was anxious to make
a purchase; but Pierson assured me that they were spurious. And the
Jew, after many protestations, acknowledged that they were so, with the
exception of a few coins of Alexander the Great, with the head in high
relief; and Sassanian coins of various monarchs, on the reverse of which
were always represented figures and an altar (of a fire temple). These
two sorts of coin are so common in Persia as to be absolutely worth
merely their weight in silver, and the coins of the Sassanian monarchs
are constantly being found in crocks.
Treasure-finding in Persia is a frequent thing, and is easily to be
accounted for in a country where the bankers are simply money-changers,
and there is a danger of being a mark for the oppressor, in being thought
a rich man. The only way to invest money is in land or houses; either
of these methods are subject to the same objection, the owner is known
to be a man of property; and unless he can buy protection is subject to
exactions and extortions innumerable. Burying or secreting remains; for
a good Mussulman will not lend his money at interest, though many who
are not strict do so, the current rate of interest among merchants being
twelve per cent. per annum, paid monthly; while, where there is risk at
all, or the loan is given without full security, twenty-five to forty per
cent. is often exacted.
Ruins of all sorts abound in every part of Persia, and these ruins
are constantly being either levelled for cultivation, the earth being
valued as a fertiliser (they are many of them of mud), or taken down and
removed in donkey-loads for the sake of the old _burnt_ bricks, which it
is found practically cheaper to obtain in this manner than to make and
burn; for an _old_ brick is more valuable to the builder, being always
a good brick, than the _new_ one, which is often small and worthless,
except for ornamental facings of decorative brickwork—an art in which the
Persians, particularly in Shiraz, have attained a great proficiency, but
which, from the poverty of the country, and the less substantial mode of
building practised on that account in the present day, is rapidly dying
out.
In these various operations the discovery of a “gunge,” or treasure, is
not infrequent, although such a find is not always a very profitable
transaction for the finder. I have known three such instances.
One occurred at a place called Bonaat, in the province of Fars, some five
stages from Shiraz. The finder was a man of learning, who had a house and
a few acres of land at this place. He had mostly lived at Baghdad, where
he had been well educated, but, on his marriage, bought the little estate
at Bonaat.
He found one day in the mud wall of his house, a very old one which he
was rebuilding, five jars full of coin. He sent away the workmen, but not
before some of them were aware of the discovery, and at once proceeded to
bury the treasure (of the truth of this story there is no doubt). Two or
three days after this, a messenger from the owner of the greater part of
the country in the neighbourhood arrived, and he proceeded to demand the
whole of the treasure-trove; he gave no good reason, simply saying that
his master meant to have it. The finder tried to make terms with the man,
but, unfortunately, he had no means of bribing him but with the actual
coins found, which the messenger was anxious but afraid to accept. Taking
possession of all the contents of one jar, which my acquaintance with
many protests placed at his disposal, the great man’s retainer produced
a written order for the man to accompany him to Shiraz, and, putting
two men in charge of the house and the rest of the treasure, the poor
fellow’s wife, child, and servant being sent off to a neighbour’s without
ceremony, they started at once for the residence of the man in power at
that place. The end of the matter was, that the contents of _all five
jars_ went to this grandee, while nothing remained to the unhappy finder
but the suspicion of his having secreted a still greater treasure, and
he went about in fear of his life, frequent demands being made for the
supposed balance still hidden. In disgust he sold his house and land for
a trifle, and went to Bushire, where, under the shadow of the British
Residency, he was safe from further troubles. I never got other details
than this, but I am in a position to vouch for their truth.
Another case was that of a villager who found a treasure of coin in the
ruins of a mud village close to Ispahan. He, luckily for himself, was
alone, and managed to transport the whole amount, little by little, to
a place of safety. Shortly after this he set out, as a poor man, to
walk the pilgrimage to Mecca. This was sufficient and valid excuse for
a disappearance for two years. This time he wisely employed in the safe
investment of the amount. He went in rags, he returned in comparative
affluence; and though often accused of _the crime_ of having discovered a
treasure, he wisely denied it; and having secured by a handsome payment
the protection of a local magnate, whom he had, doubtless, to heavily
subsidise each year, he remained a wealthy man, and will probably be
allowed to die in his bed.
The last case was that of a peasant of the neighbourhood of Zinjan,
and occurred within the last five years. It was reported to the local
governor that a peasant named Yari was in the habit of selling ingots of
gold to the Jews of Zinjan at a rate considerably below the market price;
the governor seized the man, searched his house, finding a considerable
quantity of gold in ingots therein, and, _as the matter had now become
public_, reported the whole affair to Teheran, with a statement that
the fellow had discovered a gold-mine, or found “the treasure of King
Darius,” or the way to make gold!
This “treasure of King Darius” is a legendary myth that is constantly
occurring to the minds of the inflammable Persians. An order came to take
the man at once to the capital, but he simply denied either the treasure
or the mine, stating that he had found a few ingots, and sold them
gradually. But the evidence pointed another way, for the appliances for
fusing the metal, of a rough description, were found in his house, and
what could an obscure villager know of fusing gold?
The man remained a long time in prison in Teheran, and it is stated on
the best authority that means were employed to cause him to speak, which
are common in the East, but are happily no longer in use in Europe
(save, it is said, in Turkey).
At last he confided to his jailers that he had discovered a gold-mine
in the hills; the excitement was intense, he received at once a dress
of honour and the title of Khan, equivalent to our knighthood—_i. e._
it converts a nobody into a somebody. And Yari Khan, carefully guarded
and treated with consideration, was taken to Zinjan that he might point
out the site of the mine, for his descriptions, though very graphic, had
not enabled the searchers to find it. On his arrival he endeavoured by
an opportune illness to put off the evil day, but as finding the mine
was of more importance to the authorities than the health of a villager,
he was soon conveyed to the mountains where he had carefully indicated
its situation. But he could not or would not find it. Free recourse was
had to the bastinado, but no mine. The man was cast into prison, and
doubtless, unless ere this he is dead, or has confessed the source of his
wealth, or found means to administer a bribe, he is still in prison on
the lowest diet and a frequent administration of stick, even if other and
nameless horrors be not resorted to.
Pierson told me that one of the _occupations_ of the Hamadan Jews is
the manufacture of the so-called ancient coins; these are sent in large
quantities to Baghdad, Teheran, Ispahan, and Constantinople, and sold
there to the unsuspicious or ignorant European. He told me, too, that
Hamadan has a great reputation for the finding of real antiquities, and
that many of the Jews actually paid a small sum for the privilege of
searching the ground in certain spots, taking the chance of a find or a
blank day.
A Jew readily acceded to the proposal that he and two labourers should
be paid for their time, and a few kerans should be given by us for
permission to dig, and the intrinsic value of any object in the precious
metals handed over to him, the objects themselves being ours.
A few days after, the Jew came to show us the place, some miles from the
town where the search was taking place. Two labourers dug some foot of
the surface earth away in clods and piled it in heaps. The Jew watched
the labourers, and we watched the Jew. After they had uncovered the
whole of the ten yards square, which it was agreed that we should dig,
the labourers set to to sift it through a coarse sieve, but nothing was
found; a second sifting, however, which we noticed that the Jew watched
with much more curiosity than the first, produced four small cubes of
gold; they were about one-third of an inch cube, and were composed of
tiny beads of pure gold soldered together, a hole being left in two
of the opposite sides for stringing; they were hollow, and about two
pounds in value (the four). We found only these, and they were too few
to form an ornament, though doubtless real relics of ancient Ecbatana.
So we rewarded our Jew, and dug no more for hidden treasure, or rather
antiquities.
I frequently laugh at our housekeeping experiences in those early days.
We paid our cook ten kerans a day each for our messing, but every little
extra was debited to us with stern accuracy; as, one day we made a pound
of toffee, and at the month’s end were charged, “For making the Feringhi
sweetmeat, fifteen shillings!” These items and the pay of my servants
and my horse-keep made me fear that I should not be able to live on my
pay; but I soon found that the cook was simply charging us four times the
cost of our living. As Pierson was now leaving for Teheran, I was able to
manage with a humbler cook on a less extravagant scale, and live better.
An amusing instance of the inveterate habit of making modakel now
occurred prior to Pierson’s departure. In the early days of the Telegraph
Department in Persia the line was supported by _wooden_ poles, generally
poplar, and much trouble was found in buying these. It would have been
impossible for a European to buy them at all, and as the natives had
to be employed, it taxed all Pierson’s ingenuity to prevent wholesale
robbery taking place. The poles had to be paid for, and the buyer and
seller generally managed to put their heads together to make the “Dowlet
Ingleez” (English Government) pay a very fancy price.
Some poles were suddenly very urgently required, and the Sarhang or
Colonel, the chief of the officials of the Persian office of the
telegraph in Hamadan, the moonshee[12] or interpreter, a member of our
staff, a native of Baghdad, and Pierson’s head-servant or nazir, were
sent together to buy poles to the tune of kerans two thousand four
hundred, in the villages in the neighbourhood, on the principle that
each would act as a check on the other. These gentry divided their money
into two portions, half to be profit and half to buy poles.
The poles were purchased; but when they returned, the moonshee desired an
interview with Pierson.
After pointing out his own integrity and high sense of honour (this man’s
English was peculiar; it had been acquired of the sailors in Baghdad, and
was freely interlarded with oaths; but, worst of all, he had never learnt
the use of the words _very_, _more_, and _most_, substituting the more
homely expression which is used by Anglo-Saxons for sanguinary, as a word
meaning all three; his conversation was thus less choice than forcible),
he communicated to Pierson that half of the sum said to be expended
had been set aside as plunder, but that _he_ was no party to such
arrangement. When I heard of the matter I set it down to disinterested
virtue, but Pierson, whose experience of the Oriental was larger than
mine, determined to sift the matter.
Hardly had the moonshee retired than the nazir requested a private
interview, and stated that he too felt impelled by virtuous indignation
to discover to his master the wicked conspiracy of the Colonel and
the moonshee, who had agreed to divide the hundred and twenty tomans
illicitly gained into three shares, making forty for each; but that the
Colonel suggested to him that it would be better to give the moonshee
nothing, which would leave them, the sarhang and himself, sixty each.
“Of course, I report the affair to the sahib, and he will use his
discretion,” he said. The next morning Pierson sent for the Colonel, who
denied the whole matter, produced receipts duly sealed for the payment of
the whole two thousand four hundred kerans, and indignantly protested his
honesty: “Comme officier Persan—décoré par sa Majesté!” (he spoke French
fluently.) On an inquiry being instituted, it came out that the original
idea was, as the moonshee said, to divide the plunder into three shares.
Then, as the nazir said, into two—hence the honesty of the moonshee; and
at last the Colonel resolved to keep the whole himself, which accounted
for the virtue of the nazir. The money was disgorged, and the chief of
the Persian Telegraph in Teheran fined his subordinate in Hamadan forty
pounds, or one hundred tomans. So there is not always, in Persia at
least, “Honour among thieves.”
Pierson left for Teheran, and I was alone in Hamadan with no one to speak
to but the two corporals of engineers, who were the office staff, and the
two others, who were inspectors of the line. I was then very ardent, and
pushed my dispensary work, having many and interesting cases, and finding
my patients, especially among the poor, increasing in number. Ramazan
was gayer in his attire than ever, and my knowledge of the colloquial
increased rapidly. I had, however, to freely have recourse to pantomime,
as my only interpreter, the moonshee, now Pierson was away, seldom came
near me.
But I had, without knowing it, raised up enemies among the native
doctors. I found that, if I could not get money from my better-class
patients, I could get experience; and I had commenced a system of seeing
every one gratuitously. Of course I had no lack of patients, but the
effect was, that the consulting-rooms of the native doctors were emptied,
as the Persians would always prefer gratuitous physic with the additional
“tamasha” (show) of a European doctor, to paying those who practised
medicine strictly as taught by Aflatoon (Plato), Abu Senna (Avicenna),
Galenus (Galen), and Pocrat (Hippocrates). This state of things was
naturally intolerable to the profession in Hamadan, and my pseudo-friend,
the Hakim-bashi, with the rest of his brethren, took steps to frighten
me, in order to make me cease my obnoxious system.
I had been sitting quietly in the courtyard when my servant ran in to say
that there was a mob at the door. I went on the roof and found it was so;
some two hundred ragamuffins were assembled; they hooted me, and said a
good deal evidently of an uncomplimentary nature. After a while stones
began to come. I returned with a gun, which I valiantly discharged over
their heads, shouting “Bero!” (“Be off;”) for I felt that, if I did not
get rid of the small mob, a big one would soon form, at whose hands I
should fare badly. However, the gun effectually frightened the fellows
off, and the space outside my door was cleared. I got on my horse to go
to the telegraph-office and seek advice. Off I started, accompanied by my
servants (three) and all Pierson’s dogs.
I noticed on the road that one of these dogs behaved in an eccentric
manner, attacking several people; but I was too occupied and excited by
my own affairs to take much notice. On getting to the office, I at once
sent a message to the director in Teheran, and his promptitude prevented
any further unpleasantness to me. Orders came by wire to the Governor of
Hamadan to punish the rioters the next morning; and ere I left the office
a guard of soldiers (at the instance of our British Agent in Hamadan, who
had heard of the affair) was sent to escort me to my house, four sentries
being placed to relieve guard at my door.
I felt now that all was safe, and the only result was that my friend the
Hakim-bashi, who got up the row, was severely bastinadoed by the Governor.
On my return to the house I noticed the very extraordinary behaviour of
“Jill,” a black setter, one of a pair (“Jack” and “Jill”) belonging to
Pierson; she snapped and bit, emitting a peculiar cry, and showed signs
of rabies. I shut her up and made inquiries; it appeared that she, an
unusually quiet and playful dog generally, had bitten every dog in the
house. These were a very fine Arab greyhound and two young bull-terriers
of Pierson’s, a Persian greyhound of my own, and a little white dog owned
by the cook—for Persians will often own and pet a small, long-haired dog.
Undoubtedly all had been bitten.
There was nothing for it but (Jill being now certainly rabid, for I had
watched her, and she was eating earth and uttering the special cry which,
once heard, can never be forgotten) to destroy them all; this I had done,
and the cook wept bitterly, but assented to the measure. It is sad, in
such a place as Persia, to lose all one’s four-footed friends at one fell
swoop; but so it was, and thus ended an exciting day. I have never seen,
except on this occasion, a rabid dog in Persia; and as it is a country
where water is very scarce, it shows that want of water can have little
to do with causing rabies. I never either saw or heard of a case of
hydrophobia in Persia.
CHAPTER VIII.
HAMADAN.
Antelope—Hunting and hawking—Shooting from the
saddle—Thief-catching—The prince offers his services
as head-servant—Our hunting party—The prince takes the
honours—Kabobs—A provincial grandee—His stud—Quail-shooting—A
relative of the king—Persian dinner—Musicians and
singers—Parlour magic—The anderūn—Cucumber-jam—Persian
home-life—Grateful Armenians—Lizards—Talking
lark—Pigeon-flying—Fantails—Pigeons’ ornaments—Immorality of
pigeon-flying—Card-playing—Chess—Games—Wrestling—Pehliwans—Gymnastics.
The “poor prince,” Abu Seif Mirza, called one day and suggested our going
the next morning to hunt antelope, promising to show us sport. When
posting from Teheran we had seen several herds of antelope, generally
five or six animals together; and on one occasion, as I have noted, a
string had suddenly crossed the road within ten yards of us—a thing
very unusual, and which never occurred to me since. The hunting of the
antelope is a favourite pastime among the grandees of Persia, and is
also practised by the villagers, who will frequently get a pot-shot from
behind a stone when the animals visit their drinking-places. They are
either pursued with relays of dogs, shot from the saddle, or, rarely,
hawked with a specially large kind of falcon, who always succeeds in
stopping them till the dogs pull them down. Our plan was the second one.
After drinking tea, we started one afternoon and marched out some seven
farsakhs into a sandy wilderness; the shah-zadeh (or prince), who was a
well-known shikari, shooting several small birds from the saddle while at
full gallop, to show his skill.
Abu Seif Mirza, after holding small offices at the courts of the
different Governors of Hamadan, such as mirshikar (or chief huntsman),
ser-cashikji-bashi (or chief of the guard), etc., had given up the life
of a courtier, and tried to support himself by agriculture; this did not
answer, for the prince, though a sober man, was a spendthrift. He told us
an anecdote, which we found on inquiry to be quite correct.
On one occasion the Governor of Hamadan sent for him, and offered him
a present of forty pounds and a dress of honour if he would rid the
environs of the town of a certain highway-robber. The grandson of a king
did not hesitate, and set about the matter in a business-like way.
“My great object,” said he, “was to obtain the reward intact, and so the
only thing was to do the job myself, as going out in a party in search of
the robber would have been expensive, and he would have got wind of it
and kept out of the way. I consequently put on the dress of a substantial
villager, disguised myself as a man of the pen by a big turban and huge
slippers down at heel, mounted a donkey provided with a big pair of full
saddle-bags, and started for the neighbourhood where the robber carried
on his trade. At the first stage I purposely started after all other
travellers had left, so as to make myself a conspicuous mark for attack,
and as I apparently carried no weapons, I seemed, doubtless, an easy prey.
“On getting some half-way to the village to which I was proceeding, I was
suddenly pounced upon by two men armed to the teeth, who rushed out from
behind a ruined wall and covered me with their guns. I placed my donkey
whom I was driving between us, and immediately simulated abject fear.
‘Amān, amān!’ (‘Mercy, mercy!’) ‘Oh, masters!’ I cried out; ‘I am a poor
priest.’
“The men, seeing me apparently unarmed, lowered their guns and demanded
my money; with many protestations I thrust each hand into the long
pockets of my outer garments, and whipping out a brace of pistols before
they had time to raise their weapons, I had shot one through the heart,
and now rushed on the other, ordering him to drop his gun or I would
fire; he was too astonished to resist. I bound him firmly, and informing
him that on the first attempt to escape I should either hamstring or
shoot him, I proceeded to reload my discharged pistol. I now searched
them both, but only found a few kerans on them. I laid the dead man
across my donkey—he it was on whom the price had been set; I shook the
priming out of their guns and removed the flints, and we got safely back
to the caravanserai from which I had started. The next morning I brought
my prisoner and the dead man into Hamadan. Of course the fellow was duly
executed, but the dog of a Governor never gave me anything but a colt
worth some fifty kerans—a bad business, sahib; and though the catching
the thieves did not cost me much, on other occasions I didn’t get off so
cheaply.” Here he showed us several scars of sword-wounds.
The prince now changed the subject to that of servants. Addressing
Pierson, he asked him what wages he gave his head-man (nazir).
Pierson told him he gave two pounds a month.
“And he robs you, I suppose?”
“Of course.”
“Why not engage an intelligent and honest man?”
“You know, Prince, I can’t find such a man in Persia.”
“Don’t call me ‘Prince,’” he said. “A man so poor as I am should do as
I have done and drop the title; I only call myself ‘Khan’”—and here the
tears were in his eyes—“till—till I can find myself in bread and my
horse in food. Let me see; five tomans a month, the usual modakel—say
ten tomans, my commission say twenty tomans; thirty-five tomans—a noble
position! try _me_.”
Pierson was amused, and treated the matter as a joke.
“No,” said the prince, “it is real earnest. I will come to you the day
after to-morrow.”
Pierson pointed out that it was impossible.
“I can’t see it,” said the prince; “in Persia the servants of the king
may attain the highest offices of the State; there is no degradation in
being a servant. What is the chief vizier but the king’s head-servant?”
The matter passed over, and Pierson did not engage a King of Persia’s
grandson as his domestic.
We put up for the night in a village, and were sufficiently comfortable.
At two A.M. we rose, and started at three. Abu Seif Khan (as I may now
call him, for so he desired to be addressed) directed us to load with
slugs, which he declared much more favourable than a bullet, and gave us
his directions, which Pierson explained to me. They were, first, that it
is no use to follow an antelope unless he is hit; second, to be sure not
to fire until near enough; third, to keep our eyes open, and note the
animals ere they could see us. The antelope, the prince told us, always
make straight for their lairs, avoiding the mountains, and the only way
to get a shot is to attempt to cross their track, and to fire at the
point where the animal is actually nearest. He particularly warned us as
to the futility of _following_ the animal, unless wounded, and definitely
instructed us always to fire on the slightest chance, and to keep the
horse at his greatest speed when doing so, “as unless he is really going
_ventre à terre_ it is impossible to attain accuracy. If you do make a
hit, follow the beast as long as you can see him, then follow his track
if you can find it.”
It was now nearly dawn, and we were going straight for a range of low
hills, and as yet had seen nothing. Our Nimrod now stopped, and directed
our two grooms to continue slowly straight towards the hills, now three
miles off, in order to disturb the animals, while we turned our horses’
heads to a direction nearly parallel with the range, but tending towards
it, going at an amble.
Every now and then we saw groups of antelope in the distance, on the
plain on our right, but nothing between us and the hills. Abu Seif Khan
explained that to follow these would be hopeless, and that our chance
was that the servants, with whom were the dogs, would put something up,
and that we should attempt to head them, in which we should certainly
fail, but that we should have a chance for a shot. All the dogs had been
sent with the servants except the Persian’s, which, though of strange
appearance, could both, _so the prince said_, hunt by sight and scent,
and would find an antelope if we had the luck to wound one.
The ground was good going, a plain of sand and gravel, a few loose stones
lying about, and a rock or two protruding occasionally; the whole having
a greenish tinge from the tufts of young spring grass growing here and
there, and as yet undried by the fierce sun: patches of thorn-bushes
(bhuta) were frequent, but there was no cover of any kind. The sun now
rose, and the few antelope we had seen, which before had appeared black,
now became white, but they were all on the open plain and quite out of
our reach, of which they seemed well aware, as they continued grazing.
Our leader adjured us to keep a sharp look-out, and kept himself
carefully watching the space between the hills and us, more especially in
our rear.
At last we saw four rapidly moving spots: to dash for the hills was the
work of a moment. The spots on our left became galloping antelope. How
we thirsted for their blood, and we raced apparently with them as to who
should attain first a point half-way between us and the hills. On they
came, and on we went; our horses needed no stimulus, our guns were on
full cock. Pierson, who had borne too much to the left, came near them
first, or rather, they came near him, for they seemed to fly. He did not
raise his gun.
Now was my turn. I was, I fancy, some hundred or perhaps ninety yards
from the animals, and I should have fired as they crossed me, bearing
to my left, and thus had them broad-side on, but I forgot the Persian’s
caution; my horse was going well, and I thought I must get nearer. I bore
to my right and followed; but, alas! I found my “Senna” seemed, having
made a supreme effort, to die away; the antelope were doubtless well out
of range when I fired my two barrels, without effect of course.
I did not attempt to reload, but watched the prince, who with loud cries
had kept well to the right, fire first one barrel and then the other;
at the second discharge the third antelope swerved, but kept on his
course, and the animals were soon out of sight, Abu Seif Khan tearing
after them in hot pursuit, loading as he went. Pierson now galloped up,
and we cantered after the prince, although we were doubtful if his eager
pursuit was aught but mere bounce. But, no; after a smart canter of about
two miles, we saw the Persian stop behind a low sandhill, dismount, look
carefully to his gun, ramming down his charge again for precaution’s
sake, and flinging off his huge, loose riding-boots and his heavy coat,
he commenced climbing the mound, crouching as he went. He had previously
by a gesture warned us to remain where we were.
As soon as he reached the top of the mound he fired and disappeared on
the other side. We cantered up, and found him cutting the throat of a
fine buck ahū (antelope). He now set to in a sportsman-like manner to
disembowel the animal, and it was soon slung _en croupe_ on his horse.
It appeared that his first shot was unsuccessful, but the second had
injured the fore-leg of one of the herd. As he instantly followed, he
noticed that one lagged a little behind, and that _four_ passed behind
the sandhill but only _three_ reappeared. The sequel we had seen.
The sun was now high, and it was close on eight; we marched slowly back
to the village and breakfasted on antelope kabobs; that is to say,
small lumps of meat of the size of a half walnut skewered in the usual
manner—of a piece of meat, a shred of onion, a piece of liver, a shred of
onion, a piece of kidney, and so on; they were impaled on a long skewer
and turned rapidly over a fierce fire of wood-ashes until cooked; and
very tender they were.
The Persians always cook an animal before it is yet cold, and thus ensure
tenderness, otherwise antelope-meat must hang ten days to be eatable, for
we do not boil venison as they do in Persia.
We started from the village at midnight, and marched till nine A.M.,
arriving at a large village by a river, called Mahrand, thirty miles
from Hamadan, the owner of which, Mahommed Houssein Khan, Mahrandi, had
invited us to visit him for a few days; we were to hunt the antelope and
have some quail-shooting. Our host, a great friend of Pierson’s, was
an enormous man of great wealth, whose life was a harmless one, passed
generally in his own village, and he was liked by his acquaintances,
and adored by his ryots (villagers). Simple-minded in the extreme, he
had, save a fondness for the bottle—a fault common with the wealthy in
Persia—no vices such as are usual in the Persians of towns.
We stayed with him four days; the first morning some fifty horses were
paraded for our inspection, for our host bred very fine animals, and
among other taxes had to find yearly three fine beasts fit for the royal
stables. As we sat at a window just raised from the ground, the entire
string were led or ridden past us; but as the clothing was on, one could
not see much of them.
This clothing consists of a perhan (shirt) of fine woollen blanketing,
which envelops the whole body of the animal, being crossed over the
chest, but all above the withers is bare. Over this is the jūl, or day
clothing; this the horse wears summer and winter, save during the midday
time in summer, when he is either naked or has only the perhan on. The
jūl is of the same shape as the perhan, but is of coarser texture and
lined with felt. Over the jūl is the nammad,[13] or outer felt.
This is a sheet of felt half or three-quarters of an inch thick, and
so long that it can be drawn over the horse’s head and neck while the
quarters are still well covered, thus completely enveloping the animal
in a warm and waterproof covering, and enabling him to stand the cold
of winter in the draughty stables of the caravanserai, or even, as is
frequently required, to camp out. (During all the summer months in Persia
the horses sleep outside.)
This nammad is held in its place by a long strip of broad cotton webbing,
which is used as a surcingle, and usually, except at night, the part of
the nammad used to cover the neck is doubled down over the animal’s body.
As the procession went by we gave free vent to our admiration; as Pierson
acknowledged, he had never seen such a collection of horses. I, too,
was surprised. Some dozen of the finer animals were stripped, and as
we admired each, the usual empty compliment of “Peishkesh-i-shuma” (“A
present to you”) was paid us.
The quail-shooting was good fun; we marched through the green wheat in
a row of some ten, horses and servants following, and the birds got up
in every direction, a very large bag being made, though probably as many
more were lost in the high wheat. The peculiar cry of the bird resounded
in every direction.
Several princes were among the guests of Mahommed Houssein Khan, and he
and his sons showed us and them the greatest kindness and attention.
In the afternoon suddenly arrived Suleiman Mirza (literally Prince
Solomon), a near relative of the king, who was returning from a
pilgrimage to the burial-place of the saints at Kerbela, near Baghdad.
This man was quite a Daniel Lambert, moving with difficulty, very old,
but of a very merry disposition; a good deal of joking took place after
his arrival.
[Illustration: PERSIAN BAND.]
After an apparently interminable Persian dinner, which consisted of some
hundred _plats_, among which may be favourably mentioned the _pillaws_ of
mutton or fowls, boiled and smothered in rice, in rice and orange-peel,
in rice and lentils, in rice and haricots, in rice and “schewed,” a herb
somewhat resembling fennel; the fizinjans of fowls and boiled meats;
also partridges _boiled_ and served with the concentrated juice of the
pomegranate and pounded walnuts; kabobs of lamb and antelope; a lamb
roasted whole, stuffed with dates, pistachios, chestnuts, and raisins;
salt fish from the Caspian; extract of soup with marrow floating in it;
dolmas, or dumplings, made of minced meat and rice, highly flavoured and
wrapped in vine leaves and fried; rissoles; wild asparagus boiled; new
potatoes, handed round cold, and eaten with salt; while roast quails,
partridges, and doves were served with lettuces, drenched with honey and
vinegar.
Each guest was supplied with a loaf of flat bread as a plate, and another
for eating.
We sat on the ground, some twenty in all, round a huge tablecloth of
red leather, if I may use that expression, for a large sheet of leather
laid on the ground. Suleiman Mirza, as the king’s relative, occupied the
place of honour. On the other hand of our host sat Pierson, and I next
him, while Abu Seif Mirza, as a prince, took his position by right on the
other side of the great man, and was by him punctiliously addressed as
prince, and generally treated as one. Huge china bowls of sherbet were
placed down the centre of the sūfrah (tablecloth), and in each bowl was
an elaborately-carved wooden spoon, which were used indiscriminately;
these spoons held a gill, and were drunk from, no glasses being used.
During the time the dinner was progressing little conversation took
place, everybody being engaged in eating as much of as many dishes
as possible. But a band of villagers played the santūr, a sort of
harmonicon; the tūmbak, or small drum, played on with the tips of the
fingers—there were two tūmbak players; the neh or flute, or, more
properly speaking, reed; and the deyeereh, literally circle, a kind of
large tambourine, played, like the tūmbak, with the tips of the fingers.
As soon as every one had (literally) eaten his fill, Suleiman Mirza, the
king’s relative, rose, and we all got up.
In lieu of grace each man said, “Alhamdillilah!” (“Thank God!”) and from
_politeness_ most of the guests _eructated_, showing that they were
thoroughly satisfied.
This ceremony is common through the East, and it is considered the
height of rudeness to the host to abstain from it. Coffee was now handed
round, and pipes were brought. A singer, too, commenced a ditty, which he
shouted as do costermongers when crying their wares in England; he put
his hand to the side of his mouth to increase the sound, his face became
crimson with his efforts, the muscles and veins stood out in relief on
his neck, and his eyes nearly started from their sockets. He frequently
paused to take breath, and ceased amid loud applause. The singing and
music were kept up till a late hour.
Politeness prevented our retiring, but we longed for rest; and on
Pierson’s being tormented into a long disquisition on magic, he seized
the opportunity to get away by stratagem. Telling the fat prince that,
as he insisted on seeing the magic of the West, he would gratify him,
he placed the old gentleman on a mattress, and putting four princes
(he insisted on royal blood), standing each _on one leg_ at the four
corners, with a lighted lamp in _each hand_, he gravely assured them that
we should retire and perform an incantation, while, if no one laughed
or spoke, _on our return_ the lights would burn blue. We got to bed,
barricaded ourselves in our room, and tried to sleep. After some few
minutes, loud shouts announced the discovery of the ruse, and a party
arrived to bring us back, but too late, for we had retired.
Next morning I was asked to see some of the ladies of the family. So
little does this village khan observe the Mahommedan rule of veiling
the women, that I was allowed to pass my whole morning in his anderūn.
My host’s wife, a huge woman of five-and-forty in appearance, but in
reality about thirty-five, was intent on household cares; she was making
cucumber-jam. The cucumber having been cut into long slices the thickness
of an inch, and the peel and seeds removed, had been soaked in lime-water
some month; this was kept frequently changed, and the pieces of cucumber
were now quite transparent. They were carefully put in a simmering
stew-pan of strong syrup, which was placed over a wood fire, and, after
cooking for a quarter of an hour, the pieces of cucumber were carefully
laid in an earthen jar, and the syrup poured over them, spices being
added.
I fancy that about a hundredweight of this preserve was made that
morning. When cold the cucumber was quite crisp; the result satisfied
our hostess, and she presented me with a seven-pound jar.
Our host’s young son, a youth of seventeen, caused considerable commotion
among the two or three negresses by his efforts to get his fingers into
the cooling jam-pots; while his two sisters, nice-looking girls of
fifteen and sixteen, tried to restrain his fancy for preserves in vain.
We all laughed a great deal, and mother and daughters were full of fun,
while the grinning negresses thoroughly enjoyed the noise and laughing.
Not having seen a woman’s face for three months, these girls seemed to me
perhaps better looking than they really were, but I confess returning to
the outer regions of the berūni with regret; and Pierson envied my good
fortune in having, as a medico, had a glimpse of Persian home-life which
he could never hope for. Really the patient was, as it often is, a mere
excuse for entertaining so strange a being as a Feringhi, and getting
thus a good look at him.
We went out twice after antelope, which we hunted with relays of dogs;
but as we were not successful, there is little to tell. We returned to
Hamadan, regretting the end of a very pleasant visit.
On our arrival a grateful patient among the Armenians sent me eighty
kerans (three pounds ten) in a little embroidered bag. As the woman could
ill afford it, I told her that I would accept the bag as a keepsake, and
returned the money. So unheard-of a proceeding astonished the Armenian
community, and the priest, a wealthy old sinner, saw his way, as he
thought, to a stroke of business. I had treated him, too, and he brought
me a similar sum in a similar bag. Great was his disgust when I thanked
him for the money and politely returned the bag, and he confided to my
servant that, had he thought this would have been the result, he would
never have paid a farthing.
One day a villager brought us two large lizards, some three feet from
snout to the tip of the tail, and we secured them for a couple of kerans.
They ran about the place for a week or two, interfering with no one, but
did not get tame. The dogs chased them when they were not on the face
or top of a wall, and they at first used to bolt; but after a time they
stood still, allowed the dog to get within range, and then—thwack—the
tail was brought down with tremendous force, and the dog retired
howling. After a day or two no dog would go near the lizards. They were
uninteresting as pets, and as Pierson once got a severe blow on the shin
from one he stumbled over in the dark, we sent them away. They were huge
beasts, of a yellow-ochre colour, and lived on flies and chopped meat;
they were never seen to drink.
I purchased about this time a _talking_ lark: he seemed the ordinary lark
such as we see in England; “torgah” is the Persian name. The bird never
sang, but said very plainly, “Bebe, Bebe Tūtee,” which is equivalent to
“Pretty Polly”—being really “Lady, lady parrot;” he varied occasionally
by “Bebe jahn” (“Dear lady”). The articulation was extremely clear. There
are many talking larks in Persia. The bazaar or shopkeeper class are fond
of keeping larks, goldfinches, and parrots, in cages over their shops.
Sitting, too, on our roof, we could see the pigeon-flying or kafteh-bazi.
A pigeon-fancier in Persia is looked upon as a lūti (blackguard), as his
amusement takes him on the roofs of others, and is supposed to lead to
impropriety; it being considered the height of indecency to look into
another’s courtyard.
The pigeons kept are the carrier, which are very rare; the tumbler, or
mallagh (mallagh, a summersault), and the fantail, or ba-ba-koo. The
name exactly represents the call of the fantail. It was this bird which
was supposed to bring the revelations to the prophet Mahommed, and
consequently keeping a fantail or two is not looked on as discreditable.
They are never killed. These fantails do not fly with the rest, keeping
in the owner’s yard and on the roof. The yahoo is the other ordinary
variety, and is only valued for its flesh, being bred, as we breed fowls,
by the villagers. It has a feathered leg, and will not fly far from home.
The pigeons are flown twice a day, in the early morning and evening, and
it is a very pretty thing to watch.
The owner opens the door and out fly all the pigeons, perhaps thirty,
commencing a circular flight, whose circles become larger and larger.
The fancier watches them eagerly from his roof, and when he has given
them a sufficient flight and there are none of his rival’s birds in view,
he calls and agitates a rag affixed to a long pole. This is the signal
for feeding, and the weaker birds generally return at once to their
cupboard, the stronger continue their flight, but lessen the diameter
of the circle, and one by one return, the best birds coming back last.
As they come over the house they commence to “tumble” in the well-known
manner, falling head over heels as if shot; some birds merely make one
turn over, while others make twenty. It is a very curious and a very
pretty sight. The birds are extremely tame, and settle on the person of
the fancier.
Hitherto there has been nothing more than a flight of pigeons, but in the
afternoon, about an hour or two hours before sunset, the real excitement
commences. Up goes a flight of some twenty pigeons, they commence to make
circles; no sooner does their course extend over the house of a rival
fancier than he starts his birds in a cloud, in the hope of inveigling an
outlying bird or two into his own flock; then both owners call, whistle,
and scream wildly, agitating their poles and flags.
The rival flocks separate, but one bird has accompanied the more
successful fancier’s flight. As it again passes over the house of the
victimised one, he liberates two of his best birds; these are mixed with
the rest, but ere they have completed half a circle they, with the lost
one, rejoin their own flight. Their delighted owner now calls down his
birds, and in a few moments envelops a pair of his rival’s in a crowd of
his own.
Then again commence the cries, the whistlings, the agitating flags,
and the liberation of single or pairs or flights of birds. As one of
Mr. A.’s birds is being convoyed towards B.’s roof with a pair of his,
Mr. C. envelops the three in a cloud of pigeons, and the whole flock
alight—C.’s flight in his own dovecot, and A.’s bird and B.’s pair, as
timid strangers, on a neighbouring wall; A. and B. vainly screaming while
their two flocks keep circling high in air. C., B., and A. simultaneously
run over roofs and walls to get near the birds. But B. and A. have a
long way to travel, while happy C. is close by; he crouches double, and
carrying in one hand a kind of landing-net, makes for the birds; in his
bosom is a fantail pigeon, in his left hand some grain. Artful B. throws
a stone and his two birds rise and fly home, and with a fancier’s delight
he watches C.; but A. is too far off for this manœuvre, and hurries over
roof after roof. Too late! C. has tossed his fantail down near A.’s bird,
the fantail, struts about calling “Ba-ba-koo, ba-ba-koo!” The prize has
his attention taken and stoops to peck the seed that C. has tossed over
a low wall. As he does so C.’s landing-net is on him, the fantail flies
lazily home, and C., shouting and brandishing his capture, makes the best
of his way to the roof of his own premises.
Then the flights begin again, rival fanciers from distant roofs liberate
their flocks, flags are waved, and the drama, with endless variations, is
repeated. Once a fancier always a fancier, they say.
A. repairs to C.’s house to buy back his bird at six or more times its
intrinsic value, for to leave a bird in the hands of a rival fancier
might cost the man his whole flock on a subsequent occasion, the captured
birds, of course, acting as the best of decoys.
The favourite birds are ornamented with little rings or bracelets of
silver, brass, or ivory, which are borne like bangles on the legs (the
mallagh, or tumbler, has no feathers on the leg) and rattle when the bird
walks; these bangles are not ransomed, but remain lawful prize.
As the colours of the birds are very different, one soon recognises the
individual birds of one’s neighbours’ collections, and the interest one
feels in their successes and defeats is great. Our high roof, towering
over most others, made us often sit and watch the pigeon-flying; and the
circling birds as they whirred past us, flight after flight, against the
blue, cloudless sky near sunset, was a sight worth seeing. The fanciers
were many of them old men, and some actually lived on the ransom exacted
from the owners of their captives.
These pigeon-fanciers had a slang of their own, and each coloured bird
had a distinctive name. So amused were we that I ordered my groom to
buy a flight of pigeons and commence operations; but Syud Houssein, the
British Agent, pointed out that it would be _infra dig._ to engage in
a practice that was considered incorrect. It is strange that sporting,
or what is called sporting, generally leads, even in the East, to
blackguardism.
Card-playing, too, is only indulged in by the less reputable of the
community; there is only one game, called Ahs an Ahs; it is played with
twenty cards—four kings, four soldiers (or knaves), four queens (or
ladies), four latifeh (or courtesans), and four ahs (or aces). This
latter is shown generally by the arms of Persia, “the Lion and Sun.” The
lion is represented couchant regardant, bearing a scimitar, while the sun
(“kurshid,” or head of glory) is portrayed as a female face having rays
of light around it; this is shown as rising over the lion’s quarters.
There is only this one game of cards played with the gungifeh (or cards);
they can hardly be called cards, as they are made of papier-maché an
eighth of an inch thick, and elaborately painted. As much as ten tomans
can be given for a good pack. European cards are getting generally used
among the upper classes, who, under the name of bank or banco, have
naturalised the game of lansquenet. But as Persians have an idea that
all is fair at cards, like ladies at round games, they _will_ cheat, and
he who does so _undetected_ is looked on as a good player (“komar-baz
zereng,” _clever_ gamester).
Chess (“shahtrenj”) is much played by the higher classes, but in the
Indian manner, the pawn having only one square to pass and not two at the
first, as with us. Backgammon, too, is in great vogue; the dice, however,
are thrown with the hand, which leads to great “cleverness,” an old hand
throwing what he likes; but as the usual stakes are a dinner or a fat
lamb, not much harm is done.
The lower orders have a kind of draughts played on a board (marked
somewhat similar to our Fox and Geese), and at each angle of which is
placed a mor (seal), _i. e._ piece. This game is generally played on a
brick or large tile, the board being chalked, the pieces stones; they are
moved from angle to angle. I never could fathom _how_ it is played, the
rules being always different and seemingly arbitrary.
Another game is played on a wooden board or an embroidered cloth one;
this is an ancient one called takht-i-pul. I have a very old embroidered
cloth forming the board, the men being of carved ivory, given me by Mr.
G⸺, of the Persian Telegraph Department, but I never could find two
Persians who agreed as to the rules. Pitch-and-toss is constantly engaged
in by the boys in the bazaar.
Rounders (a bastard form of it) are played by the Ispahan boys, and they
also play at a species of fives. Marbles are unknown, but I have seen
the primitive game of “bonse,” which is played by our boys with “bonses”
(large marbles), large pebbles being the substitutes for the bonses in
Persia, as they are with street-boys here.
Wrestling is in great favour; the gymnasia (Zūr Khana) are frequented
by the youth and manhood of all ranks, _who meet there on an equality_.
Wrestling bouts are common among the boys and youths on every village
maidān.
In each gymnasium (Zūr Khana, literally “house of force”) the
professional “pehliwan,” or wrestlers, practise daily; and gymnastics,
_i. e._ a course of attendance at a gymnasium, are often prescribed by
the native doctor. Generally an experienced and retired pehliwan acts as
“lanista,” and for a small fee prescribes a regular course of exercises.
Dumb-bells are much used; also a heavy block of wood, shield-shape,
some two feet by three, and three inches thick, with an aperture in the
middle, in which is placed a handle. The gymnast lies on his back, and
holding this in one hand makes extension from side to side; a huge bow
of thick steel plates, with a chain representing the string, is bent and
unbent frequently.
But the great and most favourite implements are the clubs (what we call
Indian clubs); these the professional athlete will use of great size
and weight; and after going through the usual exercises will hurl them,
together or alternately, to a great height, and unfailingly catch them.
The wrestling is carried on, as a rule, good-temperedly; but when done by
professionals for reward, awkward tricks are employed, such as suddenly
thrusting the fingers into the eye of the adversary, and others still
more dangerous.
As a preventive against these, the wrestler always wears knee breeches
of stiff horsehide, some of which are beautifully embroidered with blue
thread; all above the waist and below the knee being bare. A good deal
of time is, as a rule, lost in taking hold and clappings of hands, and
then generally the bout commences with one hand grasping the adversary’s,
while the other clutches the body. The object is not a clean throw, but
to make the knees of the opponent touch the ground, and consequently
agility tells more than strength and size. The pairs are always made with
regard to skill, size and weight being little considered.
The gymnasia are merely darkened rooms (for coolness), with a sunken ring
in the centre, where the wrestling takes place. The floor is nearly
always of earth only, to render falls less severe.
A Persian has no idea of the use of his fists. When a street-fight takes
place, the combatants claw and slap at each other, and end by clutching
each other’s “zūlf” (long love-locks, which most wear), or beards, or
clothing. Then comes a sort of wrestle, when they are generally separated.
Every great personage retains among his favoured servants a few pehliwans
or wrestlers; and among the artisans many are wrestlers by profession,
and follow at the same time a trade.
CHAPTER IX.
KERMANSHAH.
Leave for Kermanshah, marching—Detail of arrangements—Horse
feeding—Peculiar way of bedding horses—Barley—Grape feeding—On
grass—Nawalla—Colt, Anecdote of—Horses, Various breeds
of—Turkomans—Karabagh—Ispahan cobs—Gulf Arabs—Arabs—Rise
in price of horses—Road cooking—Kangawar temple—Double
snipe—Tents—Kara-Su River—Susmanis—Sana—Besitūn—Sir
H. Rawlinson—Agha Hassan—Istikhbal—Kermanshah—As we
turn in another turns out—Armenians—Their reasons for
apostatising—Presents of sweetmeats.
On Pierson’s return to Hamadan, I gladly prepared to start with him for
Kermanshah. My traps were not numerous—a folding-table, four chairs,
a tressel bedstead, and two bullock-trunks, formed one load; and my
bedding in a case, made of carpet, bound with leather, and surmounted by
my head-man, another; my groom was perched on a third, sitting on the
clothing of the two horses, and carrying their head and heel ropes and
the stable spade, with which their bed of “pane” (dried horse-dung) is
prepared at night, and the copper bucket for watering them.
The cook, with all his _batterie de cuisine_, had the fourth, and Ramazan
and the contents of the dispensary took two more. I think another was
charged with bottled beer, and of course we each rode our horses. The
stages were:—
Farsakhs.
Assadabad or Seydabad 7
Kangawar 5
Sana 6
Besitūn 4
Kermanshah 6
Or miles, 112; farsakhs, 28.
An hour’s riding took us clear of the vineyards of Hamadan, and we passed
over grassy downs with patches of desert till we got to the commencement
of the Seydabad Pass. This, though it would be looked on as a tremendous
matter in England, is nothing difficult to get over when there is no
snow, and an hour’s smart climb brought us to the top.
The descent on the other side was much longer, and we made the seven
farsakhs, about twenty-eight miles, in nine hours’ continuous marching.
The road was very bad, being full of loose stones the whole of the way
from the commencement of the ascent. We put up at the “chupper-khana;”
as this was my first experience of marching, I may as well detail our
arrangements.
As soon as we had cleared the top of the pass, the servants pushed on
with those loads that it was needful to unpack, while we came on slowly
with the mules; the grooms, too, went on as smartly as possible; my
fellow had my other horse led in a halter. As it got to nearly sunset
(we had started very late, as is always the case in a first stage), we
cantered gently in to the post-house.
Our grooms were at the door ready to take our horses, and we found the
dirty little mud room swept, carpeted, a fire lighted, and the entrance
curtained with a tent door; the chairs and table had been put out, and
the kalians got under weigh. Our servants had tea ready, and we were
quite prepared to rest and be thankful. Our books and pipes had been put
handy in our bedding, and were laid out for us.
Half-an-hour after sunset the groom came to say he was going to feed
the horses. We go into the yard, into which our room opens, and find
Pierson’s stud of Gods on one side, my two on the other, each tethered by
double head-ropes to a mud manger, which is constructed in the wall, and
secured by heel-ropes of goats’ hair tied to pins of iron a foot long,
firmly driven into the ground.
The horses had been carefully dry-rubbed and clothed, the nammads, or
felt coverings, drawn over their necks, for it was chilly, and the beds
of “pane” laid for them.
The Persians use no straw for making beds for their horses, as it is too
valuable; but they utilise the dung, which is carefully dried in the
sun and then stored, as bedding; this is very dry, clean, and soft, and
quite without smell. When thus dried, it is called “pane.” It is laid a
foot deep all round the standing of the horse, and the edges carefully
smoothed (as a gardener in England smooths his flower-beds) by the grooms.
The horses, well aware that it is feeding-time, and having been watered
some ten minutes before (they had been walked about for half-an-hour
to cool them on arrival—a thing a Persian never omits), now commenced
neighing, playfully biting and letting out at each other as far as their
heel-ropes would permit. Pierson’s head-groom measured out in handfuls
the allowance of barley for each beast, and it was poured into a nosebag
filled with “kah,” or chaff, and then affixed to the animal’s head, that
not a grain might be lost. When we had seen this done, and noticed that
each horse fed well, we left, our place being taken by the head-servant,
who stayed till the barley was eaten; for in those days we could not
trust our grooms, who would always steal the barley if they could.
Oats are not used in Persia, though there are many salt-marshes in
the country where they would grow well. Barley is the only food for
horses, the allowance being from seven to ten pounds of barley for the
animal’s two feeds; generally seven pounds are not exceeded. (It must be
remembered that the general run of animals is much smaller than that of
English horses, fourteen hands being the usual height, and fifteen being
an unusually large beast.) This allowance is divided into two feeds, five
pounds at night and two in the morning. This, with as much as he chooses
to consume of wheat or barley straw, broken in pieces two inches long
(“kah”), is all the animal has from one end of the year to the other; no
hay is given, but for a month the horse is put on an entire diet of young
green barley-grass, of which he will eat two hundred and fifty pounds a
day. Prior to being put on this diet, which is termed full grass, he has
a larger and larger proportion administered with his chaff; this mixture
is called “teleet.”
The barley-grass is cut by the grooms, by tearing handfuls of it against
a curved toothed sickle fixed upright in a piece of wood, and is given
from two to four inches long. As the horse is given “teleet,” his grain
is diminished, and, when he is on full grass, stopped altogether; as
he gets more and more grass, his teeth get blunt, and do not break the
grain, and on leaving off grass his barley has to be soaked.
A horse on grass cannot do any serious work, and the gentlest canter
will put him in a lather. Of course it is very difficult to march a
horse when on grass, and in Persia it can only be had in the spring; and
unless he is going from a country where the season is early to one where
it is late, the animal has to do without grass altogether, or even to
march on “teleet”—a very dangerous thing, as he will often break down.
The Persians are very fond of seeing their horses fat, particularly the
townsmen, so that these latter will keep their beasts on entire grass
for two months, and on “teleet” seven months in the year, giving clover,
too, mixed with the “kah,” when they can get it. The result is an animal
bursting with fat, very irritable and restive, but who can do no work.
To old horses “nawallah,” or balls of dough made of barley flour and
water, are given; the animals take to this, which is the usual camel
food, and will look fat and work well when they have not a tooth in their
heads.
During the only grape season that I was in Hamadan, the fruit was so
cheap that we put our horses on a diet of it for a week. Hasseens, or
earthen pans of tile, were affixed to the wall in the mangers, and the
horses grew extremely fat on a diet of grapes alone.
Persian horses, like Persian women, age early; possibly they are ridden
too young; the two-year-old is often put to hard work, and an animal of
nine is an old horse.
The young colt of two is termed a no zin, or newly fit for the saddle. On
one occasion I had removed a tooth for the Zil-es-sultan, the Governor
of Ispahan (the king’s eldest son). As it came out at once he was much
pleased, and gave me an order on his master of horse for an “asp-i-no
zin,” “a horse just ready for the saddle,” meaning a two-year-old.
I sent over the order, and to my disgust got back an eight-months-old
colt. This, of course, was of comparatively little value. I did not like
to complain, for “one must not look a gift-horse in the mouth,” and the
master of horse was an acquaintance, and the prince’s maternal uncle.
I had recourse to stratagem, being put on my mettle by ironical questions
from my Persian friends, as to whether I had ridden my horse, etc.
The prince was about to review the troops, and I sent a polite message
to the master of the horse, asking the loan of a Persian saddle, for,
said I, “I want to ride out on my _new horse_, and to thank the prince
for his present.” This brought the master of the horse (“mir-achor,” or
“lord of the manger”) to my house to call on his dear friend the English
doctor. Pipes were smoked, tea drunk, and then I was asked why I wanted a
Persian saddle.
“You see, the prince’s present has been probably only used to a Persian
saddle, having been just broken in, and I have none.”
“But, dear doctor sahib, he is not fit to ride, he is eight months old.”
“Oh, my friend, you, as the mir-achor, are far too good a servant of his
Royal Highness to give me other than his order said, a horse _fit for the
saddle_—the order _said_ so, so he _must_ be fit for the saddle. I ride
him out to the review to-morrow, and shall thank the prince.”
The mir-achor sighed, and with a half-wink said, “I see you don’t like
the colt, I shall send you another; in fact, some to choose from.”
“Many, many thanks, _let_ them be good, or I shall surely ride out on the
one I have; and in case I don’t take any of those you send, don’t forget
the saddle.”
The mir-achor left, and in an hour sent me over three full-grown but
worthless brutes to choose from.
I sent them back, telling his servants that I would send for the saddle
their master would lend me.
The grooms returned with a full-grown horse of considerable value, which
I took, and returned the worthless eight-months-old colt. I was duly
felicitated on my action by my Persian friends, and was told that I had
behaved in a very diplomatic way.
The horses most in use in Persia are, in the north, the Turkoman, rarely
seen south of Teheran, and despised in Fars—a tall, ungainly animal,
sometimes over sixteen hands, with no barrel, heavy head, but great
stride and endurance.
These Turkomans, when one is on them, give the idea of riding on a gate,
there is so little between the knees. They will get over, at a jog or
loose canter, one hundred miles a day, and will keep it up for ten days.
Their gallop is apparently slow, but, from the length of stride, they get
over a great deal of ground.
They are, however, not sure-footed, and quite useless on bad roads and
hilly country, having a tendency to fall. I have never seen a Persian of
condition ride a Turkoman horse himself, though many great personages
keep several for show, on which they mount servants. In their own plains,
and for the long expeditions for plunder (“chuppaos”) made by the
Turkomans, they are doubtless invaluable; they are able to go without
water for three days, and to subsist on the hardest and scantiest fare,
and after the severe training they undergo previous to these expeditions,
they will get over an amount of ground that no other breed could hope to
cover. Their paces are rough and uncomfortable. They vary in price from
kerans three hundred to kerans five thousand; the usual price is four
hundred to six hundred for a good one. The mane is in some cases almost
wanting, and what there is is generally removed by a knife, and the
stubble burnt off by a hot iron, or by means of gunpowder or depilatory.
This gives the breed an unearthly and incomplete appearance. The tail,
too, is very slenderly provided with hair.
The “Karabagh”—also used in the north and towards the Caspian; he is
seldom seen south of Teheran—is a miniature edition of the English
hunter: big-boned and clean-limbed, he stands fourteen and a half to
sixteen hands; the latter is, however, an unusual size; he is generally
evil-tempered, but is up to hard work, and always has a black mark
running from the mane to the insertion of the tail; his mane is thick, so
is his tail; his head is heavy. Many big horses are produced in Teheran
from the mixture of the Turkoman and Karabagh, but they are leggy, and
retain the tendency of the Turkoman to fall on stony ground. They are
called “Yamūt;” the price is two hundred and fifty to five hundred
kerans. There is an underbred look about both species.
Ispahan produces a peculiar kind of cob, with great weight-bearing
powers, short-legged, big barrelled, never exceeding fourteen hands,
often less. These animals are taught to amble, and are capable of
carrying heavy men or heavier loads. The neck is generally very short
and thick. Often very full of go, they are seldom fast, but have much
bottom, are very hardy, and stand exposure and hard work. They have a
clumsy appearance, enormous manes and tails, and often a good deal of
long hair under the jaw; all have huge ears and coarse coats; the colour
is generally grey; their appetites are enormous, and they eat more than
larger horses. Price, from one hundred and twenty to four hundred kerans.
This, I am convinced, is the natural horse of Persia.
The horses of Shiraz, or “Gulf Arabs” as they are called in India,
because they are _shipped_ from the Persian _Gulf_ for the Indian market,
are the result of cross-breeding from big Persian mares by the smaller
and better-bred Arab horse. They are practically the best horses in the
country, quite free from vice, fast, and with most of the good points
of the Arab, particularly the small head. In the good ones the forehead
(brow) is always very convex, never flat. The ears are small and carried
well. The tail is carried, as the Persians put it, like a flag, the
tail-bone very short and straight. Among the natives, if the tail is
carried at all on one side, and not well up, it considerably detracts
from the animal’s value. They frequently dock the tail-bone, but the
hair is never shortened. Grey is the usual colour; though there are many
chestnuts and bays, I never saw a black. The barrel and chest are very
large, and the body short and compact; they have magnificent shoulders,
and are full of bottom. The better ones are not at all goose-rumped,
which all other breeds in Persia, except Arabs, are, while the hoofs are
large and healthy. These horses are always full of spirit, and willing,
their faults being that they are a little delicate, and dainty feeders;
they are very sure-footed, going at full speed over the roughest ground
or loose stones. They all pull, and, from the severe nature of the
Persian bit, are hard-mouthed, till they have been ridden on the snaffle
for some months. Many have a tendency to shy, but no other vices; they
stand fourteen and a half to fifteen hands, and cost from five hundred to
two thousand kerans.
The real Arabs, which come from Baghdad and the frontier, in the
Kermanshah Province, are too well known to need description, and are all
that the heart could desire, save as to size. They stand thirteen three
to fourteen two, seldom more, and cost from five hundred kerans up to
anything.
In the last fifteen years the price of horses has gone up from fifty
to eighty per cent.; this is due to the steady drain for the Indian
market, and also to the famine, when thousands were starved to death and
thousands more killed and eaten, and to opium-growing in lieu of corn.
When I first came to Persia a fair yabū, or pony, could be got for one
hundred and twenty kerans; they cost now (1883) two hundred to two
hundred and forty. Horses in proportion. But the Gulf Arabs are very
cheap in Teheran, which is by far the best place to buy horses in.
To return. We have smoked and chatted till eight o’clock, when our dinner
is put on the table—soup, tinned fish, a leg of mutton, potatoes, a
custard-pudding; these have been properly cooked, and are served hot.
Save the eggs and the milk for the custard, we brought all these good
things from Hamadan, and the cook deserves great credit, for his kitchen
has been merely a corner of the post-house yard, his range three or four
bricks, and he has _roasted_ his leg of mutton in a saucepan, and sent
it to table with delicious gravy; and thus we fare daily while on the
road. Some men, even when marching, insist on a hot breakfast on the road
itself, of three or four courses, but this is only needful when there are
ladies. Dinner over, kalians and coffee are brought. Our beds are made
one on each side of the fireplace, but not on the ground, for we have
tressel bedsteads, and ten sees us fast asleep.
A fertile plain brings us, next morning’s stage, to Kangawar, a large
and prosperous village. Here the climate grows warmer. It is a very
well-watered district, and the people seem well-to-do. In fact, in
Persia, wherever there is water there is prosperity.
There is the ruin here of a temple said to have been erected to Diana;
nothing seems to be known about it, and it is only memory that tells me
that some authority gives it as a temple to Diana. However, the four
stone columns, minus their capitals, are still standing; they are united
by a mud wall, and form part of a villager’s house.
In the swamp in front of the village we go out for snipe; Pierson gets
three brace and one _double_ snipe. I manage to get a teal, which I pot
from behind some reeds, the snipe being as yet too much for me. I also
shoot several snippets, but am disappointed when Pierson tells me to
throw them away. I have one cooked in defiance—it is uneatable.
We stop two days in Kangawar, and live in a tent. This is a very
comfortable one, with double walls, the property of Government, made, so
a label on it says, at the school at Jubbulpoor. It is constructed, so
another label tells me, for two subalterns. It has a passage a yard wide
between the walls, which keeps it cool in summer. We find it chilly at
night, and as we have no stove we are unable to light a fire. The second
day Pierson gets several double snipe, and I get very wet.
On our next march we come upon the Kara-Su (black water) River, and see
a valley teeming with bird-life—herons, ducks, geese, what appear to be
black swans, cormorants, cranes of various colours, from the big white
“leg-leg” with black wings, to small and graceful ones of pure white;
mallards, teal, and widgeon. They unfortunately are on the other side of
the river, which is unfordable here, in a swamp which extends for miles.
As we near Sana we see a man and woman seated on a mound commanding
the road, under a big green cotton umbrella, near a grove. The woman,
gaily dressed, with her face painted and without any veil, her hair
in long tails, strung with coins, importunately solicited us. The man
remained under the umbrella, and took no notice. They were “Susmanis,”
or gypsies. These people have no particular religion—certainly they are
not Mussulmans; they live by singing, dancing, and prostitution. The
woman, who had considerable attractions, followed us for nearly a mile,
and begged hard for a present. Sana is always infested by bands of these
“Susmanis,” who prey on the pilgrims.
We are now on the direct pilgrims’ road to Kerbela, where are buried the
imams, or saints, of the Sheahs, Hussein and Hassan, one of the greatest
shrines of Persian pilgrims. More groups of “Susmanis” accost us, and
demand alms, openly proclaiming their trade.
We reach Sana, and pitch the tent in a large garden with plenty of
running water, where we are able to get a good bath next day. The
climate is here very pleasant; although it is early in spring, the sun
is very powerful, and the night no longer chilly. The greater part of
the afternoon is taken up with a long wrangle with the head-men of the
village as to the price of poles for the telegraph-line. Pierson’s ideas
and theirs differ widely as to the value of these, but a threatened
reference to the Imād-u-dowlet (“Pillar of the State”), the Governor of
Kermanshah, soon reduces the price, for these sharks would much prefer
dealing with the Feringhi than their fellow-countrymen, as the latter
would probably take the poles for nothing.
Another day’s journey brings us to Besitūn, which is distinguished by an
inscription carved on the face of a perpendicular cliff, with colossal
figures, of which a correct and learned description has been given by Sir
Henry Rawlinson. At the foot of this cliff are a few fragments of what is
supposed to have been “Shushan the palace.”
It is said that here, when Sir Henry Rawlinson was engaged in copying
the inscriptions, on a scaffolding on the face of the cliff, at a great
height from the ground, that he fell over backwards, and was caught by
his trusty Arab muleteer, Hadji Khaleel; and that, in gratitude, Sir
Henry, who at that time held a diplomatic position in Persia, made the
Hadji British Agent in Kermanshah. This is the legend among the natives.
I give it as I heard it.
I had the pleasure of the honest old Hadji’s acquaintance in that place,
and was shown much kindness by him. Whether or no this legend had any
ground I cannot say; but Hadji Khaleel was a charming old man, honest as
the day, though with somewhat rough manners.
His son, Agha Hassan, who was, at the time I speak of, his right hand,
is now the British Agent, and has become, by successful commerce, the
wealthiest man in the province. Agha Hassan rode out to meet us, his
father, Hadji Khaleel being ill, and Pierson told me that he recognised
and spoke in rapturous terms of my “Senna,” to whom by this time I had
become much attached, and who once had belonged to him.
An istikhbal of a colonel, his attendants, and two led-horses, were sent
out to do Pierson honour by the Governor; kalians were smoked on the high
road, and we came in sight of Kermanshah after crossing the Kara-Su River
by a fairly well-made bridge.
The place looks well, and appears surrounded by a grassy plain, a very
unusual sight in Persia. The town had an air of prosperity, and the
people were well fed and well clothed. It occupied several small hills,
and hence appeared considerably larger than it was.
Like all Persian towns, the streets were narrow, and, save in the
bazaars, in which were the shops, one saw nothing but dead walls; each
house having an arched entrance closed by a heavy, unpainted wooden
door, with many big nails in it.
The causeway was generally some three feet wide, and raised a yard from
the ground, and frequently ran on both sides of a path a yard wide and
often two feet deep in mud or water, looking like a ditch, but it was
really the road (save the mark!) for horses, mules, and camels. Many of
the houses were built of burnt bricks, and the place seemed busier than
Hamadan. I noticed many Arabs about wearing the gay Baghdad dress, with
fez and small turban. The town was straggling, with many open spaces.
Quarters were assigned to us in the house of a man who was ejected to
enable us to occupy them; they were not in themselves a bad place, but
were in the worst and most disreputable part of the town; while the house
I was obliged to rent was actually next door but one to that occupied by
the public executioner, one Jaffer, and where dwelt the public women, the
monopoly of whom was the largest source of this man’s revenue. All this
is now changed, and Europeans can in most parts of Persia live where they
like, the householders being only too glad to get a solvent tenant. Save
in the capital, houses rarely are rented by Persians, it being usual to
borrow a spare house, or, if a man has more than one, to put a relation
in, rent-free.
The farce of the danger of living in the Persian towns is still kept up
in Ispahan (the Ispahanis are the quietest men in Persia), where the
English inhabit an unclean Armenian village, paying high rents, when
houses in the town could be had much better and cheaper; the real reason
probably being that the Armenians may enjoy the immunity they have from
all control, caused by the presence of the European. But it has _not_
answered, for in Ispahan the European is looked on as merely a clean and
sober Armenian. Still, as an experiment of what the Armenian would be
when practically unrestrained, it is valuable.
The Hamadan Armenian is hard-working and respectable, if occasionally
a drunkard, looked on by his Persian fellow-subject as a friend and a
good citizen. While the Ispahani looks on the Julfa Armenian as a race
apart, and merely the panderer to his vice and the maker of intoxicating
liquors; and the hang-dog Armenian, with his sham Turkish or European
dress and the bottle of arrack in his pocket, scowls staggering along
in secure insolence, confident in the moral protection given him by the
presence of the Englishman, whom he robs; respecting neither his priest,
whom he has been taught to despise; nor the missionary, whom he dislikes
at heart (though he has educated his children gratuitously), and whom his
priest openly reviles.
A curious instance of the religious stability of the Julfa Armenian is
shown in the fact, that a Protestant on any dispute with the missionary
becomes Catholic or Old Armenian. The Old Armenian, after a row with the
priest, becomes either Protestant or Catholic. The Catholics, as a rule,
do not relapse or become perverts. In fact, a common threat with the
Armenian to his spiritual pastor and master, missionary, priest or padre,
is to say, “Do it, and I’ll turn,” _and some have_ many times; in fact, a
very small temporal matter often is the cause of conversions as sudden as
insincere.
We were glad enough to get in, and had hardly got our boots off ere a
number of trays of sweetmeats were brought for Pierson, on the part
of Hadji Khaleel, with compliments, and a similar present was sent
from the Imād-u-dowlet, who sent his farrash-bashi (literally chief
carpet-spreader, but really his minister) to represent him. This man was
well bred, well meaning and obliging, and afterwards, through a singular
circumstance, one of my best friends among the Persians.
I continued to stay with Pierson, not moving into my own quarters till he
left Kermanshah.
CHAPTER X.
KERMANSHAH.
Kermanshah—Imād-u-dowlet—We visit him—Signs of his wealth—Man
nailed to a post—Injuring the wire—Serrum-u-dowlet—Visits—We
dine with the son of the Governor—His decorations
and nightingales—Dancing girls—Various dances—The
belly dance—Heavy dinner—Turf—_Wild_ geese—The
swamp—A ducking through obstinacy—Imādieh—Wealth of
the Imād-u-dowlet—The Shah loots him—Squeezing—Rock
sculptures—Astrologers—Astrolabes—Fortune-telling—Rammals—Detection
of thieves—Honesty of servants—Thefts through pique—My lost
pipe-head—Tragedy of two women.
Kermanshah is decidedly the cheapest place in all cheap Persia. Bread
was selling at seven pounds for twopence; mutton, seven pounds for
fourteenpence, or twopence a pound; and other things in proportion. It
costs here threepence a day to keep a horse (1867).
The day after our arrival Pierson went to visit the Imād-u-dowlet, uncle
(?) of the king, and Governor of the province. He is a man of very large
fortune, and is liked as a Governor, being stern, but generally just, his
wealth putting him above any wish to oppress the _little_ people. We rode
to the maidān, or public square, then in under an archway and up a steep
incline, which conducted us to the interior of the citadel, in which the
Imād lived.
As we entered we noticed a man nailed by the ear to a wooden telegraph
post.
The Imād-u-dowlet received Pierson very kindly, and laughed and
joked a great deal. His eldest son, the “Serrum-u-dowlet,” a man of
five-and-thirty, was present; he spoke a little French and was very
friendly and complimentary.
The wealth of the Governor was shown in his coffee-cup holders, of gold
enamelled, and decorated with rows of diamonds; his water-pipes (kalians)
all of gold; and his own special one, the bottle of which was of gold
so thickly encrusted with emeralds that it appeared like green glass;
all the stones were pale, and consequently of comparatively little value
separately.
The Governor in appearance was a man of five-and-forty, with a heavy
black beard and thick moustache; but he was really sixty-five: this
youthful look was due to hair-dye.
He told us that the man who was nailed to the telegraph-post was a
villager who had been detected red-handed in breaking the telegraph-wire,
and that he was to remain thirty-six hours, when he would be imprisoned.
“It is a capital warning to other offenders,” said the Imād. At this time
the line was frequently damaged, several miles at a time often being
pulled down by malicious travellers and villagers, particularly on the
frontier near Kermanshah. Pierson, however, begged that the man might be
removed at sunset, on the ground that he would cease to act as a warning
at night. This was reluctantly agreed to.
The latest gossip of Teheran was retailed, and a few vague remarks were
made as to the politics of Europe. I was asked to feel the Imād’s pulse,
and did not fail to try both wrists, as I found if I did not do so I was
supposed not to know my business. This was hardly charlatanry, but merely
a deference to the prejudices of the place. After the usual tea and pipes
had been gone through we retired.
The man was still nailed to the post, surrounded by a gaping crowd of
villagers. He amused himself by cursing Pierson as “reis-i-seem” (“master
of the wire”) as we passed him. The Imād, however, unpinned him at
sunset, as he had promised.
The next morning the “Serrum-u-dowlet” called to return Pierson’s visit
to his father, and asked us to dine with him that evening, entreating us
to come in time for tea in the afternoon. The whole forenoon was occupied
in receiving visits from the personages of Kermanshah.
At five we repaired to the house of the “Serrum-u-dowlet.” We found him
sitting with his brother in a large talár, or archway, one side of which
was open to the air. The whole room was decorated in the strangest taste;
there were the usual mirrors and florid mural paintings; these in this
case were life-size full-length portraits of posture dancers and dancing
girls, and were in ancient costumes, having been painted fifty years
ago. The takhjahs in the walls were filled with chromo-lithographs in
very dubious taste; several odd chandeliers hung at various heights as
ornaments, some twenty pair of old carriage-lamps were stuck into staples
in the walls, and as many small cages stood about, each containing a
bulbul, or nightingale. What with the noise these birds made, and the
splashing of a fountain which played furiously in a basin of yellow Yezd
marble in the centre, it was difficult to catch what was said. Pipes were
brought, and a long desultory conversation ensued, in the course of which
our host’s guns, dogs, and miscellaneous property were exhibited and duly
admired.
The noise was deafening, and directly we had walked round the garden a
band of musicians, some twenty strong, made night hideous with their
strains and singing. Wine was now produced, and freely partaken of by
both brothers, and trays of sweetmeats were handed round and afterwards
placed on the ground around us. Spirits, in the form of arrack, the
strong coarse spirit of the country, were pressed on us, but we declined.
Our host and his brother, however, drank it like water.
On a whispered order being given to the servants four Susmani girls
and a buffoon now appeared. These commenced a kind of posture dance,
the buffoon singing and making remarks, which produced a good deal of
laughter from the host and his brother, but were unintelligible to me,
and simply disgusting, as Pierson told me, who _could_ understand.
The girls were pretty in a way, brunettes with large eyes; their faces
were much painted, and they were fine girls; their ages were from twelve
to seventeen. Their dance had no variety, they spun round, the hands high
in air, while the fingers were snapped with a loud report. A very free
exhibition of considerably developed charms took place. Every now and
then the dancer would make what we call a cheese; then, standing with the
feet motionless, the body was contorted and wriggled, each muscle being
made to quiver, and the head being bent back till it almost touched the
ground; the fingers being snapped in time to the music; or tiny cymbals,
some inch in diameter, were clashed between the forefinger and thumb of
each hand. The musicians, who played continuously, kept up a sort of loud
chant the whole time. The girls now showed some skill as equilibrists,
balancing full glasses, lighted candles, etc., and an exhibition of
posturing was gone through. They stood on their heads and walked on their
hands; they then danced a scarf-dance.
[Illustration: FEMALE DANCERS AND EQUILIBRISTS.
(_From a Native Drawing._)]
We had not noticed that the buffoon had retired, but he now re-entered,
disguised in a remarkable manner. He seemed a figure some four feet high,
with a face huge and like a full moon. This was, in fact, carefully
painted on his bare abdomen, the whole surmounted by a gigantic turban.
He had constructed a pair of false arms, and, with a boy’s coat and large
girdle, he presented the effect of a dwarf with a huge round fat face;
his head, chest, and arms were hidden in the enormous white turban. The
face represented was one of intense and dismal stupidity, and his whole
appearance was most ludicrous; in fact, it was only on afterwards seeing
the man disrobe, that we made out _how_ it was done.
He danced in and out among the girls, who stood in a row snapping their
fingers and posturing: but what was our astonishment when we saw the
dismally stupid face _expand into a grin_, which became at length a
laughing mask; it resumed its dismal stupidity—it grinned—it laughed. The
musicians played and shouted their chant more and more loudly, and the
face of the figure assumed the most ludicrous contortions. We all were
unable to restrain our laughter, and the triumphant buffoon retired well
rewarded by the Serrum-u-dowlet. The four dancers now became rather too
personal in their attentions, and begged for coin. We gave them a few
kerans, but were glad when they retired on dinner being announced. We
both pronounced them monotonous and uninteresting.
After a heavy Persian dinner—much such a one as we had at Merand—we, with
some trouble, got away at eleven P.M. Our hosts seemed inclined to make
a very wet night of it; in fact, their frequent acceptance of cupfuls
of raw spirits from the hands of the dancers had made them see things
generally in a rosy light. They wept when we left!
We rode home through the silent streets of Kermanshah, the only light
being our farnooses, or cylindrical lamps, made of copper and calico,
something in the fashion of a Chinese lantern; and the full moon.
We met no one in the streets, which were deserted save by the dogs, and
the whole town seemed sunk in sleep. The Persian is an early bird,
going to bed at nine, and rising at four or half-past four. It is very
difficult to break oneself of this habit of early rising on returning to
Europe. One is looked on as very eccentric on getting up at half-past
four, and is hunted from room to room by the housemaids. Certainly
the early morning is the best part of the day all over the world, but
we Europeans in our wisdom have altered it. “Nous avons changé tout
cela”—and we prefer living by gaslight, electricity, etc.
The next morning the Serrum-u-dowlet came over to take our photographs,
and was very friendly; he took them really well, and is a clever fellow.
We went for a ride, and had the unwonted luxury of a two hours’ canter
over good turf. I never had this anywhere else in Persia but once. While
near the river we saw plenty of duck, and Pierson told me that they are
always to be had in the Kermanshah river.
In Kermanshah I found that the grassy plain round the town had many
attractions. Some two miles’ canter on it brought me to a swamp where
there were always snipe, except in the hot weather, an occasional duck,
and even at times wild geese. A ludicrous incident happened to me one
day in regard to the latter. As I was cantering up to the swamp with
my groom, I saw on the other side of a herd of cattle a flock of geese
grazing. To dismount and take my gun from him was the work of an instant,
and I quickly inserted a cartridge charged with No. 4, and a wire ditto,
for my left barrel. I walked stealthily among the cattle towards the
flock of geese, but the game took no notice of me, and allowed me to get
within thirty yards; then it came across me, how if these were _tame_
geese, what a fire of chaff I should get from Pierson. I did not think of
shouting, as of course I should have done, which would have settled the
question, but I retreated stealthily to where my groom was standing with
the horses. I saw that he was full of excitement, and felt that I had
made a fool of myself. “Shikar?” (“Are they wild ones?”) said I. “Belli,
belli, sahib!” (“Yes, yes, sir!”)
Back I went, but alas! only to be too well convinced that they _were_
wild ones, for the whole flock sailed away ere I could get within a
hundred and fifty yards. I have often shot geese—that is, a goose at a
time—but I never had such another chance. The birds really behaved just
as tame ones would; I can only suppose that my being among the grazing
cows I was looked upon as harmless. I did not relate that afternoon’s
adventure to Pierson for some time after.
The swamp, which was about a mile long, and at the widest parts only five
hundred yards, was in the centre impossible to cross, save in summer,
when there was no sport there. One side had not nearly so much cover as
the other, but there were no holes; the other side was full of them, and
it was only after a long time that I got thoroughly acquainted with the
geography. In after days I had a guest who was very hot on sport of all
kinds; and as the swamp was all I could show him at the time, it was
arranged that we were to have a day there.
I, having a holy horror of wet feet, used to go in with a pair of
duck trousers and Persian shoes regardless of water, and march on
frequently up to my waist, changing on coming out. I suggested this mode
to my sporting friend, but he looked on it as very _infra dig._ and
unsportsmanlike, and set out in a most correct get-up of shooting-coat
with many pockets, and the usual lace-up shooting-boots. Nothing would
induce him to take a change in case of a wetting, and off we went. As his
gun had no sling—almost a necessity in Persia, where the weapon is so
frequently carried on horseback—his groom carried it in its case.
We got to the swamp, and, knowing the place, I said, “You take the left
side—there are no holes; and I who know the holes will take the right,
which is full of them.”
But my friend was not to be led; he remarked that the right was certainly
the best side, and as guest he ought to have it. To this I of course
agreed, but I pointed out that the holes were deep and dangerous, and
that I knew them, and he did not. But, no, he insisted. I could, of
course, only give in.
The place was alive with snipe. I went to the left, or more open side,
and was over my ankles in a moment. My enthusiastic friend was in to
his knees. We blazed away, and were getting on well, when my friend
lost his ramrod. Persia being a very dry place, all wood shrinks, and
it had probably slipped out. There was nothing for it but to take the
cleaning-rod from the case and use that; the difficulty was how to carry
it, as we were firing frequently, and he didn’t want to unscrew it. My
friend had no belt, and so thrust it down his back, between his shirt
and waistcoat. We began again, and were soon in the thick of them. We had
now got to the widest part of the swamp; I was separated from my guest by
deep water-holes, and was looking at him when with a shout he suddenly
disappeared, and it was evident he was in a water-hole. I rushed out and
ran round the head of the swamp to his assistance; the servants were out
of call. When I got there he was nearly done for; he had fallen head
foremost into a hole, and could not get out, as the reeds gave way when
he pulled them, and there was only a bottom round the edge of soft mud.
The loading-rod had _somehow got down his back_, and he could not get
hold of it, while it crippled him; and he had a very white face indeed
when I helped him out by holding my gun out to him. He had lost his gun,
but my groom dived and brought it out.
I wished him to canter home at once, but he did not like to be seen in
the pickle he was in—mud, _green_ mud, from head to foot; and he insisted
on waiting till his man brought a change. This took an hour, and the day,
though bright, was cold and windy. So there he stood in his wet clothes,
his teeth chattering, trying to keep himself warm by jumping; but his
struggles in the water-hole had so weakened him that he could hardly
stand. Of course he had a severe go of intermittent fever, which laid him
up for a fortnight. In after excursions he was content to leave me the
right or dangerous side, which I from habit was able to safely travel in.
Pierson and I visited a magnificent palace which was in course of
construction by the Imād-u-dowlet. Some idea of its size may be given
when I say that there was stabling for two hundred horses. In Persia,
when a man passes fifty, he begins to be seized with a mania for
building, but he takes care not to _finish_ the works he undertakes,
being thoroughly persuaded of the certainty of his own death _in case of
the completion of the edifice_.
Some ten years after I had left Kermanshah, Imādieh—so the place was
called—was presented (I dare say much against the grain) to the king. At
that time the Imād-u-dowlet had become the actual freeholder of the whole
of the Kermanshah valley, and his wealth was immense in money and flocks
and herds. But the inevitable evil day arrived. The Shah recalled him to
Teheran, and the squeezing process commenced; large sums of money were
wrung from him, and the royal treasury correspondingly enriched. It is
always so in Persia; a man is allowed to quietly enrich himself, but when
he has achieved immense wealth he becomes a mark for oppression in his
turn. To use the common expression of the country, “He is ripe; he must
be squeezed.”
[Illustration: THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS. (NAKSH-I-RŪSTAM.)]
Just by Imādieh, at the base of a high cliff, is an excavated arched
chamber, at the back of which, carved from the living rock, is an
equestrian statue armed with a lance; it is of colossal size, and some
fourteen feet high (?). Both figure and horse are much damaged by time
and the hand of man, and it is difficult to make much out of the detail.
There are two other figures, one at either extremity of the back of the
arch.
Over the entrance of the arched chamber, which forms a delightfully
cool place to have tea in, are carved in the face of the cliff itself
two figures of Fame (?) (or winged female figures); to the best of my
remembrance they have trumpets. These are more in the Roman style, or may
be even modern (pseudo-classic), for the early Kings of Persia employed
foreign artificers to decorate their palaces; instance being seen in
Ispahan, particularly in the large oil-paintings, which are certainly not
by Oriental artists. Of the great antiquity of the figures within the
arch there can be no doubt, and they are more than alto-relievo, for they
are only affixed to the rock by a small strip, and are much under-cut.
They have been frequently scientifically described, and appear to be the
work of the Sassanian kings.
There are several similar though less pretentious figures: one at
Naksh-i-Rūstam,[14] near Persepolis; another, called by the people
“Ferhad and Shireen,” near Shiraz; but these latter are simply rough
carvings in relief.
A stone platform has been built in front of the archway, and below this
flows a great volume of spring-water that comes from a natural tunnel
beneath the statues. A large hauz or tank is kept constantly full by
this, and when we were there it was ornamented by a flock of some sixty
tame geese, the only ones I had seen, save those in Teheran, and the
recent sight of them had something to do with my hesitation when in
search of sport on the occasion which I have noted.
The shade and coolness, the noise of flowing water, and the huge tank
with the geese on it (and a swimming goose in a large piece of water is a
decidedly handsome bird, _when you have no swans_), rendered this place a
favourite one to drink tea and smoke pipes in.
The Naib-ul-ayālut, the second son of the Imād-u-dowlet, was a man who
devoted much attention to astrology and the pursuit of the philosopher’s
stone. He entertained us one day with tea at the statue, and gave us an
impromptu exhibition of fireworks; and as they were discharged from the
edge of the tank, it acted like a mirror, and the effect was good in the
extreme.
Astrology is at a premium in Persia; the monajem, or astrologers, are
consulted on almost every subject. Each village has its diviner, and each
big town supports several, the head of whom boasts the sounding title of
“monajem-bashi” (chief astrologer).
Their great occupation is to predict fortunate hours, days, etc. They
will fix on a day for a great man to start on a journey or arrive at a
place, and the man will be careful to follow the astrologer’s direction,
for they have a great belief in bad and good luck. The rules by which the
astrologers make their calculations are very complicated; strange to say,
there are many of them who really believe in their own profession. Each
has his astrolabe of brass or silver; some of the brass ones are very
large and handsome: I have known as much as one thousand kerans paid for
a good one. They are manufactured in the country. The king’s astrologer
is a very great man indeed, and no important act is undertaken without
consulting him. Often the astrologer goes further than his own special
business of “ruling the planets,” and by means of rolling six dice, which
revolve on a rod run through the centre of them, he pretends to read
the future—in fact, he is a fortune-teller. Many, too, are rammals, or
discoverers of stolen property. This is often ingeniously done, after a
good deal of hocus pocus, by working on the fears of the thieves.
The old, old plans are adopted: sticks are given to the suspected, and
they are told they will grow if they are guilty; the conscience-stricken
breaks a piece off. Or they are told to dip their hands into a pot placed
in a dark room; this is full of dye stuff; the guilty man does not dip
his hand, and is so detected. Or, more frequently, all the suspects are
sworn to innocence in the name of some local saint, and are informed that
the vengeance of the saint will fall on the guilty man if the property is
not returned; in the morning it often mysteriously reappears. These men,
then, are of use, and by their means property may often be recovered that
would otherwise never be traced.
I myself have employed them successfully on several occasions. As a
rule, thefts by domestics of anything _valuable_ are very rare, though
pilfering goes on a good deal, for the Persian servant looks on his
master’s tea, sugar, and grain as lawful plunder; when things are taken,
it is usually done by a servant merely in the hope of getting a rival
into trouble, and an edict that the servants will have to pay a little
more than the value of the lost property is enough to bring it back; it
is impossible to detect under these circumstances the abstractor. But if
a _thief_ is really among the household, the servants as a rule find him
out and clamour for his discharge.
Such an event happened when my best pipe-head suddenly disappeared.
I sent for the rammal, and after various mysterious ceremonies
unsuccessfully gone through, the man retired promising me my property
before noon the next day. Next morning one of my men calmly informed me
that he had seen the prophet Mahommed in a dream, who addressed him thus—
“‘Hadji, my son, are you well?’
“‘Alas! no, holy prophet; I am in deep grief, my heart is burnt up with
misery.’
“‘Why is this, son Hadji?’
“‘My master has lost a pipe-head, O prophet, and I—I, the innocent
Hadji—may be suspected; the hearts of all the servants are tightened
(idiom) by this sad fear.’
“‘Be not afraid, son Hadji; if you look at the top left-hand corner of
your master’s tank, you will find it.’
“I swooned away with delight, sahib, and am only waiting your permission
to make a search.”
I smiled, and of course there they found my pipe-head. As I knew theft
was not intended, I said nothing, but I did not reward the vision-seeing
finder.
One day in Kermanshah I was surprised to meet a procession in the
streets. First came all the lutis or buffoons, the public musicians
singing and dancing, then a crowd of drunken roughs, then a few
soldiers with fixed bayonets, then the “farrash-bashi,” or “principal
tent-pitcher”—in reality the Imād-u-dowlet’s head-man—on horseback;
then the executioner, clad in red, and his aides; then two wretched
women, their heads shaved and rubbed with curds, their faces bare and
blackened, _dressed in men’s clothes_, and both seated on one donkey,
led by a negro, with their faces to the tail (their feet had been beaten
to a pulp); then a crowd of some two thousand men, women, and children.
On inquiry I learnt that these women were attendants at a public bath,
and had betrayed the wife of a tradesman into the hands of an admirer,
who had secreted himself in the bath with their connivance. The woman
complained, the man fled, and justice (Persian justice) was being done
on the two unfortunate women. The Imād-u-dowlet had severely bastinadoed
them and then gave them over to the executioner to be paraded through
the town and then banished—after they had been handed over to the tender
mercies of all the ruffians of the city. The first part of the sentence
had been carried out, and they had been led thus through the bazaars from
dawn till afternoon; the executioner taking, as is customary, a small tax
from each trader according to his degree. Such is the Persian custom from
old times. I learnt afterwards that the mob defiled these women, and one
died of her injuries; the other poor wretch either took poison or was
given it by her offended relatives the next morning.
Such is Persian justice.
CHAPTER XI.
I GO TO ISPAHAN.
Deficiency of furniture—Novel screws—Pseudo-masonry—Fate
of the Imād-u-dowlet’s son—House-building—Kerind—New
horse—Mule-buying—Start for Ispahan—Kanaats—Curious
accident—Fish in kanaats—Loss of a
dog—Pigeons—Pigeon-towers—Alarm of robbers—Put up in a
mosque—Armenian village—Armenian villagers—Travellers’
law—Tax-man at Dehbeed—Ispahan—The bridge—Julfa.
In these early days of the Telegraph Department we all had considerable
difficulty in getting furniture; the little good furniture Pierson and
I had, viz., two tables, came from Baghdad, and was originally made
in India. I was delighted to get from my friend the farrash-bashi a
magnificent arm-chair made of mahogany and stuffed in velvet. Even the
word for a chair, “sandalli,” was not used in Kermanshah, but “kūrsi,” a
platform, was the expression; and the rough chairs we got made, of plane
or poplar, painted bright green or red in water-colour and unvarnished,
and pinned together by wooden pegs in lieu of mortises, were uneasy in
the extreme, always coming to grief; and the travelling camp-stools,
with no back, were nearly as bad. In Ispahan the natives are clever as
carpenters, and now make chairs, tables, and even chests of drawers very
fairly. I once had some made by a very clever young Armenian carpenter,
and the chests of drawers were very good indeed, but I found that the
locks and hinges were _nailed_ on instead of screws being used. I sent
them back, and then, rather than buy screws, which are somewhat expensive
in Persia, the carpenter cut slots with a file in the head of each
round-headed nail, sending them to me and triumphantly demanding his
money, supposing that _now_ at least I was satisfied.
But on putting a screwdriver to them, I detected the ingenious deception,
and remembering the Persian proverb, “If you can deal with an Armenian,
you can deal with the devil,” I had to put pressure on the man to get
screws really put on.
The farrash-bashi’s arm-chair arrived with five pounds in cash, ten
loaves of sugar—loaf-sugar was one and sixpence a pound at that time and
only used by the rich—several pounds of tea, and twenty mule-loads of
barley—not a bad fee. I was surprised at the largeness of it, and found
that the farrash-bashi was a “mason,” which accounted for it.
One of the king’s servants conceived the brilliant idea of introducing
pseudo-masonry into Persia for the sake of his own aggrandisement. He
inaugurated so-called lodges of masons (Feramūsh-khana, “the house of
forgetfulness,” is the name used in the country for a masonic lodge) all
over Persia, specially impressing on the neophytes the doctrine that
implicit obedience was in _all things temporal_ to be yielded to the
superior, and exacted large contributions. With a people so excitable as
the Persians, anything mysterious has a great charm. The astute mirza
took care only to initiate rich neophytes, or at all events men of
position, and a gigantic political engine was the result (of course all
this was quite contrary to the spirit of masonry, which especially avoids
politics). The king got wind of the matter, and the clever Armenian (for
he was a son of poor Armenians of Julfa) was banished the kingdom, or
fled to save his throat. But time went on, the past was condoned, and
the poor Armenian boy now occupies a high diplomatic position at a great
European Court, and holds the title of prince.
It appears that the farrash-bashi’s handsome fee was not so much caused
by gratitude for professional treatment, but was merely a way of
“rendering unto Cæsar the things which are Cæsar’s,” for he had seen a
masonic jewel of mine similar to one worn by the maker of mock masons,
and hence the chair and the rest of it.
A curious episode now occurred. The Imād-u-dowlet had a son, his youngest
and favourite. This fellow was guilty of every crime that is possible.
While we were in Kermanshah he had attempted his father’s life, and
actually wounded him with slugs from a pistol discharged at a few yards’
distance. The Imād at length confined him in chains to his chamber. At
the intercession of his brothers, the chains after forty-eight hours were
removed, and in a week or so he was received into apparent favour, and
set at liberty. But from what we learnt afterwards, this was merely a
manœuvre to quiet the minds of the townspeople—his destruction had been
resolved on.
One morning a man of the Imād’s rushed into our courtyard and implored
me to start at once for Imādieh, where, it was stated, the prince had
_wounded himself_ with his gun. I left at once on a very good horse of
Pierson’s, and galloped violently to the place.
Here I found the Imād’s doctor, Mirza Zeynal Abdeen. He was as white as a
sheet, and hurried me to the edge of the large tank; there lay the corpse
of the Imād’s son; a few servants stood round, and seemed frightened out
of their wits. Mirza Zeynal Abdeen was beside himself, and besought me to
do something.
I told him the man had been dead some time. This seemed to astonish him.
On closer inspection I found that death had been caused by a gun-shot
wound, fired with the muzzle touching, or almost touching, the junction
of the chin and neck; so close had the weapon been placed that the flesh
was burnt by the flame. The entire charge was lodged in the brain. Nobody
could give any information, but the man’s discharged gun lay by him. I
have no doubt that the matter was really an execution, for one of the
wrists was bruised by finger-marks, and doubtless the unfortunate man had
been held down and slain with his own weapon.
An account was given that he had thrown the gun up and caught it several
times, but, missing it, that the butt struck the pavement and the gun
exploded; but the muzzle must have been nearly touching when discharged.
There being nothing more to do, I promised to break the news to the
Imād-u-dowlet, though doubtless he was well aware of the result.
I got on the horse Pierson had lent me on account of its swiftness, to
return, but he could hardly move, so I took my servant’s. As we crawled
towards the town, my servant leading the foundered animal, we had to
take him into a village; he lay down and died, and I rode home on the
servant’s horse. On the way, every now and then, I met parties of the
grandees of Kermanshah, coming out with their servants to inquire the
result of the “_accident_.”
I replied to their questions that the man was dead, on which these
bearded men burst into loud weeping and shed floods of tears, getting
down to take up handfuls of mud, which they immediately plastered on
their hats as a sign of mourning.
I was spared any interview with the Imād. His people stated that he
was aware of what had happened, and was in retirement in his women’s
quarters. The unfortunate young man’s funeral was conducted with every
show of grief.
Pierson left for Teheran, where he was called to act temporarily as
Director, and I became now much occupied in looking after the building
of my house, which a native had contracted to finish in six weeks under
penalty of one toman a day for any delay over that time. I frequently
sent to the man to ask why he did not commence, but the answer was always
the same, “Furder” (“to-morrow”). To-morrow, of course, never came,
and the fellow incurred a penalty of six hundred kerans. I let him off
two hundred, but he was compelled to pay up the remainder, much to his
astonishment and disgust.
I had occasion to go to Kerind, which is the last telegraph-station in
Persia. The country was covered with snow, so I could not see much of
the place. The Kerindis are reported to be a very turbulent set, and bad
Mussulmans. They eat many things that are unlawful, as the hare, and
are said to be devil-worshippers, or Yezeedis, and to celebrate certain
unchaste rites.
However this may be, they seemed to me to be a fine, honest lot of
people, and their then Governor, Malekneas Khan, certainly was not
deficient in politeness and florid compliment, for he sent me a letter
addressed “To the great English doctor, he who _sits_ in the presence of
princes.”
On my return I passed through Myedesht, some seven farsakhs from
Kermanshah, celebrated for its horses. Here I bought a strong
three-year-old horse for four hundred kerans (sixteen pounds). My stud
had now got to five, for my patients kept me in corn and fodder, so all
an animal cost me was his price and pay of groom. I used to take long
rides each day, and we always managed, the groom and I, to tire all five
horses over the turf. In fact, after dispensary hours there was little
else to do, for there were only two signallers here, of whom I did not
see much, as when one was on duty the other was sleeping.
Captain Chambers, who was newly appointed to the Persian Telegraph,
now arrived, and it was a change for the better to have a companion.
He received orders to buy mules for the Indian Government, for use in
the Abyssinian war, and purchased some three hundred. Hardly was the
mule-buying over, when orders came that the line from Teheran viâ Hamadan
and Kermanshah, was to be handed over to the Persians; and I received
orders to march across country to Ispahan, to which station I was now
appointed.
We started—Mr. Hughes, clerk in charge of Kermanshah office, and his
wife; Sergeant Hockey, Line Inspector, and his wife; and two signallers,
all of whom, with myself, were transferred to the Ispahan section.
We went as far as Kangawar upon the post-road towards Hamadan, and then
turned off on a less-known route to Ispahan, viâ Khonsar and Gūlpigon.
Nothing particularly noticeable occurred till we got to a large village
called Gougas, where we had to make a day’s halt to rest the mules. The
spring was well advanced, and the whole plain showed heavy crops. What,
however, interested us was the quantity of ruined kanaats, or underground
watercourses, these teemed with pigeons; some of them were of a depth of
seventy feet.
The greater part of the irrigation of Persia is carried on by systems of
underground tunnelling, called “kanaats.” A well is dug, generally on the
slope of a range of hills, until water is reached; then, a few feet above
the bottom of this well, a tunnel is made some four feet high and two
wide, having its outlet in a second well, and so constructed as to have
a very slight fall towards well No. 2. Should the ground be soft these
tunnels are lined by large oval hoops of baked pottery, two inches thick
and a foot wide. By placing these continuously the prime cost of the
tunnel is much increased, but the expense for repairs is very much less;
the great charge being the annual clearing out that the tunnels, unless
lined, require, the soil falling in and blocking them, and the fall of
water being lost by accumulations of the settlings of mud and sand.
Sometimes the wells of the kanaats are not more than twenty yards apart;
sometimes as far off as fifty or even eighty. As each well is dug, the
“mokennis,” or tunnellers, draw up from it all the earth, which they
carefully place round it in a circle. As they come to water, the mud
which is drawn up is poured on the earth, and as it hardens in the sun,
a number of crater-like mounds are formed; these mark the lines of
kanaats, which may be distinguished running across barren plains for many
miles, or even farsakhs. They are often dry, and disused ones are rather
dangerous.
I once, when riding, went into an old one, horse and all, but managed to
scramble out as my horse struggled; he plugged the well, and had to be,
with some difficulty, dug and drawn out.
A very curious accident happened to Mr. H⸺, of the Department, when
coursing at Teheran. Fair coursing was obtained in the immediate vicinity
of the capital, but the kanaat-holes rendered it somewhat dangerous. A
run took place, and Mr. H⸺ was missed. His horse, riderless, joined the
others, and the only conclusion was that he must have tumbled down a
well-hole, which occur here in tens of thousands, and in every direction.
After a long search his hat was discovered at the margin of one of the
innumerable well-holes. That saved his life; for had his hat not been
found, he would still be in the kanaat, as his voice would never have
reached the surface. Stirrup-leathers were joined, and he was drawn out
not much the worse, strange to say, though his face and hands were badly
cut. To construct a kanaat is the highest benefit a rich man can confer
upon a village; it at once becomes a flourishing place. Sometimes a long
series of tunnels and wells are dug, and by some error in calculation
there is no supply of water; but this is very rare. The great advantage
of these subterranean channels is, that loss by evaporation is reduced to
a minimum, and water cannot be stolen; of course the cost of making is
very great; but if successful it is a very profitable transaction, for
the ryots have to _buy_ the water, and at a high price.
Most of the kanaats are full of fish: where they come from is a puzzle,
as the water is lost in the ground at one end and rises subterraneously
at the other. I believe it has been shown by Darwin that fish-spawn is
carried on the feet of frogs: this at times accounts for it. The larger
kanaat fish are not very nice, having a sodden muddy taste—they are like
tench; but the smaller ones, when fried, resemble much the “Friture de
la Seine” sold at the restaurants at Asnières. We often, when marching,
amused ourselves by obtaining a good friture from the openings of the
kanaats in the villages, in rather an unsportsmanlike manner. Cocculus
Indicus (some ten beans) was pounded and mixed with dough, and cast down
one of the wells; in an hour, at least a half-bushel of fish were always
caught. The fish poison imparted no poisonous effects to the flesh of the
fish, probably because so small a portion was taken. The fish, if allowed
to remain in the water, generally recovered; the large ones always did.
This mode of getting a dish of fish would have been hardly excusable; but
in a country where the only food on the road is fowls or eggs, a change
is of great importance. These kanaat-fish will not take bait as a rule,
though I have known them to be voracious and easily taken by paste.
The ruined and dry kanaats are much more numerous than those in working
order, and form a secure asylum for jackals and porcupines. Three very
good bull-terriers I had, once went down a kanaat near Shiraz after a
porcupine; two were badly wounded from the quills, and the third, a
very old and decrepit dog, was lost, probably drowned. I fancy from
their muzzles that they must have killed the beast, but the dogs did not
recover from the effects of the quill wounds for a fortnight; and one
had a piece of quill lodged in her thigh that I did not detect till she
showed it me and almost asked me to extract it a month after. In the
unsuccessful search we made for the decrepit dog in the kanaat, we nearly
came to grief ourselves, for as I was creeping along with a lantern in
my hand, up to my knees in mud and water, a quantity of earth and stones
fell from the roof, separating me from my man who followed. I rushed for
the well in front, and was drawn out by servants who were awaiting me,
while my man made for the one we had descended by; we were equally glad
to see each other. It was the first time I had been in a kanaat—I mean it
to be the last.
Pigeons may generally be shot for the pot from these kanaats, and afford
very good practice; the pigeons are similar to our blue rocks. One simply
follows a line of wells, and just before you reach a well, a servant
throws a stone into that behind; if there be any pigeons they usually
rise and give a fair chance, returning to the kanaat by a neighbouring
well. Considerable amusement may be got out of this. Gougas was full of
pigeons, and here we first saw the pigeon towers so common in Ispahan. A
description of one will serve for all, for they differ merely in size.
The towers are constructed simply for the collection of pigeons’ dung,
which commands a high price as a manure for the raising of melons, and,
in fact, is a kind of guano. The pigeon when living in the kanaats is
liable to the depredations of jackals, foxes, etc., so the Ispahanis, the
most careful and calculating of the Persian nation, build these towers
for the pigeons. They are circular, and vary in height, from twenty to
seventy feet, and are sometimes as much as sixty feet in diameter. The
door, which is merely an opening in the wall half-way up, is only opened
once a year for the collection of the guano, the remainder of the time
it is plastered like the rest of the building, which is composed of mud
bricks and ornamented with a ring of plaster painted with scrolls or
figures in red ochre. These bricks are made on the spot, and cost from
one keran to two kerans a thousand. The whole surface of the inside of
the circular outer wall is covered with small cells open to one side
about twelve inches in size; in these the pigeons build. In the centre
of the circle are two walls cutting each other at a right angle, and so
forming a cross; the sides and ends of these walls are also covered with
cells.
I have counted cells for seven thousand one hundred pairs in a large
pigeon tower; there were five thousand five hundred in the outer wall,
and sixteen hundred in the cruciform wall occupying the centre. Most
of those near Ispahan are now in ruins, for as it is no longer the
capital, an excessive price cannot be obtained for early melons, and so
pigeon-keeping is not so profitable. In no case did the proprietor of
the tower feed the birds; they picked up a living from the fields of the
neighbours.
A ridiculous incident now occurred to us. As we were marching across an
immense plain, we noticed men in a crowd on the side of the mountains;
they were all armed, and seemed over a hundred in number. We were
considerably alarmed to see that they ran in a body towards our caravan,
which we had no doubt would now be looted, for what were three revolvers
and a cavalry sabre against a hundred armed men? The muleteers ran away,
shouting “Doz, doz!” (“Thieves, thieves!”) We could not save ourselves
by flight, for two of the party were married—Mr. Hughes and Sergeant
Hockey—and their wives were in palikees, or paniers, on the mules.
The armed crowd advanced at a run; we put ourselves on the supposed
danger-side of the caravan. The mules had all stopped when the drivers
ran away, and to our delight we found that the armed men were merely some
villagers who had fled to the mountains rather than pay excessive taxes.
These poor fellows begged us to intercede with the Governor of Ispahan
for them on our arrival, which we promised to do. Our muleteers, seeing
there was no fighting, now returned; we put up our revolvers, and on we
went. We did not pass through Khonsar, which is off the road.
That night we arrived at a small village which had a quantity of warm
springs. So unsophisticated were the natives that, having no other
shelter to give us, they suggested that we, like Mussulman travellers,
should put up in the mosque. To this we did not object, and had a
very good resting-place. This was a very extraordinary occurrence, as
villagers are generally very bigoted; but I fancy these people did not
really understand that we were not Mahommedans.
The next stage was Lilliane, an Armenian village; the people were
apparently prosperous; they wore the dress of the ancient Armenians, or
Feridan costume. Feridan is a collection of villages, most of which are
Armenian, in the neighbourhood of Ispahan. The priest put me up; he had
been to Bombay, and seemed a decent fellow. He was an old man, and told
me that, were it not for their secluded position, they should be much
oppressed.
The men and boys seemed very boorish; the women were clad in the peculiar
ancient costume referred to. Cylinders of pasteboard were swathed in
chintz of various colours, and worn as head-coverings. These hats, if
they may be so called, were ornamented with strings of silver coins; they
wore long trousers, the bottoms of which were in some cases elaborately
embroidered. It is these embroideries, called naksh, that are exhibited
in the Persian collection in the South Kensington Museum. At one time
they were part of the universal indoor dress of the Persian women; each
bride worked herself a pair during her girlhood, and they are said to
have employed three, four, or even five years in the labour. The figures
are flowers, generally roses, worked in diagonal rows in fine silk on
muslin; there is no filling in, it is _all stitching_.
To return to the women. They had high shagreen shoes and thick socks of
coloured wool; the skirts were long but not voluminous; over the dress
was worn a long mantle of red cloth, trimmed and lined with foxes’
skin; the shirts were red or green, and the breasts were allowed to be
fully exposed _as ornaments_. This liberal exhibition struck us as very
strange. A huge metal belt of copper plated, or silver, girded their
waists; the hair was hidden by long kerchiefs tied over the head and
hanging down behind, while, strangest of all, a white cloth was tied
round the neck and hid the nose and mouth. This, I was informed by the
priest, is never removed—they even sleep in it. With them it is what the
veil is with the Mahommedan woman, the sign of modesty: this completed
the costume.
The women, all save the very old, spoke only in whispers or by pantomime.
A girl on marriage never speaks in the presence of her mother-in-law or
husband—she only signs. The very young girls and very old women, however,
fully made up for the silence of the rest.
The priest was much surprised that we did not accept his invitation to
get drunk, telling me that “if one didn’t get drunk one might as well be
a Mussulman.” The Armenians were very friendly, but charged us much more
for provisions, etc., than the Mussulmans. They are great beggars.
Of Gūlpigon, a large, scattered place, we saw nothing, from the weather
being bad, but I got some good carpets there.
Our last stage brought us again on the regular caravan road to Ispahan,
and there we found a magnificent stone caravanserai (Charlēseah).
There were quantities of travellers, but we were lucky enough to arrive
in time to find good rooms. This is of great importance, for if one
happens to come in after the arrival of a big caravan with pilgrims, or a
regiment of soldiers, it is next to impossible to get rooms, and a row is
often the result, for the presence of a large number of co-religionists
makes the people put on the appearance of bigotry; and some beggar will
insist perhaps on occupying a room large enough for ten, and decline to
be even bought out; an unpleasant wrangle will ensue, and then, if one is
not good-tempered, a row. First come is first served, and good road law.
[Illustration: ARMENIAN WOMEN.
OUTDOOR DRESS. INDOOR DRESS.
(_From a Native Drawing._)]
Generally, however, a few kerans will secure two rooms, and as a rule
stratagems obtain the accommodation that force fails to secure. I thought
myself, when a married man, that it was better to pay a small fee when
I found, as I did at times, every room occupied and no other place to
go to. At the same time it is a crying shame that the employés of _our_
Persian Telegraph Department, _who always travel on business_, should
not be enabled to go to the post-houses _as a right_, and that they are
at times compelled to argue in the rain, or engage in serious rows, when
they find that there is absolutely no other means of getting shelter for
themselves and families. This is particularly hard, too, on the signaller
and subordinate member, who, with few muleteers and perhaps two servants,
finds it more difficult to secure a place to put his head in than the
superior officer, who has a regiment of servants and muleteers, and can
consequently overawe opposition, and be too strong to provoke a row.
At times one _must_ have recourse to stratagem. At Dehbeed, the
loneliest and coldest station in Persia, there is no village, only a
post-house and caravanserai, the latter quite in ruins; these, with the
telegraph-office, form all the shelter in winter, in summer-time there
are a few black tents. One bitter winter’s day I arrived at Dehbeed,
marching, and proceeded to the post-house. This I found full of irregular
horsemen, some twenty in each bottom room, while their master, a Khan,
engaged in collecting taxes, occupied the top room. I, supposing these
men were servants, asked them to vacate one room; they declined, and told
me to get out of the place, and not on any account to wake the Khan.
What was I to do? Dehbeed is twenty-four miles from any village, the
caravanserai in ruins, and the greater part of the telegraph-office had
_fallen in_ from heavy snow. The unfortunate sergeant in charge had
reported to the superintendent, Mr. W⸺, the state of his office, and on
asking how he was to keep the instrument dry with no roof, had been told
“to sit on it.” He and his family were at a loss for room, and there was
no other shelter of any kind, and snow to any amount, temperature awful,
and three in the afternoon. The only thing was to shake down in the
stable. I had no _right_ in the post-house as I was _marching_, and not
riding, post, nor had this Khan, for the same reason.
Programme:—to attempt to get a room by begging and trusting to his
politeness; if that fails, a ruse. I shout violently, and am threatened
by the rough horsemen.
At last I wake the Khan, and a message is sent down to know what I want.
I reply that a room is all I need, and will he give me one of the three
he occupies?
I am invited to a cup of tea.
Fortunately my caravan is not yet arrived, I being ahead, so I go
up-stairs, am very polite, and have no doubt of getting a room. I
am regaled with a cup of tea, and after a long explanation from my
entertainer, the royal tax-gatherer, as to what a great man he is, and
how he is waiting orders from the Governor of Fars, at Shiraz, I am told
I had better march twenty-four miles, through the snow, to the next stage.
I did not argue with the Khan, but I was determined to get quarters, and
I told him that I should telegraph at once to the Governor at Shiraz and
complain.
“Go to the devil,” was the reply.
Boiling with rage I plodded through the deep snow to the
telegraph-office. I knew the line was down, and that I could not
telegraph to Shiraz, but I had my plan.
I returned with a large telegraph form covered with English writing, and
entering the Khan’s room in a blustering manner sat down and tossed him
the supposed despatch.
“What is this, sahib?”
“A message for you.”
“But I can’t read it; please read it for me.”
I carelessly comply, after pulling off my wet boots.
“His Royal Highness the Governor of Fars to ⸺, Khan.
“What do you mean by refusing to give the European quarters? Vacate
post-house at once, and proceed _instantly_ to Abadeh for orders.”
Now had this Persian been as sharp as he was ill-mannered and
dog-in-the-mangery he would have known that he would never have received
such a message; but he gave credit to it, supposing that I had complained
by wire, and he cleared out with many apologies. Poor devil! He started
for Abadeh, seventy miles off, the nearest halting-place twenty-eight
miles, just as day was fading and my caravan marching in to the
post-house. The weather was very bitter, and this rather Persian way of
getting the man out did not weigh on my conscience. I told the Governor
of Fars, and he said simply, “Serve him right, he ought to have given you
at least one room.”
Ispahan was surrounded by gardens and full of ruins. Here a street, of
which a fourth of the houses were inhabited; there a ruined quarter; then
miles of bazaar full of buyers and sellers, who shouted “Bero, Armeni!”
(“Be off, Armenian!”) with occasional gaps of ruins. Then a huge maidān,
or public square, the largest in Persia, one end thronged by hucksters,
at the other the Musjid-i-Shah, or royal mosque; more ruins, then a
magnificent and lofty bazaar, also in ruins, through which we rode; then
the Char Bagh, a royal garden, with its tile-domed college and golden
ball, and with its rows of magnificent planes, and its dry and ruined
tanks and watercourses; then a fine and level bridge which crossed the
river Zendarūd, which just at that time was full of rushing muddy water,
passing furiously under the many arches.
At length we arrived in Julfa, the Armenian village on the further side
of the Ispahan river, after seventeen days’ marching from Kermanshah,
and two occupied by our halt in Gougas. We had found the grass and young
wheat high there, and plenty of lambs to be bought; but Ispahan was not
so forward, the trees being only just in leaf, and weather cold.
CHAPTER XII.
JULFA.
Illness and death of horse—Groom takes
sanctuary—Sharpness of Armenians—Julfa
houses—Kūrsis—Priests—Arachnoort—Monastery—Nunnery—Call
to prayer—Girls’ school—Ancient language of the
Scriptures—Ignorance of priests—Liquor traffic—Sunday
market—Loafers—Turkeys—Church Missionary school—Armenian
schools.
I was given quarters in Ispahan that did not possess a stable, and I
had to hire one a good way off. This cost me one of my horses, for my
careless groom, instead of giving the animals “teleet,” the mixture of
grass and straw, simply filled their mangers with clover, and, leaving
them to their fate, went to enjoy himself in the town. The natural result
followed: I was hurriedly summoned to the stable, and found my Myedesht
horse “Armchair” (I had given him this name on account of the ease of
his paces) flinging his head about against the ground, from which he was
unable to rise; he had acute inflammation of the bowels, as I found from
an examination after death.
At that time, knowing little or nothing of the diseases of horses, I was
compelled to send for a native farrier, and let him work his wicked will
on the poor beast. The treatment he employed was to put on a quantity
of heavy clothing, canter the animal furiously about, and deprive him
of water; in about four hours he died. I have since had horses who
suffered in a similar way, notably in one case where I was offered ten
tomans for a horse which cost sixty. I bled him largely and saved his
life, but his hoofs were never any good afterwards, becoming hollow, and
he was chronically foundered. I had better have dealt. Bleeding, in my
experience, is the only remedy; of course, the violent cantering is the
very worst possible thing.
During the excitement, my groom, a Persian of Kermanshah, slipped away,
and I found that he had taken sanctuary in the Armenian Cathedral. I,
however, as he was a Mussulman, got him with some difficulty away, gave
him the thrashing he deserved, and kicked him out.
I found that in Julfa the cost of living was much higher than in
Kermanshah, the Armenians never allowing anything to be sold to the
English save at a high price; and in this manner a sort of special rate
was paid by the Europeans. The remedy we adopted was to buy everything
from the town, and this answered so well that, in about six months, our
pay went twice as far as before. Mr. Walton, the superintendent, with
some difficulty got a bazaar list with the real prices of the usual
necessaries _as sold in the town of Ispahan_, and circulated it among the
staff. These prices turned out to be nearly the same as those we had paid
in Kermanshah.
Julfa itself was, for an Armenian village, unusually pleasant in
appearance. The Armenians are essentially gardeners, and each house
had its vineyard or orchard; the water for irrigating these was led
in open channels through the middle of the principal streets, and the
edges of these channels were thickly planted with “zoban-i-gungishk,”
or “sparrow-tongue,” a quick-growing kind of willow, so called from the
pointed leaf. This tree makes the best firewood, giving a lasting ember;
the trees are lopped each year, and the twigs and branches are used for
making thatch, over poplar or plane poles, for roofing those rooms which
are not arched. In Ispahan most rooms have an arched roof.
The houses in Julfa are all built of mud bricks; some of them are very
ancient, going back to four hundred years. The clay of Ispahan is very
tenacious; and as the walls, particularly of the older houses, are built
from four to five feet thick, very substantial dwellings are the result,
warm in winter but cool in summer.
The Armenians almost invariably at that time (1871) built their rooms
with arched brick roofs; these were quite impervious to the weather and
delightfully cool in summer. The cold in winter was very great, but as
the Armenian does not use an open fire, but sits the greater part of his
time, his feet under a “kūrsi,” or platform having a brazier under it,
and is very warmly clad in wool and skins, he does not feel it.
These “kūrsi” (literally platforms) are an economical arrangement used
in every Armenian house. A small hole is dug in the floor (in summer it
is planked over); in this is placed a clay fire-pan, half full of wood
ashes; on them are a few handfuls of lighted charcoal. The “kūrsi,” a
frame eighteen inches high, and varying from two feet square to four,
is placed over this fire, and over this “kūrsi” is laid a “lahāf,” or
thickly-wadded cotton quilt of such size as to cover the “kūrsi” and
extend beyond it for a yard and a half. Around the “kūrsi” are placed
thin mattresses or cushions; on these the whole family sit by day, and
here they all sleep at night. In the day the “kūrsi” acts as a table, on
which the meals are eaten; at night the feet are kept thoroughly warm
by the fire-pot and the quilt. As the Armenians never wash more than
once a month, and very seldom that, the “kūrsi,” with its heat, forms a
nidus for the vermin with which they are infested; but it enables them
to support the cold of their large and airy rooms at a minimum cost for
fuel. Whole families thus sleeping in one apartment, guests, married
couples, children and all, does not tend to promote morality, which with
these people is at a very low ebb.
What struck me most was the great multitude of priests in the place.
India and Batavia are supplied with priests from Julfa; these priests are
under the jurisdiction of a bishop, whose head-quarters are the so-called
monastery, or Egglesiah Wang, literally “big church.” He is assisted
by a monk of jovial port, the Kalifa Kuchek, or, as he is familiarly
termed, the little bishop. This little bishop, who has held his post for
many years, is much and deservedly respected in the place. Nominally
the jurisdiction of Julfa is in the hands of the bishop; literally,
the little bishop attends to this temporal power, and gives general
satisfaction.
The Arachnoort, or bishop, at the time of my arrival was one Moses; and
he added to his income, regardless of consequences, by accepting bribes
to make priests; some of the priests he made he accepted as little as
ten pounds for, and many could neither read nor write. His successor,
the present bishop, a man of singularly prepossessing appearance and
blameless life, does not do this, and exacts a fair education and a good
character in his candidates for ordination.
A very amusing instance showing this occurred in 1881. I had a dirty,
drunken cook, whom, though knowing his work, I had to discharge for
drunkenness and dishonesty; he was notoriously a great blackguard, but a
clever fellow. To my astonishment in a day or two I met my drunken cook,
dressed in sad-coloured garments, washed and sober. I was much surprised
at the change for the better, and was told that the reason was that he
was to be made a priest in a day or two. I inquired of the little bishop,
and was told that he had offered a bribe of twenty pounds, or kerans five
hundred, to be made a priest; but that, as the bishop did not like to
hurt the man’s feelings, he had told him to live cleanly, keep sober, and
that with study he might hope in time for ordination, but that just at
that time it was impossible to comply with his wishes. The man’s feelings
were thus spared. Alas! for the cook; in a few days he was found, as
usual, drunk and incapable in the street, and compelled to say, “Nolo
episcopari.”
The “Egglesiah Wang” (great church) was formerly a large monastery, and
many monks inhabited it; the cells are now mostly used as store-rooms.
Besides the Arachnoort and the little bishop, there were only two monks
in my time, of whom one died; the other, after offering himself as a
convert to Protestantism, and then to Catholicism (previously he had
even tried to turn Mussulman), was sent to Etchmiadzin, in Armenia, on
condition of being subsequently reinstated, and there was subjected by
the patriarch to severe discipline, and forgiven. He has not returned.
The nunnery is still flourishing, and there are many nuns; some of them
have attained a great age. They are harmless women, whose only fault is
a love of the bottle; they fast religiously, and conduct their services,
which are very frequent, by day and night, with great regularity. There
was a time when the Julfa churches were not allowed to have bells, and
over each church-roof is a board, hung from two posts. This is drummed on
with mallets, at first slowly, then fast, for some fifteen minutes before
each service at the nunnery; and, as my house was near it, I can testify
to the punctuality of at least the call to prayers, at half-past three
A.M. and other unearthly hours.
These boards are used on every church save the “Wang,” which is provided
with a handsome bell-tower, standing in its inner court on four
substantial brick columns, and covered by a dome-like roof; it is at
least one hundred and thirty feet high.
On Sundays, Saturday afternoons, and all feast-days, the knocking is
deafening, and the awakening power is certainly greater than the bell to
those in the neighbourhood. We may yet have it adopted in England as one
of the _primitive forms_ of the early Church.
Great scandals have at times arisen in this nunnery. A nun, the sister of
a deserving artist who had learnt his profession in India, was starved
and beaten to death, and the corpse buried at night-time by the nuns on
account of her alleged irregularities. The elder nuns are very fanatical
and ignorant old women. A curly-headed young Armenian, who was detected
on the premises by them, and excused himself on the ground that he wished
to convert them to Protestantism, of which faith he was a paid teacher,
nearly met with the fate of Orpheus; that enterprising youth, after
having an application for increase of pay refused, left religion as a
business and took to dealing in skins, which offered more scope for his
talents. So much care had been expended on his education that he could
read the New Testament in the original Greek; he, however, wisely left a
calling for which he felt he had no vocation.
The nuns visit the sick, and teach, under the superintendence of an able
priest (Mesrop), all the Julfa girls. They are instructed in the elements
of religion, and taught to read the Scriptures, without understanding
them, in ancient Armenian, and to embroider, or to knit socks. The
Armenian Scriptures and prayers are written in ancient Armenian, which
is a language as different from the modern dialect as nineteenth-century
English is from that of Edward the Confessor. Consequently, all the
people, and most of the priests, do not understand either the Scriptures
or the prayers, which many can read. I was present at the burial of a
Christian child by the Shiraz priest; the poor man could neither read nor
write, but he was prompted with the beginning of each prayer by a member
of the congregation, who could read the ancient tongue; as he had these
prayers all by heart he, on getting the cue, recited them fluently.
A great portion of the service in an Armenian church is performed behind
a curtain, which is raised and lowered at intervals. The sacrament is,
I believe, not administered to the laity. The services are inordinately
long. I was present once at a wedding, and the ceremony certainly lasted
two hours.
Baptism is performed by total immersion, and the infant is anointed in
seven places with a cruciform mark, with green oil, said to be brought
from Etchmiadzin.
A priest, as a rule, is sent forth for two years to either India or
Batavia—_where_ he goes is the important point. If he be sent to Bombay,
or a large community of rich Armenians, he returns with enough to keep
him for life and provide for his children; if to a poor village, he
returns as poor as he went; he then is without duty for perhaps five
years. All this is arranged by the Arachnoort, and is usually determined
by the amount of bribe tendered by the priest to him; kissing, in fact,
goes by favour.
Some few of these priests are well educated, and have made the most
of the advantages of their stay in India—notably the vicar, Kashish
(priest) Mardyros. He is an enlightened man, and honest, but he can never
become bishop, for the bishop must be a monk, and is always sent from
Etchmiadzin.
The present Arachnoort speaks only ancient Armenian, Constantinople
Turkish, and a little Persian, and the power for good or evil is mostly
in the hands of the little bishop and vicar. A priest may _marry_ before
he receives priest’s orders, but if his wife dies he cannot re-marry, and
the widowed priest often becomes a monk. This rule leads to a good deal
of immorality, some of the priests being of very bad repute.
Another cause of crime in Julfa is the existence of a barely-concealed
traffic in liquor with the Mussulmans of the town. Certain wine-sellers
are tolerated by the venal authorities; these men allow the Persians
to frequent their houses at all hours of the day or night, selling to
them dreadful mixtures of sour wine and arrack. A Persian is never a
tippler—he drinks till he is mad drunk, or till overcome by sleep. As a
rule the Armenian receives him as a guest, and he deposits his weapons
with his host for their mutual safety. He then hands over his money, and
drinks it out. Of course scenes of violence ensue: stabbing is common. A
fatal case again occurred during my last stay in Julfa. I have been twice
myself threatened in the street by men carrying naked knives; on the
second occasion I thrashed the man severely, and took away his knife.
Any appeal to the authorities would be useless. They reply, “He went to
Julfa to get drunk; what can you expect?”
A few months after my arrival I removed to comfortable quarters in the
Shireh-Khaneh, or wine-sellers’ street. Unfortunately mine was the first
house; at all hours of the day and night violent knocks would be given
at my door by intending arrack-buyers. I could only reluctantly, and as
a last resource, administer a good beating to the knockers. This, after
a time, had the desired effect. In my street, too, a sort of Alsatia or
Tiger Bay was established; all the houses were inhabited by wine-sellers
save my own, and down this street the inebriates from the town, and their
Armenian friends, were in the habit of swaggering, often with drawn
swords (kammer). On meeting these men I always used to thrash them, and
gradually this nuisance too was abated, and when they got drunk, they got
drunk on, and not off, the premises of the wine-sellers. All the Julfa
houses are made with small low doorways, and massive doors are provided,
of great thickness. In many of the wine-sellers’ houses a beam is kept,
which leans against the door, the end going into the ground; the door is
then safe against the attacks of those without.
All the old gardens and vineyards, too, are protected by low doors, some
yard square, constructed of _stone_ six inches thick; these revolve on a
pin, and are like those figured as “stone shutter at Bashan” in ‘The Rob
Roy Canoe in the Holy Land.’
There is a weekly market held each Sunday in the little maidān, or
square, of Julfa; it is well attended. Raw cotton, fruit, grey shirting,
chintzes, and notions, are sold here, and also _beef_, for the Armenian,
unlike the Persian, is a beef-eater. Fairly good meat is obtained; one’s
cook goes with a chopper and hacks off what is wanted; they have no idea
of any difference in the value of joints.
Here, too, the Persian women hawk their cotton-yarn and buy socks,
which are hand-knitted in Julfa by the Armenians, of wool, and also of
cotton. Any hard-working woman can keep herself in Julfa by knitting; the
earnings barely exceed five kerans (three and ninepence) a month; but
this, with economy, is enough to keep and clothe them.
As a rule the Armenian women are industrious and notable housewives. In
the summer they knit socks in groups at the doors of their houses, and
gossip; in winter they do the same around the kūrsi, as long as it is
light. Wine is made by all, and the jars used in the fermenting are often
very ancient, some being two and three hundred years old.
Most of the men who work do a little market-gardening, and many have
orchards or vineyards. But the more active and brighter travel to India
or Batavia, and often make fortunes in retail trade; some have even
established well-known houses in Manchester, Liverpool, and London.
Many enter the Persian service; these generally apostatise. The effect
of this emigration on the inhabitants of Julfa is deleterious in the
extreme. The rich relations rarely forget the family in Julfa, and there
are consequently a number of people subsisting on what the successful
husband, father, or son, sends as a pension. These will not work, but
prefer to drag on a life of idleness on a pittance. I often have asked
a man, “What are your resources?” and he has replied, “My relatives
at Bombay,” etc., as the case may be. Armenians at times rise to high
employ: the chief of the Arsenal to the Shah is an Armenian, so is the
Ambassador in London.
The first day of my arrival in Julfa I was visited by twenty-six priests;
they were all regaled with brandy. The next day there were twenty-nine,
including the original twenty-six, who called again. However, I treated
them this time to tea, saying I had no more brandy. The third day no more
priests came.
Near the banks of the river is the old church of “Soup Gework,” or “St
George.” This is celebrated for being the receptacle of two miraculous
stones, which have reputed power in the healing of diseases. They are
said to have flown from Etchmiadzin, in Armenia, in one night, and are
the ordinary stones of the country brought to Julfa by some rich citizen
in bygone days for some building which was never erected.
There are also the ruins of the old church of the Jesuit Fathers standing
in its garden. There is nothing remarkable in it. It is a plain brick
building, less pretentious than most Julfa churches, and whitewashed
inside; it is rapidly going to decay, as are many other of the Julfa
churches, for the population is lessening by emigration.
The successful Armenian seldom returns; when he does, he repairs his
father’s house, buys up the gardens round it, and his estate is usually
devoured at last by the priests and the Persian authorities.
At one time turkeys were bred in Julfa, but the Governor of Ispahan
having imposed a tax of a certain number of fat birds at the New Year,
the Julfa Armenians allowed them to become extinct. At the present
moment—thanks to the protective presence of the English in Julfa—the
Armenians are quite on an equality with the Persians, nay, even treat
them with a certain amount of arrogance. When I first came to Julfa, no
Armenian dared to ride a horse, and all used to get off their donkeys
when they saw a Persian of position.
Education has advanced. The English missionary school and its energetic
teacher, Mr. Johannes—who, educated in England, left the Nassick School,
where he was a master, to take charge of the C.M.S. school—has effected
wonders. The boys, really well educated, go off at about seventeen
to India, and get their living respectably; and the C.M.S. has done
really good _educational_ work; as to the proselytising, _no Mussulman
convert has ever been made_. Many fanatics of the Baabi sect have sought
and obtained temporary protection, to which they owe their lives, but
as a Christianising influence it is at present a failure, though the
enterprise has been carried out regardless of cost, even in the most
liberal manner.
The American mission at Teheran has really succeeded in making some
headway.
However, the at present (in regard to converts) abortive mission to Julfa
has in the educational department certainly done wonders, and has given
an impetus to the native schools, which previously, heavily subsidised
by successful Armenian emigrants, had done no work at all, and were
battened on by a set of hungry priests and mirzas, who on some pretext or
other sent away their pupils for five days out of seven, and declared a
holiday. Where the income went nobody knew; this much was apparent, there
was no result.
The long fasts of the Armenian Church are loyally kept by the poorer of
the Armenian community and by the villagers. They occupy altogether a
sixth of the whole year, and in them no eggs or meat may be eaten, only
vegetables, fruits, grain, and vegetable oil, but wine and spirits are
freely indulged in.
CHAPTER XIII.
ISPAHAN.
Prince’s physician—Visit the Prince-Governor—Justice—The
bastinado—Its effects—The doctor’s difficulties—Carpets—Aniline
dyes—How to choose—Varieties—Nammad—Felt coats—Bad
water—Baabis—A tragedy—The prince’s view.
Almost as soon as I arrived in Julfa I received a visit from the prince’s
hakim-bashi, Mirza Abdul Wahab. This gentleman, a native of Kashan,
had received his medical education in Paris, and was an M.D. of its
University. He described his life in Ispahan as dull in the extreme, that
he was never off duty save when the Prince-Governor was asleep, and that
his anxieties on account of the vagaries of his charge were great. The
Mirza had spent seven years in France, and had married there; he had also
two native wives (his French wife afterwards came to Teheran, but soon
returned to France). He complained of the many hours he had to stand,
etiquette forbidding any other attitude in the prince’s presence. He told
me that he had to read poetry to his Royal Highness for many hours each
day.
“Not that I mind reading poetry,” said he, “but no one listens, which is
provoking in the extreme.”
I was very glad to have an acquaintance with whom I could converse, for
of course the hakim-bashi spoke French fluently. The appointment as
physician to the eldest son of the king and Governor of Ispahan is a high
employ, and the doctor hoped it would lead to better things; but he did
not like the being away from the capital. He became shortly a Khan.
He invited me to call on the prince, and told me that his Royal Highness
would receive me at half-past eight A.M. the next day, or, as he phrased
it, two hours after sunrise. I promised to be punctual, and duly
presented myself at the appointed hour.
I passed through a garden crowded with soldiers, servants, persons having
petitions to make, and the usual hangers-on of a great man and his train.
In a crowded outer room sat the Minister (or real Governor), Mahommed
Ali Khan, under whose tutelage the Zil-es-Sultan is. The prince himself,
being a mere youth, has no real power, and everything is done by Mahommed
Ali Khan. The hakim-bashi now met me, and conducted me past a sentry into
the private apartment of the prince.
I took off my goloshes at the door, keeping my hat on, and making a
salute. The doctor introduced me in a few words, and the prince, a
good-looking youth of about eighteen years, motioned me smilingly to a
chair which had been placed for me opposite him. I asked after his health
in French, but he insisted on my talking in Persian, and was much amused
at the hash I made of it. He was a fine, good-humoured youth, full of
spirits.
After the first few minutes he threw off all his air of dignity and
talked and laughed merrily, asking many questions as to the manners
of Europeans, the Queen, climate of England, etc. He then gave me his
likeness, and told me that he photographed himself, which was the case.
I was regaled with tea, and took my leave, breakfasting in the town with
the hakim-bashi at his residence.
Here I saw for the first time the administration of justice in Persia.
The doctor was given the charge of the Jews of Ispahan: the Jews had
attended in a large crowd to complain of extortions practised upon them
by the soldiers who stood sentry at his gate. These men, not content with
exacting small presents from the poor people, had insulted the wife and
daughter of one of their number and severely beaten them.
As we sat smoking the kalian at the open window, the crowd of some
hundred Jewish men and women shrieked and gesticulated; while the two
accused soldiers, who stood with the doctor’s servants, vehemently
protested their innocence. The hakim-bashi shouted, so did the accused,
so did the accusers, who wept, beat on their heads, and prepared
apparently to rend their already ragged garments.
[Illustration: THE BASTINADO.]
“Somebody must be beaten,” said the doctor, “and these Jews are
undoubtedly horribly persecuted.”
When the shouting was at its highest, the doctor called to the sergeant
of infantry and whispered in his ear. The two soldiers turned pale, and
the Jews proceeded to implore blessings on the head of the doctor.
Presently a pole some eight feet long, with a transverse handle at either
end and a loop of rope in the middle, was produced, and, kicking off
their boots, the two soldiers lay down on the ground, and each raised
a foot; but the doctor was not to be appeased so easily, and insisted
on both feet of each man going into the loop. On this being done, the
noose was tightened by turning the pole by means of the handles, and the
soles of the soldiers’ feet were now upwards, and a fair mark; two other
soldiers held the ends of the pole, which is termed a “fellek.”
The doctor now adjured the men to confess, as, if they did not, as he put
it to them, he should have to thrash them till they did, and then have
to punish them for the offence itself; whereas, if they confessed, there
would be only one beating and accounts would be clear.
Both men confessed, though the value of a confession under such
circumstances may be doubted. Then the doctor’s servants drew from his
hauz a huge bundle of sticks some five feet long; they were ordinary
willow wands, switchy, and about twice the thickness of the thumb at the
butt; the bark was left on, and it appeared that they were kept in water
to prevent their breaking too easily.
Four of the soldiers now seized each half-a-dozen wands, and, taking
one in their right hands, awaited the signal. “_Bezan!_” (“Lay on!”)
exclaimed the hakim-bashi, and they proceeded to thrash the bare soles of
their comrades with the sticks; at first they struck fair on the feet,
but whenever the doctor’s eye was not on them, they broke the stick over
the “fellek” and substituted a fresh one.
The men now roared for mercy; some hundred sticks had been broken over
their feet, and, taking an average of four blows for each stick, they had
received four hundred, or two hundred each.
“_Amān Agha!_” “Mercy, Lord!” “Oh, hakim-bashi!” “Oh, merciless Jews!”
“Oh, Mussulmans!” “Oh, doctor, sahib!” “Oh, Lord, without mercy!” “Oh,
rascal Jews!” “Sons of dog fathers!” “Mer—cy!”
The hakim-bashi now addressed them—“Rascals, do you know now that you are
not to oppress the king’s subjects?”
“Ah,” replied one man, “but _Jews_—” He had better have been silent,
for the hakim-bashi raised his hand, and the beating recommenced. I now
interceded, and the men were led off, limping.
I asked the doctor if such beatings would not lame the men.
He replied, “Not in the least; they will be all right in two days, if
a little tender to-morrow. I have myself had quite as bad a beating
from my achōn (schoolmaster) when a boy. There is no degradation in the
punishment; all are liable to it, from the Prime Minister downwards. What
you have seen is merely a warning; one and two thousand sticks are often
given—I mean to say fairly broken over the soles of the feet—and thicker
sticks than mine; say, six thousand blows.”
I asked what was the result of such beating.
“Well,” said the doctor, “I _have_ known them fatal; but it is very rare,
and only in the case of the victim being old or diseased.”
I was told that it is really very much a matter of bribing the farrashes
(carpet-spreaders) who administer the punishment. As a rule, a severe
beating, such as is given by the king’s farrashes, keeps a man in bed
for weeks or months. Culprits much prefer it to a fine. Here the doctor
called one of his servants.
“Which would you prefer,” said he, “to lose a month’s pay or take such a
beating as those soldiers had?”
“The beating, of course,” replied the man.
“His pay is ten kerans a month,” said the doctor (seven-and-sixpence).
Custom, I suppose, is everything; to _our_ tender feet such a beating
would be very terrible, but Persians of the lower class walk much
barefoot; in fact, like our own tramps, unless the road be very stony,
one sees them on the march take off their boots and go bare, to save
shoe-leather or sore feet.
The doctor told me of the trials and troubles of his position, his long
hours of duty, and his many anxieties when his young charge was ill.
“Your arrival is a great thing,” he said; “you can speak as I cannot
dare to, and you can insist on proper directions being carried out. At
present, when the prince is indisposed, all the visitors and all the old
women prescribe, and as he _tries_ all the remedies, he becomes really
ill.
“Then I have to telegraph his state to the king; then the king’s French
physician and his other hakims are ordered to suggest remedies. You
can fancy the result. Why, when I came here, the then hakim-bashi was
a young and rowdy prince, who, though a very good fellow, kept the
Prince-Governor permanently on the sick-list, gave him two china-bowls of
physic to take a day, and tabooed everything that was nice. Of course I
broke through all that, and, by keeping him free from physic and on good
plain food, he is a strong and healthy youth.” I sympathised with the
doctor, and took my leave.
From the doctor’s house I went to the principal bazaar of the town to
buy carpets, for I had disposed of most of my own on leaving Kermanshah,
to lessen the weight of my luggage. I was shown several hundred carpets,
some four by seven yards, down to little rugs a yard square. Some of the
finer carpets, astonished me by their beauty, and also their price—forty
pounds was a usual figure for a large and handsome carpet.
The finer and more valuable carpets were not new—in fact, few really
good carpets are made nowadays. At the time I am speaking of (sixteen
years ago) the magenta aniline dyes were unknown to the carpet-makers of
Persia, and all the colours except the greens were fast. Nowadays the
exact reverse is the case. A very brilliant carpet is produced, and if a
wet handkerchief is rubbed on it, _the colours come off_; these are not
fast, and the carpet is worthless.
The aniline dyes are particularly used in the Meshed carpets, and as
these are the showiest and most attractive, they are largely exported.
Of course a native will not look at them, for when he buys a carpet
he expects it to last _at least_ a century: he is generally not
disappointed. One sees many carpets which are quite fifty years old with
hardly a sign of wear.
At the time of which I am speaking, carpets had very seldom been
exported from Persia, and consequently there was no rubbish manufactured;
now (1883) it is quite different; if a very good carpet is wanted, an old
one must be bought.
The carpets made for the European market are coarse, and the weaving
loose. Many, indeed, are made of fast colours, but gaudy patterns only
are used, and the fine and original patterns formerly in vogue are
disappearing. Of a couple of hundred carpets brought for sale, perhaps
there may be only six distinct patterns, though, of course, the borders
and arrangement of the colours may vary. The favourite patterns are the
“Gul Anar” and “Herati:” the latter is certainly very effective, and is
the pattern of nine-tenths of the carpets exported.
To choose a carpet, the first thing is to see if the colours are fast.
This is done by rubbing with a wet cloth. If the slightest tinge is
communicated to this, the carpet should be rejected. Then, if the carpet
is limp, and can be doubled on itself like a cloth, it is “shul-berf”
(loosely woven) and scamped. A carpet which is well woven (I am speaking
of new ones) is always stiff. Greens in the pattern should be avoided, as
they will fade to a drab, but this drab is not unpleasing; white, on the
contrary, in time becomes a pale yellow, and is a good wearing colour,
and should be chosen rather than avoided.
The thinner and finer the carpet is, the greater is its value. The size
of the thread of the wool should be noticed, and the smaller it is the
better. It should be remembered that, in the question of price, a thinner
thread means a great difference in the amount of labour in making.
The size, too, of the pattern should be noted, as a large pattern is
proportionately much cheaper. Again, the finer patterns being only
undertaken by the best weavers, one is more likely to get a good carpet
with a fine pattern than with a coarse. The general effect, too, should
be noted. This is never bad, but at times an eccentric pattern is come
across.
The softer the carpet is to the hand, the more valuable it is as a rule,
if it be not a Meshed carpet with aniline dye. These latter should be
avoided, as they always fade, and are of very small value.
One of the reasons why Oriental carpets last so long, is that chairs
are not used, and they are not walked on by boots, and so dirtied and
worn, but by _bare_ feet. The carpet should now be doubled, and the
ends applied to each other. If one is broader than the other, it shows
careless work, and the carpet should be rejected as “kaj” (uneven, or
rather, crooked).
It must be then spread on a level floor and smoothed, to see if it lies
flat. Many carpets have “shatūr,” or creases; these never come out. The
carpet never lies flat, and wears in a patch over the “shatūr.”
If all is yet satisfactory the carpet must be turned bottom upwards, and
the _edges_ carefully examined; if any darns are seen in the edges of the
carpet it must be rejected, for the Persians have a plan of taking out
any creases by either stretching the edges, which often break under the
process, or, if there is a redundancy, _cutting_ it out and fine drawing
it so skilfully that it is only detected on _carefully_ examining the
back. Such carpets are worthless.
The top of the carpet should now be inspected; if the edging of cotton
at the top or bottom be blue with no white in it, the carpet is rubbish,
and merely a thing got up for sale, absolutely a sham. The edge or finish
should be either white cotton or black wool; the latter is by far the
best, but is seldom seen nowadays. The _all_-woollen carpets are mostly
made near Mūrghab, and by the wandering tribes of Fars; they are very
seldom exported, and are always of sad patterns, often very irregular.
In making a carpet, the women who weave it will often run out of
the _exact_ shade of wool used in some part of the pattern or even
ground-work; they will continue with _another shade_ of the same colour.
This has a curious effect to the European eye, but the native does not
look on it as a defect.
The value _in Persia_ of a carpet in the present day may, _if perfect_
(either new or old), be reckoned at from fifteen shillings to two pounds
a square yard. In the larger carpets nothing can be obtained under a
pound a square yard.
Of course there _are_ a few carpets which have been made to order for
great personages which are worth more than the price I have given,
but these are not easily obtained and only at _prix fou_. By the term
_carpet_, I mean what Persians call kali, that is, in contradistinction
to farsch. Kali is our idea of carpet, that is, a floor-covering, _having
a pile_.
Farsch means floor-covering generally, and may be “nammad,” or felt, or
“gelim,” a thin, pileless floor-covering of coarse pattern, and much used
in Europe as a _portière_; in these “gelim” white greatly predominates,
and they soon get soiled and dirty; they are only used in Persia by the
villagers and poor.
The farsch hamam-i, or bath carpet, is a finer species of gelim made
near Kermanshah; both sides are alike, the patterns are elaborate and
beautiful, and the colours very lovely, _but they fade_, being mostly
of aniline dye, and are harsh to the feel. Their only recommendation is
their extreme portability.
The nammad, or felts (carpets), are generally used by Persians to go
round the room and act as a frame to the carpet (kali), which occupies
the top and centre.
They are three in number for each room; two kanareh, or side pieces, a
yard to a yard and a half wide, and a sir-andaz, literally that which
is thrown over the head (of the apartment). The kanareh are from half
to two and a half inches in thickness, and are usually of a light-brown
or yellow-ochre colour, being ornamented with a slight pattern of blue
and white, or red and green, which is formed by pinches of coloured wool
inserted when the felt is made.
The best nammad are made at Yezd, and are often expensive; they cost
about thirty shillings a square yard, and will last a century; they are
two inches thick.
Nammad, however, are now getting out of fashion, for they will not stand
the wear produced by chairs, which are coming into common use among the
rich. Carpets are taking their place.
These nammad, or felts, are universally used as great-coats by the
peasantry, and are very good indeed as an outer covering, being seamless.
They are often made with bag-like sleeves with a slit at the wrists, thus
forming a glove, and when the peasant wants to use his hands, they are
thrust through the slit and the glove portion turned back over the wrist.
They are all in one piece.
The gelim, or tent carpets, are very suitable for travelling or rough
work, and being thin are easily dried. They wash well, and have no pile.
There is yet another variety of carpet called jejim: this is very thin
and more like a plaid in consistency; it is used by horsemen, who wrap
their spare clothing in it and use it as a bed and carpet too.
For about fifty pounds I was able to get enough carpets for all my
living rooms, and, owing to the steady rise in the price of carpets,
on my departure in nine years’ time on leave, I got as much as I gave
for them. Exactly the same as with horses after the famine, the demand
being greater than the supply on account of exportation, prices rose
considerably.
A good deal of illness occurring just at this time among the staff, I
had my attention directed to the water, which, being mostly from surface
wells, was much contaminated. I therefore engaged a water-carrier from
the town, purchased a skin and bucket for him, and the staff were
supplied with a skinful twice a day, for cooking and drinking purposes,
from the monastery well—a deep and good one.
The Persians are particular what water they drink, and invariably employ
a sakka, or water-carrier; but the Armenians generally have a cesspool
just outside their house door, and in its immediate proximity the well is
dug, often only ten feet deep. The result is obvious.
Our superintendent being a married man, collars which I had cast off for
the last year, principally because I could not get them washed, had to be
worn; and I had to send them to Teheran by post to get them washed, for
in Ispahan the art of ironing was unknown; and the American term for a
shirt, “boiled rag,” was literally appropriate.
I made the acquaintance of three brothers who were Syuds, or holy men,
but who had the reputation of being freethinkers; these men called on
me and insisted on my breakfasting with them in the town: they were
wealthy landed proprietors and merchants. I found their house beautifully
furnished and their hospitality was great; they discoursed much on the
subject of religion, and were very eloquent on the injustices perpetrated
in Persia. They were nearly related to the Imām-i-Juma, or high priest,
a very great personage indeed, who ruled the town of Ispahan by his
personal influence. It was said that any one who incurred his displeasure
always, somehow or other, lost his life.
Under the shadow of such a relation, the Syuds Hassan and Houssein and
their brother openly held their very liberal opinions. They were, in
fact, sectaries of the Baab.
This impostor has succeeded in establishing a new religion, the tenets
of which are very difficult to get at—a community of property being one.
Mahommedans state that a community of women is also observed; this is,
however, very doubtful.
The execution of their prophet, far from decreasing their numbers, has
had an opposite effect; many among the Ispahanis and Zinjanis still
secretly profess Baabiism.
A few years before my arrival in Ispahan (1867), a determined attempt was
made on the life of the present Shah by a few of the fanatics of this
sect, and the unsuccessful conspirators were put to death with horrible
tortures. (For details see Lady Shiel’s work.) In these latter days
(1880), when I was in Ispahan, a priest was denounced by his wife as a
Baabi. I saw him led to prison; he avowed his Baabiism and declined to
retract, though offered his life; he, however, denied the statements of
his wife and daughter, who accused him of wishing to prostitute them to
others of his co-religionists.
On being taken to the public square for execution, after having been
severely bastinadoed, and when in chains, knowing his last hour was come,
he was offered his life if he would curse Baab.
He replied, “Curses on you, your prince, your king, and all oppressors.
I welcome death and long for it, for I shall instantly reappear on this
earth and enjoy the delights of Paradise.” The executioner stepped
forward and cut his throat.
A few days after his execution, my friends the three brothers were
arrested, their valuables looted by the king’s son the Zil-es-Sultan,
the then Governor of Ispahan, and by the Imām-i-Juma, the successor of
their former protector in the office of high priest of Ispahan. Their
women, beaten and insulted, fled to the anderūns (harems) of friends
and relations, but were repulsed by them for fear of being compromised.
They then came to the telegraph-office in Julfa and sat in an outer room
without money or food. After a few days the relatives, rather than let
the (to them) scandal continue of the women being in the quarters of
Europeans, gave them shelter.
The real cause of the arrest of these men was not their religion; the
Imām-i-Juma owed them eighteen thousand tomans (seven thousand two
hundred pounds); they were sent for and told that if they did not forgive
the debt they would be denounced and inevitably slain. But habit had
made them bold; they declined to even remit a portion of the sum owing;
they were politely dismissed from the high priest’s presence, and a
proposition made to the prince that the whole of their property should
be confiscated by him, and that they should be accused of Baabiism and
executed. This was agreed to. They were sent for and taken from the
prince’s presence protesting their innocence, the youngest brother
cursing Baab as proof of his orthodoxy.
The next day all were savagely beaten in prison, and it was generally
given out that they would be executed; but being men of wealth and
influence, no one believed in this.
The English missionary in Julfa, the assistant superintendent of the
telegraph, and a few Armenians, addressed a letter to the prince which,
while apparently pleading their cause, really, I fear, accelerated their
fate (if it had any effect). The prince was furious, and vouchsafed no
reply.
I happened to see him professionally, and he asked me why I had not
signed this letter. I replied that I had not been asked to in the first
place; and that I should hesitate to mix myself up in the politics of the
country, being a foreign official. He appreciated my motives, and asked
if I knew the three men.
I replied that all three were my intimate friends, and I trusted that
their lives were not really in danger.
I never have been able to ascertain if his reply was merely given to
quiet me or not; it was this:—
“The matter is really out of my hands—it has been referred to the king;
he is very bitter against Baabis, as you know; nothing that sahibs in
Julfa may do will have any effect. Why, sahib, what would your Prince
of Wales say if _he_ were interviewed, and letters written to him about
confessed criminals by obscure Persians? The missionary, the missionary,
he only troubles me to make himself notorious.”
I explained that these Syuds were really personal friends of the
missionary as well as my own.
“All disaffected people are friends of missionaries, as you very well
know.”
I again asked him if they would be spared or not?
“I can tell you nothing more,” he said; “one has cursed Baab, he will not
die. As for the others the king will decide; for me, I wish personally to
kill no one; you have known me long enough to know I dislike blood. I am
not the Hissam-u-Sultaneh” (the king’s uncle, a very severe Governor).
He changed the subject and declined to return to it. I cannot tell if
the two elder brothers had been offered their lives or not. I went back
to Julfa hoping that they would all be spared. The town was in great
excitement. Next morning at dawn their throats were cut in the prison,
and their bodies flung into the square. The prince had not dared to
execute them publicly for fear of a tumult.
Their houses were looted, and part of their estates; the Imām-i-Juma’s
share of the plunder was large, and he never repaid the eighteen thousand
tomans. Such was Persia in 1880. The youngest brother, who had cursed
Baab, was spared, and afterwards reinstated in part of his family
property.
CHAPTER XIV.
JULFA AND ISPAHAN.
Julfa cathedral—The campanile—The monk—Gez—Kishmish
wine—The bishop—The church—Its decorations—The day of
judgment—The cemetery—Establishment of the Armenian captives
in Julfa—Lost arts—Armenian artificers—Graves—Story of
Rodolphe—Coffee-house—Tombstone bridges—Nunnery—Schools—Medical
missionary—Church Missionary establishment—The Lazarist Fathers.
The sights of Julfa are very few—the cathedral, or Egglesiah Wang, and
the schools of the Church Missionary Society, the cemetery, and the
nunnery, being the only objects of interest.
The Egglesiah Wang, or “big church,” is a part of the monastery of Julfa.
At the entrance, which is by a stuccoed doorway surmounted by a Latin
cross in a mud wall, is a sort of stone drinking trough, something like
our old English fonts; it is embedded in the wall. The door is of great
thickness, so that in disturbed times the monks would be safe against
attacks of Mussulmans; and for the same reason the entrance is narrow
and winding. On emerging from this short passage, one comes to the
outer court, in one corner of which are the graves of a few Europeans
who have either died in Julfa or been brought here for burial. These
are noted in Sir F. Goldsmid’s ‘Telegraph and Travel,’ and some of the
Latin inscriptions are translated into English verse by him. A large
campanile of imposing appearance and peculiar (qy. Russian) style, stands
in the centre; it is new and well made, and consists of a brick tower
standing on stone columns, and containing three bells. The rest of the
courtyard is occupied by logs of wood from the monastery garden brought
here to season previous to being sold to the Julfa carpenters. Armenians
are very unromantic. The monastery church has a door opening into this
courtyard, but entrance is usually effected through a passage, in which
are the tombs of former bishops; these are mostly mere blocks of stone
let into the ground, but the two last bishops have more ambitious mural
monuments; the last, Thaddeus, having a black marble tablet, probably cut
in India, with an inscription (_in English_), setting forth his virtues;
over all is his photograph. There is an inner entrance in this passage
of railings, and the walls have some small trap-doors through which the
monks in stricter days used to confess the laity—at least the females.
A few miserable daubs on plaster in this passage represent Saint Michael
weighing good and evil spirits, etc. To the right is a low door,
which leads to the church; at the extremity of the passage is a large
courtyard, which contains the apartments occupied by the Arachnoort and
the little bishop Christopher.
There is no pretension to magnificence in these. The rooms of Christopher
are small, and comfortable in a humble manner; a few religious engravings
and paintings of saints that Wardour Street would not look at, hang on
the walls; it is carpeted with cheap rugs, and a mattress and a couple
of cushions form the furniture; in the corner is the tall, silver-headed
ebon staff of the little bishop; in a recess stand his conical hat and
hood. A room quite without ornament forms his bedroom, and his property,
a few years ago considerable, he has made over to the Church.
The little bishop is a gouty man, and does not indulge, though there
are legends that in his youth his potations were pottle deep; he does
not even smoke, but he snuffs—a thing that most of the old people in
Julfa do. A jovial old man in a skull-cap and flowing black robes, he
insists on regaling one with gez; a sort of sweetmeat, prepared from
the gezanjebine, a mawkish exudation from a plant found in the desert
near here, and akin to manna; it is mixed with sugar and made up into
round cakes with almonds or pistachios. It is impossible to break these
cakes with the finger; they will bend freely, but on striking them with
a hammer or another cake, they fracture at once. Ispahan is celebrated
through Persia for this sweetmeat, and large quantities are sent away
in every direction. In Julfa and Ispahan the gez is always offered on
the arrival of a guest, and urgently pressed on one; it is considered
impolite to refuse. The flavour is merely sickly sweet, and it sticks
to the jaws like butter-scotch; it is white in colour, and very cloying.
The monk, too, always has a glass of good old Kishmish wine for his
friends. The Kishmish grape is the smallest in Persia; it is a bright
yellow colour, and very sweet; it is, when dried, what we call the
Sultana raisin. The wine is a golden yellow, delicious when quite new,
but terribly heady. It is a great favourite with the Armenians, as it is
quickly intoxicating. As a rule it will not keep well, but when it does
is not to be despised. A glass of arrack is offered as an alternative,
and this is more suited to the native taste; it is, as a rule, what is
called in India “fixed bayonets.”
The monk is a laughing philosopher, and generally has some store of local
yarns; in fact, he is a sort of “vieulx Parchemins,” and his tales would
have astonished and delighted the author of the ‘Contes drolatiques.’
Passing under the guidance of the monk we ascend on the further side
of the courtyard a long staircase and enter a huge empty room newly
carpeted, which brings us to the curtained doorway of the bishop’s
private apartment. On the walls, decorated with many figures in cut
plaster of the Russian eagle (for the bishop is a Russian subject, and
wisely takes care that the Persian authorities shall know it),[15] hang
some twenty daubs in oil of saints and sacred scenes; these are more
pretentiously framed than those in the monk’s room, but of equal value. A
high chair, considerably ornamented with native carvings, is the bishop’s
habitual seat, and at its side is a table covered with well-bound books,
which at my first visit considerably impressed me; but I found out
afterwards that they were always the same books, so my respect for the
literary attainments of the Arachnoort somewhat diminished.
After a decorous interval the bishop enters, a handsome man—a man who
would create a _furore_ in England—a man with large, dreamy, black eyes,
which he uses as much as the late Mr. Fechter, a pale and interesting
face, and a long, silky beard, well combed, and black as the raven’s
wing. From his neck hang an amethyst cross and a large portrait of the
Virgin, in an oval enamel surrounded by paste. Clad in black lined with
violet, his tall conical cap and flowing black hood give a fine stage
picture, which is completed by a gentle raising of the hand (a white
and delicate hand) as if to bless; a soft, whispering, almost purring
voice, completed the charm of a man who in some other sphere would
have doubtless achieved the success usually attained by great personal
attractiveness. A sort of smile, as of a superior nature compassionating
itself, spreads over his handsome face, and in a whisper he asks after
one’s health. The glossy beard is stroked, the black eyes are rolled;
coffee is brought, a kalian, and the visitor retires, after much bowing
on both sides.
The church alone remains to be seen, for the monastery itself is not in
use, the cells being filled with firewood and corn. The church is not
large, and is divided by a row of coarsely-painted wooden rails into
two compartments, the outer and larger one, which is surmounted by a
dome, being decorated with large paintings in oil of the events in Bible
history from the creation. There is nothing particularly remarkable in
these; most are copied from well-known pictures, while others are amusing
in their naïveness. The general effect is good, a sort of gorgeousness
being produced by so many yards of brightly-painted canvas. All round
the walls are modern tile-work, presenting a florid pattern of green
leaves on a white ground. The general effect of this is not bad. The
episcopal throne is placed just beyond the railings, and consists of
an elaborately-carved and ornamented chair, covered by a wooden domed
canopy, gilt and painted in gaudy colours. A few feet in front of this is
a raised platform, some four feet from the ground, running back into a
recess. This can be curtained off at pleasure; a gaudy curtain hangs at
either side of it. At the extremity of the recess is the altar; there is
only one in the church. It has a sort of cabinet for the host, and has
numerous smaller platforms above it, each a few inches high; on these are
coarsely painted a few figures of saints.
All round the church run various pictures of martyrdoms, some of them
horrible in their grim realness, others as intensely ridiculous. Here are
shown the various sufferings of Ripsimeh virgin and martyr, also Gregor;
these are the chief saints in the Armenian calendar.
Illustrations are also seen of the parables and miracles. One of these is
the man who had the beam in his eye seeing the mote in his brother’s. The
mote is depicted as a moat, and the beam as a huge beam of wood.
A painful daub, framed, and meant for the Entombment, is gravely
exhibited as a Raphael, and once it was intimated to me that a good
offer would not be refused. It is even copied on the outer wall near the
bishops’ tombs.
But the bouquet of the whole collection is the _great_ picture of the
Day of Judgment. All the persons of the Trinity are depicted, and the
heavenly hosts are shown with the delights of heaven. These are, however,
in the upper part of the picture, and of small size; but in the lower
part, that representing the pangs of hell, the artist has given free vent
to his taste for horrors.
New ideas for bogey might be derived from his very vivid treatment of
the devils. George Cruikshank, the devil-drawer _par excellence_, is
nowhere with the Eastern artist. These devils are life-size, and so are
the nude male and female figures suffering torments. The mouth of hell is
represented as a yawning beast, vomiting fire and smoke, into the jaws
of which the nude wicked are tumbling. As a popular preacher is reported
to have said, “The devil feeds you on fire, and if you don’t take it
properly you get touched up with the spoon.” This is actually represented.
The position of the picture is well chosen, being over the door. All
the congregation must see it on going out; and if they feel certain of
getting their deserts, it must make them uncomfortable indeed.
Julfa was once a very large place, having twenty-four well-populated
parishes, and the Armenians were extremely prosperous. A large
village, with valuable lands, and an energetic trading population, the
agricultural portion of the community being market gardeners, within a
couple of miles of the then capital Ispahan; it was a very different
place from the Julfa of to-day, which contains merely a population of
old men, women, and girls, the better description of male having all
emigrated. Ispahan, too, is now merely a vast ruin, with small local
trade and few wants. Shah Abbas the Great brought away the entire
population of Julfa on the Araxes, which now marks the Russo-Persian
frontier on the road between Tabriz and Tiflis, and is now merely a
village of a few hovels; and, giving them lands in the immediate and
best part of the environs of Ispahan, in fact its present site, called
it Julfa. The far-seeing monarch sought to introduce the thrifty trading
habits of the Armenian among his own subjects, and to give an impulse
to the commerce of his country, and the Julfa artisans in those days
were not to be despised; travelling east and west, they brought many
arts from Europe, India, and China. The weaving of shawls at Kerman and
Yezd is still an important trade, and only the connoisseur can detect
the difference between the Cashmere shawl and its imitation, that of
Kerman: probably the European would prefer the Kermani one. Silk weaving
was doubtless brought from China to Yezd. Coarse imitations of the
Chinese porcelain are to this day common in Persia, but the art is dead.
Enamelling, which the Armenians practised, and even patronised—for in the
Persian collection in the South Kensington Museum may be seen a large
enamelled tray, quite a unique specimen, which bears an inscription
saying it was made for ⸺, prince of the Armenians—is a dying art.
As jewellers these people attain great proficiency. Any really difficult
work was always brought by the native gold or silver smiths of Ispahan to
be finished by an Armenian of Julfa, one Setrak. The trade of watchmaker,
or rather watchmender, is almost monopolised in Persia by Armenians; and
my former dispenser was a very good drug-compounder, having received his
instruction when a convict in India, serving his time after committing a
burglary with violence.
The cemetery lies on a bare and stony plain, under a lofty hill called
the Kūh Sufi. When Ispahan was the capital this plain was all under
cultivation by irrigation, the remains of the canals being yet visible:
here lie the inhabitants of Julfa, and also a few Europeans. Each ancient
grave is marked by a huge block of stone of a cube form, the upper face
being, however, generally larger than the under one. Some are nine feet
long, a yard high, and two feet wide. Many of the stones have Dutch,
Latin, and French inscriptions. One of these latter is the well-known
one of the watchmaker to Shah Abbas the Great. “Cy gît Rodolfe” is the
inscription it bears; and here lies Rodolphe, who was a great favourite
of the king, Abbas the Great. He was a youth of great beauty, and the
king was much attached to him. Having killed a Mahommedan after being
struck by the latter, he was offered the usual choice of Islam or death.
He preferred the latter; and though the king is said to have given him
ample time for reflection, and to have promised him rank and wealth if
he would apostatise, preferring death to dishonour, he was executed, and
interred beneath this stone. It is very difficult to get at the exact
details of this story, as there are many versions. It is told first by
Chardin or Tavernier. Just at the entrance to the burial-ground, by
crossing a ditch, over a bridge _composed of old tombstones_, one comes
to the Kaweh-Khana of the Armenians, a mud building of two stories. Here
in wet weather the funerals halt, and here on their return the mourners
stay to partake of wine and arrack. All through Persia the habit of
utilising tombstones for building bridges occurs, and is not confined
to the Armenians. Ispahan, which is surrounded by huge cemeteries and
intersected by many watercourses, presents many instances of these
tombstone bridges.
There is little to see in the nunnery. The revenues which have been, and
are, plundered by the priests and those in authority, are very small.
Very few nuns are now encouraged to take the veil. The scandals have been
many, and instances of cruel punishments have not been wanting. One nun
was expelled, but is now leading a reformed life in the Church Missionary
Society’s establishment, being employed as a teacher of sewing. The
nunnery has a large school, and the girls are taught to sew and
embroider, also to knit socks. Long portions of Scripture are committed
to memory, and the ancient Armenian Bible is read, but not translated.
Of course, as the ancient and modern languages are quite different, the
power of reading what one does not understand is rather useless.
But the schools of Julfa have received a great accession in the
establishment of those of the Church Missionary Society, which are now
(1883) conducted by Dr. Hoernle and Mr. Johannes, the former being a
medical missionary (_i. e._ a medical man in priest’s orders), and the
latter a young Armenian gentleman, who was educated in England, and at
one time a master in the Nassick School in India. All that is taught
in a middle-class school in England is taught in the Church Missionary
Society school in Julfa; and the upper form proceed to the first four
books of Euclid, Algebra, Latin, and French, in which, unlike the
smattering of a middle-class school at home, a thorough grounding is
given. Dr. Hoernle, too, sees all comers gratuitously, and administers
to their ailments. He has a large apartment as a consulting-room, with
convenient waiting-rooms for either sex. Another room has been set apart
as a hospital, where the more serious cases are treated surgically;
and the Church Missionary Society certainly has not spared money in
benefiting the inhabitants of Julfa.
Some orphan-boys are fed, clothed, and educated with the others, and
gradually it is hoped to make the school self-supporting; but I fear
that the Julfa people will hardly pay for what they are used to get
gratuitously. A girls’ school has also been commenced by Mrs. Bruce, and
sufficient funds having been collected to obtain a schoolmistress, in
November 1882 one went out. The Rev. Dr. Bruce, who commenced the work in
Julfa, is engaged in translating the Bible into Persian, and portions of
it have been completed and published.
All the difficulties which were first thrown in the way of proselytism
_among the Armenians_, have now been surmounted, and a considerable
number of converts have been made from the Armenian Christians to the
tenets of the Church of England. But as yet no converts have been made
from the Mahommedans. These, however, are encouraged to come to the
services, in the hope of arousing their curiosity; but they simply seem
to come for the show, only presenting themselves very occasionally. The
magnificent establishment kept up by the Church Missionary Society is
the wonder of the Persians, and Dr. Bruce has succeeded, principally by
having expended large sums of money in building in Julfa, and employing
many labourers, in securing the respect of the Julfa Armenians.
Employment is sought to be given to the less gifted among the scholars in
a factory where various arts are taught, such as weaving, but this does
not appear a success. The clever artisans, Baabis, nominally Mussulmans,
employed by Dr. Bruce as decorators and builders, have made a really
handsome series of buildings, perhaps a little florid. These men have
been able to show their great skill in decoration, and the beautiful
geometrical patterns on the outer wall of the church, the hand-painted
screen which runs round the eaves of the courtyard, and the incised
decorations in stucco in the interior of the church, representing
parrots, flowers, etc., are curious in the extreme.
This church can seat three hundred comfortably; the effect is good of the
pale yellow of the plaster and the coloured glass of the windows.
Every door and window in the house, etc., is beautifully made,
stained, glazed, and varnished, and fitting accurately; in fact, one
feels a little envious when one leaves one’s poor Persian quarters,
with ill-fitting doors and windows, for this handsome European-like
establishment.
On leaving the first courtyard, which contains the private quarters of
Dr. Bruce and the church, one enters the school. Three sides of a large
courtyard are occupied by schoolrooms, and a fine playground is in the
middle, with a large stone hauz, or tank, handsomely built. In this the
boys in hot weather daily bathe. Here, too, are parallel bars, a vaulting
pole, and a giant’s stride; beyond this is another courtyard, containing
a vineyard, the technical school, the dispensary, and rooms for the
orphans. Other rooms, but small and poor, are occupied by the girls’
school, which is, however, I believe, to be enlarged, and an English
teacher, too, has lately gone out for the girls. Another large house
adjoining is occupied by the steward of the orphans, while at the other
side are built a set of European stables. A garden is hired by Dr. Bruce,
where he cultivates successfully all kinds of European vegetables for his
table.
There is no doubt that so large an establishment, vying with that of the
bishop in size, and far exceeding it in the amount of money expended, and
the number of hands employed, is of great benefit to the Julfa people.
The influence of the priests is on its last legs, and the education given
is very thorough, while gratuitous medical attendance is provided by Dr.
Hoernle. This, however, is indiscriminately given to Mussulmans as well
as Armenians. Of course the great hope is that the benefits of the school
may be permitted to the Mahommedan population of the town; but this, I
fear, will never be. Let us hope I may be wrong.
The small establishment of the Lazarist Fathers, which is the next
house to the vast range of buildings belonging to the Church Missionary
Society, presents a great contrast.
The priest, with his two ragged servants, has much to do to keep body
and soul together, and he teaches a small school of both sexes, where
the course is less ambitious than that of the English missionaries.
His flock, some two hundred strong, remains faithful to its ancient
tenets, and has as yet given no recruits to the rival establishment.
This is strange, as the Armenian Church has furnished the whole of some
hundred and twenty Armenian boys, and two hundred Armenian communicants
to the Church of England in Julfa; but as many of these latter benefit
directly or indirectly, or are merely _temporary_ Protestants to annoy
their relatives, or to obtain protection, the result of the whole thing
cannot be considered a success as yet—in eleven years a single Mahommedan
convert not having been obtained.
CHAPTER XV.
ISPAHAN AND ITS ENVIRONS.
Tame gazelle—Croquet-lawn under difficulties—Wild
asparagus—First-fruits—Common fruits—Mode of preparing
dried fruits—Ordinary vegetables of Persia—Wild
rhubarb—Potatoes a comparative novelty—Ispahan quinces: their
fragrance—Bamiah—Grapes, Numerous varieties of—At times used as
horse-feed—Grape-sugar—Pickles—Fruits an ordinary food—Curdled
milk—Mode of obtaining cream—Buttermilk—Economy of the
middle or trading-classes—Tale of the phantom cheese—Common
flowers—Painting the lily—_Lilium candidum_—Wild flowers—The
crops—Poppies—Collecting opium—Manuring—Barley—Wheat—Minor
crops—Mode of extracting grain—Cut straw: its uses—Irrigation.
Mr. Walton, the superintendent of the Ispahan section, had a full-grown
buck antelope (“ahū”), which was kept tied to a peg on his croquet-lawn;
the animal was rather fierce, and my young bull-dog was accustomed
to bark at him, keeping, however, out of reach of his horns. On one
occasion the antelope got loose and chased the dog round and round the
croquet-lawn, from which there was no exit, it being between four walls;
the antelope was going well within itself, but the dog, its eyes starting
from its head, and its tail between its legs, gave a shriek of terror as
it felt the sharp prongs of the pursuing antelope prodding it every now
and then; at last, utterly expended, fear made it brave, and it turned
on the animal, pinning him by the throat. We were then able to secure
the antelope, which no one had cared to approach, as his horns were very
sharp and he was very savage from being tied up. The little croquet-lawn
had been made under very great difficulties, and it was only by getting
grass seeds from Carter’s that Mr. Walton was able to keep up turf; but
he had, by dint of watering and putting tent walls over the young grass
in the heat of the day, succeeded in making a very good lawn; and he and
his young wife played croquet nearly every evening. The fate of the
antelope was a sad one—he got loose one night, and next morning was found
drowned in the well.
Great quantities of wild asparagus were brought to the houses of the
Europeans for sale: it grows on the banks of the ditches which surround
the gardens of Julfa; there is no saltness in the soil, but it thrives
in great luxuriance, and is sold for a trifle, the villagers gladly
accepting a keran (ninepence) for fourteen pounds’ weight.
A man came one day (March 4th) bringing the no ber, or first-fruits (_i.
e._ the first cucumbers of the season); they were little things, some
three inches long, packed in rose leaves, and probably had been brought
up by some traveller by post from Shiraz, or down from Kashan, where it
is very hot indeed. As usual the man declined to sell, insisting that
they were a present—“peishkesh-i-shuma” (they are an offering to you)—and
consequently he has to be rewarded with twice the value.
Tiny unripe almonds, called “chocolah,” the size of a hazelnut, have been
brought too; they are much appreciated by Persians as a first-fruit; they
are soaked in brine and eaten raw, and they are crisp and certainly not
bad; or, when a little too large and hard for this, they are eaten stewed
with lamb, forming a “khorisht,” or dish eaten as sauce to rice.
Unripe green plums are also eaten stewed in this way with meat—_Persians
eat them raw with salt_; and the unripe grapes, preserved in their own
juice as a pickle, or the juice itself (ab-i-goora) is used to season the
stews.
The first really ripe fruit is the white cherry, which is called gelas;
then the morella, or alu-balu; then the goja, or bullace plum; then
follow plums in endless variety, and then the peach and apricot.
These latter grow in great perfection in Ispahan; there are seven known
kinds, six of which are sweet, and one bitter. The most valued variety
is the shukker-para; it is excessively sweet and cloying. All grow to
a large size, and so great is the plenty that the fruit in an ordinary
season is sold for twopence farthing the fourteen pounds, or maund. The
orchards where the apricot is grown are generally sown with clover; the
trees are never thinned, but, notwithstanding this, the finest apricots
in the world are certainly produced in Ispahan. There are also plenty
of nectarines and peaches. The fruit being so cheap, the natives never
gather it, on account of cost of labour, but allow it to fall into the
clover which is universally sown under the trees, and which partially
preserves it from bruising; so ripe is the fruit that it may be generally
seen cracked, with the stone appearing.
Great quantities of dried fruit are exported from Ispahan, which is
celebrated for its “keisi,” or dried apricots; these are merely the
fallen fruit, which is either too much bruised for sale or has not found
a market. They are simply placed in the sun, and become in a week dry,
hard, and semi-transparent, thus forming a very portable food: the stones
are of course removed and the fruit becomes as hard as horn; an hour’s
soaking renders them fit to eat, or when stewed they are delicious, being
so very sweet as to require no added sugar.
As a dessert fruit the Persians at times place an almond or a peeled
walnut within the fruit where the stone has been; as it dries the nut
becomes embedded, a sharp packing-needle and string is run through
them when half dry, and they are sold thus, hung on strings like huge
necklaces.
Enormous quantities of alū Bokhara, or acid plum, are sold; these,
however, are not dried but half boiled, and poured into the skins of
sheep, as bags, forming a kind of preserve; they are very appetising,
being a very acid yet sweet fruit, and are eaten raw with mast (curdled
milk), or are used as a sauce to stewed meat with rice.
Cherries, too, are dried in the sun in the same manner, the stones being
extracted; also peaches.
Small melons, called germak and tellabi, now (May) make their appearance;
these, though far superior to anything produced in England, are not
thought much of. The big brown melon, or karbiza of Gourg-ab, which will
keep good a year, and attains an enormous size—some being seventy and
eighty pounds in weight—is the most highly prized; the flesh is white,
and tastes like a Jersey pear. They grow on a salt soil, are heavily
manured with pigeons’ dung, and freely irrigated till the plant flowers.
Many choice varieties of melon abound, as the “Shah passand,” or king’s
favourite, and others.
The “Hindiwana,” or water-melons, are of three kinds, the red-fleshed,
the yellow-fleshed, and the white-fleshed: these run from three to
twenty-eight pounds in weight, as an ordinary size; there are long and
round descriptions. The skin varies from pale green to almost black with
green blotches; the latter are the best.
Pumpkins also are common and of great size.
Cucumbers never grow long, but short and thick; they are called “keeal,”
are very plentiful and delicious, and may, at the height of the season,
be bought fourteen pounds for one shaie, or halfpenny. There is another
fruit something between the melon and cucumber, a kind of eatable gourd,
called the koompezeh; it has not much flavour, and is eaten with salt.
The cucumbers form one of the staple foods of the people; they are eaten
with salt, and are looked on as a fruit; the peasants eat at a sitting
five or six pounds’ weight, and find no inconvenience; the Persian
cucumber may be eaten with impunity.
Lettuces grow in vast profusion, also the kalam kūmri, a
strongly-flavoured kind of nohl-kohl. The Aubergine, or “badinjan,”
the fruit of which I have seen weighing three pounds, and carrots and
turnips are also grown: the carrots are generally a _green_-rooted
variety. Spinach, called “Ispinagh,” is a favourite vegetable. Kanga (or
chardons), a kind of thistle, is brought from the mountains, and also
Rivend, or wild rhubarb; both are good.
Potatoes are now much grown, but were hardly known on my first arrival
in Persia. Kalam-i-Rūmi, or Turkish cabbage, is raised successfully and
attains an enormous size, twenty-eight pounds being a common weight for a
head; it is the perfection of cabbage, and nearly all heart. Parsnips are
unknown.
Toorbēsah, white radishes, are grown about the size of an egg, the
tops are boiled and eaten as greens. Apples are good and common. Pears
are very bad. The quinces and pomegranates are magnificent; the former
especially are grown in Ispahan and are of great size and fragrance. They
are sent with the Gourg-ab melons all over Persia as presents to grandees.
The bamiah, or lady’s finger, is little grown; it is a nasty slimy
vegetable when cooked. Vegetable marrows are common; they generally have
the seeds removed, and are filled with spiced and minced meat, and are
boiled. Gourds of many forms are found, and used as vessels for oil, etc.
Walnuts and almonds are plentiful, also filberts. There are no chestnuts
in the south.
Some thirty varieties of grape are raised; some are merely used for
pickling, others for eating, and some only for wine-making. The best
eating grapes are the Ascari. This is the first good grape to ripen;
it is a smallish white grape, globular, bright golden colour, very
delicious, and the skin, being very thin, is swallowed.
Kishmish, a delicious grape, of white elongated shape, also small, and
very sweet, both eaten and used for wine-making. When dried this is the
sultana raisin, _stoneless_, the skin very thin.
Riech-i-baba, or “old man’s beard,” a long white grape, very sweet and
delicious in flavour. Some varieties of this have tiny stones, others
large; they are both red and white. Some are two and a half inches long.
The Persians, when the price of grapes is very low, and they are unable
to dispose of them, boil them down to obtain the grape-sugar, which is
sold all over Persia and eaten in lieu of sugar; it is called “_sheera_.”
With vinegar this forms circa-sheera, a sour-sweet liquid, in which
various pickles are preserved, as grapes, apples, lemons.
I have mentioned that grapes are used in some places as horse-feed.
The variety in Persian pickles is infinite, from grapes, walnuts,
almonds, peppers, onions, oranges, and lemons, green fruits, etc.; a long
list of conserves are produced.
All the fruits grown in England are found in Persia, save only the
currant, gooseberry, and raspberry.
Persians look on fruit as a staple food, and the ordinary meal of the
working classes and peasantry is a loaf of bread and a pound or two of
grapes or apricots, or a half-dozen cucumbers, which are considered
fruits. Meat is not often eaten by the poor save at the great festivals.
“Mast” is also much consumed. This is curdled milk, and is made by adding
a little curdled milk to fresh milk warmed. It is then left to cool,
and the basin of curdled milk sets in a few hours, leaving the cream on
the top. For the first twenty-four hours this is sweet and delicious,
tasting like a Devonshire junket, but as a rule the Persian does not
care for it until it has become slightly acid. When in this state a
farthing’s worth (about half a pint) added to a quart of water forms
buttermilk, or “doogh.” A little cut mint is added, and a few lumps of
ice, and a cooling drink is made, which is supposed by the Persians to be
a powerful diuretic. It is without question a capital thirst-quencher in
hot weather.
Cheese, too, is much eaten for the morning meal, with a little mint or
a few onions. The banker at Shiraz, to whom the Government moneys were
entrusted—a rich man—told me that he or any other merchant never thought
of any more elaborate breakfast than these named above. This same man,
when _giving a breakfast_, would give his guests twenty courses of spiced
and seasoned _plats_. It is said of a merchant in Ispahan, where they are
notoriously stingy, that he purchased a small piece of cheese at the new
year, but could not make up his mind to the extravagance of eating it.
So, instead of dividing the morsel with his apprentice, as that youth
had fondly hoped, he carefully placed it in a clear glass bottle, and,
sealing it down, instructed the boy to rub his bread on the bottle and
_fancy_ the taste of the cheese. This the pair did each morning.
One day the merchant, being invited to breakfast with a friend, gave his
apprentice the key of his office and a halfpenny to buy a loaf of bread;
but the apprentice returned, saying he could not get the door open, and
though he had bought his bread, could not eat it without the _usual
flavour_ of cheese.
“Go, fool, and rub your bread on the door, which is _almost_ as
satisfying as the bottle.”
Doubtless it was.
Persia is not a favourable place for flowers; the gardeners merely sow
in patches, irrigate them, and let them come up as they will. Zinnias,
convolvulus, Marvel of Peru of all colours, and growing at times as a
handsome bushy plant, five feet high, covered with blossoms; asters,
balsams, wallflower, chrysanthemums, marigolds, China and moss roses, or
“gul-i-soorkh” (from these the rose-water is made), and the perfume in
the gardens from them is at times overpowering, are the usual flowers.
Yellow and orange single roses are common; they are, however, devoid
of scent. The noisette rose, too, is much grown, and the nestorange, a
delicately-scented single rose, the tree growing to a great size.
The favourite plant is the narcissus; it grows wild in many parts of
Persia. Huge bundles of the cut flowers are seen in the dwellings of rich
and poor; the scent is very powerful.
The Persians cut small rings of coloured paper, cloth, or velvet,
and _ornament_ (?) the flower by placing the rings of divers colours
between the first and second rows of petals, and the effect is strange,
and not unpleasing, leading one to suppose on seeing it for the first
time that a bouquet of new varieties has been cut, for so transparent
a cheat does not strike one as possible, and a newcomer often examines
them with admiration, failing to detect, or rather not suspecting, any
deception. The ordinary _Lilium candidum_ is much admired in the gardens
of the great, and is called “Gul-i-Mariam” (Mary’s flower). A large
proportion of the narcissus are double; it is the single variety that
the Persians _ornament_. The tulip, too, grows wild, and the colchicum,
also the cyclamen. Above Shiraz, however, there are few wild flowers
until one nears the Caspian; but below Kazeroon, in the spring, the road
is literally a flower-bespangled way, blazing with various tulips and
hyacinths, cyclamens, etc.
The principal crops in the neighbourhood of Ispahan are, first the
poppy; this is the white variety, and has been grown with great success
in Persia, particularly in Ispahan. It has enriched the peasants, but
rendered grain and other produce much dearer, as, of course, much less
is cultivated. The young plants are carefully thinned till they are a
foot apart, and the ground is kept clear of weeds. When the poppy is
in flower, and just as the petals are about to fall, the labourers,
principally under the direction of men from Yezd, who are supposed to
understand the method of collecting opium better than the rest of the
Persians, score the seed-vessels with a small three-bladed knife, making
three small gashes an eighth of an inch apart and three-quarters or half
an inch long at one cut. This operation is performed in the afternoon.
From these gashes the opium exudes in tears, and these are carefully
collected at early dawn. The process is repeated a second, and even a
third time; this latter is, however, unusual.
And here lies the danger of the opium crop: should a shower of heavy rain
descend the product is absolutely nil, the exuded opium being all washed
away by the rain. All around Ispahan, where there is good land, and it is
not exhausted, nothing can be seen for miles but these fields of white
poppies, and the scenery is thus rendered very monotonous.
The Persian farmer is fully alive to the value of manure, and makes it
in a very simple manner. All the wood-ashes collected from a house,
and the rest of the refuse-heap, are placed in the open street in a
circular ridge mixed with mould. Into this is poured the contents of the
cesspools, which are allowed to sink into the thirsty heaps of earth
and ashes. The “koot,” or manure thus formed, is removed to the fields,
allowed to dry in the sun, then mixed with more earth, and after a month
or two scattered equally over the soil and dug in.
Barley—which is used for the feeding of horses and mules, to the
exclusion of oats, which are never grown—rice, and wheat, are cultivated
largely. The barley of Persia is very fine; the wheat grown is the red
variety. Beans, pulse, clover, sesamum, maize, cotton, castor-oil plant,
cunjeet (a sort of colza), and nokōd, a grain like a pea, which is much
used in cookery; potatoes, lettuces, spinach, are all largely raised.
Tobacco, olives (near the Caspian), melons, and cucumbers form the rest
of the crops; and millet is also grown.
Quite one half of the barley is cut as grass for the horses, and not
allowed to ripen. Tares are grown for the same purpose and cut green.
The harvest of wheat and barley is cut with the sickle, the whole crop
being cast pell-mell in a heap in the centre of the field, perhaps some
twenty feet high; there it is allowed to lie for a month, or till it is
convenient to the owner to extract the grain. This is done by laying
round the heap a small quantity of straw with the ear on, and going over
it with a kind of car made with heavy beams and running on rollers fitted
with sharpened edges of iron; a boy rides on this, and, with a rope and
a stick, guides a pair of oxen, or a mule and a horse, or a mule and a
donkey, which draw this very primitive machine. As the straw gets broken,
more is added, and the broken straw and ears dragged to the side with
the grain entangled among them; the weather being very dry, the grain
generally all falls out ere this crushing process commences. The straw
is in this way crushed into pieces some two or three inches long. When
the whole heap has been gone over, the farmer waits for a windy day; when
it comes, he tosses the heap in forkfuls in the air. The cut straw is
carried a yard or two, and the grain being heavier falls straight to the
ground and is removed: the straw is now termed “kah,” and is stored; it
is the ordinary fodder of the country, hay being seldom used, save by the
rich.
It is also useful as a packing material and to make the “kah-gil” (“gil,”
clay), a kind of plaster with which all houses, save those built of
burnt bricks, are smeared, and with which all roofs in Ispahan, Teheran,
and Shiraz are carefully coated: it is not until Ghilān, on the Caspian
shore, is reached that we come to tiled roofs. Mud bricks are also made
with mud and old or spoiled kah. It is doubtless for this that the Jews
desired _straw_ of the Egyptians to make their bricks.
Sheep are never fed on clover _in sitû_, it is considered too precious
(it is cut and dried in twists some two yards long); but they are,
however, allowed to graze on the stubble of wheat and barley, and so
manure the land.
The greater part of the country is irrigated (save near the Caspian,
where the water is in such excess that men may be seen ploughing up
to their knees in it); consequently the fields are made up into small
squares or parallelograms by trenches raised with the spade; these
parallelograms run on each side of a small trench, from which the water
is admitted, and as fast as one is opened and filled from the trench,
it is stopped, and water admitted to another, and so on until the whole
field is thoroughly soaked. Of course it is impossible to ride over a
recently watered field, as, if the soil is light, one’s horse is soon up
to his girths.
Land in Persia is of value according to the quantity of water it is
entitled to, and the great cost of a crop is usually not the amount of
labour bestowed or the rent paid, but the quantity of water purchased.
In some places land is sown with barley, etc., as a speculation, and
it is left to chance; if it rains, a profit of, say, eight hundred per
cent. is secured; if it does not do so, which is often the case, the
whole crop, seed, rent, and labour is utterly lost. This is the case
near Bushire; the ground is just scratched and the seed thrown in: it
is looked on as gambling by the Persians, and a religious man will not
engage in it.
CHAPTER XVI.
ISPAHAN AND ITS ENVIRONS.
Pig-sticking expedition—Ducks not tame, but wild—Ruined
mosque with tile inscription—Ancient watch-towers—The
hunting-ground—Beaters—We sight the pig—Our first victims—The
bold Gholam—Our success—Pig’s flesh—A present of pork—How
Persians can be managed—Opium—Adulteration—Collection
and preparation—Packing—Manœuvres of the native
maker—Opium-eating—Moderate use by aged Persians—My dispensary
over the prison—I shift my quarters—Practice in the bazaar—An
ungrateful baker—Sealing in lieu of signing—Seals—Wisdom of a
village judge.
On the arrival of Captain Chambers, our new assistant-superintendent
in Ispahan, he determined to get up a pig-sticking expedition, a thing
hitherto unknown in Persia.
The only man among us who had enjoyed that sport before was Captain
Chambers himself, and he had brought with him from India a little armoury
of spears; the shafts of these were bamboo, and the heads, keen as
razors, were protected by small leather cases.
With some trouble we got one of these heads copied in the bazaar; and
Captain Chambers, three of the sergeants, and I started for Ruhdesht,
where we were assured we should find plenty of sport.
We took with us two subalterns’ tents—Captain Chambers and I occupied
one, the other was used by the sergeants.
On our way we came to a little mosque all by itself in the open plain,
some twelve miles from the town; in front of it was a large pond, on
which were peacefully swimming some thousands of ducks. We supposed
that they were tame, and belonged to the mosque, but on a stone being
thrown among them, they all flew away, to our great surprise, showing
unmistakably that they were wild ones.
After a wandering march of eleven farsakhs, we found the particular
village in Ruhdesht, to which we had been recommended, for, as we found,
Ruhdesht was not a village but a district.
We passed many ruins, one of which was a large mud-brick mosque in very
good preservation. On the inside was a band of tile-work some twenty
feet from the ground, which was four feet wide, and bore a beautiful
inscription in interlaced Arabic letters a yard high—the letters were
white on a blue ground; it was quite perfect, the height from the ground
and its lonely position having protected it from villagers. We also saw
several “mil,” or hollow columns; these appeared to have been used as
watch-towers, and not as places from which the call to prayers was made,
as they were frequently a long distance from the mosques.
We gladly halted, having marched continuously from two P.M. till dawn,
and having gone off the track, mules, tents, and all. We took a day’s
rest for the horses and to arrange operations. We found that a small
river close to the village was swarming with pig, and it was in the low
shrubs and jungle near the banks that the animals lived in the day, only
coming out on the open plain when driven, or at night. The cover lay on
each side of the river for a quarter of a mile in depth; it was very
dense and full of holes. As we had provided ourselves with a “hukm,”
or order, from the Governor of Ispahan, we had no difficulty in hiring
sixty beaters at sixpence each, and this number was swelled by as many
volunteers; as the pigs did much damage to the crops, the villagers were
only too glad to assist in the hunt.
The cover was not so dense as it would be later on, it being early
spring, and the bushes as yet not in leaf. Having made all the needful
arrangements, Captain Chambers, as the Nestor of the party, took command
of the beaters, and sent the whole of them in to beat up the river
bank, while we were posted at intervals of fifty yards, with strict
instructions to attack the boars only, which were carefully described to
us. The beaters were accompanied by many of our servants who wished to
enjoy the “tamasha” (show), and all the dogs.
While we sat anxiously watching the edge of the jungle, the beaters
gradually approaching us, a pig broke cover. Regardless of the shouts of
Chambers, who implored us to let him get well out on the open and so give
a run, all of us raced at him; of course he re-entered the cover, and
was no more seen.
Then out came a sow and seven squeakers, each about eight pounds. This
was too much for our equanimity, and though we had promised to carefully
obey orders, the frantic cries of Chambers of “ware sow” could not
restrain us; we repeatedly charged the sow, and it was a good way of
learning, for she got away untouched; all our horses were blown, and as
men charged her from different directions at the same time, it was a
mercy that there was no accident. Our horses, all much too fresh, now
became more manageable. We really did succeed in spearing two young
boars, neither of which showed any fight, being ignominiously pursued and
prodded to death.
But a third and more matured animal was now put up, and we carefully
allowed him to get well into the open. Here science was served, for
Chambers got first spear easily by good riding; the boar turned each time
he was struck, and after having been speared some seven times sat down on
his haunches with two spears in him, which some of the inexperienced had
let go.
The animal was evidently badly wounded, and it was a mere question of
time; but though our horses would pursue him when running, none would
come within striking distance now he was stationary, and he certainly did
not present a very pleasing appearance; and though we rushed them at him,
they swerved and shied.
One of the Persian “Gholams,” or line-guards, now asked to be allowed to
cut the boar’s head off; permission was given, and the man dismounted,
drew his curved sword, made a tremendous chop on the pig’s head, which
did not seem to wound but revive him, breaking the short sword off at the
hilt.
The animal now pursued the shrieking gholam for some distance, but a few
more stabs with the spears finished him, then he was triumphantly borne
away by the villagers.
The dogs caught three young pigs, and we returned to camp tired out. In
the party of five there had been seven spills. I had two; on one occasion
I was knocked over, horse and all, by another man coming up diagonally
without warning and striking me sideways, and as he was the heavier,
over we went. My second was when pursuing a pig; my horse slid down a dry
ditch, and, on trying to get up the other side, rolled over me.
But no one was hurt, which is a wonder, considering that it was the
first time we had carried spears, and they were all eight feet long, and
sharp. As we could get no bamboo, we had had the shafts made of chenar
or plane-wood; these were heavy but strong; the few made of poplar were
light, but all of them broke at or near the head. I fancy that for good
sport the ground should have been better; our ground was very open, but
deep dry ditches to horses who do not jump are serious matters. We had
a good dinner when we got home to the tents, and some tried to eat the
pig’s meat, but even the young pig’s flesh was blackish, and tough as
india-rubber.
Eating wild pig’s flesh, considering what they will eat, is a disgusting
idea; and I quite agree with the action of Captain S⸺ when a dead pig was
sent him by the Governor of Shiraz _as a present_.
The pig was dragged to the door by the servants of the farrash-bashi
(head carpet-spreader), a high official, and followed by a shouting mob,
and a verbal message came that a pig was sent as a present. S⸺ happened
to be out, but on his return he wrote a polite note to the Governor
telling him that the English did not, as he had erroneously supposed, eat
wild pig, but looked on it as an unclean animal; and requesting that the
person who brought it might remove it.
It was ordered to be done, but the farrash-bashi sent some Jews to drag
it away. This S⸺ would not allow, but insisted that the farrash-bashi
himself should come and take it away; he had to do so, and doubtless
thought it not quite so good a joke as the bringing, for the shouting
crowd _now laughed at_ him instead of _with_ him.
We had a second day very similar to our first, fortunately no accidents
and fewer spills. We then returned as we came; the greater part of the
way was near the river banks, and as we were all very tired, also our
horses, we were only too glad to get in by sunset.
I had now an opportunity of seeing the preparation of opium for the
English and China markets.
A partner of the principal mercantile firm established in the Persian
Gulf came to Ispahan to examine the branch of their business there and
test the value of the trade.
The great difficulty with Persian opium is to obtain it of sufficient
purity; the Persian opium is always very deficient in morphia, and upon
the percentage of morphia by analysis the value of the drug is determined
in London.
As opium when bought in the country has to be taken in small quantities
and purchased blindfold, or rather on the opinion of judges, whose fiat
is possibly _influenced_, the whole business is risky in the extreme.
The ryot adds all sorts of abominations to the fresh opium, to increase
the weight, as the pulp of apples, grape sugar, etc., and a further
adulteration is generally practised by Armenian middlemen. The system
generally adopted by the respectable merchant is to buy direct of the
ryot, if possible; even to go so far at times, if the farmer be a
substantial man, as to make him advances against his future opium crop.
Having purchased the opium, the merchant pours it into large copper pots,
some of which may contain a quarter of a ton of opium. He then proceeds
to the “teriak-mali,” or preparation, literally opium-rubbing. Having
engaged skilled workmen headed by a “reis” or “boss,” he contracts to pay
these men so much per chest, or by daily wages; and then, if the weather
be cold, the semi-liquid contents of the pots are simmered over a very
slow charcoal fire. The more solid portions being previously removed,
when the “sherbet” or juice has become pretty thick, it is mixed again
with the original more solid portion and the whole beaten up; it is, of
course, frequently weighed to prevent thefts. Now commences the regular
“teriak-mali;” weighed portions, from half a pound to one pound, as may
be found convenient, are smeared upon thin planks with a wooden spreader
or spatula.
It is first spread perpendicularly, then horizontally, just as in old
days medical men used to spread a blister; it is done with great rapidity
and exactness. As each plank is covered it is placed on end in the strong
sun, and when sufficiently dry, scraped off for rolling into cakes. If
the opium be very moist, or the sun weak, this has to be done many times.
The washings of the pots and utensils are carefully boiled down that
nothing may be lost, and after many weighings and much manipulation, the
opium, in theory absolutely pure, is made into pound cakes, generally
the shape and appearance of a squared penny bun of large size, each
weighing exactly one pound. The cakes are varnished with some of the
liquor or a composition, having in the case where I was present been
stamped with a seal bearing the name of the makers.
Each cake, after it is thoroughly dry, is wrapped in a sheet of clean
paper, folded as a neat parcel and packed in chests. The tax on each
chest is heavy, and as the duty is levied per chest and not per pound, a
small profit may be made by having light cases and making them hold, by
careful packing, a little more. The cases are marked, sewn up in hides,
or, still better, dammered, _i. e._ packed in tarpaulin.
The preparation is an anxious time, as the workpeople will steal the
opium if they can, and it is very portable. Opium is also made up with
oil in masses for the Chinese market and in round cakes packed in poppy
refuse to simulate Turkish, but this manœuvre is not adopted by the
English firm, who attempt by great care in the manipulation, and by only
buying of the respectable among the farmers, to prevent anything but pure
Persian opium being sold under their brand.
Of course the smaller native makers try every means in their power
to increase the weight by fraudulent additions—starch even has been
employed—but these specimens often betray their admixture by a peculiar
appearance or fracture, and defeat their object—often indeed bearing
their own punishment by being unsaleable, save at a loss. At the time I
saw the manufacture, Persian opium of the best quality was selling in
London at sixteen shillings a pound.
Large quantities of opium are consumed in the country. Almost
three-fourths of the aged, of both sexes, are in the habit of taking from
half a grain upwards, three times a day. And I am unable to state that
the moderate use of opium by the aged or those travelling is attended
with any ill effects. Of course the abuse of opium is well known for its
terrible results.
The “teriakdan,” or opium pill-box, is in as common use in Persia as
the snuff-box was in England. The pills are usually about one grain in
weight, and mostly contain spices to the extent of one half. But I have
occasionally seen pills of five grains in weight of purest opium—indeed,
one of my patients, who was an opium-eater, used to take seven such
pills in the twenty-four hours!
The Prince-Governor kindly placed at my disposal the rooms in the town
that had been previously occupied by Dr. Pollak, the king’s physician,
as a dispensary, and I saw many patients among the very poor there; but
as these rooms were over the public prison, of course no respectable
people, particularly women, would come. So after some months I engaged
rooms looking into the great bazaar over the door of the principal
caravanserai, the caravanserai Mokhliss. Here for two tomans (eighteen
shillings) a month I had three handsome rooms, a servant’s room, and a
kitchen; and three times a week I saw patients. As a rule the attendance
was gratuitous, though some few of the wealthier paid a fee.
A curious instance of Persian would-be smartness was shown here. A baker
in the neighbourhood had suffered from cataract, and had come to me
for relief. I had been happily successful, and to my satisfaction had
restored sight to both eyes. For this I was rewarded with the sum of
four pounds, and as the man was a thriving tradesman and well to do, _I_
thought him the obliged party; but _he_ regretted the four pounds.
One day, as I was sitting in the dispensary surrounded by a crowd of
sick and their friends and relatives, a melancholy procession entered
the room. The baker, with a rag of a different colour over each eye, and
a huge white bandage round his head, was led, or rather supported, into
the apartment; and on my expressing astonishment, his relatives informed
me that his sight was quite gone through my unfortunate treatment; and
that he had come to get his four pounds back, and any compensation for
the loss of his eyes that I might be pleased to make would be thankfully
accepted.
“Ah, sahib, dear sahib, I am now _stone_ blind,” he said.
Here with extended arms he advanced to my table, and the assembled crowd
shook their heads. I had some difficulty in getting him to remove his
many bandages; but on looking at his eyes I saw that his vision, as I had
supposed, was extremely good. I naturally was very angry, for, letting
the ingratitude of the man alone, I did not care to be robbed of the
credit of a cure in so public a manner. I did not take long to decide
what to do. Among some antiquated instruments that had accumulated in
the dispensary was a large amputating knife in a leather box. I got this
box from the cupboard and placed it before me. Taking my seat, with the
man on the other side of my table, I addressed him:—
“Of course, if I have deprived you of your sight, it is only fair that I
should remunerate you and return you the money you have paid me.”
A beatific smile spread over his face.
“Ah, sahib, I know you are a great and generous sahib. I am sure you
would not wrong a poor Mussulman. Oh, sahib, I want nothing but justice.”
“And what, my friend, do you consider justice?”
“Oh, sahib, doctor sahib, if you would refund the four pounds that I paid
you, and give me, say forty pounds, even less, for my eyes, I should pray
for you—yes, I and my family, we should all pray for you.”
Here the supporters and family chimed in, “Yes, yes, he has spoken
well,” and the crowd of interested patients and their friends whispered
approbation.
I noticed, too, that my servant seemed trying to attract my attention,
and to dissuade me from a course he thought just, perhaps, but too
generous.
“Yes,” said I, “this is what ought to be done, there is no denying it, in
the case you describe. But”—and here I began to shout—“but what should
be done to the man who comes here with a lie in his mouth? Know you,
bystanders, that this man is a liar; he sees perfectly!”
Here the patient shook off his supporters, and grasped my table, turning
pale.
“Ah,” I shouted, “you dog, I will enlighten your eyes,” and, opening
suddenly the morocco case, I produced the huge glittering old amputating
knife, and brandished it in his face. Without a word he nimbly turned and
fled down my staircase, pursued by my servants, the two sentries, and the
more active of my patients’ friends.
“Stop, thief!” I shouted from my open window; “stop, thief!”
This resounded along the crowded bazaar. Every idler took up the cry;
every hand and every stick was turned on the flying man. In an instant he
was secured, his clothes torn to rags by the seething mob in the bazaar.
I shouted to him from the open window, and sarcastically asked him if he
was blind or not.
“Oh, sahib, sahib, through your kindness I see, indeed I do.”
But I was not satisfied with this, and sent him, under guard of my
servant and the two sentries, to the high priest, who registered his
confession of attempted imposture, and drew up a _procès verbal_, to
which he affixed his seal. It is an ill wind that blows no one any good,
and the matter was for several days the talk of the town, and increased
my practice for the time.
When I say that the high priest “affixed his seal,” I may explain that
sealing is always used in lieu of signing. When a Persian writes a
letter, he affixes his seal by dipping his finger against the sponge-like
ball of silk, that is full of Indian ink, in his inkstand, and, rubbing a
small quantity upon the seal, gives a lick with his tongue to the paper
to render it moist and supple, waves it in the air to get rid of excess
of moisture, breathes on his seal, and presses it firmly against the
paper held over the forefinger of the left hand, which acts as a pad. A
very clear impression is thus produced.
Merchants and officials generally have several seals, one for familiar
communications, having simply the man’s name, as “Hassan son of
Houssein;” the next perhaps for sealing cheques or receipts; and a third
for official documents, of larger size, with all his titles on it. He
may even have several other secret or private seals. They are generally
beautifully cut on agate or cornelian. Teheran produces the best
seal-cutters, and the price for engraving is from one farthing to one
pound a letter. Common seals are cut on brass or silver. The rich Turks
of Stamboul have their seals cut in Teheran.
A curious story is told among Persians of the wisdom of a certain cazi
or magistrate. The story is a well-known one. A woman was claimed by two
men as wife; one a peasant, the other a mirza or scribe. The two men each
swore to the truth of his claim. The woman was silent. The cazi, failing
to get any corroborative evidence, ordered the woman to remain for a time
with his own wives, and next day handed her over to the mirza, ordering
the peasant to be severely beaten. Then the woman broke silence for the
first time, and praised the just judge. The lookers-on applauded the
justice of the cazi, but failed to see the grounds for the verdict.
Said the cazi: “I told her to milk a cow, and she could not. I knew then
she could be no peasant’s wife. Then handing her my writing-case, I told
her to put it in order. She took the little silver spoon, and replenished
my inkstand with water. Only the wife of a man who could write could have
done this correctly. Hence my verdict.”
CHAPTER XVII.
ISPAHAN.
Cost of living—Servants—Our expenses—Price of
provisions—Bargains—Crying off—Trade credits—Merchants—Civil
suits—Bribery—Shopkeepers—Handicrafts—Damascening—Shoemakers—Other
trades—Bankers—An Ispahani’s estimate of the honesty of his
fellow-townsmen.
The cost of living in Persia is very low; and to give an insight into
the actual expense of housekeeping, I may say that on about five hundred
pounds a year I was able to live in Ispahan, keeping—
Kerans.
A cook 50 a month.
A tableman 40 ”
An assistant ditto 25 ”
A farrash 25 ”
A platewasher 20 ”
A boy 15 ”
A head groom 30 ”
A second ditto 20 ”
A woman laundress 25 ”
An assistant ditto 15 ”
----
About £10, or 265 kerans.
These servants all clothed themselves, and were not fed by me, save in
sharing the remnants of the meals.
About _fourteen pounds of tobacco_ was expended in my house, at a cost of
eight kerans, each month.
A substantial breakfast of three or four courses was served at twelve,
tea and a snack being taken on waking. And a solid meal of four courses
and a dessert was taken at eight as dinner. Tea and cakes at four,
previous to the daily ride.
The bill for messing myself, my wife, two children, and our English
nurse, together with our horse-keep for five horses, our house rent
being included, and the servants’ pay, was about thirty-five pounds a
month. Of course our English nurse’s wages were not included in this, nor
our bill for European wines and tinned provisions. These latter were,
however, quite needless, save when travelling, when it is difficult to
obtain supplies, or anything but the roughest food. I found the cost
of living[16] pretty much the same in Ispahan, Teheran, and Shiraz. At
Hamadan and Kermanshah prices used to be much less, but are now, I think,
nearly the same.
As I previously stated, no European goes himself to the bazaar. To
conclude a bargain with any Persian shopkeeper great haggling and waste
of time is required; and so high are their ideas of the wealth of the
Europeans, that it would be hopeless to attempt to deal with them
personally. Honesty cannot be expected in the Ispahani or Teherani, but
the Shirazi may be pretty fairly relied upon.
A peculiar custom is in force in Ispahan, which is possibly legal by
the religious law. A man comes to a merchant and makes a bargain. In
the morning he makes “Dubbeh,” _i. e._ repents of his bargain, calmly
stating, “Makhmūn shūd um” (“I have been deceived”). And now the bargain
is off! This is frequently done either to lower the price a little,
or, when the article is a fluctuating one, such as opium, to take
advantage of a rise or fall in the market. For this reason it is, that
all contracts have to be in writing, and generally something is paid on
account to bind the slippery Ispahani.
The difference between wholesale and retail is very great, the retailer
not taking generally a profit of less than twenty per cent. The usual
rate of interest in the bazaar is twelve per cent. per annum, _i. e._
one per cent. per mensem, simple interest. Most, in fact nearly all,
mercantile transactions are on credit, discount for cash or a cash price
being the exception. In fact, so common is credit that the price of a
thing is quoted _at so many months_. Thus, in the case of loaf-sugar, it
may be, say a toman (seven and sixpence) a maund of fourteen pounds and
four months’ credit, or, when very cheap, eighteen months’ credit. The
price would be quoted as either four or eighteen, meaning the amount of
credit allowed, the actual price being the same. Most of the wholesale
trade is done through brokers, who act as commercial travellers, and
solicit orders on commission, which they generally manage to extract from
both buyer and seller. Among the brokers a few honest men may be found,
but they are rare exceptions.
The tager, or merchant class, are generally the most bigoted and
penurious of the Persian race. Only on retiring from business do they
dare to launch out into ostentation; for the mere suspicion of wealth in
Persia exposes them to the exactions of those in power.
All disputes among merchants are settled by the mushtaheds, or teachers
of religious law. No court fees are paid openly, but heavy bribes are
often administered. Most questions are submitted by mutual consent
to arbitration, and a mejlis (council of merchants) appointed by the
disputants generally meet at the house of some mūlla, or religious
personage. These, acting as assessors, settle the matter to the
satisfaction of both parties. A definite judgment is seldom given for
either plaintiff or defendant. A compromise is nearly always suggested
and carried out. Cases of flagrant miscarriage of justice are not
frequent. When they do occur, the merchants generally decline to
resort to the court of the particular judge until he reconsiders the
unsatisfactory decision, or by petition to the capital they effect his
removal if obdurate. As _both_ sides bribe, as a matter of course the
judgments are generally fair, always specious. These bribes are termed
“rūshwah” (manure).
[Illustration: THREE SHOPS IN THE BAZAAR.
(_From a Native Drawing._)]
The bazaaz, or shopkeeper, is the class next below the merchant. He
obtains everything on credit, and has frequently no capital of his own.
As a rule he has two prices, one for cash, the other for credit. To his
credit customers he gives the worst of his merchandise, and tries to
defraud them in the weight. The cash customers, whom he is very desirous
of retaining, he treats better.
The “kossib,” or handicraftsman, is, as a rule, an honest man. Healthy
competition is kept up by the various trades being located together, but
this is merely by force of custom, and is not compulsory. Thus, all the
coppersmiths work in one bazaar, and the noise caused by their hammering
is deafening.
All of the wares made by natives are of the most solid and substantial
kind; cooking pots, always of solid copper, last for generations, and
when eventually worn out, are sold as old copper, at half the price of
new ones. The silversmiths also usually work in the same neighbourhood;
some among them are very skilful, but the coarse work required by the
villagers tends to lower the tone of the articles turned out. Thin plates
of silver hammered into patterns of raised flowers and arabesque work are
in great request as mirror frames; the sheet of silver is backed with
pitch and hammered; the effect is good. Silver articles are made which
are afterwards chiselled in high relief in patterns similar to the Scinde
work. Armlets to hold talismans (telism) are in great demand; they are
called bazū-band, and are made of gold, silver, or damascened steel,
often inlaid with gold.
The “pūlad,” or damascened steel, is beautifully veined, and much of it
is ornamented with work _à jour_ and inlaid with gold. But the almost
prohibitive prices asked for this pūlad work and the constant demand for
export render it very expensive.
The classes of shoemakers are many: the kafsh-dooz, or slipper-maker,
as we should term him, makes the coloured leather, or shagreen slippers
worn by the women; these only just reach the commencement of the heel,
and when new are very elegant. They are shod with iron heels, which is
a separate trade of itself. The orussee-dooz, or men’s shoemaker, is
another trade. The chekme-dooz, or riding-boot-maker, a third; these
boots are always made loose enough to kick off, and are practically
better for long journeys on horseback than European boots. There is also
the ghēva-dooz, who makes the ghēva or cotton shoe, by sewing together
the knitted cotton top, or “jurab”—literally sock, made by the village
women—to the sole, which is made by another trade, and formed of rags
sewn together and tipped with horn. These ghēvas are light and cool,
and very good for walking in; they are usually worn only in summer, and
on the naked foot; they are unsurpassable in the foothold their broad
soft sole gives for mountain climbing. When dirty they are whitened with
pipeclay. The price is from two kerans to five kerans for an ordinary
pair; it is possible to give a pound for an elaborate or embroidered pair.
The zangal, or leggings, are made of leather, and cover the space between
the knee and ankle; they are affected by tribesmen, grooms, and muleteers
as being cheaper than boots and as useful. They are often elaborately
ornamented with embroidered leather. They are worn with ghēvas, sandals,
or coarse shoes. The “terkesh-dooz,” or harness-maker, is the seller and
maker of leather goods, such as holsters, harness, saddlery, etc.
The attār, or apothecary, sells all the drugs in use in the country, and
most of the drysaltery, also tea.
The aleph sells grain, grass, and cut straw, also clover which is dried
in ropes, wood, and charcoal.
The bakkal, or general dealer, sells groceries, dried fruits, and all
that is sold by the oilman in England. Some of the goods sold by the
aleph, who generally only sells wholesale, are retailed by the bakkal to
the little people.
The dyer in Persia drives a roaring trade, as the cotton cloth, shirting,
or longcloth, as the case may be, is often bought and afterwards dyed.
The dyer, or rangraz, may always be known by his arms, which are stained
a deep blue, or other colour, generally blue, as indigo is most used; all
the shulwar (trousers) of the men and veils of the women, and most of
the shirts of the lower orders, being dyed fast by indigo. The Persians
dislike dyes that are not fast, as the aniline, and prefer the old ones,
such as madder and indigo.
The tailor (“khyat”) in all cases makes up the materials of his clients,
and ready-made clothing, or “slops,” are unknown. The tailor always cuts
out the coat _in presence of_ the customer. The price for making a coat
is about one toman, or two or three kerans for a day’s work by a master
tailor. The seamstress is glad to take a less figure, and goes out to
work for half a keran a day and her breakfast. All sewing is _invariably
done with silk_, which is sold by weight.
The ūtūkash, or ironer, is employed to ornamentally iron the dresses of
the lower orders that are made of coloured calico or longcloth. This he
does by ironing a pattern upon them with the edges of his iron, generally
a box-iron filled with charcoal; often, however, merely a heated rod. He
irons upon a large jar, which he holds between his knees. He also marks
the stuffs that are to be quilted for under-garments.
The shops of the potter are frequent. Pans for charcoal, jars for
the storing of grain, are made of sun-dried clay, while a variety of
burnt-clay articles are exposed for sale; cheap kalian and chibouque
heads, flower-pots of blue, green, and purple glaze, tiles, kūmrahs or
jars for wine, water, or vinegar, goglets, pans, and drinking-vessels
innumerable for holding water; these are porous, and keep it cool. This
ware is pale greenish yellow, and very fragile; the best is made at
Kashan. Other non-porous and stronger vessels are made of red clay, and
are glazed of various colours. A black clay is frequently employed, and
decorated with silvery lines; the effect of this is good.
The art of making pottery with a _reflet métallique_ is now lost in
Persia. The wall tiles now so much valued in Europe are seldom seen _in
sitû_. Clever imitations are made in Ispahan, but the art of making the
metallic (_reflet_) lustre is gone. Most of the bricks that are not
protected, by the fact of being in shrines, have been already stolen, and
fear of the consequences of detection is all that protects the rest. All
is fish that comes to the net, and the local magnates would sell the big
monolith of Yezd marble, which covers the grave of Hafiz, _for a price_.
The caravanserais in the principal towns are surrounded by hoojrahs or
offices; these are protected by an orussee or glass window or by wooden
shutters. In these hoojrahs the merchant transacts his business, and
in the inner room or umbar, which is approached by a low, heavy door
from the outer office, is his strong box and the more valuable of his
merchandise.
The banker in Persia is looked on simply as a small tradesman—in fact,
the business of the serof is despised; as being a usurer on the sly, he
cannot be a good Mussulman, to whom usury is forbidden. His office is
often merely a stall in the bazaar, at which are exposed old bracelets,
gold, silver, and copper coin, and jewels always full of flaws. His
principal profit consists in the remittance of moneys from town to town,
and the buying and selling of bills on India and London. A few bankers
have offices in the caravanserais, and are in the position of merchants,
but there are no mahogany counters, no rows of clerks; a couple of
scribes and a black slave often comprise the whole staff, but the bankers
manage to do all that is needful with this small assistance. Gold,
until recently, was seldom seen, and as everything was paid in kerans
and half-kerans, counting was very tedious—bad kerans common. The usual
way was to count a small amount, such as ten tomans in kerans, and then
weigh heaps of ten tomans each. Some of the bankers are very reliable,
and have accumulated considerable wealth. Hadji Mirza Kerim of Shiraz is
one of these, and he is one of the few instances of a banker thoroughly
respected as a good Mussulman by his fellow-townsmen, and as a good man
by Europeans and Persians. The Ispahani is so well known for trickery
that Hadji Mahommed Saduk, the Crœsus of Shiraz, a native of Ispahan, but
trading and residing in Shiraz, informed me himself “that a merchant _in
Ispahan_ to live must cheat, and to thrive must steal.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
ISPAHAN.
Daily round—The river—Calico rinsers—Worn-out mules and
horses—Mode of treating the printed calico—Imitations
of marks on T-cloths—Rise of the waters of the
Zend-a-Rūd—Pul-i-Kojū—Char Bagh—Plane-trees—The college—Silver
doors—Tiled halls and mosque—Pulpit—Boorio—Hassir—Sleepers
in the mosque—Cells of the students—Ispahan
priests—Telegraph-office—Tanks—Causeways—Gate
of royal garden—Governor’s garden—Courtiers and
hangers-on—Prisoners—Priests—The Imām-i-Juma—My
dispensary—Ruined bazaar—A day in the town—Bazaar
breakfasts—Calico-printing—Painters—The
maker of antiquities—Jade teapot—Visit to
the Baabis—Hakim-bashi—Horse-market—The
“Dar”—Executions—Ordinary—Blowing from guns—A girl trampled
to death—Dying twice—Blowing from a mortar—Wholesale walling
up alive—A narrow escape from, and horrible miscarriage in
carrying it out—Burning alive—Crucifixions—Severity: its
results.
In my early days I was in the habit of riding over from Julfa to the town
of Ispahan daily; twenty-five minutes’ smart trotting brought me to my
dispensary. During the summer the river was easily fordable, large banks
of gravel being visible; these were occupied by the “rinsers of printed
calicoes;” while the sun was out, for about half a mile the gravel banks
were covered with long strips of printed calico placed closely together;
at dawn the rinsers came down from the bazaars with many donkey-loads of
dyed cotton cloths; the beasts used for the carriage were the lame, the
halt, and the blind of the asses and mules of Ispahan. As the last use a
horse is put to in Persia is to be a miller’s pack-horse, so this work
seemed to be the end of the donkeys and mules.
Along the edges of the channels between the gravel banks stood rows of
old millstones; in front of each stone was a rinser up to his knees in
the river. Taking a piece of dyed cloth half wrung out, which had been
thoroughly soaked in water, in his hands—and the pieces were at times
twenty yards long—he proceeded to thwack the roll of cloth against the
stone with his whole strength, keeping time to a loud song until he was
out of breath. As these men worked in rows, and the cloths were full of
water, the noise and splashing were something tremendous. The work was
heavy in the extreme, and as they can only get to the river when low,
some seven months in the year, the pay is good.
As each piece had the water thus thoroughly beaten out of it, a boy on
the bank seized it and proceeded to spread it on the gravel, fixing the
edges and corners with a stone; his duty was never to let the wrung cloth
get dry, which he managed to do by constantly dashing water over the
out-spread rows of dyed cloths with a pan. Often the process has to be
repeated several times, as the cloths are sent down from the printers
in the various stages. Above each furiously beating rinser rose a cloud
of variously coloured spray which gradually became colourless; in every
direction the sheets of water thrown by the boys glittered in the strong
sun, and the loud choruses of the half-naked rinsers, and the barking
of their watch-dogs—for each batch had their dogs—made a cheerful and
exciting scene.
Of course the calico, cotton-cloth, or T-cloth, as it is variously
termed, had to be strong and good to stand such a process; and the
adulterator had little chance with the wily calico-printer, who always
weighed his cloth prior to purchasing, washed and dried it, and then
weighed it again; the consequence is that, save of _the best quality_,
little cotton-cloth is sold in Ispahan. Certain brands well known
for their genuineness command a high figure, such as that of the Ace
of Spades, though they are soon closely imitated by unscrupulous
makers. However, the calico-printer is generally quite a match for the
adulterator.
Many of the rinsers make little hovels of brushwood and earth, and live
altogether on the banks of gravel, and in February, when the waters
suddenly rise, the scene is exciting as they collect their traps at the
last moment, and a few seconds after, their huts are swept away—banks,
huts, and millstones disappearing, and a furiously rushing river of
muddy water taking their place. This yearly occurrence of the rise of
the waters happens on the melting of the snows on the mountains. The
Ispahan river (Zend-a-Rūd) usually presents the appearance near the town
of a number of chains of pools of water united by a central brook just
occupying the middle of a wide but dried watercourse, having a hardly
perceptible stream, and as clear as crystal. No sooner, however, do the
spring rains commence than the stream becomes muddy, or at all events
discoloured; and when the “sale ab,” or rise of the waters, comes, the
dams that have been placed to regulate the amount of water taken off by
the various canals for supplying the town and irrigation—some of which
are very old and really important works—are carried away, the river is
seen to rise many feet an hour; at times even a large wave appears, and
trees torn up by their roots come rapidly down in large numbers. The huge
bridges are crowded by a shouting and excited populace, the banks and
all coigns of vantage are thronged, and for a couple of days all Ispahan
enjoys the sight. Then the river sinks, the stream becomes clear, and a
broad and swift river is seen till May, when it gradually sinks to its
normal summer insignificance, most of its waters being taken off for
irrigation and the supply of the town.
[Illustration: THE PUL-I-KOJŪ.]
During the “sale ab” the great sight is at the Pul-i-Kojū, Bridge of
Kojū. This handsome structure, crossing the river from one of the ruined
quarters of the town of Ispahan to the palace of Haft Dust, in which
Futteh Ali Shah died, is built of brick with well-made stone piers, and
is of very original construction. As through its arches for eight months
in the year a small stream slowly flows, the huge piers are separated at
the bottom by merely narrow channels; these are arched over, and a level
causeway is the result; over this is built the second or real bridge,
which has rooms on each side of it at each pier, with open doorways
looking towards the waters; there are stairs and rooms too in the upper
piers.
When the rise of the waters takes place, this bridge, rooms, staircases,
and parapets are crowded, also the causeway. Rapidly the lower arches
become filled with the roaring torrent, still more quickly it rises above
them; at length it flows over the causeway of stone, which at the last
moment is left by the crowd, and falls with tremendous noise into the
seething flood the other side; still rising, it thunders through the
large archways, and soon the curious appearance from the lower side is
presented of a regular waterfall the whole width of the stream, with as
many torrents as there are arches, seething out above this; above all,
the double-storied bridge covered with sightseers shouting, singing, and
shrieking, with the additional possibility of the whole being washed
away at any moment. The upper bridges are often damaged; somewhat of the
beauty of the scene, however, is detracted from by the river at these
times being the colour of _café au lait_.
In summer, fording the river, I entered the Char Bagh (four gardens), or
in winter approached it by the bridge. There are several Char Bagh in
Ispahan, but the principal one extends for about a mile on either side
of the river in a straight line, the centre of the line being formed by
the bridge, which is quite level—a rare thing in Persia; and also a rare
thing in Persia, it has many _large_ arches; the parapet is some twelve
feet high, and at each pier is a small chamber having three apertures to
the river; above the parapet is ample room for foot passengers.
The Char Bagh contains a double avenue of magnificent plane-trees, some
of great age—alas! too soon to disappear. As these gigantic planes decay
in the inside, they are felled and become the perquisite of somebody: at
times in great gales they fall with a crash, the inside being quite gone.
Also whenever the Governor wants a big tree for any purpose he takes one,
but _nobody plants any new ones_.
A high wall bounds the Char Bagh on either side; at intervals are
edifices pierced by gates of from three to four stories, of no
architectural pretensions; they are of brick, ornamented with barbarous
designs on plaster in flaring colours, which time has happily toned
down; these gates lead to what were once lovely fruit gardens, now mere
enclosures sown with grain, grass, etc. The Char Bagh is some thirty
yards or more wide: about half-way up on the right-hand side is the
Mehdresseh, or college, the tiled dome of which, now fast decaying, is
a very ornamental object for miles. The dome is surmounted by a golden
ornament which is stated to be solid and of pure metal; this, I fancy,
is very doubtful. The college is entered by a high gateway, and here are
the celebrated silver doors—of the genuineness of these there can be no
doubt; the centre plates are very handsomely made, and have been heavily
gilt; the plates are not, however, very thick, and the _substance_ of the
doors is wood under thin silver. The gateway, which is in bad repair,
contains nothing of interest, and is blocked up by fruit-stalls and
pipe-sellers. A rough kind of orchard and a tank occupy the courtyard, a
few pomegranates and roses being the principal shrubs, though there are
some large trees. Several halls for instruction are seen on either side;
these, like the mosque beneath the dome, are lined and roofed with one
sheet of perfect tile-work, green, black, and yellow on a white ground;
the whole interior of the college, too, is tiled. Taken separately, there
is nothing particular about these tiles, but the _tout ensemble_ is grand
and cool in the extreme.
Of course we were not permitted to enter the mosque, as there were many
idlers about, but a good view is got from the entrances and from the
windows below the dome from the roof. The only furniture is the “mambar,”
or pulpit. The floor is covered with coarse matting, or borio, which is
made only in Ispahan; another kind of matting, which is more expensive,
is in use throughout Persia, called hassir; in the manufacture of this
thread is used. The borio is of reedy grass alone, strong, clean, and
inexpensive. Contrary to the hassir, which is made in strips, the borio
is in one piece, and here we saw pieces twenty yards by ten.
Thus there is nothing in the Persian mosque to distract the mind from the
prayers, the exhortation, or religious meditation, though the coolness
and dim religious gloom of the lofty halls rather incline one to sleep;
in fact, being the hot part of the day, we saw many men curled up in
sleep covered with their camels’ hair abbahs, or cloaks.
The mosques are at night the casual wards of Persia; there sleep those
who have absolutely no home and no business, and entrance is always
free to all comers. The busy use the numerous caravanserais. There were
lofty minarets, from whence is made the call to prayers, and numerous
little cells windowed with the old elaborate carpentry of the East, and
their beautiful tracery often papered over by the inmate to render his
cell warmer in winter; a bit of matting, a box, and a few books, were
the contents of most of them, in the corner being a small carpet, which
formed the place of honour by day and the bed at night.
The students are all either divinity or law, aged from eighteen upwards;
and an Ispahan lawyer or priest, on finishing his education, is looked
on by Persians as the type of hypocrisy and _finesse_. Many of the mūllas
(priests) are not, however, bad fellows when one can break through the
crust of _apparent_ moroseness and fanaticism; they are mostly at heart
freethinkers, many Deists, more Atheists, few being good Mussulmans.
Leaving the college and still proceeding up the Char Bagh, a building on
the right contains the Persian telegraph-office. The office is for the
local traffic, and the Persians have possession, by convention, of one of
the wires of the line; they do their own local traffic, but the line is
kept up by the English staff of the Persian Telegraph Department.
At intervals in the Char Bagh are large hauz (tanks), most of them in
ruins, but during winter generally full of water; all down the centre
runs a watercourse a yard and a half wide—alas! dry—edged by huge blocks
of hewn stone and bridged at intervals.
On either side of this watercourse is a paved stone causeway ten feet
wide edged by similar hewn stones; along the edges under the walls is
another paved road of less width; between these causeways are wide beds
once covered with flowers and fruit-trees, now only sown with clover and
barley, which in the early spring gives, with the huge plane-trees, a
fine _coup d’œil_.
The Char Bagh ends in a gateway of more lofty pretensions, but of the
same style of architecture as the buildings on either side. Here,
however, are a few tiles representing scenes in the chase, probably made
during the Afghan occupation.
A wide paved chaussée leads to the gate of the royal garden, now merely a
meadow with trees. At the entrance is the Lion and Sun daubed in staring
colours on a plastered wall, and here, unless known to the sentries,
one is not allowed to pass. My professional work having made me free
of the place, we pass on, and leaving the Chehel Sitūn, or hall of the
forty columns, crowded with the hangers-on of the minister, who here
adjudicates with local grandees on minor affairs, we come, passing a huge
hauz or tank full of clear water, to a wall in which are two recesses
having life-sized portraits in oil of former Ispahan magnates, evidently
good likenesses and not without merit. On the right is the principal
entrance to the quarters of audience of the minister and various
antechambers. We dismount, pass through a small door, are saluted by the
sentry, and enter a well-kept Persian garden, the paved walks of which
are fenced off, with telegraph wire and painted posts, from the sunken
beds.
Here, too, everything is in good repair, for we are now in the outer
courtyard of his Royal Highness the Zil-es-Sultan, Governor of one-third
of Persia, the eldest son of the king, a man of genius, and in high
favour; in fact, at present (1883) the most powerful of his Majesty’s
subjects, if we except the Valliāt, or heir-apparent, a priest-ridden
ascetic of weak intellect, whom the royal policy, which points to the
survival of the fittest, will probably quietly remove, in which case the
Zil-es-Sultan will surely reign. Here all who are expecting an audience
of his Royal Highness or his people, wait; great men and their servants,
merchants, artisans, priests, veiled women, wrestlers; a few well-dressed
servants of the prince swagger about, while his carpet-spreaders, or
farrashes, with long sticks, are present to keep order or administer the
bastinado; a few executioners, dressed in red, and shunned save by the
lowest, skulk in one corner, while half-a-dozen Jews gesticulate and
shake their fists in each other’s faces in another.
Rooms at the side, open to the air, show mirzas in long cloaks, busily
writing official letters or making out accounts. Close to the door, which
is covered with a curtain, on which is painted a colossal sentry on
guard, stands a sentinel, and here lounges the big moustached doorkeeper
with his huge silver mace.
The farrash-bashi here, too, is waiting a summons, with two villagers
in shirt and drawers of blue cotton, and felt hats: they are chained,
probably on a charge of highway robbery, or a still more heinous crime
in Persia, backwardness with their taxes. They don’t seem comfortable,
for they know that a gesture from his Royal Highness will consign them
either to the tender mercies of the executioners, or the bastinado of the
farrashes, or even perhaps immediate liberty.
Many servants, with their masters’ pipes of gold or silver, and dressed
sumptuously, if domestics of the wealthy, smoke or chatter. A knot of
thin and forbidding-looking priests, of sourest looks, some wearing the
blue turban (marking the supposed descendant of the prophet, or Syud),
take as a right, hardly acknowledging it, the salute of each passer-by,
and favour me, an unbeliever, with ferocious sneers, drawing back their
flowing garments to avoid contact, an action which I resent by doing
likewise. Here the curtain is raised, and the greatest man in Ispahan
(I speak of some years ago), whose word to the priests and mob can give
endless trouble to the king—the “Imām-i-Jūma,” or high priest, and head
of the law, for he was both—appears, followed by two other priests of
high rank. His turban is dark blue, almost black; all bend and salaam to
him. I stop to give him a military salute. He is an old patient of mine;
he smiles and speaks in a stage whisper, saying to the other priests what
a very superior unbeliever I am. I hurry on, and, passing through many
passages, come to my dispensary over the jail.
Three hours are occupied in seeing patients, then back through the ruined
bazaar, “Bazaarcha baland,” a lofty but _empty_ arcade of shops, having
a second story above them, the whole roofed in and beautifully finished
as to the brickwork. Cool and dim, this silent bazaar opens into the Char
Bagh, and I return as I came, in the hot sun, to breakfast; then siesta,
tea, afternoon ride, dinner at eight, perhaps a rubber, and so the days
go on.
Or I have a day in the town, and lunch at my dispensary on _bazaar
food_—slices of mutton off a sheep roasted whole; brilliān, _i. e._
chopped and seasoned meat; pillaws of rice, with various meats; kabobs,
or chopped and seasoned meat roasted on skewers, and served hot with
herbs between two flaps of bread, also hot; a bowl of sherbet, _i. e._
syrup and water, with blocks of ice in it; grapes or apricots as dessert;
then my water-pipe is handed to me; the whole—and the plentiful leavings
give my servant and the groom a substantial breakfast—costing a shilling.
Then, mounting, I visit the calico-printers, and see the elaborate
printing by means of blocks—some of them over three centuries old—of the
curtains for which Ispahan is celebrated, covered with strange pictures
of peacocks, elephants, soldiers, lions, etc., in all the colours of the
rainbow, and _fast, too_, on a white ground.
Or I sit and chat with the artists on the upper story of the caravanserai
Gulshan, who each in his little room is hard at work on some bookcover or
pencase, or possibly is illustrating a manuscript copy of Hafiz or Saadi,
and chatting with whom I learn a good deal of the inner side of Persian
life. I look over the work of my artist friends, who do not press me to
buy, but who do descant on the falling off in art in Persia.
Or I take a look at Houssein Khari, who has a factory for false
antiquities. Here I see, among heaps of sham, at times something real and
good; but Houssein Khari does not sell the good things, only the rubbish.
As I go he ironically holds out to me a jade teapot, requesting me to buy
it for one hundred pounds. I see that the age of bargains is over, and
retire.
Or I make a visit to my friends the Baabis. Here, however, I have to
eat such a tremendous breakfast that a siesta is needed, and I only am
allowed to start homewards at six, after pipes and tea have been taken,
and much information extracted from me.
Or a professional visit is made, and I come across bits of Eastern life
in out-of-the-way quarters of the huge and ruined town.
Or I call on the hakim-bashi, or head doctor, my friend, and hear of his
troubles in ruling the Jews, editing his newspaper—for he is the editor
of the _Ispahan Gazette_—in establishing the _new_ or _modern_ college,
of which he is the head and the prince the patron.
Or I take a long ride through the bazaars, to the disgust of my servants,
who do not care to be seen as an unbeliever’s servants in the fanatical
heart of the city.
Or, riding to the maidān, I look out in the early morning for a cheap
horse, which the brokers offer for sale here each day, and see the
furious riding of the Persian buyer trying his steed. This maidān, or
“_place_,” is, I think, over a quarter of a mile long by a furlong wide.
In the centre is a small circular brick platform, on which is a high
pole, with projecting pieces for the feet, and a pulley at top. Here
criminals used to be hoisted by the feet, and then allowed, the rope
being cut, to be dashed head foremost to the ground. At the foot of this
pole take place the numerous executions, though the Governor of Ispahan
is not fond of shedding blood.
When the new Mission at Gulhaek was being finished in the time of the
late minister, Mr. Alison, he instructed the builder to make “a place for
a flagstaff,” and a huge pole having been procured, it was set up, and
the architect smilingly presented the work to his Excellency.
Mr. Alison looked at it and tapped his forehead, and, turning to the
architect, said—
“I think I have seen somewhere something like this” (there was then an
execution pole in Teheran exactly like the one in Ispahan, but with a
higher and larger brick platform).
“Yes, yes,” replied the smiling Persian, of course, “the Dar” (execution
pole). “I have tried to copy it exactly; very imposing, is it not?
Strikes the eye at once.”
No praise came. His Excellency turned away, and the pole was earthed up
over the brickwork, leaving an ornamental mound, now covered with shrubs
and roses.
The ordinary way of execution is by throat-cutting; the victim, clad
in shirt and drawers only, is led into the square; unless a celebrated
criminal, only a few loafers crowd round; a pipe is smoked by the
culprit, and he is told to kneel; he does so, and the executioner, coming
behind him, cuts his throat with a short curved knife. As a rule the body
lies where it falls, and the relatives, on payment of a small fee to the
executioner, are allowed to remove it next morning. Blowing from a gun is
a common form of death when it is wished to strike terror into the hearts
of evil-doers; I have known it done once at Ispahan, the criminal being a
Khan accused of rebellion. This man had been some months in prison under
sentence of death; day by day he found means to bribe the minister and
the Governor, and his execution was delayed; at length his funds being
exhausted he was actually brought out into the maidān, and the cannon
loaded in his presence; but he had still a little money left, which he
paid, or rather his friends did, and he was taken back to prison; this
was his last penny; _the next day_ he was blown from a gun.
Just after my arrival in Teheran a notorious female dancer of
considerable personal attractions, and only seventeen years of age, was
brought before the queen-mother, who was celebrated for her intrigues,
charged with visiting the houses of Europeans. The girl did not deny
her crime, and, feeling her danger, became desperate, reviling the
queen-mother, and saying that they were fellow-sinners. The queen-mother
immediately obtained an order for the girl’s death, and caused her, to
be first handed over to her own servants’ mercies, and then to be rolled
in a carpet and jumped on by the farrashes till she was dead.
In the Governorship of the Zil-es-Sultan at Shiraz curiosity took me,
with some of the rest of the telegraph staff, to see two men blown from
guns; the roof of the doorway of the telegraph-office commanded the
maidān, or square.
One man was led out and blown from a gun; a second was then brought
forward, and they prepared to lash him to another gun; but as he was very
short, a good deal of time was lost in getting some bricks, which were
piled in a heap for him to stand on; he was then lashed to the gun, the
executioner advanced with a port fire, the priming fizzled, but the gun
did not go off—_they had forgotten to load it_; the man was unbound, the
artillerymen went for more powder. I ran across the square to try and beg
him off from the prince, being at that time in high favour. He kept me
chatting, and in the meantime I heard the report of the gun which killed
the poor fellow. About this time a man was blown into the air from a
mortar by the Zil-es-Sultan’s order in the square at Shiraz.
When I was last at Shiraz twenty highway robbers were caught by the
Governor, Khosro Mirza, the king’s uncle; nine escaped death by bribery,
but eleven were _walled up alive_.
Fourteen hollow pillars, four feet high, built of mud bricks, were each
built around a small hole in the ground, thus leaving a cavity six feet
deep.
One morning we heard that eleven men had been walled up in them alive;
it appeared that three of the fourteen men were reprieved, that the
farrash-bashi (chief carpet-spreader literally), or principal of the
police of the Governor, was ordered to wall up eleven men, and that,
fearing a disturbance, it was done suddenly. At midnight he, with a force
of some two hundred soldiers, four executioners, and numerous farrashes,
marched the eleven highway robbers in irons some mile and a half through
the deserted streets to a place outside the town where the pillars
stood. They were accompanied by several masons whom they had impressed,
and a donkey-load of plaster of Paris. It seems that the farrash-bashi
had received from the friends of one of the robbers forty pounds (one
thousand kerans) to allow him to escape, so on the road he seized on a
poor porter, intending to wall him up and let the robber go. Day dawned
ere they reached the place, and fortunately for the porter a crowd
assembled; among them were some who recognized him; the farrash-bashi
was forced to let him go, for had he carried out his intentions Khosro
Mirza, the Governor, would not have spared him. Each robber was placed
in a pillar alive, then loose earth was poured in up to his chest, then
a quantity of earth was hurriedly mixed with the plaster of Paris,
water was added, a kind of mortar made, and the top of each column was
plastered over having the man’s head enclosed in a mass of mortar which,
had there been _enough_ plaster, would have _set_, at once destroying
life. Unfortunately the plaster was insufficient in quantity, no more
was to be had; the mud did not set, and many of the men _were alive and
crying for water at the end of two days_. The Governor on hearing this
sent the executioner to put them out of their misery, which he did by
opening the top of each column and cutting their throats. As my wife and
I came home from a ride we passed the columns freshly plastered; this was
in 1877.
Just prior to my first arrival in Persia the “Hissam-u-Sultaneh,” another
uncle of the king, had burnt a priest to death for a horrible crime and
murder; the priest was chained to a stake, and the matting from the
mosques piled on him to a great height, the pile of mats was lighted
and burnt freely, but when the mats were consumed the priest was found
groaning, but still alive. The executioner went to the Hissam-u-Sultaneh,
who ordered him to obtain more mats, pour naphtha on them, and apply a
light, which _after some hours_ he did. A terrible death!
On another occasion a young slave who had shot his master’s son by
accident was “_crucified_,”[17] lived fifty hours, and was then put out
of his misery. There was no cross—the men are nailed to walls. I was
passing one day the outer wall of the “ark” or citadel of Shiraz; I saw
a small crowd, I rode up, the crowd made way, and I found a poor fellow,
very pale, standing with his face to the wall; a horse-nail had been
driven through each foot, also through each of his hands, which were
extended on the wall, and three more nails had been driven through his
chest into the wall; he groaned occasionally, and I was informed he had
smoked and drunk water offered him by compassionate bystanders.
He lived thirty hours, and the executioner took him down then, and put
him out of his misery. His crime was that he had stolen a jewelled horse
necklet of the Zil-es-Sultan’s; this in the eyes of Persians is high
treason.
The sentence, however, was not the prince’s, then a mere boy, but his
minister’s. He is now averse to blood, although he is given to making
severe examples to avoid _continual_ executions. With some Governors
there are executions weekly, and this in such a sparsely populated
country as Persia, is even more sad than the _occasional_ cruel examples
made by Khosro Mirza, the late Hissam-u-Sultaneh, and the Zil-es-Sultan,
to avoid _continual_ bloodshed, which I believe to be the true reason of
their occasional great severity; and this policy is successful, for in
their governments crimes of violence are unusual, their severity being
deterrent; and the _total_ of their executions very much smaller than
that of the so-called merciful Governors. In justice to these three
Governors this must be allowed, that the cruelty is much more apparent
than real.
It is to be noticed that executions are not nearly so frequent now, as on
my first experiences of Persia.
CHAPTER XIX.
MY JOURNEY HOME AND MARCH TO SHIRAZ.
Julfa quarters—Buy a freehold house—I ornament, and make
it comfortable—Become ill—Apply for sick leave—Start
marching—Telegram—Begin to post—Reach Teheran—Obtain
leave—Difficulty at Kasvin—Punishment of the
postmaster—Catch and pass the courier—Horses knock up—Wild
beasts—Light a fire—Grateful rest—Arrive at Resht—Swamp
to Peri-Bazaar—Boat—Steamer—Moscow—Opera—Ballet—Arrive
in England—Start again for Persia—Journey _viâ_
Constantinople—Trebizonde—Courier—Snow—Swollen eyes—Detail
of journey from Erzeroum to Teheran—The races—Ispahan—Leave
for Shiraz—Persian companions—Dung-beetles—Mole
crickets—Lizards—Animals and birds—The road to Shiraz—Ussher’s
description—Meana bug legend again.
Finding my quarters in Julfa extremely inconvenient and small, I bought a
little house and did it up after my own ideas of comfort. The place was
originally two houses and formed the quarters of two sergeants, but by
purchasing both houses, which I got for sixty pounds, _freehold_, with an
indisputable title, I was able to make a very comfortable place indeed.
I had two large and airy summer rooms, cool in the extreme, and admitting
currents of air in every direction. A large anteroom opened into a
smaller room, when the doors were closed nearly air-tight, with a large
fireplace. This was my winter room; and in it I made a shutter opening
into the anteroom by which meals were served without opening the door:
these arrangements were needed, as Ispahan is bitterly cold in the
winter. There were two cool upper rooms, one of which by a grated window
looked on the street over the doorway. Besides this there were three warm
and sheltered bedrooms on the ground floor of fair size, for winter, all
with fireplaces. There was much good dry cellar accommodation, a good
kitchen and servants’ quarters, a small garden in the outer courtyard
shaded by trellised vines, and I planted about fifty fruit-trees, which
cost from threepence to sixpence each, in the inner one. The whole was
surrounded by a high wall of some twenty feet, built of mud bricks;
around the inner side of the parallelogram formed by this outer wall were
built the rooms. There were heavy wooden outer doors, and within them a
large arched doorway where the business of the house, with tradesmen,
forage-sellers, etc., was conducted. I had also a room for my dispensary,
and a granary.
And all this freehold for sixty pounds! Is it not a poor man’s paradise?
On completing my purchase I proceeded to spend four hundred kerans, or
sixteen pounds, in painting, plastering, wall-building; whitening or
staining pale blue the interior of the rooms (the building was happily
in thorough repair), paving my anteroom, six by four yards square,
with white and blue encaustic tiles, kargilling or plastering with mud
the whole outside of walls, roof, and rooms; putting in two windows of
coloured glass, and painting, gilding, plastering, and decorating my
dining or living room, and my best bedroom _de haut en bas_. In fine,
for about eighty pounds, I had a freehold house, wind, water, and cold
proof, with large and cool quarters in summer, or warm in winter, a paved
courtyard; and the happy feeling that I was in my own place and could do
what I pleased to it, and that anything that I did was not a case of _sic
vos non vobis_.
The superintendence of my alterations gave me pleasant occupation, and,
like Robinson Crusoe, I felt time slip quickly away. But I had hardly
been a year in the house when I went home on leave, and ultimately the
place was sold by auction for sixty pounds with all my improvements! A
friend of mine in 1880 wished to purchase it, but the then owner declined
one hundred and sixty pounds for his bargain.
About September I had a severe attack of typhoid fever, and became on
my convalescence extremely depressed. I could not regain my strength,
and I applied for sick leave to England. I was told to march up by easy
stages to Teheran and appear before a medical board. I started with my
cook and a groom, and each evening I nearly made my mind up to go no
further, so utterly done up did I feel. In this depressed condition I
arrived at Kashan: here I got a telegram from Colonel S⸺, the Director,
telling me that he was leaving Teheran the next day with Sir A. Kemball,
the British Resident at Baghdad, who was going home on leave by the last
steamer, that of course I could not catch that, and so he kindly invited
me to stay in Teheran with him till I was myself again and able to return
to duty.
This news upset me altogether; I had determined to march to Teheran, and
had hoped that by that time I should have got strong enough to post to
the Caspian, catch the last Caspian steamer, and so home _viâ_ Russia.
So impressed was I with the stupid idea that I must get home to get
well, that I made up my mind at once to try and make a push to catch the
Colonel and Sir A. Kemball. Tired as I was, I took a post-horse at once—I
had not enough money with me to take two (in Persia one carries as little
cash as possible). I told my servants to get home as well as they could.
I determined to push on _coûte que coûte_. Leaving Kashan at dawn I
got to Kūm, twenty-one farsakhs (seventy miles), by ten at night, and
I felt fit to die, for I couldn’t eat or drink, my stomach retaining
nothing; eighteen hours in the saddle brought me to Teheran, twenty-three
farsakhs, or seventy-seven miles. I got to Colonel S⸺’s house, _only
to find him gone_. I had a bath, I still could eat nothing; I borrowed
money and lay down till the afternoon, when I went before a medical
board, who seemed to look upon my quick ride to the capital as a sort of
certificate of perfect health, and I feared that my leave would not be
granted. However, my appearance, my staring eyes and shaven head were in
my favour, and leave was given me; but I was told that, as I must miss
the steamer, it was useless. These steamers cease running as soon as the
mouth of the Volga freezes, and a telegram had come to say the next one
would be the last.
At five the same afternoon I mounted, having a bottle of claret, the only
thing I could take, a tin of soup and some tea with me, also a brandy
flask. I knew my only chance was to keep on. As I came to each stage I
found the time Sir A. Kemball and Colonel S⸺ had preceded me was greater
and greater, _but they slept_—I did not—I kept on, with the feeling that,
as Giles Hoggett says, “it’s dogged as does it.” I rode all night and got
to Kasvin, twenty-five farsakhs (eighty-eight miles), in fourteen hours.
Here I had a difficulty in getting horses. The liberal presents given by
Colonel S⸺ and his party had roused the extortionate feelings of the
holy man in charge of the post-house (he was a Syud and a noted rascal).
At first he would not give me horses at all, telling me there were none,
and to go and rest, as I was ill; but I was determined. I submitted to
the swindle of paying five kerans for a so-called permit for horses; this
I carefully kept, promising myself to administer a thrashing should I
ever return.
This I had the satisfaction of doing, when in robust health, some five
months afterwards. And I duly thonged the Syud, to his astonishment and
disgust, for I was so changed he did not recognise me. He then of course
called me “aga” (master) and held my stirrup when I mounted.
After a delay of about four hours I got away from Kasvin, and I was
now gaining on the party in front; but I was doubly unfortunate: the
Colonel’s large party took seven horses, and more if they could get
them, and I was preceded by the courier, who, a hale man, had started
two hours in front of me. Thus the horses I got were doubly tired, but I
kept on with the obstinacy of a sick man, though at times I think I was
half delirious. I could eat nothing, and the only thing that had passed
my lips since leaving Kashan, where I took soup, was a little claret; an
attempt to breakfast in Teheran had made me very ill indeed. I arrived at
a post-house, got two new horses, gave a present to my former guide, and
on I went. I was too ill to talk, and my disinclination to speak caused
an amusing incident at one place. The guide, thinking me a “new chum” who
did not understand the language, amused himself the greater part of the
stage by calling me “rascal,” “dog,” “son of a burnt father,” etc. This
same fellow stole my matches and emptied my claret-bottle. I could have
wept, but was too ill to thrash him or even remonstrate.
I kept on, never stopping more than the time to saddle. Night came on,
and on getting to Rustumabad I was delighted to find the courier asleep,
giving his two tired horses a rest. I took two others, also tired ones,
and on I went, leaving him peacefully slumbering. We were now in dense
forest—it was pitch dark; the horses previously tired by the rapid
riding of Colonel S⸺’s party, and the return journey from the long and
bad stage of six farsakhs, they having gone before my getting them about
forty miles. When I got some ten miles into the forest, the poor beasts
refused to move. The guide was, or pretended to be, in great terror
of wild beasts, repeating “Jūniver, jūniver!” (“Wild animals!”) to me
continually. Of the presence of these there was no mistake, from the
continued noises and roarings, though we saw none. There was nothing for
it but to dismount. My matches being stolen, I tore out some cotton wool
from my quilt, mixed it with a little powder from a broken cartridge,
and fired my revolver through it. We soon had an enormous fire. _How_
I enjoyed it and the _rest_! The damp of the swamps—it is as damp here
as it is dry in the middle and south of Persia—had seemed to enter my
bones; and how I had longed for rest. Now I got a little for the first
time, lying on my quilt, my head on my saddle-bags, before an immense
fire, which the guide fed with broken trunks and boughs. I enjoyed a
sensation of delightful rest I have never felt before or since. I even
managed to eat a little soup, and the guide made tea in the tin. How I
revelled in it, for I knew I _must catch_ the Colonel by breakfast-time,
before he could leave Resht, and consequently not lose the last steamer.
I reluctantly left the fire as soon as the horses could move, and we
plodded on in the dark. We got to Koodūm before dawn, and into Resht
to M. M⸺’s house by nine, where I found the Colonel and his party at
breakfast.
Thirty-one farsakhs, over long stages and bad roads, in twenty-two hours
(one hundred and eight miles), or one hundred and ninety-six miles from
Teheran in forty-one hours, was good travelling on tired horses, and for
a sick man.
Colonel S⸺, who was astounded at seeing me, supposing me four stages
beyond Kashan, must, I think, have looked upon me as an impostor. He was
very cold indeed.
I tried to eat some breakfast, but failed, and left on a bad horse to
cross the swamp with the rest of the party for Peri-bazaar. It was some
miles through a nasty swampy road, the fine chaussée there now is, not
then existing.
My horse fell four times, and rolled me in the mud, for I could not help
myself. We got into the boat which was to take us to Enzelli (or the
steamer—I forget which), and then I went off into a series of faints.
Now, as a man can’t sham faints, I suppose the Colonel came to the
conclusion that I was really ill. Anyhow, he was most kind to me; and as
he went on with us as far as Lenkoran, on the Caspian, both he and Sir A.
Kemball were lavish in kindness and attention.
I was very wretched indeed, for the spurt being over, I utterly broke
down, and I fear I proved a wretched fellow-traveller to Sir A. Kemball,
with whom I went as far as Petersburg. Of the Caspian journey I remember
nothing. I had a week’s rest in my berth, during which I lived on wine
and broth, only moving when I was obliged, or when we changed steamers.
When we got to Moscow we went to the Grand Opera and saw a _Russian_
patriotic opera, called ‘A Life for the Czar.’ The music was pretty, the
dresses interesting. It was well played and well sung by Russian singers.
Another night we saw ‘La Muette di Portici’ (Masaniello) in Italian; and
the third time we went, a grand ballet in five acts, that lasted four
hours—oh! _and I had a cricked neck at the time_.
From Moscow to Petersburg is a run of twenty-four hours in a straight
line, for when the railway was about to be constructed the then Emperor
Nicholas, having the plans placed before him, took a pen, and, drawing
with a ruler a straight line between the two places, indicated the
route he wished, with a smile. At enormous expense every difficulty was
surmounted, and the _direct_ route was made. It is literally from Moscow
to Petersburg, and no large town is touched. This is the _story_; the map
says _nearly_ a straight line.
I went home direct by rail from Petersburg, getting to Brighton November
1st, 1868, was in bed three weeks, and an invalid for three months.
However, I got the balance of my sick leave cancelled, and came back to
my duties before it was over.
On March 5th, 1869, I again set out for Persia, _viâ_ Marseilles, leaving
London at a quarter to eight A.M. I got to Paris at six P.M., took a
cab for the Lyons station, caught the mail which left at a quarter past
seven P.M., and arrived in Marseilles on the 6th at noon. Being very
tired, I went on board at once, and succeeded in getting a state-room
all to myself; slept till four. At five P.M. we started in a tremendous
sea, dead-lights up, and the violin (planks fixed with cords to prevent
the table equipage leaving the table) at dinner. The steamer was one of
the Messageries Maritimes, the _Illysse_, screw, two hundred and eighty
horsepower.
The next day (the 7th) we entered the Straits of Bonifacio at four P.M.,
where the weather was fine but cold; passing Garibaldi’s house in
Caprera, a small white building, Corsica, and Sardinia; then the “passage
of the Bear,” so called from there being a figure formed by nature at the
summit of the lofty rocks somewhat like a bear. The scenery of Corsica
and Sardinia seems very desolate and rocky. Monday morning, Italy—fine
and warm. Tuesday, 9th, at ten P.M., came to Messina; saw nothing.
Half-past five next morning we started. Wednesday, very rough all day;
only four at dinner; awful night; rounded Cape Matapan at eleven P.M.
Wind, which was before in our teeth, then in our favour; impossible to
sleep from cries of the sick and continuous smashing of crockery.
_Thursday, 11th._—Splendid day, fair wind; reached the Piræus (port of
Athens) in a lovely sun; water blue, smooth, and clear. Unable to go to
the Acropolis, as our captain said we might start at any moment (you
see it well in the distance). I saw the railway opened. The Queen was
present; she is pretty, and very gracious. Left same day at five P.M.;
awful night.
_March 12th._—Very fine, fair wind. Saw the supposed site of ancient
Troy. Supposed tombs of Hector and Achilles two large tumuli. Lovely
scenery down Dardanelles. Stopped an hour at Gallipoli.
_March 13th._—Arrived at Constantinople at seven A.M. Went to Hôtel
de Byzance—much better than Misseri’s; to the bazaar—hot, noisy, and
interesting. I had a Turkish bath; much better than the Persian ones.
They give you clogs to keep your feet from the hot floors, and wicker
cages with couches in them to smoke your hubble-bubble and drink your
coffee in, after the bath.
_Monday, 15th._—Left Constantinople by the French boat for Trebizonde.
_March 20th._—Reached Trebizonde; breakfasted with Mr. G. Palgrave, our
well-known consul, and his wife; started with the courier for Erzeroum at
seven the same evening.
The first few stages were muddy and uneventful; we soon came to snowy
passes; here my eyes got swollen, and I could barely follow the courier.
When we reached Erzeroum (23rd), after having been several times stopped
by snow, and once nearly lost in it, I was led into the house of Mr.
Taylor, our consul. I could just see a dim form and hear a kind voice.
_March 24th._—Next morning I could not open my eyes, they were so
swollen. The tatar who came with me is in the same state. This is caused
by the snow; my head is also swollen, and my face all swollen and puffy.
The Persian chupper (or post) was to start in the afternoon, and I
decided to go on, but when I found that after leeching my eyelids they
were still closed, I was only too glad to accept Mr. Taylor’s kind
invitation to stop. I was a prisoner to the house for five days, and at
the end of that time I could open my eyes.
Erzeroum is a terribly cold place, although there are double windows and
stoves all over the house, and though the skin-covered doors shut tight
by means of a weight, it is impossible to keep warm. The snow in the
town is four to twelve feet deep. It is supposed to be the coldest place
in Turkey, and is on a snow-covered plain, surrounded by snow-covered
mountains. Only four months in the year are surely free from snow.
Mr. B⸺, the Chancellier here, tells me that the Erzeroumis are so sharp
that there are no Jews. A colony once came, but finding that the natives
weighed the eggs and bought only the heaviest ones, they left the place
in disgust.
Of course the state of my eyes prevented my seeing anything of the place,
but I shall never forget the cold. Of my journey from Trebizonde to
Erzeroum I have few details,[18] and my blindness prevented my writing up
my diary.
I reached Teheran on the 13th of April, and meeting M. Sergipatoffski,
one of the attachés at the Russian Legation, three stages out, I hurried
in just in time to be present at the races got up by the Europeans, of
which he advised me.
Being too wayworn and dirty to be introduced to the ladies, I saw the
principal race decided in my posting dress. Here I saw one hundred pounds
offered to my chief, Mr. B⸺, for his chestnut horse, Arkansas, who walked
off with the big race as he pleased. Mr. B⸺ refused it, but the animal
was not good for much afterwards.
I looked forward to a good rest, but on the 15th I had, after a two
days’ stay, to start on duty at nine P.M., getting to Ispahan after a
heavy journey in sixty-three hours (rain came down nearly the whole
time. Distance, two hundred and seventy-two miles) on the 18th of April.
My colleague, Dr. C⸺, whom I had gone thus hurriedly to attend, was
seriously ill, but soon got on his legs.
Early in June I left under orders for Shiraz, marching at night, on
account of the heat. In this mode of travelling one sees little of the
country. For distances and stages see Appendix.
In this journey, on my second stage, I met a poor prince, Abbas Kuli
Khan, who was travelling with his little daughter, aged nine, and a
companion, Hadji Ali Akbar, a priest. This priest was a great sportsman,
and a very amusing companion. Abbas Kuli Khan was a relative of my friend
Abu Seif Mirza, of Hamadan, and introduced himself. He was one of the
large number of poor princes of Shiraz. His pension from Government was
very irregularly paid, and he was travelling with “kajaweh” (covered
paniers) for his little daughter, and a pony on which he and the priest
rode alternately. The roads from the commencement of the famine were very
unsafe, and they were as glad to increase the force of my caravan as I
was to get a reinforcement of two determined well-armed men. The little
daughter delighted in the tremendous name of Bēbē Sakineh Sultan Khanum,
and was very like a pet monkey, being mischief personified. The presence
of these people broke the monotony of the fifteen days’ march to Shiraz.
One thing that attracts one’s attention when marching is the road-beetle.
These insects seem to be perpetually employed in moving the balls of
horse or camel dung to their nests off the road. They exhibit wonderful
instinct in their manœuvres to effect this object, and to bury the balls;
they also bury themselves at the same time. Their search for the balls
of dung is conducted on the wing, and they never seem to touch anything
else. When found, the insect alights and proceeds to roll the ball by
main force, either standing on its hindmost legs and rolling it as we
do casks, or at times placing its head to the ground, and propelling
the ball by the hind legs. Many of the insects are trodden underfoot by
horses, as they seem impelled by a passion to bury the dung regardless
of external circumstances. They vary much in size, from a Barcelona nut
to that of a walnut. Through the activity of these insects very little
horse-dung, save that which is trodden, is seen on the roads. They work
summer and winter, and as one marches in the sun, with one’s eyes on the
ground, one is astonished at the myriads of these beetles.
At times, too, for about two days in spring, the ground teems with mole
crickets. For two days around Meshed-i-Mūrghab, in the neighbourhood of
Shiraz, there were such numbers that one would be seen in each space two
yards square for several miles; two days after, though I searched for
them, I could not find one. Near Ispahan, too, some fortnight afterwards,
I found them innumerable, and next day I again failed to find a single
individual in the same place. Do they all come out at once, _i. e._ in
one or two days?
Lizards are very numerous in some places, and their varieties infinite;
the dry, stony plains swarm with them in hot weather. They are generally
small, but I have seen them over a yard long. The little fellows simply
run a yard or two to escape the horse’s hoof, and then remain motionless
to avoid observation. One often thus loses sight of them when attempting
to watch them, so like in colour are they to the plain. The dogs on first
starting on a march generally chase, kill, and eat them. They invariably
vomit after it, and quite tire themselves out; as the journey tells on
them, however, they cease to notice the lizards.
Jerboa rats are very frequent, particularly in the south of Persia,
while one very occasionally sees a “Gūr-ken,” or grave-digger (_Meles
canescens_), and still seldomer the porcupine.
On the march antelope are frequently seen, and at times cross the road
close to one. I have also twice seen wild asses in the distance, and
moufflon in the hills. Sand-grouse (Bagh-a-ghulla)—so called from their
cry, which it well expresses—ravens, hawks, eagles, owls, vultures, and
fly-catchers innumerable—these latter sit in rows on the telegraph-wires,
and are of gorgeous plumage—are often seen, and flocks of pigeons and
partridges; while ducks, teal, widgeon, mallards, cranes, and herons,
with single and double snipe, wild geese and cormorants abound near
water, as do frogs, who generally announce its whereabouts at night.
There is little enough to be seen in a march from Ispahan to Shiraz, and
the greater part of the journey was done at night to avoid the heat.
Kūm-i-Shah, a large city, with many shrines and a great resort of
pilgrims, is not seen much of by the tired traveller. Yezd-i-khast, or
Yzed-khast, is elsewhere described by me, and Abadeh is little more than
a large village; while Dehbeed, the coldest place in Persia, save in
the high mountains, has merely a telegraph-office and post-house, the
caravanserai being in ruins. Beyond this, one comes to Mūrghab and the
tomb of Cyrus, of which the description by Ussher will be found when a
march from Shiraz to Ispahan is given in detail. Then the Persepolis
plain, with Persepolis (Takht-i-Jemshid) and Naksh-i-Rustam on the
opposite side of the valley.
To those who desire to get a graphic and correct account of Persepolis,
I would recommend Ussher’s ‘Journey from London to Persepolis,’ p. 533.
All that can be said about it is said by him, and, being no archæologist,
it would be impertinence were I to attempt a description. I have often
passed it, and when marching have frequently visited it; but my curiosity
was always exceeded by my anxiety to either reach Shiraz, or proceed on
my journey to Ispahan. Accurate as he is, I regret to see that Ussher
perpetuates the _legends_ of the Meana bug, winding it up with the
pathetic sentence, “All vital energy fading away from the emaciated
frame, the victim perishes at the end, a prey to the fatal venom” (p.
654, _ibid._).
CHAPTER XX.
SHIRAZ.
Entry into Shiraz—Gaiety of Shirazis of both sexes—Public
promenade—Different from the rest of Persians—Shiraz wine—Early
lamb—Weights: their variety—Steelyards—Local custom of
weighing—Wetting grass—Game—Wild animals—Buildings—Ornamental
brickwork—Orange-trees—Fruits in bazaar—Type of ancient
Persian—Ladies’ dress—Fondness for music—Picnics—Warmth of
climate—Diseases—The traveller Stanley—His magazine rifle
and my landlord’s chimney—Cholera—Great mortality—We march
out and camp—Mysterious occurrence—Life in a garden—The
“Shitoor-gooloo”—Bear and dog fight—The bear is killed.
After a fifteen days’ march over desolate plains without any sign of
vegetation save sparse gardens round some few of the villages and the
green valley of Yezdicast (or Yzedcast as the natives call it), the view
of Shiraz is certainly grand and pleasing. Suddenly, after a twenty-mile
march from the last stage, the greater portion of which was between
rocky hills with nothing to please the eye save a little turf and a few
straggling trees around the tiny stream of beautifully cool water known
throughout the east as the Ab-i-Rookhni, and alluded to by Moore as the
“Rookhnabad,” the vast plain of Shiraz bursts upon one’s view with the
garden-surrounded city at one’s feet.
Of course distance lends enchantment, and it looks so clean and so cool,
particularly after fifteen days’ marching, that a strong contrast is
presented to most Persian towns whose mud walls as a rule are seen from
afar.
Shiraz is, however, as I said, embowered in gardens and cultivation.
On the right, the Bagh-i-No, or New Garden; on the left, the
Bagh-i-Jahn-i-ma, the Garden of my Soul, full of cypresses, which give,
from their peculiar deep green, a coolness to the scene very rare in
Persia; little oases of garden can be seen in the well-cultivated and
smiling plain beyond the whitish city, and within the walls are the
palaces of the Governor with their gardens full of trees, and numerous
large private houses whose gardens are ornamented by huge planes.
The green swamps of Karabagh, to which Shiraz probably owes its
unhealthiness, bound the view; but over the mist that hangs above them
tower the dark purple mountains that bound the Shiraz valley.
A steep descent over a broad but good road brings one to the wide space
between the two royal gardens. Here on the Thursday night the youth and
bloods of Shiraz meet to race and show off their handsome horses and
exhibit their gayest attire. Pistols are discharged, and light sticks,
flung when at full gallop against the ground, are caught after having
rebounded high in air; below the gardens, in the cemetery at one side
of this Rotten Row of Shiraz, and only separated from it by a low wall,
promenade the Shiraz ladies in search of fun, or it may be intrigue.
Veiled as they are, all are outwardly decorous; but the laughter, the
songs, and the frequent glimpses of very pretty faces and soft brown
eyes of a lustrousness only seen in the East, and the tendency that the
gayer of the cavaliers have to saunter or show off their horses along the
cemetery side, and their frequent purchases of nuts and melon-seeds from
the peripatetic dealers with which the place is thronged, seem to point
that the groups of laughing veiled ladies are the attraction. Certain
it is that visits to this cemetery are generally made on the sly by the
ladies of Shiraz.
One soon finds out that one has reached another country. Instead of the
thrift of the Ispahani and his mortified look—his dress made purely for
comfort and economy, and his donkey or ambling pony—the Shirazi smiling,
joking, singing, clad if he can by any means attain it in gayest-coloured
silk, the turban frequently discarded, even among the aged, for
the jaunty hat of finest cloth or lambskin, the well-dyed and kept
moustaches, and the long love-locks, with the hat of the smallest size
and latest mode cocked with a knowing air among the beaux; the universal
pistols at the holsters, the well-appointed and gay horse-trappings,
and the well-bred, well-fed, well-groomed horses, all with some breed
in them, like their riders. These men are a different race from the
more northern Persians; polite, at times _debonnair_, they seem to enjoy
life, and are in no way the down-trodden race that the Ispahani seems;
with them it is a word and a blow. There is little fanaticism and some
religion. Greyhounds, hawks, and even half-bred hunting dogs of sorts
abound, and all are clean and well-looking.
As one approaches the walls, which are much ruined and surrounded by a
dry ditch, the garden of Dilgoosha (heart’s-ease), the property of the
Kawam, the hereditary calamter or mayor of the town, and another huge
Government garden, the Bagh-i-Takht (or throne garden), with numerous
private ones stretching in every direction, varying in size from two to
one hundred and fifty acres, come into sight.
The dry bed of the river—it is only running say for two months in early
spring, and is at times for a day or two a raging torrent—is now crossed
by a steep bridge, and I canter off to our superintendent’s (Captain St.
J⸺) quarters by a road skirting the town ditch, thus avoiding a march
through the crowded bazaars. He has kindly ridden out to meet me.
Here Shiraz wine is given me for the first time, and I am sadly
disappointed; it is intensely bitter, and not very clear (when I first
came to Shiraz it was only bottled for sending up country); it is very
strong and very genuine however. After some years I got used to it, and
cared for no other native wine than what Moore calls “the red weepings
of the Shiraz vine,” which rather looks as if he pronounced it Shī-raz,
whereas the real sound is Shēē-rarz.
Here, too, we get delicious early lamb, for there are in all the places
south of Shiraz _two_ lambing seasons in the year, consequently young
lamb all the year round; what _we_ call lamb the Persian would call
mutton. The extravagant Shirazi will not eat mutton when he can get lamb,
and they only kill them before they are weaned; in fact, the early ones
are, when ready for the spit, only some six to eight pounds in weight,
and consequently very young.
Weights differ all over Persia. In Ispahan everything is sold by the Shah
maund of thirteen pounds and three-quarters, here in Shiraz is the Tabriz
maund[19] of seven pounds.
Weighing is done by means of a steelyard for anything over a maund. These
steelyards are ingeniously made, one side of the yard having the heavy
weights, the other the lower marked on it; and by reversing the hook the
position of the fulcrum is altered, and so either side reads correctly
with the same weight.
Much trickery is employed by the Persians in weighing, and it takes some
time to be able to circumvent their various ingenious manœuvres. Local
custom also is curious—each article has a special mode of being weighed.
Thus in Ispahan one pays for a load of wood of twenty Ispahan (or Shah)
maunds, but the woodseller gives twenty-one, and thus five per cent. from
the weight is deducted; the same for charcoal and so on. But the wily
Ispahani also sells his grass (for the horses) by weight, and prior to
his arrival the bundles are carefully dipped in water; it can hardly be
called cheating, as they _all_ do it. But it also spoils the grass and
makes it liable to ferment, and give one’s horses colic if not consumed
at once.
There is little game to be found just round the town of Shiraz, though
I have put up partridges within a mile, but the swamp of Karabagh,
some seven miles to the south, swarms during the winter with ducks and
geese, also snipe; the Persian does not try for the latter, as he does
not shoot for sport but for the pot, and snipe would burn too much
powder. Wild duck are generally sold in the market four, five, or six
for ninepence—probably a native gets them for less—but they are not
appreciated or eaten by the wealthy. Persians have no idea of _hanging_
game. Partridge (the red-legged) are found on every hill and mountain,
and are sold four for ninepence, and are as often sold alive as dead.
Many people keep them in their gardens tame; they are as often netted as
shot, particularly during the breeding season; and quite young birds are
often captured with even down on them.
Quail are plentiful during the spring, and there are a few woodcock in
the gardens in winter and autumn; the wood-pigeon, also the blue rock
(which occurs in enormous flocks), can always be got. Hares are not
unplentiful, the price being fourpence to sixpence each. Rabbits are
unknown. Wild geese are common, but very poor eating. Antelopes (gazelle)
are commonly sold; wild sheep (moufflon) are very rare.
Hyænas are frequent about the gardens in winter, while the kanaâts
swarm with jackals and a few porcupines. I have seen what appeared to
be a panther, and he was hunted by the Persians, but got away. Foxes
of the grey variety are common, wolves less so. Bears are occasionally
brought in, they are small. Lions are at times seen and shot near
Shiraz, particularly in the neighbourhood of a hill called Kola-Muschir
(Muschir’s Cap), near Desht-i-Arjeen, the second stage on the high-road
to Kazerān and Bushir.
I had an idea that the lioness had as a rule a litter of only two. But I
saw once a litter of seven lion cubs (the mother had been killed) in the
possession of his Royal Highness Zil-es-Sultan; they were some twenty
pounds weight each, screamed, continually growled, and always tried to
bite when handled; they appeared like very vicious kittens, and were “the
spitefullest little cusses” I ever saw.
The prince asked me if I should like one. I had no objection, but he said:
“These are toys for princes, not at all in your way, doctor.”
They were afterwards sent to the Shah in Teheran.
Contrary to the custom in Ispahan, the houses are here built of
kiln-dried bricks. In Ispahan the houses built with mud or sun-dried
bricks stand at times five and six hundred years, but the clay is
peculiarly tenacious and the climate extremely dry there. Here all
save the houses of the very poor are built of burnt bricks, which are
beautifully white, cheap, and good. The brickwork in Shiraz is often
highly ornamental; elaborate patterns are made in bricks of very small
size upon the walls; these are ever in the best taste and very chaste in
design; the interiors, however, fall short of the Ispahan and Teheran
work; brighter and more gaudy colours are used to suit the more florid
taste of the Shirazi, and the effect is not so good.
In the sunken beds of many of the courtyards are orange trees; the scent
from the blossoms of these is rather overpowering in spring; the beds
beneath are generally covered with a tangle of luxuriant convolvulus
or clover. The oranges are the bitter orange, like that of Seville;
generally a few of the fruit are allowed to remain, and all through the
winter the golden balls make the trees gay. In the bazaar the sweet
oranges from Kafr and Kazerān, limes, fresh dates, pomiloes, shaddocks,
and fresh lemons, show that we are in a warmer zone. And the complexions
of the natives are more swarthy. Here, too, we see the type of the
ancient inhabitant of Fars, the tall straight figure, the clear-cut
features, and the _aquiline_ nose; the eye, too, is much larger, and the
foot much smaller; quite a Jewish cast of countenance is often seen.
Here, too, the ladies’ dresses are gayer. The hideous blue veil is often
of silk, and, among the ladies of rank, generally trimmed with gold
braid. These “Chadūr,” or veils, are very expensive, at times costing,
when the embroidery is deep (and it is always _really_ gold thread), some
ten pounds.
The shirts are clean and white, the big baggy trousers always of bright
silk and always fitting the feet like a glove, the slippers tiny; whereas
the Ispahan lady never goes beyond a sad-coloured cotton for her nether
garment, and the feet coverings are much larger and less natty in cut and
material, as are the feet themselves.
The tall hats of the lower orders are often of felt, and the hideous
triangular cap of chintz of the Ispahani is unknown, save among the Jews.
As evening approaches the sound of music and singing is heard in every
direction, and the professional musicians, singers, and dancers, under
their Mūrshed, Chelinjeh Khan, drive a roaring trade. There are here,
too, many amateurs among the upper classes even; such a thing in Ispahan
as an amateur is very rare. The “kosh guzerān,” or “free liver,” is
openly a toper, and considerable licence is the rule. Even the merchant
out of office hours enjoys himself, and as a rule does not work more than
four days a week.
The numerous gardens, public and private, are open to all the world,
and little picnic parties may be seen every day, all the year round,
taking tea and smoking and singing near a stream or under the trees. The
servants all smile, and everybody seems to be enjoying himself. The
thrifty Ispahani when transferred to Shiraz becomes another man, and the
corners of his mouth turn down less; the few Ispahan merchants soon make
fortunes, and having done so seldom return to their native place.
The climate is much hotter than Ispahan; snow is rare, though at times
very heavy. At night as a rule, during three months of the year, one
sleeps on one’s roof in the open air. Intermittent fever, diarrhœa,
dysentery, and typhoid are frequent. Guinea-worm among those who have
come from the Persian Gulf is often seen, and cholera of a severe type
is a frequent epidemic; diphtheria and small-pox are rife. Shiraz is
_not_ a healthy place, and drink in this hot climate has many victims.
Ophthalmia, too, is a great scourge, but phthisis here is happily
unknown, and is rare in Persia.
During my first sojourn in Shiraz I had the pleasure of putting up Mr.
Stanley, of ‘Across the Dark Continent’ renown; he had not then been to
Africa, but was on his way. One thing that he brought with him, then a
novelty, was a Winchester repeating rifle which carried a magazine of,
I think, eleven or fourteen cartridges. One day my landlord happened to
come in, and he being a travelled man had doubts on the authenticity
of Stanley’s “many-shooter.” The fellow had been in India, and was a
horse-dealer, and smart for that.
Stanley showed him the gun.
“Ah, I see,” said he, “it has two barrels” (the second barrel is
underneath and forms the magazine for cartridges).
He then declined to believe it went off more than twice.
Stanley was loath to fire away cartridges which he could not replace, but
as Meshedi Aga Jan importuned him, he suggested that he should take an
elaborately carved plaster-of-Paris chimney some seven feet high on Aga
Jan’s house as a mark.
“By all means,” said the Persian.
At the fifth shot, for Stanley had fired at one point, down came the
chimney, and Aga Jan’s doubts were solved. He wished Stanley to go on
firing, but this Stanley declined to do, as there were no more chimneys
handy.
The second summer I was in Shiraz the cholera broke out with great
severity. I laid down rules for diet for the staff; they were very
careful, and nothing serious occurred among them; but my private work in
the town became considerable, and my dispensary was thronged.
At length it became so serious that in our mohulla (or quarter)
seventy-two bodies were washed for the grave in one morning (there are
twenty mohullas in Shiraz). Of course in an Eastern town it is difficult
to get at facts, but this one was sufficiently alarming, unburied bodies
lay in rows in the cemeteries. After a consultation with Captain St. J⸺
it was decided to go into camp. By the energy of Mirza Hassan Ali Khan,
British Agent, in getting mules, in a few hours we all cleared out of the
town and encamped in Government tents in the bed of the river some two
miles out. There the night was spent, and next morning the whole of the
staff and their servants moved to the banks of a river near Khana Zinyun,
quite away from human habitation, in cool and good air, taking with them
what tents they could carry and leaving one of the inspectors and myself
to take down the rest of them, bring on the heavy baggage, and bury a
muleteer who had died in the night.
We had some difficulty in getting this latter done, as the natives were
in what is termed a “blue funk” and wouldn’t touch the poor fellow.
Just as we were sitting down to breakfast Mr. P⸺, a Scotch merchant of
Bushire, turned up; he was surprised to find us, and had just arrived
post from Ispahan. He took breakfast with us, but on hearing what had
occurred in the night he declined our further hospitality and started off
at once.
By midnight we got all the things to the camp and established a strict
quarantine; we stayed out three weeks.
While we were in camp a curious incident occurred. I saw a well-dressed
Persian riding in our direction. I hurried out on my horse and explained
to him that he couldn’t enter our camp. He said that he was ill and
wanted the English doctor.
Of course I prescribed for him, and his servant proceeded to make him
comfortable under a tree (the weather was warm).
Next morning when I went to see him no one was there, but the servant’s
clothes lay on the ground. He _may_ have died in the night and the
servant may have decamped with his clothes, arms, and horse; but what
did he do with the body? The river would not have carried it away, and
he could not have buried it without tools; he may have carried it off on
the horse, or the master may not have died, but ridden away; but why the
clothes? who knows? But a Persian servant does not throw away a suit of
clothes for nothing.
We returned to the town without any casualties among the staff or their
servants.
During the very hot weather it was my habit while in Shiraz to stay in
the garden of “Resht-i-Behesht” (glory of heaven), coming or sending
into town to inquire if my services were required and to attend to
my dispensary. In this garden there was a building with three large
windowless rooms, but having many doors and air-holes; these, when
carpeted and the doors covered with “chicks,” or fly blinds, were very
comfortable indeed. I slept on the roof, which was free from mosquitoes,
and lounged about the garden, which was very large, sitting and smoking
beside the streams, which were numerous, or by the side of the gurgling
“shitūr gūlū,” or “camel’s throat.”
The garden was _all_ shade, and, in addition to the building, had two
large brick platforms ten yards by ten, for day sleeping—one being shady
in the morning, the other in the afternoon.
The shitūr gūlū was appropriately named, for it was a long channel
constructed to cause a gurgling noise—camels have a habit of “gurgling.”
The stream irrigating the garden, which made a refreshing sound of
running waters, was widened, and at the edge was a hole some five feet
deep and two in diameter; at its bottom it branched off into a tunnel
of some four yards at a right angle; it then ascended at right angles,
opening into the bottom of a channel a _little lower_ in level than the
first one; this it supplied, and the air drawn in at the one hole and
ascending at the other with the rush of water made a gurgling noise. The
gardener’s boy used for a present of a few coppers to allow himself to be
sucked down the one hole, scramble along the earthen tunnel and appear at
the further opening. The tame bear kept by the gardener nearly lost his
life by jumping into the water (to avoid my dogs who pursued him), and
getting sucked down by the “shitūr gūlū.”
One day I was sitting with a young telegraph clerk of the cable
department, Mr. P⸺, recently arrived from England, and on a pleasure trip
(on leave) to Shiraz. As he knew nobody, I put him up. This youth had
a very high idea of the dignity of the Englishman, and looked on the
Persians as “_niggers_.” While we were sitting in chairs on one of the
brick platforms reading the newly-arrived _Times_, the prince, his Royal
Highness Zil-es-Sultan, entered the garden with two attendants only; he
had on a blue satin coat with gold and coloured embroidery, a pink tie,
and white duck trousers.
He was very polite, and of course I rose to receive him, but Mr. P⸺
remained in his chair reading his _Times_, and declined to take any
notice. The prince, astonished at being treated in so cavalier a fashion,
asked who he was. I told him.
“Ah,” he said, “he is very young,” and made no further remark to him.
He then began to question me respecting the capabilities of my
bull-terriers who bayed at him from their chain pegs, asking me if they
would tackle the gardener’s bear. I suggested that the bear was a tame
one; but his Royal Highness was not to be denied, and ordered my servants
to loose the dogs, and the weeping gardener was told to produce his bear.
This was a smallish, pale-green coloured animal about the size of a big
St. Bernard dog, but heavier.
Here Mr. P⸺, being interested on the appearance of the bear, rose.
The prince laughed and said: “He will get up for a bear then, and not for
a prince.” He now ordered the dogs to be loosed: they flew at the bear,
who slapped at them and tried to claw them, but they, fixing themselves
one to each ear, avoided his paws and kept clear of hugs. There they
hung, and the bear sat on his hind-quarters looking most miserable. The
prince now ordered my men to let loose a big and very savage watch-dog I
had, of no particular breed—one of the big shepherd-dogs of the country.
This dog went immediately for the bear, who was quite powerless, having
the other two dogs still on his ears. The force of his rush threw the
bear over, the dog seized him by the throat and was proceeding to worry
him, when suddenly dogs and bear all rolled into a muddy watercourse.
Clouds of mud covered the gay dress of the Prince-Governor, and the dogs
were by my order taken off, or they would have killed the bear. The
prince presented a piteous figure, green and black from head to foot, for
he had been standing close to the struggling animals when they fell in.
His two attendants tried to get some of the mud off, but it was no use;
good-humouredly laughing at the accident, his Highness mounted his horse
and rode off at a gallop, attended by the crowd of mounted followers that
awaited him at the garden door outside.
The dogs having been set at the bear was unfortunate, for having tasted
the pleasure of bear-baiting, they barked and howled at the mere sight
of Bruin. At night all the dogs were loose, but the bear was safe, for
he lived in one of the high trees, where he was out of reach, having a
chain attached to a rope some ten yards long. One night, however, he came
down and the dogs were upon him in an instant; the noise of barking,
shouting servants, with hurrying lights and sounds of a struggle, awoke
me. I, thinking thieves were in the garden, rushed on the scene with my
revolver, too late to save the bear, who had been severely mauled by the
dogs, then five in number and all strong and savage. With difficulty they
were separated, but they had broken one of the bear’s hind legs, and I
was forced to shoot the poor animal in the morning when I found out the
nature of his injuries.
CHAPTER XXI.
SHIRAZ WINE-MAKING.
Buy grapes for wine-making—Difficulty in getting them to the
house—Wine-jars—Their preparation—Grapes rescued and brought
in—Treading the grapes—Fermentation—Plunger-sticks—Varieties
of Shiraz wine and their production—Stirring the
liquor—Clearing the wine—My share, and its cost—Improvement
by bottling—Wasps—Carboys—Covering them—Native manner
of packing—Difficulties at custom-house—The Governor’s
photographic apparatus—Too many for me—A lūti-pūti.
My friend the Moollah, Hadji Ali Akbar (the priest who had accompanied me
in my march), impressed on me the great importance of making my own wine.
I pointed out that probably a first brew would turn out badly, but he
overruled me.
“The fact is,” said he, “I want to make wine for myself. I can’t do it in
my own house, I a Mahommedan priest; and if I get the Jews to make it for
me, that is worse, for it will be bad, and I am a connoisseur. If I make
it here, sahib, I shall make it good, and kill two birds with one stone:
you and I will get good wine, and there will be no scandal.”
After some hesitation I consented. I gave my priestly friend _carte
blanche_ to buy grapes for me, and, in fact, left it all to him.
The grapes used for making the real “Cholar” wine are brought from the
vineyards, four days’ march off, on camels or mules; they are carefully
packed in strong baskets, called lodahs, and are covered with brushwood
to keep off the hands of the hungry.
The grapes brought from the immediate vicinity of the town, being
cultivated by irrigation, are watery, and the wine made from them will
not keep: it is made and drunk at once, and, being quite new, gives
fearful headaches.
Of course we were to buy the Cholar grapes, and as many of the Shiraz
grandees were wanting them for wine-making, the Hadji thought it better
that we should send a trusty muleteer and his string of mules with one
of my own men. It was arranged that the grapes already bought by the
Hadji were, on nearing the town, to be escorted by all my servants,
and so brought direct to my house, as otherwise they would be surely
intercepted, and taken to the house of some big-wig, whose servants would
simply carry them off, thus securing the real “Cholar” grape, and then
sending me the value, with a polite message, saying that he thought that
the grapes were his own.
I sent my head-man off, and we began our preparations. A large dry room
was carefully swept out to receive the jars or kumrahs. These jars had
been carefully selected by the Hadji, and were all old ones that wine had
been previously made in; good wine cannot be made in _new_ jars. Several
were rejected as having held vinegar; these, had they been used, would
have spoiled the wine. Each jar was scrubbed inside and out, and then put
in the strong sun for several days to air and thoroughly dry it; then
they were carefully dusted, and the insides painted with hot tallow; this
rendered the porous jars thoroughly water-tight. They were now taken into
the room which had been made ready, and placed in rows, but clear of each
other, and a cloth placed over the mouth of each, and on this a lid an
inch thick of woven rushes. Each jar was about four feet high; the shape
was that of two cones standing base to base; the size round the middle
was seven feet, and the mouths were three feet in circumference—each jar
held about one hundred and forty quarts or bottles. I had thirty jars,
and as each jar would make on an average half the wine it would hold, I
might reckon on two thousand one hundred bottles! Of these the Hadji was
to have one-third, and the rest I was to lay down for my future use.
The Hadji warned me that a good deal of trouble was incurred in
wine-making, and that it was impossible to trust to servants in the
matter. “You or I will have to be actually present to see the various
processes carried out, and the rest of the time the wine must be under
lock and key.”
On the night of the 7th of October I got a note from my servant that he
had bought his grapes, and should enter the town an hour after midnight,
and he besought me earnestly to send a sufficient escort, or, better, to
go myself.
Off I started with all my servants, except my door-keeper; the Hadji
accompanied me, to act as a _disinterested_ witness in case there was any
row. It was quite as well I went, for I found my man with his thirty-five
mule-loads of grapes being marched off to the house of a Persian grandee.
Fortunately, the streets were clear, and as my servants outnumbered the
two blusterers who had terrified the muleteers by threats, I succeeded in
arriving at my own door with the entire thirty-five loads in good order.
Here I was met by two men from the custom-house, who insisted on the
whole consignment going at once to the custom-house, and suggested
backshish. This offer I declined, and, at the Hadji’s suggestion, I
gave them an acknowledgment that I had thirty-five loads of grapes, and
that if any duty was leviable I would pay it. With this they had to be
contented, and walked off grumbling.
After some hours’ work the seventy “lodahs” (or hampers) of grapes were
got into the courtyard; then they had to be weighed, a lengthy process;
there were exactly twelve hundred maunds Tabriz, or eight thousand four
hundred pounds nett of grapes. They were quite ripe, and unbruised,
and were carefully packed in the lodahs with leaves and covered with
brushwood.
And now commenced the wine-making. Basket after basket was emptied
into hasseens, or flat earthen pans. In these the grapes were trodden
thoroughly out, and the juice, stalks, and husks were shot into the jars.
As each jar was filled within an eighth of the top the cloth was spread
over the mouth of it, and the lid placed on it. It then was left to
ferment.
The treading-out process occupied forty-eight hours, and I was heartily
glad when it was over. Either the Hadji or I was present all the time,
to see that the work was thoroughly done, and that _no water_, under any
pretext, was brought to the scene of operations. The slightest moisture
spoils the wine. The bunches were sorted as they were taken from the
lodahs; all the unripe or rotten grapes, of which there were very few,
removed; and the examined bunches were then thrown under the feet of
the treaders. When each pan was thoroughly trodden its contents were
carefully gone over, to see that there were no unbroken grapes. Those
that were discovered were crushed at once by the fingers, and then the
panful was emptied into the jar.
The “Cholar” grape is generally white, very few black vines being found.
These grapes, being grown on terraces on the mountains, cannot be
irrigated; hence the keeping properties of the wine. Probably no other
wine would keep, made in such a hot climate as Shiraz is, more than the
year. That from the Cholar grape _never_ goes bad. The grape is quite
globular, and the size of a large marble-taw; they cannot be mistaken for
any other kind. They are not nice for eating, having a harsh skin and
many stones.
At last all the grapes being crushed and in the jars, or kumrahs, as they
are called, the room was carefully swept out again and the door locked.
Fermentation had already commenced, as a slight crackling noise could be
heard from the jars that had been filled first.
The Hadji now prepared three plungers of wood. Each was made like what
laundresses call a copper-stick, but had at the extremity four blades of
thin plank at right angles to the stick, about six inches long and two
broad. These were for thoroughly mixing and working up the mass of husks,
stalks, and juice.
On going to the wine-room fifty-six hours after the process had been
commenced, the six first jars were found sufficiently progressed to
proceed with. The grapes and husks had come to the surface and formed a
compact cake, which floated on the fermenting juice, and nearly touched
the lid. A buzzing noise came from most of the jars, caused by the
bursting of innumerable small bubbles, and the temperature of the room
was considerably raised by the heat evolved.
The Hadji drew my attention to the fact that the jars were getting hot,
which was satisfactory, showing that fermentation had thoroughly set in.
With the plunger he now thrust the cake of crushed grapes, etc., that had
formed on the four first jars, to the bottom, and a considerable escape
of gas ensued. The plunger was spun round in the liquor with both hands,
and the contents of the jar thoroughly mixed, the cloth and cover were
replaced, and the door locked.
In four hours’ time the process had to be repeated on eleven more jars
and the four original ones. Again in three hours’ time a fresh visit
had to be made, and these had to be more and more frequent. Thus great
attention was required, for as the room got warmer, from the heat evolved
by the fermenting juice, so did the fermentation increase in violence.
In some jars it was very furious, and from these the Hadji removed the
rushwork lids, leaving the cloths, however, on. The Hadji had with him
two of my servants, and he and they crushed in their hands all the grapes
that they found in the risen cake that had escaped the feet of the
treaders.
I had arranged that the wine when made was to be divided between us
haphazard, and now the priest told me that I must make up my mind how
I wished to have my wine—fruity, syrupy, dry, or very dry. For though
as yet the jars had been treated exactly in the same way, _now_ the
treatment must differ for making the various different varieties.
He told me that for immediate drinking, _i. e._ after the next summer, a
dry variety was best, but that for indefinite keeping the more fruity the
wine the better.
The jars were now marked, and from those that were wanted to contain very
fruity wine the husks and stalks were removed, and these husks were added
to those which were wished very dry and very astringent. For the fruity,
the stalks only were removed and thrown away; while for the dry, things
were left _in statu quo_, and the stalks removed with the husks on the
twenty-first day (at about this time fermentation had nearly ceased).
On the fifth day after commencement the Hadji began to tilt the jars,
and after removing any unripe grapes and some stalks from the cake which
always formed, but each day grew thinner, he with bare arm and expanded
fingers began to stir up the liquor, which he had previously mixed with
the plunger. A sweep all round the wall of the jar was taken at the full
depth of his arm, and he counted one for each stir that was done with all
his strength. As he stirred he counted aloud, and his four attendants
had to do the same. When he got to a hundred strokes they all stopped
stirring. This was done at first once a day, afterwards twice, and as
fermentation was passing away, again only once a day.
It was really hard work, and the Hadji did it and saw it done, never
shirking. I was considerably amused at seeing the priest actually
carrying on the art of wine-making and _instructing the unbeliever_.
By about the twenty-fourth day the wine was ready for clearing of the
husk.
The sweet wine had already no husks in it, these having been transferred
to the jars containing the very dry. The stalks, too, of all the various
jars had in the process of mixing been gradually removed. These, with
all the unripe grapes and husks, which had been day by day taken out and
squeezed, a handful or two at a time, were cast into a jar and preserved
for distillation.
A few jars were cleared by being filtered through a coarse canvas bag,
which was hung into the interior of a kumrah, being lashed to the rim by
a cord, and gradually drawn off by a tap which had been inserted in the
bottom. This was stored in sealed carboys. The Hadji, however, strongly
advised me to treat the wine I meant to lay down in a different manner,
assuring me that I should find it a better plan. I did as he directed,
and my men pouring the contents of each jar into a basket, I thus cleared
it of the coarser impurities only, such as husks, grape stones, etc., and
the fluid, of the colour and consistency of thin pea-soup, was put into
the jars, which were now filled to within an inch of the brim; the mouth
was tied over with the cloth, on the cloth was placed the rushen lid, and
the corners being turned over, the whole was plastered with a layer an
inch thick of straw and mud.
In twenty-four hours this was dry, and wine-making was over.
I had ten jars of unfiltered wine, of which about one-twelfth would be
sediment; each jar contained forty maunds Tabriz each of seven pounds
or pints. I thus had four hundred maunds of wine, or fourteen hundred
quarts, of which one-twelfth, or say one hundred bottles, had to be
deducted. Thirteen hundred bottles of wine remained, certainly enough for
three years. Besides this, I had about one hundred bottles cleared and
filtered for present drinking.
Total, fourteen hundred bottles for my share.[20]
When the next autumn-time came, I took the uncleared wine and put it in
carboys. These were sealed up and placed in a dry cellar.
The remnant of my wine, years after, I had the pleasure of seeing sold
by auction for the highest price wine had ever fetched in Persia on the
spot, viz., two kerans (one and sixpence) a bottle. It had then been nine
years in bottle, and was _very_ like a virgin sherry, very astringent and
light to the taste, but very powerful.
I only once made wine again; one’s house is thoroughly upset, and one
has wine on the brain. It is very interesting, of course, to do it all
for the first time, but it is a ticklish affair, and requires an immense
amount of personal attention. The new wine is drinkable, and is like
a light Bucellas to the taste by the succeeding May; but it is then
exceedingly heady, and most intoxicating; one glass will give the most
fearful headache, while to the taste it appears a light wine.
No one who is a connoisseur will drink the new wine, on account of the
headaches which follow. These, however, need not be dreaded after the
second year, when the wine is thoroughly drinkable. The fine aroma and
bouquet only come with age; and the nutty flavour, which is very strongly
marked in good old Shiraz wine, is not found until it has attained five
years in the carboy.
Of all Persian wines, Shiraz, or rather “Cholar,” wine is the most
renowned. That made in Ispahan is not to be compared to it; while the
stuff concocted in Teheran, of watered grapes and vine leaves, is good
only in colour. The Hamadan wine will not keep, and is very heady, though
pleasant in flavour. The Kerman wine is rough, and carelessly made, but
when old is very good, tasting like a fair specimen of Caucasus wine.
Persian wine much improves by bottling. I made a point of filling all
wine, brandy, and beer bottles with Shiraz wine: a thick crust is thrown
down, and it matures more rapidly, strange to say, when in bottle than
when in bulk.
As a rule the Persians, when they store it in carboys, merely put a bit
of rag or cotton-wool in the mouth, not even trying to keep out the air;
but so good is the wine that it stands even this treatment, and this,
too, though perfectly pure, and with _no addition of spirit_, or other
adulteration!
From the refuse the arrack is distilled by the Jews, and it is a
profitable operation; they sell the strong pure spirit at one shilling a
quart.
The room where the wine-making goes on is much haunted by wasps, but the
exhalations kill them. I fortunately did my wine-making in a separate
courtyard, and so was not troubled by them; but they are, unless one
takes this precaution, a great nuisance.
The carboys have to be ordered of the glass-blowers. They are well made,
and hold from ten to four-and-twenty bottles. A rushworker has then to
be engaged, who sits in a corner of the courtyard, and with handfuls of
rushes makes a kind of rope. This he sews into an upper and a lower cup.
The upper one, having a hole in the middle, is thrust over the neck of
the carboy, which is then placed on the lower one; the two edges are sewn
together, and the fragile carboy is safely packed, and will travel long
distances securely.
Many, for economy’s sake, buy the carboys in which rose-water has been
stored, for they are to be had very cheap; but a sort of false bouquet is
produced, which is very distasteful to the connoisseur, and puzzles one
much on first tasting it.
When wine is to be packed for transport, it is usually packed in
baghallis, or native bottles; these, too, have to be ordered from a
glass-blower; they are, when empty, very fragile, but of considerable
strength when full; they hold a pint and a half. They have a little
cotton-wool crammed into the neck, and on this is poured melted beeswax;
they are thus securely fastened.
A box of thin planks, three feet by two, is made (the planks sewn, not
nailed together); in this four to six dozen are packed in loose straw, a
rush mat two inches thick is sewn on the top, and the thing is done.
A load of wine thus packed will travel over the roughest roads by mule or
camel for a thousand miles without coming to grief.
I was glad to have made my wine myself, or rather under my own eye, as
the same year that made by the Jews for the Governor all turned sour, and
was, of course, spoilt.
I did not have to pay any duty, as the English employés of the telegraph
in Persia are allowed to escape customs exactions of every kind—by
treaty. But, as a rule, the customs people detain our goods, and only
give them up on an order being got from the authorities in the capital,
which has been obtained by the interposition of the Legation. Thus cases
at times lie in the sun spoiling for weeks.
I had always, however, managed to obtain any little things I had from
England, till just now, by cajoling the custom-house farmer, which was a
shorter process than writing letters to the embassy at Teheran.
I had been getting some photographic apparatus for the Governor, and the
muleteer arrived to tell me that the two cases were in the custom-house.
I sent a verbal message to the man in charge, to ask him to let my
servant take them, as he knew no duty was payable by Europeans. But I got
back a rude reply that unless I had an order I must pay five per cent.
_ad valorem_ or in kind. Now these particular cases were the Governor’s
photographic apparatus, for which he was very anxious: and in them I saw
an opportunity of retorting on the custom-house people for the continual
annoyance given in the clearing our cases. So I went to the custom-house
and saw the gumrūkji, or customs-master.
“Where is your order, sahib? I can deliver nothing without an order.”
Here the man’s eye said, “Give me something, and take your boxes.”
I now appeared very anxious to get them, and pretended to try and cajole
the man by compliments. I argued, I was flattering; but no. No order, no
boxes.
“Of course you can pay the duty, five per cent.; or I will take a
twentieth part of the contents _in kind_.”
I now pretended to be greatly enraged, and I dared the man to take his
twentieth.
He, equally disgusted, gave the order to break open the boxes. This
was done in the roughest manner; the tin was cut open, and parcel
after parcel piled on the ground. One parcel containing photographic
albumenized paper was opened, and the gumrūkji, to the delight of the
assembled throng of loafers and merchants, proceeded to count the quires
and take his twentieth in kind. I thought he had now gone far enough, so
I pretended to discover, with an appearance of astonishment, that _the
things belonged to the Governor_!
Now his air changed.
“Oh, sahib, doctor sahib, do assist me! These things must be replaced.
Oh, ashes, ashes on my head, oh, descendant of seven generations of
asses” (apostrophising himself). “Sahib, doctor sahib, I will never annoy
you any more. I will now, now this instant, give you a writing, which
will enable you to always clear your goods on arrival; but do, dear
friend, help me to repack these accursed boxes. You have burnt my father,
indeed you have. Just smoke one kalian, just one in the shade, and you
will, I am sure, help me.”
“No, my friend; you are doing your duty in detaining my boxes, and of
course the law is the same for all. I will inform the Governor of your
virtue, and doubtless he will be pleased to possess a Government servant
so just, that he does not hesitate to detain even _his_ cases. Besides,
how pleased he will be to find them unpacked, and even the parcels
examined. These things, too, are easily injured. I even fear you may have
to pay for some.”
Here I pointed to two large lenses that, stripped of their paper, lay
on the stones. The agony of the customs-master was now complete. He was
afraid even to touch the various parcels. There they lay. He wept.
Regardless of his entreaties, as he had been of those of various
Europeans whose bottled stout lay exploding in the sun, I smilingly
retired, telling him he would doubtless hear from the Governor.
He did. The Governor was furious; when the custom-house master’s zeal
touched him personally, he was really enraged; though when we had
appealed to him to get perishable things given up to us, offering an
indemnity, if it could be at any time proved that any duty was due, he
had told us he could do nothing.
The customs-master was heavily fined, and at any time during the rest of
my stay in Shiraz when I sent for my boxes, they were given up at once,
and when my servant, _as directed_, asked if it were wished to examine
them or not, the customs-master, pale with rage, would reply:
“Go, son of a burnt father, no; I have opened his boxes once, I never
want to do so again.”
All this my man would gleefully narrate on triumphantly bringing home my
beer, or whatever had arrived.
I had had one other transaction with this customs-master. He had a
handsome colt rising three; I had long tried to buy it, but he would
never sell, or demanded a preposterous price. At last he sent over one
day to me saying, “What will you give me in cash for my grey colt?”
I replied, “Ninety-five tomans” (about thirty-eight pounds). This
is really a very high price for a horse only rising three. To my
astonishment and delight the horse was sent over. I gave a cheque for the
money and tied my purchase up. The next day I was left in peace to admire
him; the third day came a letter politely written, the pith of which was,
“Return me my colt, I have repented.” I looked on the affair as a joke,
but no; the man _had not cashed_ my cheque. Had I paid him in specie the
bargain would have been concluded; as it was he was in the right, and I
reluctantly gave back the horse I had had my eye on for months.
It was the law, and by that one must abide.
A peculiarity of the Shirazi is his fondness for repeating words,
_changing the initial_ of the second. Use is second nature, and a curious
instance of the habit is narrated of the late Kawam-u-Dowlet. When in the
presence of the Shah, the Kawam-u-Dowlet was asked by his Majesty—
“Why is it, Kawam, that you Shirazis always talk of kabob-_mabob_, and so
on? you always add a _nonsense word_; is it for euphony?”
“Oh, ‘Asylum of the Universe,’ may I be your sacrifice; no respectable
person in Shiraz does so, only the lūti-_pūti_ says it.”
_Pūti_ is, of course, a nonsense (or meaningless) word, and lūti, as here
used, means a “blackguard!”
CHAPTER XXII.
SHIRAZ AND FUSSA.
Cheapness of ice—Variety of ices—Their size—Mode of procuring
ice—Water of Shiraz: its impurity—Camel-fight—Mode of
obtaining the combatants—Mode of securing camels—Visit to
Fussa—Mean-looking nag—His powers—See the patient—State
of the sick-room—Dinner sent away—A second one arrives—A
would-be room-fellow—I provide him with a bedroom—Progress
of the case—Fertility of Fussa—Salt Lake—End of the
patient—Boat-building—Dog-cart—Want of roads—Tarantulas—Suicide
of scorpions—Varieties—Experiment—Stings of scorpions—The
nishan.
A great thing in such a warm place as Shiraz is the cheapness of ice; for
about fifteen shillings in dear years and five in cheap ones, ice can
be obtained, all through the warm weather, and in fact is used from May
to October, as no one would think of drinking anything uncooled. A huge
block is thrown down in one’s doorway each morning by the ice-seller; it
is supposed to weigh two Tabriz maunds, or fourteen pounds.
The Persians well understand the art of making water-ices and ice-creams,
and various ices unknown to us are made by them, as tamarind juice,
pomegranate and cherry-water ices; iced “mast,” or curdled milk, and
various ices of pounded fruits, as apricots and cherries, which are very
good.
Ices, however, are served with them on a more lavish scale, and a larger
quantity eaten, than with us. When I accompanied Captain St. J⸺ in a call
he made upon the Muschir, four conical ices, the size and shape of an
_ordinary_ sugar-loaf, were placed in handsome Chinese porcelain basins
before each of us. In fact the cheapness of provisions generally causes
among the well-to-do a lavishness and profusion (not to call it waste)
unknown in Europe.
The Muschir has a “yakhjal,” or place for the making and collecting and
storing ice, in an open plain some six miles from the town at the side
of the Ispahan road. The earth is dug out to a depth of two feet; with
this earth a mud wall some twenty feet high is constructed of sun-dried
bricks. The excavation is some ten yards by one hundred, and the wall
is ten yards high by a hundred long; this wall runs in such a way as to
protect the open pond thus excavated, from the hottest rays of the sun.
The delicious Ab-i-Rookhni (“stream of Rookhnabad”) is diverted from its
course during the first cold night. A few inches of still clear water
is collected in the pond, by morning it is frozen; at night the water
is again admitted, and another inch or two of ice made. When three to
six inches thick, the ice is broken and collected for storage in a deep
well on the spot: and so day by day the process goes on during the short
winter until the storehouses are full. Should the supplies from these
be exhausted by a very large demand, ice, or rather blocks of snow, are
brought from the mountains; but as these are some distance, and as snow
melts much faster than ice, the weights being equal, the price rises.
An order is generally issued when the ice is running short that each
house is to be on half allowance—a wise measure, as it makes the cooks
careful, and so everybody gets some.
So common is the use of ice that the poorest are enabled to have it,
a big bit being sold for a farthing, and even the bowls of water for
gratuitous drinking at the shop doors are cooled by it. Ripe fruit is
generally also cooled prior to being eaten.
The water of Shiraz itself—unless that of Rookhni or Zangi, another
mountain spring, which has to be brought from a distance—is almost
poisonous, being much contaminated by surface drainage, etc. The
Mussulman world has a horrible idea that _a certain body_ of water,
however great the quantity, or disgusting the nature, of the filth poured
into it, remains absolutely pure, and the result is that a great deal of
serious illness is produced; this is one of the reasons why cholera is
so very severe in the East, irrespective of the natural action of the
climate. I can only say that I was obliged, while in Shiraz, never to
drink water save when from the two springs, or in the form of tea, when
it was of course boiled; one glass of sherbet or one tumbler of water
making me ill.
My friend the British Agent, Mirza Hassan Ali Khan, C.S.I., used always
to send a servant to the Rookhni stream, but the fellow used, I fancy,
to fill his water-skins, which were carried on a mule, elsewhere, for
although Rookhni water tastes of the wild sage that grows on its banks,
and my friend the agent thus had as he fancied an infallible means of
knowing it, yet I think the wily water-bearer was capable of having a
stock of sage leaves with which he would flavour the water got from the
town stream, along the edges of which sat all the laundresses of Shiraz
washing (in it) their foul linen.
I met the Prince-Governor one day on horseback, and he asked me if I had
ever seen a camel fight. I replied that I had not; he told me to ride on
with him and he would show me sport, as he was going to amuse himself
with one. We rode to the back of the royal garden, or “Bagh-i-No” (new
garden); here are always encamped hundreds of mules and camels. No sooner
did the prince arrive than the camel-men attempted to run away, but the
farrashes with their long sticks and a few horsemen soon brought them
back.
The prince ordered them to bring two male camels (in a state of
_must_[21]). At this they wept and tore their hair, for they did not
wish their property to be destroyed or depreciated for the amusement of
the young shah-zadeh. However, there was no escape; the courtiers soon
pointed out two huge males secured apart from the rest of the animals,
and from their continued groanings and roarings evidently in a state of
_must_.
By the prince’s orders these were let loose; they “went for each other”
at once. At first they danced round one another in a lumbering way; then
what appeared like a huge bladder was projected from their mouths: they
then knelt before each other, and a sort of fencing match took place; the
ordinarily quiet, patient faces of the beasts were changed into ones of
savage fury; the mouths widely open, and the retracted upper lips showed
the white teeth; and from the open mouths came quantities of foam. The
long supple necks were interlaced, and quickly darted from side to side,
while now and then the open savage mouths would be locked together. The
object was to seize either the throat or leg. The feints and meeting
of the mouths lasted some few minutes, accompanied by loud groans and
roarings of extraordinary fierceness. At length one beast, the paler
one, seized his adversary by the foot; while the other, a handsome,
long-haired animal, only got hold of his opponent’s ear. Blood flowed
freely, and the poor camel-men, who wanted to separate the animals,
were much beaten by the attendants. At last the dark long-haired animal
left go, and roared with agony; the victor commenced to drag him about
by the bitten foot. After some pressure the prince allowed them to be
separated. An awful wound was apparent on the foot of the dark camel,
and the efforts of some eight men with bludgeons, ropes, and chains were
required to restrain the victor from pursuing his advantage, while the
vanquished limped off with his weeping master, roaring with mingled rage
and pain. The prince, ordering ten tomans to be given to the camel-men
(poor fellows! I doubt if anything ever reached them), rode off.
Camels are mostly not vicious, save when _must_. They can kill a man with
a kick; and when they bite, worry; _and they generally bite the piece
out_. They are usually tethered apart when in this state, which soon
passes off, and secured by bending one or even both fore-feet, and tying
the leg in this position, which renders them powerless. This is the same
principle as that adopted by Rarey the horse-tamer.
About this time I was requested to go at once to Fussa—this place is
some ninety miles from Shiraz—where the Governor of the province (that
of Fussa) lay ill. I obtained leave of absence for a week, and made an
arrangement to go in one day and night, return in another twenty-four
hours, and have five days’ attendance on my patient.
The Muschir, to whose daughter Mirza Ali Akbar the _Khan Wakeel_, as he
was called, was married, was anxious that I should start at once, and
gave me a handsome fee. I agreed that I was while at Fussa to be the
guest of my patient, and that he was to find me in food and house-room;
and this was an important stipulation, as in a place where a European
had possibly never been seen, it might have been difficult to get a
comfortable lodging or even food.
Two wild-looking horsemen and a servant of the British Agent presented
themselves, with a little bay pony of dolorous aspect in a halter for
my riding. I, knowing that no horses were laid out, asked with scorn
how the small pony could possibly carry me ninety miles in twenty-four
hours, which I had stipulated for; but all three men assured me that
I should certainly arrive, myself and saddle-bags, in the time on the
little animal. I confess that I disbelieved them, but we started off
at a smart canter, and we cantered for ten hours with short breaks of
ambling. We got to a village two hours after midnight, slept for four
hours, and arrived in Fussa at four, doing the journey under the time;
the small bay seemingly not at all distressed, and prepared to go back
to Shiraz at once at the same rate if desired. I was then surprised; I
know that any one of my own well-fed big horses would have knocked up.
But these little animals, used to the _severest continuous work_, do it
in the most extraordinary manner. I am a big, heavy man; my saddle was a
heavy English hussar saddle, and my bags and bedding certainly weighed
forty pounds or more. Of course the beast I rode was a good one of his
kind, and probably a very good one, for when I left, the Governor of
Fussa declined to part with him even at a fancy price of three times his
apparent value.
We rode up to the door of the Governor, whom I found propped up with
pillows in a corner of the room, a huge, fat man about thirty-eight, who
was a general debauchee, opium-eater, wine and spirit drinker, and bhang
smoker. He was suffering from gout.
An aged Syud, with a long beard and blue turban, was in attendance
from Shiraz as his physician. The Governor himself was a strikingly
good-tempered, even jovial man, and between the paroxysms of his gout,
joked and talked. The village, or rather district, magnates sat round him
chiming in with all his observations, and trying to soothe his pains.
They were, master and retainers, the fattest set of men I ever saw
collected in one room. A long description of the patient’s ills ensued,
many pipes of peculiar construction were smoked, and I was offered
a _tumblerful_ of strong spirit as a matter of course, considerable
surprise being expressed at my refusing it.
Tea was continually handed round, which everybody, including the patient,
swallowed; a native bottle was frequently produced from under his pillow
from which he partook of copious draughts of pure spirit, taken from a
silver bowl holding half a pint: _this was emptied frequently_. Every
two hours my patient swallowed a _bolus_ of opium. Though we were in
the middle of summer, some thirty to fifty people were always in the
room, and every window was shut and curtained; thus a semi-darkness was
produced. Smoke from innumerable pipes filled the air, while the heat
was rendered greater by a huge samovar, in which water for tea-making
bubbled. The temperature was ninety degrees _out of doors at five_ P.M.
The chatter of conversation was continuous, and four musicians strove to
drive dull care away by playing loudly in a corner. I found my patient
had just had an attack of _delirium tremens_, and was going the right way
for another.
At seven, after having prescribed for him, I escaped to my quarters
under the pretext of dining, and lay down to rest. At nine my servant
informed me that my dinner was about to be served; and a large circular
tray, having some six dishes on it, with bread and all et cæteras, a huge
bowl of iced sherbet and a bottle of wine, was brought in. I was very
hungry and anxious to fall to, and I felt a sense of anguish, when, to my
astonishment, my servant (whom I had brought from Shiraz), assuming the
part of the Governor of Barataria’s physician, ordered the whole away in
an indignant voice.
As soon as my dinner had disappeared, I demanded an explanation of my
man. It was this: “I know, sahib, that the dinner I sent away was quite
enough for the sahib, and a good dinner, but here in Persia a man’s
position is reckoned by the _quantity_ of the dinner sent him, and the
_number_ of _plats_. They have sent you six _plats_. I have told them
that you couldn’t think of dining on less than eighteen; and if I allowed
you to eat the dinner that was sent, good as it was, you would be looked
down on. Are you less than the prince’s physician? Certainly not. They
would send _him_, or rather _he_ would demand, at least twelve _plats_. I
assure you I am acting in your interest.”
I suppose the fellow was right. Dinner for at least twenty-four persons
was brought on three huge trays. I tasted some half-dozen well-cooked
dishes, and then my servant removed the rest, and I observed him, with
the master of the house and numerous hangers-on, dining in the open air
on the very copious dinner that remained. The man was right. Such are
some of the ways a Persian has of keeping up his consequence.
About ten P.M. I went, a few doors off, to the house of my patient
the Governor. The same stifling room, the same hard drinking, only
now _everybody_ was drinking. Dancing-boys and singers, shrieking the
noisy love-songs of Persia in chorus, were _keeping up the spirits of
my patient_. To the few who were not drinking wines or spirits, tea was
continually handed. Long conversations on the topic of the patient’s
illness took place, and on local politics. Wearily, at two A.M., on the
ground that my patient _must_ try to sleep, I succeeded in getting away.
I was accompanied home by a big man with a jet black beard, a Khan who
was one of the Muschir’s retainers, and a polite fellow. What was my
disgust to find his bedding spread in my little room. I told my man to
bring him my water-pipe to smoke, and then I remonstrated. I said it was
not a “Feringhi” custom to sleep in a room with strangers. But the Khan
said it was late, that there were no other quarters, and commenced to
disrobe. “If you must have a separate room, take that,” said he, pointing
to two heavy doors at the end of the apartment.
I opened them, and found a small room, windowless, in which apparently
charcoal had been stored. Impossible for _me_ to sleep there; but,
thought I, “these are really _my_ quarters, why shouldn’t the Khan sleep
there? _he_ is the intruder.” I pretended to collect my bedding.
“You are never going in there!” said he.
“Why not?” I replied. “Look, look! the huge scorpion!” I shouted. He
jumped up, seized a stick, and ran into the charcoal cupboard, for it was
nothing more.
“Where?” said he.
“There! there!” said I.
He was well inside—to slam and secure the heavy doors was the work
of a moment. He shouted and swore, kicking at the door, but it was a
very strong one, and nobody came to his assistance. He then entreated,
promising to go elsewhere; but I couldn’t trust him, and so I composed
myself to sleep, and soon dropped off. In the morning on waking a
melancholy voice entreated liberation; but I could not do it then, as he
might have taken vengeance. So I went off to the Governor, and complained
of the intrusion on my quarters; my man then liberated the much-begrimed
but now humbled Khan; and I got another set of rooms, in which I was more
comfortable.
I saw no more of the Khan: the laugh was too strong against him, and he
returned at once to Shiraz. Until my arrival the Governor was not aware
of the nature of his disorder; with great trouble I got him to reduce his
opium and cease his potations. I was happily able to give him relief, and
we parted mutually satisfied after I had been five days at Fussa.
The place was much warmer than Shiraz; grain and cattle were cheap indeed
here. The soil, though sandy, is very fertile; and the town, or rather
collection of villages (for it is more a district than a town), is
interspersed with groves of date palms. Oranges are, of course, abundant,
and there is great plenty in the place. There had need be, for the
exactions of those in power are very great in Persia. The people were a
laughing, careless set, devoid of fanaticism, having indeed very little
religion. Nearly all drank wine to excess. The women seldom veiled, and
talked with me without any _mauvaise honte_. They indeed seemed to do
most of the work; for the field-work was probably not heavy, save at
harvest-time, the country being so very fertile. The road from Fussa was
a howling desert, except a well-watered village about half-way.
We passed the edge of the big Salt Lake, some ten miles from Shiraz, on
which appears an island, or what looks like an island. After skirting
this lake, whose shores are bordered by an edge of mud some fifty yards
in width, we reached the village of Jaffir-a-bad, and thence, passing
small villages and gardens in every direction, got to the plain of
Shiraz. The pony brought me in as quickly as I had gone out, and I had
had a peep at country life in the south of Persia.
The prince’s hakim-bashi, the M.D. of Paris, replaced me, and he, too,
had a week’s leave. When he left, the old Syud told the patient that he
had gangrene, _cut off the gouty toe_, and being unable to staunch the
blood, the man died in forty-eight hours.
A year after this, one of the sergeants built a large boat for the
exploration of the Salt Lake. This boat-building was an amusement for us,
but the boat was found to be so heavy that it required fifteen porters
to carry her through the streets. She certainly held eight people, but
was very deep in the water, and more a barge than a boat, but as she was
flat-bottomed she would not turn over. While I was in Ispahan, where I
had gone on duty, she was placed on the large tank of the Bagh-i-Takht,
and after twenty-four hours left to the mercy of the populace. I believe
she is at the bottom of that tank now.
Another of the sergeants, a really skilled workman, and fired by the
actual boat having been floated, in conjunction with the builder of the
first one, resolved to make a real wherry. This they did from various
drawings, and they succeeded in building a very handsome boat, having
curved planks, which were bent with great trouble with hot water.
This boat was also fastened with copper rivets, and really handsomely
finished; but though so light that three men could carry it, it held two
comfortably, and would probably have been speedy, but it was so terribly
crank that no one would venture in it; and though it was ballasted till
the gunwale was almost level with the water, it turned over on the
slightest movement. This, the second and last boat built by the English
in Shiraz, is also at the bottom of one of the tanks. At Ispahan an
extraordinary barge was made afterwards by two of the staff for the
Zil-es-Sultan, and this could be rowed; but it was a barge, and had no
pretensions to be called a boat.
I now started a dog-cart, which I received from Kurrachee, intending it
for Ispahan, where there are _good_ roads; as fate would have it, when
the thing arrived I had been stationed at Shiraz, where there were next
to _no_ roads. I put my trap together with some difficulty, for the wood
had warped in the long land journey, and found it to be a big dog-cart of
the largest, heaviest, and (luckily) strongest type. Its weight appalled
us all.
Followed by a crowd, our servants dragged it outside the city gates, and
I put my chestnut horse in. Of course, he had never been in the shafts
before. On attempting to urge him forward he sat down, as a dog sits, and
declined to stir; this manœuvre he constantly repeated. I now in despair
tried an old and valueless grey horse. He walked off with the machine
at once, and, barring the want of roads, I had no difficulty. Luckily,
the trap was built of a solidity I have never seen, save in railway
carriages, and so, regardless of roads, I was able to go about. The stony
bed of the river, with an occasional bit of hard road, and thence to the
sandy plain of Jaffir-a-bad, was about the only drive.
Here, and here only in the neighbourhood of Shiraz, one sees enormous
tarantulas. These beasts, some with bodies as large as a pigeon’s egg
and legs in proportion, are very brave; when attacked with a stick,
instead of taking flight, they advance threateningly at the person
who molests them, and attempt to bite the stick; they are really
formidable-looking brutes, covered with brown hair.
A story was told me by the late Dr. Fagergren, a Swede in Persian employ,
who had been twenty-five years in Shiraz, to the effect that scorpions,
when they see no chance of escape, commit suicide; and he told me, that
when one was surrounded by a circle of live coals, it ran round three
times and then stung itself to death. I did not credit this, supposing
that the insect was probably scorched, and so died. I happened one day to
catch an enormous scorpion of the black variety. In Persia they are of
two kinds: black; and light green, or greenish yellow; the black variety
being supposed to be much the more venomous. The full-grown scorpions
generally are from two to three inches long; I have seen one five
inches when extended from the tip of the claws to the sting, but he was
phenomenal. The one I caught was very large, and to try the accuracy of
what I supposed to be a popular superstition, I prepared in my courtyard
a circle of live charcoal a yard in diameter. I cooled the bricks with
water, so that the scorpion could not be scorched, and tilted him from
the finger-glass in which he was imprisoned unhurt into the centre of the
open space; he stood still for a moment, then, to my astonishment, ran
rapidly round the circle three times, came back to the centre, turned up
his tail (where the sting is), and deliberately by three blows stabbed
or stung himself in the head; he was dead in an instant. Of this curious
scene I was an eye-witness, and I have seen it repeated by a friend in
exactly the same way since, on my telling the thing, and with exactly the
same result. For the truth of this statement I am prepared to vouch.
Of the effects of the sting of the scorpion (generally only the lower
orders are bitten, as they are barefooted, and their work may take them
to cool and damp places where the insects love to lie) I have had much
experience: I consider it is never fatal, save in the case of infants
stung in the throat, but it is very painful, the only remedy being liquid
ammonia to the wound, which gives speedy relief.
I have never seen a case of serpent-bite in Persia, and hydrophobia is
very uncommon, though it is said to exist. The only case of rabies I
have seen is that of Pierson’s dogs, narrated previously. Hornets and
wasps sting badly, and frequently I have known death occur in a child
much stung. The sting is worse than that of the British wasp. As to the
Persian tarantula, it merely bites.
A curious custom in Persia is the “nishan,” or token. The token is some
secret conveyed by a third party, as a token or sign of the consent of
the giver of the token to the request. Thus a man will say, if away from
home, and one wishes to borrow his horse, “Tell my steward to give you
my horse, by the ‘nishan’ (or token), that I gave him a present this
morning.” As the steward knows that the giving of the present was only
known to his master and himself, he hands over the horse at once.
CHAPTER XXIII.
SHIRAZ.—THE FAMINE.
Approach of famine—Closing of shops—Rise in mule-hire—Laying in
of stores—Seizures of grain—Sale of goods by poor—Immigrations
of villagers to the towns—Desertions of children—Increase
of crime—Arrival of money from England—Orphanage—Labour
question—Koomishah—Village ruffian—His punishment—Prince’s
accident—The kalāat—Mode of bringing it—Invitation to the
ceremony—Procession—Gala dress of the prince—The arrival of
the firman—Assemblage of grandees—The kalāat—The Kawam’s
kalāat—Return to town—Sacrifice of an ox.
The famine was now setting in in Persia seriously—_for two years
not a drop of rain had fallen_; the crowds of professional beggars
were reinforced by really hungry people, thefts from shops became
common, as did burglaries, and the roads were now very unsafe. In the
corn-chandlers’ shops very small supplies of grain were seen, and these
much adulterated by the addition of dust, stones, etc. The bakers baked
as little bread as they could, mixing their dough in as small quantities
and as slowly as possible; the loaves became gradually worse and worse,
though the price remained nominally the same. The coarse barley-bread
ceased to be baked altogether, and at last the bakers refused to sell
to the crowds which formed at their shop doors unless they were their
regular customers, and then only for ready money, and one small loaf to
each person, selling by weight being discontinued altogether. All who had
enough ready money laid in a store of grain and flour.
[Illustration: FAMINE GROUP.]
Those who had cheap horses and donkeys sold them, and the price of the
cheaper class of horse fell very low, till at last beasts were turned out
as worthless, and killed and eaten by the poor.
Meat fell in price, but this did not much help those who had no money to
buy even bread. Large establishments were suddenly much reduced; the
armies of hangers-on, who live on the leavings of the rich and their
attendants, were now thrown upon the streets. Many of the bakers and
butchers closed their shops and fled.
Mule-hire rose to an almost prohibitive price, and it must be remembered
that this, in a country where all transport is by mule and camel, meant
the paralysis of trade. All the animals, save of the very rich, presented
a half-starved appearance. In the waste grounds near the towns, and by
the sides of the high-roads, lay the bodies of dead and dying mules and
horses.
Flour became adulterated, and was ground at home by the consumers.
Grandees, and merchants began to lay in stores of grain from their
villages, disposing of none, although an enormous profit could be
obtained on the contents of their granaries. The Governors of the towns
seized grain, or paid for it at a nominal price, and sealed it up in the
public or Government grain stores. Provender on the high-roads became
unattainable.
Prices, though steadily rising for all descriptions of cereals, suddenly
dropped on the hope of rain, only to rise in a few hours to a still
more serious figure. The lower classes began to pledge and sell their
copper-ware, tools, arms, and clothing. In the post-houses, where from
six to ten horses were generally kept, only two, and at times none, were
seen.
Villagers in quest of food began now to pour into the towns, and remained
herding in starving crowds in the mosques, having neither the means
nor the strength to return to their homes. The charity of the Persians
themselves was nearly exhausted, for each rich man had to feed his crew
of hungry servants _and their families_. The few unorganised attempts
to feed the poor, resulted in the crushing to death of several, and the
one loaf of bread doled out to each person on these rare occasions only
served to prolong their sufferings. Children now began to be deserted
in the streets, the dead and dying to be seen frequently, the greater
portion of the bazaar to be closed, typhoid to be rife, and crimes of
violence to be frequent.
And now came the first funds from England from the Persian Relief
Committee. In each town the money was husbanded and relief given in the
way most efficient and economical. Money was found to be the most safe
plan, at all events in Shiraz, of which I speak from experience, for
any attempt to buy bread in quantities failed, and caused an immediate
rise in price. Very many applicants were sent away; relief in the shape
of a numbered ticket, entitling the bearer, whose person was described
in a book kept for the purpose, to weekly relief in money, was given to
the utterly destitute. The difficulty of deciding on the claims of the
various applicants was great, and in many cases which had to be denied
permanent relief, temporary alms were given.
A large house was rented, and in it were placed all the deserted orphans
found in the streets; these were mostly the children of villagers,
though some were those of townspeople. These children were plainly
but comfortably clothed in the ordinary dress of well-to-do Persian
villagers, and well and regularly fed. They were placed under the care
of an intelligent and humane Persian, who really did his duty to them,
and were regularly inspected by the members of the Relief Committee; also
they were frequently seen at unexpected times. The poor emaciated bundles
of rags soon developed into strong, healthy children, and the regular
food, comfortable quarters, and good clothes did wonders. Most of the
staff took one or two into their service.
Seven years after, one of my two, who were taken as stable-helps, was
getting pay from me at the rate of thirty shillings a month, and was
my head groom, and would anywhere obtain that pay. Two were taken as
markers in the billiard-room, and are now respectable servants. As the
famine ceased, the _unclaimed_ orphans were apprenticed to good trades,
or placed in the houses of wealthy Persians as servants. No attempt at
proselytism was made, but a Persian priest was engaged to teach the usual
rudiments of reading, writing, and the Koran.
Many villagers came in and claimed their children, and these were often
loath to leave their clean quarters and good food, to return to hard
drudgery and rags in their native villages.
It may be safely said that no _deaths_ from starvation took place
in Shiraz after the arrival of the first instalment of relief money
from England. Of course, the application of the funds was carried out
irrespective of the religion of the applicants; and this application
was easier in Shiraz than in Ispahan. The Armenian community in Shiraz
were very few, and only some four families needed relief; while, on the
contrary, the Jews were many and terribly poor.
As to the labour question, a few of the more able-bodied were set to the
nominal work of picking the stones off the high-road, but no heavy labour
was insisted on. In the winter, too, the snow having blocked the streets,
the poor were employed in removing it for the general good.
I happened to go to Ispahan, and also assisted in the distribution
there. The Ispahanis are much more provident than the people of Shiraz,
and I do not think the distress would have been so great but for the
influx of villagers. At Koomishah, the third stage from Ispahan towards
Shiraz, the effects of the famine were very severe, and I was glad to
be able to distribute some four hundred kerans of the Poor Fund, both
going and coming, there. Of course this amount did not go far, and I was
besieged in the post-house by the hungry crowd of women and children;
the sum was too small to permit of giving anything to the men. First
we admitted all the aged women, and gave them a keran and a half each;
then each child was given a keran, and, when they had secreted it, the
whole number were passed out and the gates closed. From the roof of the
post-house I perceived a big burly villager, who was employed in robbing
the children, as they went out, of their slender store, even throwing
them on the ground and taking the coin from their mouths. The other
villagers, of whom there was a large mob, merely laughed, but did not
interfere. But getting down from the back wall of the post-house by means
of horse-ropes, the postmaster, my groom and I succeeded in catching the
fellow, and dragging him into the post-house, and then the post-boys
gave him a good hiding by my order, and we took the money away. He, of
course, complained to the local Governor, who requested an explanation.
I called on him and told him of the fellow’s misdeeds, and, much to his
astonishment, the man in power gave the ruffian a liberal bastinado.
Terrible stories are extant of what happened in certain places, and there
is no doubt of the truth of many of these. That the people ate grass and
the carrion, that they lived on the blood at the public slaughter-houses,
that they, having sold all, also sold their children, is within my
personal knowledge. Cannibalism, too, was proved. In fine, had it not
been for the exertions of the Persian Relief Committee in London, the
ravages of the famine would have only ended in the temporary depopulation
of the south and centre of Persia.
Each great personage in Ispahan and Shiraz did his best to preserve his
own dependents from starvation; but there being no kind of organisation
among the Persians, and transit-rates being prohibitive, and the roads
unsafe, small local famines were frequent, and the ravages of typhoid and
diphtheria—the latter previously unknown in the country—were very great.
Just now an accident to the Prince Zil-es-Sultan took place. He was out
shooting near Shiraz, and having charged one barrel of his gun twice, the
weapon burst, tearing the palm of his hand and the ball of the thumb. I
was called in to attend him, and was fortunate enough to preserve the
hand. For this his Royal Highness was very grateful, and during the
whole of my time in Persia showed me many kindnesses, besides giving
me an extremely liberal fee, even for a king’s son: he _compelled_ his
vizier also to give me one. He even insisted on decorating me with the
star of the Lion and Sun; but as Englishmen in Government employ are not
allowed to accept the decorations of foreign Governments without special
permission, the honour, much coveted among the Persians, was not of much
benefit to me. I got it in a very public and sudden manner, and as the
occasion of giving it was sufficiently curious, I may as well describe it.
It is the custom in Persia to send to all governors, royal personages,
and ministers, a yearly present from the king, to show the royal
satisfaction. These presents are all termed kalāats (or dresses of
honour), even though the gift may be in jewellery, or even specie; a
dress or robe of greater or less value, or a jewelled weapon, being
the general kalāat. The withholding of the yearly robe of honour to a
provincial governor is generally the sign of the royal disfavour, and
the despatching of it often the token of the recipient’s confirmation in
office, though at times it is what gilds the bitter pill of his recall.
The kalāat is usually sent from the capital by the hands of some person
of consequence, generally some favoured servant of the Shah, and this man
is sent down that he may receive a present, generally large in amount,
from the recipient, and may bring back the usual bribe to the Prime
Minister for retention in power, or even the same thing to the king
himself.
The New Year’s festival is generally the time of the despatch of the
official dresses of honour from the capital. The bearer, and his two
or more attendants, generally come on post-horses, and the etiquette
is that the recipient goes out to meet the royal gift. The bringer, on
arrival at the last stage, is met by the servants or friends of the
recipient, who send off to announce the arrival. He now takes off his
travel-stained garments, puts on his finery, and starts on horses sent
out for him, bearing the royal bounty at his saddle-bow wrapped in a
Cashmere shawl. The recipient, accompanied by all his friends and the
greater portion of the populace—for the bazaar is closed by order, and
a general illumination _commanded_ for the evening; all the shops are
visited, and severe fines inflicted on any one disobeying—proceeds to
meet the present, and await its arrival. The distance that is gone is
regulated by the position of the recipient—the greater the personage, the
less distance he goes.
One morning the prince sent for me and told me that a kalāat from the
Shah would arrive for him the next morning, and that he wished his
hakim-bashi and myself to ride out with the magnates of the place, who
would accompany him, to meet it. I of course expressed my readiness to
attend his Royal Highness, and I was told by the hakim-bashi, who was
very jubilant, that probably a decoration would be given to each of us.
To have declined would have been to give mortal offence, and to have lost
the favour of the Governor of the province, whose partiality secured
me against annoyance from the natives of any kind. So the next day I
presented myself at nearly noon and found the prince in great feather,
the head astrologer having appointed two in the afternoon for the enduing
of the dress of honour. Every one was in gala dress, the streets were
thronged by a holiday mob in high good humour. And out we all rode.
First came four yessaouls, or outriders, with silver maces, showing off
their horses by capering in circles; then six running footmen, each
with his silver-headed staff and clad in the royal scarlet, in the
ancient costume of Persia, and with the strange head-dress somewhat
like a fool’s pointed cap—these men are called “shahtirs;” then grooms
mounted, leading the handsomest horses of the prince’s stud with gold
and jewelled harness and a Cashmere shawl spread over each saddle; then
the “mir-achor” (literally, lord of the manger), or master of the horse—a
coarse, heavy fellow, the prince’s maternal uncle (his mother, they say,
was a peasant girl who struck the king’s eye while washing linen at a
village stream)—the mir-achor riding a big and valuable animal; then
the prince himself, on a handsome iron-grey, the tail of which is dyed
red (a royal custom permitted only to the sons of the king besides the
Shah himself), clad in his best—a handsome shawl-coat of great value and
trimmed with sable, an under dress of blue satin embroidered in silver,
gold, and coloured thread, a gold belt having a rosette of diamonds
with a huge central emerald, the thing being four inches in diameter,
and wearing his various decorations and the portrait of the Shah set in
brilliants. His black cloth hat is fiercely cocked, and he smiles at the
acclamations of the people, and is evidently delighted at his apparent
popularity. After him come the two rival magnates of Shiraz, the Kawam
and Muschir (the minister of the young prince); then the two secretaries,
the hakim-bashi, and myself; then the principal people of Shiraz and the
prince’s attendants, all on horseback; then some merchants on mules; then
a shouting crowd which follows the procession. Soldiers lined the road,
and a battery of artillery is drawn up to fire one hundred and one guns
when the royal dress of honour is donned. We ride to about a mile and a
half from the town on the Ispahan road. Half-a-dozen horsemen station
themselves at distances of one hundred yards along the post-road in the
direction whence the king’s messenger must come. In a few moments a gun
is fired by one of these, then another as he perceives the messenger’s
arrival, and we see three men, one bearing a bundle, advancing at full
gallop. A letter is handed to the prince, it is the royal firman; he
raises it to his head and hands it to the Muschir, the principal official
present; the messenger rides at the prince’s side, who asks him the news
of Teheran.
We all ride slowly back towards the town, and so enter the “Bagh-i-No”
(new garden), a Government garden where the dress of honour is to be
publicly put on.
The prince invites me into an inner room, and I am given coffee. He
then tells me that he has requested the Order of the Lion and Sun to be
conferred on me, for which I express my gratitude; and the hakim-bashi,
who is also to get it, does the same.
The doctor and I enter the big open verandah, or talár, and are given a
prominent place among the grandees there, a few priests and officials
also being honoured with places, as are the chief merchant and some
others. Vases of roses and common flowers are placed at intervals along
the front of the talár, beyond this is the big tank, round which are
crowded the merchants, tradesmen, and populace of Shiraz, an orderly
crowd. The Muschir who presides is affable, and regales us with
sweetmeats, pipes, and sherbet.
The prince enters, followed by the bearer of the kalāat. We all stand up,
the royal firman or order is read by the Muschir. The kalāat, a Cashmere
shawl-coat worth some eighty pounds, and trimmed with rich furs, having
a string of big pearls and a bored but uncut emerald attached to the top
button, is put on by the prince amid acclamations, being handed to him
by the bearer. Then a jewelled wand or rod of office some four feet long
is handed by the Muschir to the Kawam, or mayor of Shiraz; he bows, more
acclamations—this is his kalāat. Then the star (having a centre enamelled
on gold of the Lion and Sun) is affixed to the breasts of the hakim-bashi
and myself; and now we all rush for our horses, and the mob rush for the
flower-vases, which are mostly smashed in the struggle.
We return to the town in procession as we came. On nearing the bridge,
the Jews, as is customary, behead a little ox at the feet of the prince,
and their chief man runs with the bleeding head by the prince’s side till
driven off by the farrashes or stick-men; then glass jars of sweetmeats
were smashed by the tradesmen under the feet of the royal horse, and
amidst shouts, dust, and the reports of the cannon, we enter the town,
and I, popping my star in my pocket, canter off to my own house. I have
never worn it since, but I could not refuse it, as it was meant in
kindness, and I did not wish to offend.
CHAPTER XXIV.
I FALL INTO THE HANDS OF BRIGANDS.
A call to a patient—Start on post-horses—No horses—I carry
a lantern—The Bakhtiaris—Fall among thieves—They strip
me—And march me off—Mode of disguise of thieves—Attacked
by footmen—Division of spoils—Fate of a priest—Valuing my
kit—Ignorance of my captors—A welcome sight—My escape—I get
a horse—Reach Yezdikhast—Old women get thorns out of my
feet—Want of hospitality of head-man of Yezdikhast—Arrive at
Kūmishah—Kindness of a postmaster—More robbers—Avoid them—Am
repaid for my lost kit—Fate of my robbers.
The roads are not safe, and at night are dangerous; but with a man ill
at the one end of the division, two hundred and fifty miles off, and the
doctor at the other, the only thing for the doctor to do is to go to his
patient as fast as possible.
Had I been going to march, I should have applied to the Persian
authorities for a strong guard, and it would have been provided, but in
posting this is impossible. It was the height of the famine time; in
place of six or eight horses in each post-house, all well up to their
work, two or three was the maximum, and these mere living skeletons,
and I knew that at some stages _all had died_. I had never been looted,
and, trusting to my luck, I sent for horses; but I felt that looting was
likely. I took no gold watch, but only an aluminium one, and as little
money as possible. Beyond my clothes I had nothing valuable save a case
of instruments belonging to Government, that I required at Ispahan.
By this time I had begun to pique myself on the rate I could get over the
ground “en chuppar;” and I had established a rule in my own mind that
there were two ways of posting, and two only: going when there was light;
and going as long as horses were to be had, day and night. Anything else
was of little use, as one could not go faster than the latter mode, and
if one wanted to go more slowly than the former, one might as well
march. In the famine time nothing but water and firing was to be got, and
so the journey was naturally a thing to be got over as soon as possible:
also in this particular instance I was going to see a patient, and so was
bound to be smart.
Off I went about noon from Shiraz at a sharp canter, preceded by my
servant and followed by the guide, for one has to separate them or they
lose time in chattering. The servant yelled, whipped, jobbled his horse
with his sharp native stirrups, and generally behaved as a lunatic. On
emerging from the town he exhorted me frequently to come on, and took as
much out of himself and his horse as possible. When we got to Zergūn,
six farsakhs, we had done it, over the good road on the plain, under the
two hours and a half. The next stage to Seidoon is over a sandy plain,
which, in wet weather, is a very bad road indeed, and rough causeways
have to be gone over to keep out of the morasses. But we had had _no rain
for two years_, and all the way it was good going. We reached Seidoon
half-an-hour after sunset, and here my man began to suggest that we
should stop to sleep. I made him understand that as long as I could find
horses _I_ was bound to go on; but he seemed to fail to see that that
rule applied to _him_.
On we went still, having kept to our two farsakhs (or eight miles) an
hour, _including_ stoppages, and reached Kawamabad at nine at night; here
the road was less level, and my man _would_ lag behind.
The moon was high, and the scenery is very pretty—long stretches of what
in other times is turf and plenty of big trees.
At about six A.M. we got to Moorghāb. Here we had to feed the horses,
which caused a delay of an hour and a half, and it was eleven before we
reached Dehbeed, having done very badly thirty farsakhs in twenty-three
hours. These two severe stages on famished animals had destroyed all
chance of a quick journey. We had walked the greater part of the last
stage, which, with the one we had done before it, are two of the longest
in this part of Persia, being each a good twenty-seven miles, though
called six farsakhs. From Dehbeed we cantered over an undulating plain to
Khonakhora; the going was good, but the poor beasts constantly fell from
weakness, and I could not spare them. Again at Khonakhora there were no
horses, and I had to stop two hours to rest the old ones, not getting to
Sūrmeh till two hours after midnight, and having to walk and drive the
wretched beasts the greater part of the way. Here my man was unable to
go any further, the walking of the last stage had been too much for him:
there was nothing for it but to leave him to come on as he pleased, and
that thoroughly suited him.
At dawn I reached Abadeh, the parting with the servant and consequent
wrangle having taken up nearly an hour. I hardly knew the place;
generally the approach to Abadeh is through smiling gardens and
vineyards, and heavy crops are grown in the neighbourhood; now nothing.
The people besieged me in the chupperkhana for money. I was able to
get two broken-down horses; my own fell seven times in the first hour
from weakness, and the distance to Shūrgistan—over, happily, a good and
level road—is six farsakhs, a good twenty-four miles; it was two in the
afternoon before I could leave Shūrgistan, and, as usual, there were no
horses.
I was told at this place that the road was very dangerous, but confident
in my being a European, and being also armed, I did not think there was
much to fear. We crawled into Yezdikhast over an undulating fairly good
road at sunset, the horses both lying down on entering the courtyard;
they had come the thirteen farsakhs in twelve hours, but were so weak
that I doubted being able to start before morning, but the information I
had at Abadeh by wire made me desirous of pushing on; my patient’s state
was critical, and at eleven P.M., finding that the horses could stand, I
started.
Yezdikhast is situated in a valley through which runs a small river,
and on each side are precipitous cliffs and a bad road, unpleasant to
scramble up or down by day, and dangerous on a dark night. The town
itself is built on a perpendicular island-like cliff, which stands in
the middle of the deep ravine thus formed; it presents a sufficiently
striking appearance as viewed from either the cliffs or the valley,
impregnable to attack save from artillery; the perpendicular cliff on
which it is perched shows up a bright yellow, against what is generally
a verdant valley, teeming with corn and grass, though just at the time
I was travelling quite bare, save just by the river. There is only one
small entrance to the town at one end of the razor-backed cliff; this is
a doorway just big enough to admit a horseman stooping in his saddle,
or a loaded mule. This doorway is reached by a small bridge of a few
poles, which can be knocked away at once: the cliff, which appears to
be of sandstone, is honeycombed with underground granaries and shelters
for sheep and goats, as are the cliffs on either side. On one side of the
town, in the ravine, is the caravanserai; on the other the chupperkhana
or post-house.
The night was pitch dark, the guide couldn’t even see the road, and I
had to light my road lantern to enable us to get out of the ravine up
the rocky track that leads to the high-road; when we did get on the road
it was so dark, that I was unfortunately still obliged to keep my light
burning, to enable us to keep on the track. And to this I suppose I owe
my subsequent misfortunes.
I was coming now to a notorious “doz-gah,” or robbing place, Aminabad.
Here is a magnificent caravanserai; but no one can live here, for, being
the frontier of two provinces, one ruled by the Governor of Shiraz, the
other by that of Ispahan, it was a sort of debatable land. A few hours’
march, too, brings one to the Bakhtiari country, governed by Houssein
Kūli Khan,[22] who ruled with a rod of iron the turbulent tribes of these
wild men. All wanderers, they are a brave and untamable people, their
customs quite different from the inhabitants of the towns, upon whom they
look with contempt. They are practically independent, merely furnishing a
large contingent of irregular cavalry. The illustration gives a good idea
of the tent-life of the wandering tribes of Persia. The tents are very
portable, impervious to rain, wind, and sun, and are woven by the women
from the hair of the black goats. They are very durable.
The Shah is here of little authority, the whole government being vested
in Houssein Kūli Khan, whose eldest son remains with the king in
honourable captivity in Teheran as hostage for his father’s good conduct.
Several times have villagers been placed in the Aminabad caravanserai,
that the place might not be without inhabitants; but it is always looted,
the ryots beaten or murdered; even in peaceful times the muleteers hurry
past the caravanserai, and make the best of their way to Yezdikhast.
[Illustration: TENT LIFE.—WANDERING TRIBES.]
The country here on the least pretext becomes disturbed, and robberies
and murders in disturbed times are frequent. The last time I passed it,
in 1878, I was riding on in front of the caravan, and looked into the
huge courtyard out of curiosity; and though the country was very peaceful
indeed, there lay the festering body of a murdered man. A few mud walls
run along the road, making convenient ambush, and a ruined watch-tower
marks the exact frontier line.
My lighted lantern had doubtless put the robbers of the neighbourhood on
the _qui vive_, but I could not have got out of the Yezdikhast valley
without it, and I hoped by travelling at an unusual hour (midnight) in
the pitchy darkness to slip by unperceived. I had reckoned without my
host. As I passed at a slow amble, making as little noise as possible,
and flattering myself that no one could see us, I was challenged.
“Who are you?”
I promptly replied: “Be off; I am a European.”
“Stand!” said a voice; and I saw a black object in the shadow of the
wall. I drew my revolver and placed it on full cock; I stuck my spurs
into my wretched horse; but the presence of other beasts was enough for
him; he merely swayed with weakness, but did not budge. The black object
now rapidly approached, and resolved itself into five horsemen, who
surrounded me, and, prodding me with the muzzles of their guns, ordered
me to dismount in a series of hoarse whispers.
My thieves were well mounted and well armed; the odds were too great
for a fight. I couldn’t run away, and the guide had disappeared, having
slipped off his horse and run. I used strong language and tried to brazen
it out, but it was of no use.
I was lugged off my horse, and several blows were struck at my head, but
my topi[23] kept them off. My assailants now stripped me so rapidly as
to show they were adepts in the matter. They were evidently in a great
hurry. I put my revolver on half-cock and dropped it, thinking that I
should be stripped and left; but I had reckoned again without my host.
When they had stripped me to my breeches and shirt, one fellow seized the
pocket in which was my money, and with one slash of his knife removed it,
slitting the leg of my pants to the knee. As another man was dragging
off my shirt, he remarked that it was silk, the fineness of the linen
deceiving his touch. I was now ordered to come along, and there being
no option, did so; but I felt the cold to my naked back, and asked them
for a covering, purposely in broken Persian, thinking that if they did
not know I was _au fait_ at the language, I might the better get at
their intentions. One man, the chief, ordered one of the village felt
greatcoats to be flung to me. I gladly wrapped myself in it, and picking
up my revolver, concealed it in the sleeve, trusting to have a chance
of perhaps selling my life dearly, or ending it if any indignity were
offered me. I had not gone many yards, when the thorns began to enter my
feet, and render walking painful. I now requested to be put on a horse,
but the only reply was an order to come on at once, which was repeated,
and a gun put to my head. But I was desperate. I foresaw that if I walked
I should be lamed for months, and certainly in no condition to escape.
The chief now rode up, and I appealed to him in very broken Persian. He
ordered me to be put on one of the post-horses, and to come on at once,
adding significantly, “If you don’t, we shall kill you here.” I felt
that there would be no chance to escape at present, but that I might
possibly have a future opportunity. We now left the road, and pushed on
in the direction of the Bakhtiari country. I was glad to see that the two
post-horses lagged considerably and delayed us much. I found, too, that
there was a mule loaded with grain that these gentry had stolen, which
was driven by two men armed with iron-headed bludgeons. Our party was
now nine—the five horsemen, well armed and mounted; the two footmen; the
guide, who had been secured, and whose hands were tied behind his back;
and myself. By this time I calculated that it was about two A.M. I could
see better, now we were on the open plain.
The head of our captors was addressed as Lutf Ali Khan. He kept ahead,
and avoided all intercourse with me. His head and face were carefully
covered with a long strip of calico, which was wound round and round his
head as a disguise. What little I could see of his face was blackened
with charcoal.
As dawn approached I was able to make out these details, and to take my
bearings to find the road again should I succeed in getting away. The
robbers were all well mounted, and their horses were fat and in good
condition. I noted the particulars of each man, but the chief gave me no
chance to recognize him.
At dawn, as we passed under a high cliff, we heard shots fired, and
bullets began to fly about our heads. The horsemen returned the fire,
which came from some twenty footmen who were perched in coigns of vantage
and under shelter, on the top and face of the cliff. It was now daylight,
and the pleasures of being shot at were not increased when I saw that the
practice was good, for one of the horsemen now lost a finger. A good deal
of shouting took place, but as it was in Turkish, I could not make out
its purport. At last they seemed to come to some sort of understanding,
for the firing ceased, and the footmen came down from the cliff into the
plain. These men were evidently also Bakhtiaris, and were led by a small
old man clad in white; he wore zangāl, a kind of leather legging, and
had a long, red-dyed beard, and a tall felt hat. From what I overheard,
I found out that the second party had outnumbered the first, and that my
spoils were to be divided. The difficulty seemed to be about myself.
The head of the footmen said: “You have looted this Feringhi; with this
we have nothing to do. _We_ loot not him, but you.”
The man who had lost his finger now came to have it dressed, which I
did as well as I could for him. Instead of being grateful, he merely,
in most expressive pantomime, drew his finger across his throat. Upon
the principle that dead men tell no tales, it was undoubtedly their
intention to put me out of the way. And had we not met the second gang,
it would have probably been done where we were, a lonely place, safe from
all interruption; but there were now too many witnesses to the fact of
my having been carried off. We continued our march, accompanied by the
footmen, about thirty men, including ourselves. I found out afterwards
that the men who had looted me had only the day before robbed a Syud, or
descendant of the prophet, a moollah (or priest), and after stripping
him, _as he was a holy man_, and they did not like to kill him in cold
blood, they laid him on the ground, piled big stones on him so that he
could not stir, and left him to die in the desert of hunger and thirst.
His body was found half eaten by jackals, and the men confessed the fact
when they had no further reason for denying it. So had there been no
second party arriving, I should have fared ill. At about nine A.M. we
halted. I was placed in charge of the two footmen armed with iron-headed
staves; and the guide, whose hands had remained bound, with the two
post-horses and the load of grain, remained guarded by them. The rest of
the horsemen and the footmen retired to some three hundred yards off, and
commenced to unpack my saddle-bags. I was now quite unarmed, for when the
reinforcement came up, I felt that to get away by any act of violence
was impossible; and as the finding of the revolver on me would probably
cost me my life, I dropped it when I had an opportunity of doing so
unperceived.
Several times men came to me from the anxious throng that surrounded my
kit and asked me the value or use of the divers objects. To the latter
I did not attempt to respond, but I satisfied them as to the former
by putting high values on everything, thinking thereby to increase my
own importance. I told them my aluminium watch was worth forty pounds,
and, as it was very massive, they believed it. My guards insisted on
cutting off the brass buttons from my riding breeches, saying to each
other that they were gold. The thieves argued and shouted a good deal
over the spoil, and one of my guards joined the excited circle formed
round my kit, while the other manifested the greatest interest in their
proceedings.
The post-boy by a nod now drew my attention to the distant ridges, and,
to my delight, I saw a large party of horsemen pricking across the plain
in our direction. On they came, but slowly, apparently not seeing us.
They got within some five hundred yards undetected by the robbers or
my guard, who were intent on the booty; and then, instead of making a
charge and taking the robbers unawares, they commenced firing. This, of
course, disclosed their presence, and my delight was great when I saw
that they were irregular cavalry. The robbers, however, showed no sign of
retreating; they returned the fire briskly, and the rescuers were much
more in fear of them than they were of the cavalry.
“Bring along the Feringhi,” shouted several, and firing became brisk and
promiscuous.
“Help me up with the load of grain on to the mule,” shouted my sole
remaining guard in choice Persian, which till now he had not used: the
other fellow had joined the rest of the robbers.
I pretended to comply, and affected to be unable to even move it.
With a curse he drew his knife and cut the bonds of the post-boy, and
ordered him to assist him, placing his iron-headed stick on the ground.
They struggled with the load, and I did a not very brave thing, but it
was my only means of getting away—I seized the bludgeon and stunned my
guard with it, and then the guide and I ran, under a brisk fire, for the
cavalry. These men were now in retreat, and I was adjured by them to
come along; but I could run no more, my stockinged feet being my only
protection against the thorns; my feet were full of them, and I was now
dead lame.
“Give me a horse,” I said.
“Run, sahib, they are on us,” said they.
I could not, however, and I replied, “I’m going back to the robbers,”
and sat down. This was too much, and one of them dismounted and gave me
his horse, running by my side. I now saw that we were rapidly moving
off, pursued by the robbers; vague shooting out of all range was going
on in every direction; and also as far as the eye could reach, isolated
_footmen_ with guns and sticks could be seen making the best of their
way to the fight. Fortunately, we were mounted, for I could see two
hundred men at least—they were _Bakhtiaris_. Discretion was decidedly
the better part of valour. After some three hours’ cantering, we reached
Yezdikhast at noon, and I was carried from my horse into a house; my
feet, full of thorns, I was unable to put to the ground; my head, used
to the protection of a sola topi, was covered only by a small pot hat of
nammad, to the edge of which, when he gave it me, finding it did not fit,
a friendly highwayman had given a gash with his knife, which enabled me
to get it on. As he handed it to me, he made a significant gesture with
his knife across his throat—a cheerful joke these men were prone to. I
felt really ill after the excitement and exposure; for, though the nights
were cold, the sun in the morning was very strong, and my feet were very
painful and swollen; I could not walk.
Two old women now busied themselves in extracting the thorns from my
feet, and they had three hours’ work. My feet were not right for a couple
of months, and many thorns remained in. There were no horses in the
post-house. I had no clothes and no money, and I was anxious to get on. A
nice position!
And now came a curious episode of want of hospitality on the part of the
khedkhoda (head-man of the village). Although he had led the horsemen who
rescued me, and might naturally expect a handsome present, he would not
lend or sell me a rag, nor would he give me any refreshment, though he
knew me perfectly well, and was quite aware of my solvency. Neither could
I get any food from him. So there was nothing for it but to have myself
carried to the chupperkhana, and get what I could from the postmaster,
a poor villager. I did get some clothes from him, but they were not
over-clean, and I then persuaded him to give me credit for a dinner and
my horse hire, and succeeded, after some wrangle, in a promise of both.
At a couple of hours after sunset, the khedkhoda sent me by a boy the
leg of a fowl and a little rice; this I sent away, saying that he knew
that was not the way to send me a dinner, and that I should report his
conduct. I got some fried eggs and bread from the postmaster, and a few
moments after a handsome Persian dinner was sent by the khedkhoda, who
had become alarmed. He arrived himself, and smilingly motioned me to set
to. I was so enraged at his treatment, that I emptied the dinner—rice,
fowls, roast lamb, and melted grease—into his face, and threw the big
copper tray after him, and he retreated humbled.
At dawn I started, accompanied by six guards, and passed the spot where
I was looted thirty hours before. My guards did not leave me till I got
to Maxsūd Beg, which is out of the dangerous part of the country, and
I got to Kūmishah, where my patient was, without further adventure,
in the afternoon; but I was compelled to ride with my feet out of the
stirrup-irons, as I could not bear them to be touched, and they were
much swollen. Here I was able to attend to my patient, who was in a
sufficiently critical condition; however, I was in time, and he recovered.
In contradistinction to my treatment at Yezdikhast, the post-house keeper
at Kūmishah lent me a brand-new suit of clothes, and provided me with
food during my stay in Kūmishah; my patient was too ill for me to be his
guest, and his servants had deserted him; this postmaster lent me also
four pounds in silver. My friends in Ispahan sent me clothes, and on my
patient’s convalescence I rode in there after five days.
As I came near Marg and approached a narrow pass called the Orcheeni,
the gholam of the telegraph with whom I was riding pointed out, on the
face of the cliff at the part where the road narrows, some dozen men with
guns, crouched behind boulders and rocks.
“They are stopping the way, sahib; there are probably more in the pass,
and if once we go in we shall be caught.”
_Vacuus viator_ is all very well, but even though I had nothing left to
be looted of, if I sang, I preferred not to do so _coram latrone_, so we
turned off to the right by a camel road that also leads to Marg, keeping
on quietly till we were detected, for at first the thieves could not see
that we had left the road; but as soon as they did, they rushed out to
cut us off; the distance was the same for both, but we were mounted, and
we screwed a canter out of our steeds and got safely away. I met with
no further adventure on that journey to Ispahan, but my experience of
Oriental brigands is not a pleasant one. Of course it is much pleasanter
to pose as a hero; but with my revolver, had I fired on being surrounded,
I should have been blown out of my saddle.
Captain Pierson, then acting director, wished to send in a claim for
compensation to the Persian Government, but this was not done. Had I been
a Russian subject it would have been otherwise. The value of all my kit
was, however, repaid to me.
Nothing more at the time was heard of the robbers; no effort was made to
arrest them. The country was at that time demoralised by the terrible
famine, but afterwards four of my thieves fell into the hands of the
king’s uncle, the present Governor of Shiraz; he is a severe man, and
they (including Lutf Ali) were built up alive in brick pillars on the
high-road just outside Abadeh, and left to die gradually, perishing as
their victim the Syud did. The pillars and bones may be seen on the
roadside, and, like our old gibbets, are a terror to evil-doers.
CHAPTER XXV.
SHIRAZ.
The Muschir—His policy and wealth—His struggle with the
king’s uncle—He is bastinadoed—His banishment to Kerbela—The
Kawam—Mirza Naim—Siege of Zinjan—Cruelties to Mirza Naim—Reply
to an author’s statement—Cashmere shawls—Anecdote—Garden
of Dilgoosha—Warm spring—“Sau-Sau-Rac”—The Well of
Death—Execution—Wife-killing—Tomb of Rich—Tomb of Hafiz—Tomb of
Saadi—A moral tale—Omens—Incident at tomb of Hafiz.
The two principal men of Shiraz are the Kawam,[24] the calamter or mayor
of the town, in whose family the dignity has been for some generations
hereditary; and the Muschir,[25] an aged official who has held all the
offices of the province of Fars: he has farmed the customs, collected the
revenue, been the minister (really responsible Governor) of the young
prince during his nonage, he has even been Governor himself; rising from
a small official, Abol Hassan Khan has succeeded in enriching himself
and at the same time making many friends and dependants; his rivals have
generally gradually succumbed to his vigorous policy, and the free system
of bribery at Teheran adopted by the Muschir has generally removed them
from his path; when that has failed he has not scrupled to have recourse
to other measures. Careful to allow himself to be looted, at times nearly
ruined, by the powerful king’s uncle, the Hissam-u-Sultaneh, he has
always thus secured a friend at court, and while feathering his own nest
during the governorship of the Zil-es-Sultan, he has always satisfied the
young prince by large subsidies. Having several daughters, all ladies of
mature age and all married save the favourite child—for whom he obtained
the title of Lika-ul-Molk—on the Muschir’s death, the Governor of Shiraz,
whoever he may happen to be, will have a gigantic prize. After fifty
years of successful official life the savings of the old man must be
enormous; besides his own estates, which are very large, he inherited
the entire property of his brother, a very wealthy man, and much of
that of his son-in-law, the late Governor of Fussa. In 1879 and 1880,
however, came an evil day for him. Khosro Mirza, the Motummad-ul-Molk and
uncle of the king, was made Governor of Fars. This powerful and politic
prince had on a previous occasion been compelled to leave Shiraz, and was
subsequently deprived of his governorship by the successful intrigues of
the Muschir, whose son-in-law, specially kept at Teheran for the purpose
of having access to the royal ear, had administered on the Muschir’s
behalf bribes to the king, to such an amount as to induce the Shah to
deprive his uncle of his governorship, and to appoint a man of straw,
thus giving the real power into the hands of the Muschir. And now came
the day of reckoning. The Muschir became, as it were, a prisoner in his
own house. The Kawam, his wealthy and ancient rival, was at once taken
into the Governor’s favour, and titles of honour and local governorships
conferred on his son, a youth long supposed to be an idiot, but who now
showed a capacity for Persian political life which astonished even his
own people. The hungry sons of the Motummad, despatched into the richest
governorships of the province, proceeded to fleece the dependants of the
Muschir. And to be a dependant, friend, or adherent of the old man became
a crime.
Mirza Mahomoud, the secretary of the Muschir, was arrested, his house and
property arbitrarily confiscated, and his accumulations wrung from him
as the price of his life. And at last the Governor seized the Muschir
himself, and actually administered a severe bastinado to his enemy,
_now an old man of seventy-five_: the Muschir’s life was also attempted
by poison. All that could be confiscated was taken, the ready cash and
jewels to an enormous amount became the property of the Motummad-ul-Molk
(the king’s uncle) and his sons, while claims were made against the
Muschir for great amounts.
But though Khosro Mirza hungered for the old man’s life, he had yet
influence sufficient at the capital to preserve it, and an order came
that the Muschir should retire to Kerbela (in Turkey), the shrine of
the prophets Houssein and Hassan, there to end his life in prayer and
repentance. But the Muschir may yet prove a thorn in the side of his
enemies; he is now back in Shiraz and apparently inactive.
The Kawam (grandson of the celebrated Hadji Kawam of Shiraz, executed by
boiling to death), after being for some years in the shade, through the
successful intrigues of the Muschir, is now in the full blaze of power.
His son has his foot in the stirrup of success, and he is the only local
man in real power in the province of Fars. Rather boorish in manner, the
Kawam is kind and honest, liberal and true to his adherents in adversity;
it remains to be seen whether he will show the politic moderation of
the Muschir, who never made an enemy unless he was able to remove him.
The system of the Kawam has been to strengthen his local influence by
marriages of the various members of his family, and his open and honest,
if at times obstinate, policy has made him many personal friends, more
valuable than those of the Muschir, whose adherents were either mercenary
or those who for their safety assumed the name.
The policy of the Governors of Fars has invariably been to play off
the Kawam against the Muschir, so taking bribes from both, but never
destroying either. However, one thing is quite certain, the Kawam is an
old and honoured citizen of Shiraz without a personal enemy save the
Muschir, while the latter does not possess a real friend, and being
heirless may fall a victim to some unscrupulous Governor, who may take
his life on some pretext, secretly or openly, for the sake of the
pickings from his still gigantic estates.
Another grandee of Shiraz was Mirza Naim, the paymaster of the forces of
Fars, a military officer of high rank and great age. (He was the general
who in the time of the Baabi revolt besieged the walled city of Zinjan,
the capital of a province of Persia held by those fanatics; the place was
obstinately defended, the women even appearing on the walls, and fighting
and dying for the sake of their ridiculous creed. On the taking of the
city by assault, a kuttl-i-aum, or general massacre, was ordered, and
the atrocities committed were too horrible to mention.) The Governor of
Fars (at that time, 1870-5), the Zil-es-Sultan, wishing to wring a large
fine, and a considerable sum of money supposed to have been appropriated
by the paymaster-general, after numerous indignities placed Mirza Naim
in a snow-chair—the man was seventy-five years of age—compelled him to
drink water-melon juice, to produce the well-known diuretic effect, and
while the sufferer was frozen to the snow-seat, caused a dog to be placed
on his lap, thus insulting his aged co-religionist. Although the man had
borne these horrible tortures for some hours, he now consented to pay
the sum demanded. Of course the result to his aged frame was not long in
doubt; he soon succumbed to the effects of the injuries he received.
I am particular in describing his treatment from the Zil-es-Sultan, as
it shows the improbability of the story told by a radical politician
who recently travelled through Persia, and among other marvellous
tales inserted the groundless calumny, seen at page 15, volume ii.,
of Mr. Arthur Arnold’s ‘Through Persia by Caravan,’ in which he says,
“A European doctor, to his shame be it said, talking one day with the
Zil-i-Sultan [_sic_] upon the interesting topic of torture, suggested
an ancient method which, we were told, at once struck the prince as
applicable to the snowy regions of Ispahan. To draw the teeth of Jews
who refused gifts to the Government was the practice in days when the
civilisation of England was no more advanced than that of Persia; but
I never heard before of stuffing a man’s trousers with snow and ice as
an efficient way of combating his refusal to pay a large demand in the
season when the thermometer stands—as it does in Central Persia—for
months below zero.” Now, as possibly I may be alluded to under the vague
title of “A European doctor,” not many of whom exist in Persia to speak
to the Zil-es-Sultan, and the story is glibly told by this author, yet
I fancy that it will not be credited, even on the statement _of the
retailer of scandals, said to be heard, through interpreters, from
Orientals_; when it is considered that it was hardly needful to _apprise_
the Zil-es-Sultan of a means of cruelty, since he was so ingenious as to
use the very same old method on a general of over seventy-five, _some
years before—I being in Shiraz at the time, as the prince well knew—and
the supposed refinement of cruelty no new thing to the prince_.[26] When
an author swallows and repeats such yarns, as that one of our sergeants
shot an unoffending Armenian, etc.—the unoffending Armenian and the
shooting being alike myths (see vol. ii. p. 167, etc.)—one can only
suppose that the capacity for swallowing such tough stories is equalled
by the pleasure found in retailing them. Whoever the cap fits—and I do
not believe it fits any one—it does not fit me, and I will not wear it.
One can only pity a man who travels through a country, _mostly by night
in a closed litter_, with his eyes very tightly shut and his ears very
widely open, all whose facts are hearsay, and most of whose deductions
are mistaken.
One of the means of making presents used by the great in Persia is the
giving of Cashmere shawls; the gift of a shawl is supposed to be an
honour as well as a money payment to the recipient. Among other presents
made to me by the Persians in my professional capacity was a pair of
handsome shawls; as it is not expected that these should be retained, and
as they were useless to me as dress-stuffs, for which they are used by
the upper classes in Persia of both sexes, I disposed of one for eighteen
pounds in the bazaar to a merchant, and retained the other as a present
to my mother. On taking it to England I was astonished to find that it
was unappreciated, and still more surprised to learn that, as it was made
in several strips, as are all the real Cashmere shawls that go to Persia,
and fringeless, it was nearly absolutely valueless; in fact, one of the
large West End drapers offered as a favour to give me thirty shillings
for it. I took it back to Persia, as my mother said it was useless to
her, and sold it for twenty pounds, my servant probably making a five
pound commission on the transaction.
Under the hills, some mile and a half from Shiraz, is the garden of the
Dilgooshah, or “Heartsease,” the property of the Kawam; in the middle is
a large and solid brick building, having a small tank in the centre, the
water flowing into which is warm, about 70° Fahrenheit. Above the tank is
a dome, once decorated with a large picture of a battle; this was painted
on plaster, but all, save a few pieces, has crumbled away. The garden is
planted with orange-trees, and is very large.
Above the garden is the “Sau-sau-rac,” or sliding-place; here for
centuries the young of both sexes were accustomed to resort; the rocks
slope sharply down, and generations of sliders have polished the stones
till they have become like glass. After a breakfast at Dilgooshah,
whenever there are children or young people, the whole party adjourn to
the “Sau-sau-rac,” and the juveniles, and not unfrequently the elders,
run up the edge and, squatting at the top, slide rapidly down in strings,
the whole tumbling over pell-mell at the bottom; the more adventurous
slide down on their stomachs head downwards, but they generally squat
and go down in strings for mutual safety; all, however, thus conduce to
the polishing of the “Sau-sau-rac.”
A difficult climb of three-quarters of an hour brought one to the
Chah Ali Bunder, a well cut in the surface of the living rock; a huge
square aperture yawns in the surface. The well was probably originally
constructed to supply a mountain fastness with water (which was, I think,
never reached); the shaft is of great depth, and is popularly supposed to
be without bottom. I have attempted to measure it by dropping a stone,
but the echoes thus produced render it impossible. One hears no sound of
water on throwing objects into it, and I have lowered six hundred yards
of string, and the cord has remained still taut.[27]
There are no ruins round it, and this points to an unsuccessful boring
for water. Such a position in the times previous to artillery—and it is
only of very modern introduction in Persia—would have been, _if_ supplied
with water, almost, if not quite, impregnable, for the road up is very
steep, and could easily be rendered quite impassable.
The use to which the Chah Ali Bunder is now put reminds one of the
‘Arabian Nights’; it is the place of execution of faithless women. I am
not sure whether it has been used within the last ten years for that
purpose, I believe it has. But some seventeen years ago a friend of mine
was present at such an execution. The woman was paraded through the
town bareheaded, with her hair cut off, on an ass, her face being to
the tail. She was preceded by the lutis or buffoons of the town singing
and dancing, while the Jewish musicians were forced to play upon their
instruments and join in the procession. All the rabble of the town
of course thronged around the wretched woman. The ass was led by the
executioner, and it was not till nearly dusk that the place of punishment
was reached. The victim had been mercifully drugged with opium, and was
probably unaware of her fate; she was ordered to recite the Mussulman
profession of faith; this she was of course unable to do. Her hands were
bound behind her, a priest recited the profession of faith in her name,
and the executioner, saying “Be-ro!” (“Get thee gone!”) by a touch of
his foot launched her into eternity. Such executions are getting less
common in Persia than formerly.
In Shiraz, where intrigues among married women are very rife, the
husband’s relatives—and often the woman’s make common cause with
them—generally take the matter into their own hands, and either fling the
woman from a roof or into a well, or administer a dose of poison; the
adulterer generally taking refuge in flight, or getting off with a severe
bastinado if the affair is brought home to him; generally, however,
such things are hushed up. In any case no notice is taken of them by
officials, and no punishment is visited upon the actors in these private
tragedies.
I had a man-nurse for my children, one Abdul Hamid, by trade a gold
lacemaker, a native of Shiraz; he was the quietest and most humble of
little men—nearly a dwarf. I was told by him a curious incident in his
history. Marrying his cousin, a young and handsome Shirazi, she was not
long faithful to him; and his mother, who is usually the master-spirit
and guardian of her son’s honour in a Persian household, finding that the
lady’s amours were becoming notorious, at length informed her son; there
was unfortunately no room for doubt; the husband ran with his woes to his
mother and brothers-in-law, respectable artisans; one of these the same
evening brought some corrosive sublimate, and the girl’s own mother, her
mother-in-law, her brothers, and her husband compelled her to swallow a
fatal dose of the drug.
Although in a few days the affair was common bazaar talk, no notice was
taken of the matter, the thing being looked on as a natural ending to
the woman’s intrigue. I asked my man one day if the story were true; he
replied, “Oh yes, sahib, it was her fate,” and proceeded to inform me
that he was on the best of terms with the family of his late wife.
In the garden of Jahn-i-ma (my soul) is the grave of Rich the traveller;
he died in Shiraz when on his road home. Close to this garden, in a small
cemetery having a mud mosque, is the monolith covering the grave of the
poet Hafiz; it is a huge block of Yezd marble beautifully carved with
verses from the writings of the poet. The Yezd marble is very similar
in appearance to alabaster. It is a favourite place of resort of the
literary, who may be frequently seen reading the works of the poet, and
smoking or meditating over his tomb. Around him are buried many who look
on his works as religious and inspired writings; some, and the major
portion of educated Persians, simply consider Hafiz as an Anacreontic
dreamer, and his works the ways of wickedness made bright.
A mile off is the tomb of Saadi, another poet, the author of the moral
tales upon whose teaching the mental course of most Persians is guided.
The first story forms the keynote to this system, and explains the
otherwise mysterious course pursued by most Orientals, who usually
prefer the crooked to the straight. The tale is well known, and I may
be permitted to quote it from memory. All these “moral tales” are very
concise. It is as follows:—
“Once a great king, having overcome his enemies in battle, caused the
principal captives to be brought bound into his presence. On their
arrival they commenced to revile him. The monarch, being ignorant of
their language, turned to his minister and requested him to explain
their speech. The minister, instead of faithfully repeating their
sentiments, said, that overcome with the magnificence of the king, they
were expressing their astonishment at his greatness, and imploring his
clemency. The king, pleased, ordered their release. The moral is, ‘_It
is better to tell a lie that produces good, than to tell the truth which
produces evil._’”
Thus the tenets of the Persian sage and those of the Jesuits are similar.
To do evil is lawful, if a greater good be the result. I fear the evil is
often done without the expected good resulting.
A visit to the tomb of Saadi, or that of Hafiz, is common among the
Shirazis for the taking of omens or “fal,” as they are termed. For a few
coppers the dervish who usually acts as guardian to the tomb produces his
well-thumbed manuscript copy of the poet, and, after an invocation to the
Deity, he thrusts his knife into the closed volume between the leaves.
Taking the passage at the top of the right-hand page, he recites it to
the anxious inquirers, and, if they be ignorant people, he generally
manages to recite a passage favourable to their wishes. Nothing serious
is done in Persia without the taking an omen, “fal,” the casting of
lots, “istikhara,” or the decree of an astrologer. It was a common thing
for a patient to tell me that the reason he consulted me was, that he
had put all the names of the doctors of the town in a bag, and mine had
been drawn. I also was commonly told that a man had refused his physic
because the omen was against it. They will close a bargain or not by
an omen, start on a journey or refrain from the same reason; and their
action in such little doubtful points as the staking in games is ruled in
the same manner. A common way to take an omen (in this case “istikhara,”
for “fal” is generally confined to the omen by the book, be it Hafiz,
Saadi, or the Koran) is to grasp the rosary haphazard (every Persian man
or woman carries a rosary) and count from the bead grasped till the end
is reached—good—doubtful—no; the last bead reached being the decisive one.
On a taking the “fal” at the tomb of Hafiz by Captain T⸺, R.E., who was a
gold medalist in Persian, a curious incident occurred. The old dervish,
taking the book of poems between his palms, muttered the usual invocation
to God, and opening the book proceeded to recite some stanzas highly
favourable to Captain T⸺’s proceeding on his journey. But T⸺, taking
the book from his hand, and looking only at the first line, closed the
volume and recited from memory that line and some fifty that followed
it. The dervish certainly was nonplussed. Here was a Feringhi, who could
not make himself understood by even the servants (so different is the
Persian of books and that learnt in India from the colloquial), reciting
correctly, and with appropriate gesture, the poetry that he, the dervish,
prided himself on being familiar with. His eyes rolled, he looked with
astonishment on the gifted European, put his spectacles in his pocket,
bowed, and disappeared, not even waiting for the present that he knew he
could be sure of. We were naturally much surprised, but we were cognisant
of Captain T⸺’s being well versed in the Persian classics; for did he not
address my servant as “cupbearer,” “sorki”? and did he not request, to
the man’s astonishment, when requiring beer, that he should bring “the
soul-inspiring bowl”?—which phrases, being poetical, were quite as Dutch
to the servant as if a London waiter were ordered to “fill high the bowl
with Samian wine.”
Saadi, though more influencing the actions of the people, is less read
by the upper classes than Hafiz, to whom are paid almost divine honours;
and the humble tomb of the one, in its little unkept garden, is little
visited, while the handsome stone over the grave of the other has
generally a few reverent idlers round it.
CHAPTER XXVI.
SHIRAZ—PERSIAN CUSTOMS.
The Tazzia—Persian pulpit—Prince’s flirtations—Month of
mourning—Details of performance—Breast-beaters—Hymn in
honour of the king—The performers—Processions—Detail
of the tragedy—Interludes—Rosehkhaneh—The Ramazan—The
Fast—Hospitalities—Zalābi—Religious affectation—Reading
poetry—A paraphrase—A quotation—Books and their
covers—Calamdans—Writing a letter—Sealing—Specimen of an
ordinary letter—Apparent piety—The evil eye—Talismans—I procure
one.
While in Shiraz I made my first acquaintance with the Tazzias, or
religious representations, given by the grandees of the town, of the
various histories from the Koran leading up to the climax, the tragedy of
the saints Houssein and Hassan[28] and their wives and children.
Almost all of the wealthy did some public act or other in the Mohurrim,
the month of mourning for the martyred saints. The tazzia, or dramatic
representation, was given by the Zil-es-Sultan, the Governor, in the
garden of his palace, on a very large scale indeed, and in a smaller way
by the Muschir and the Kawam and others.
To the prince’s tazzia I went by his invitation each day, and the young
prince took great interest in the getting-up of the various scenes in the
story.
A platform, some thirty yards square, was formed by placing together a
number of takhts, or wooden platforms. These were planked over, and a
level stage made by placing on them big doors and planks. The whole was
carpeted with thick felts, and at one corner was placed a pulpit, draped
in black. This pulpit, like all Oriental ones, is merely a flight of
wooden steps, some eight feet high, leading to a platform some two feet
square, on which squats the preacher or reader, as the case may be. The
stage is placed some twenty feet from the principal front of the prince’s
palace, the rooms of which thus form private boxes.
To the left spaces are roped off to accommodate the women, who pour in in
hundreds; they are all closely veiled. In the lower room, also veiled,
and facing the crowds of women, sit the prince’s ladies. Above their
apartment, at a large open window, is the prince himself, and during
the waits, and sometimes even during the most pathetic parts, the young
fellow amuses himself in ogling the ladies, the better-looking of whom
seize these opportunities of raising their veils and casting coquettish
glances in his direction. I have even known him, when very young, to
have a basin of frogs handy, and he would toss the animals out among the
thickest throng of the tightly-packed women, and shriek with laughter at
the cries and confusion produced.
To the right of the platform were dense crowds of men, the common people
of Shiraz, while several large rooms opening towards the stage were
devoted to the invited of the better class, officials and courtiers.
The whole crowd were protected from the sun, rain, and wind by a huge
tent provided for the purpose, and the raising of which had taken a
hard week’s work, all the soldiers of the two regiments in the town
being employed to aid an army of professional tent-pitchers. This tent
was without walls, thus permitting the free ingress and egress of the
performers of the tragedy and interludes, and the many processions of
horses, soldiers, camels, etc. It was sustained by four huge masts.
During this month the whole of the community go into the deepest
mourning. Black is the only wear, and the poor seize the opportunity
to have their old clothes dyed, and so get an extra bit of wear out of
them, the more ceremonious going into mourning some days before the
commencement of Mohurrim, and remaining in black the whole even of the
following month.
Behind the stage is raised a huge scaffolding, covered with red cloth,
and hung with Cashmere shawls.
On this are arranged all the glass and crockery that the prince
possesses, and all he can borrow by hook or by crook, all his mirrors,
lamps, and chandeliers, and the whole are set off by rows of brass
candle-lamps hired from the bazaar, the general effect being that of a
very miscellaneous broker’s shop. Considerable care is, however, devoted
to this display, and its grandeur, or the reverse, is one of the subjects
of town talk for a week.
The women having been crowding in from an early hour, the wives of the
grandees and officials are accommodated with seats with the princess and
her ladies, while the less favoured have places retained for them in good
situations by their servants, and according to rank. As noon approaches
every seat is taken, and the stage surrounded on all sides by a sea of
faces, a path being, however, left all round it for the processions to
advance and make the circuit of the stage. All being now ready the band
plays a march, a gun is discharged, and the Prince-Governor takes his
place at his window.
A priest now ascends the pulpit, on the steps of which others are seated,
while a crowd of lesser moollahs squat at the base. In a clear voice,
every word of which is plainly heard in this assembly of many thousands,
the priest recites the facts of the death of Houssein and Hassan. At the
mention of these names the audience become overwhelmed with grief, and,
baring their breasts, smite them, crying, “Ai Houssein, Wai Houssein, Ai
Houssein jahn!” (“Oh, Houssein, Woe for Houssein, Oh, dear Houssein!”)
or at times join in the choruses led by organised mourners, who, with
clenched fist or open hand, strike their breasts simultaneously at each
mention of the names Houssein Hassan, Houssein Hassan, till they are out
of breath, and their crimson and bruised chests force them to desist,
with one final shout or shriek of “Houssein.” Half-a-dozen volunteers
(these generally dervishes), as the sainted names are pronounced by the
hundreds of voices, strike themselves over each shoulder with heavy
chains. All the beholders are gradually worked up into a state of
excitement and enthusiasm, and the descriptions of the saints and their
children’s sufferings make even the heart of the European listener sad.
And now a curious chant in honour of the king is sung by a band of
youths; after this the priests leave the stage, and the professional
exponents of the drama make their appearance dressed to sustain the
characters of the day. Small boys, chosen for their clear and sympathetic
voices, from among the singers of the town, sustain the little parts of
the granddaughters and grandsons of the prophet.
The wives are veiled, and these characters are played by bearded men,
as are the angels and prophets, who are also veiled by glittering
handkerchiefs.
Yezeed, the infidel king, and Shemr, the actual slayer of the saint, are
clad in gay attire, booted and helmeted, and, with shirts of chain-mail
on, rant as do the heroes of a Surrey melodrama; but the language is
effective, the action rapid, and the speeches, though often long,
accompanied by vigorous pantomime.
There are no actual acts, no scenery, no curtain, but as each scene
terminates the actors leave the stage; and a long procession of
horses, camels, and litters and biers, on which are carried the kotol
(dummies) of the dead saints, enters with much noise, music, shouting,
and drumming; followed and preceded by the volunteer mourners and
breast-beaters, shouting their cry of Hous-s-e-i-n H-a-s-san, Houss-e-i-n
H-a-s-san, and a simultaneous blow is struck vigorously by hundreds of
heavy hands on the bared breasts at the last syllable of each name.
Continual flourishes are played by the band, and the noise is deafening,
the excitement contagious.
The actors are mostly well up in their _rôles_; many of those sustaining
the principal characters have come from Ispahan, where the tradition of
the tazzia is handed down from father to son; and year by year they have
played the mournful tragedy, making it a business as well as a religious
act. They are fed, dressed, and paid by the Governor. The numerous
bands of well-drilled supernumeraries who combat on the stage are eager
volunteers. Each speaking actor carries his part written out on a small
scroll on the palm of his hand, and calmly reads it when memory fails
him. Each act lasts from two to four hours. The drama itself goes on for
from a week to twelve days, and various interludes and acts of it are
performed; the most popular being the wedding of Kasim, from the great
amount of spectacle, the death of Houssein, the death of Ali Akbar, and
the Dar.
[Illustration: A ROSEH KHANA, OR PRAYER-MEETING.
(_From a Native Drawing._)]
This latter is more than usually comic, and relates to the supposed
conversion and immediate martyrdom of a Christian ambassador; the
former of which is effected by the sight of the head of Houssein. The
deaths of the various saints (imams) are portrayed with a ridiculous
minuteness, but so excited are the audience that they do not appear to
cause amusement. Thus, on the death of Ali Akbar, he enters wounded and
thirsty, and beats off some thirty assailants, then after a long speech
exits; then enter more assailants; re-enter Ali Akbar, covered with
arrows sewn on his clothing to the number of sixty or so. He puts his
assailants to flight, killing several, is wounded, exit. Re-enter Ali
Akbar, long speech; he has now only one arm, puts assailants to flight,
speech, exit; re-enter _armless_, his sword _in his mouth_.
Enter a murderer. They fight. The murderer is slain.
Enter thirty assailants. At last Ali Akbar, after rolling up and down the
stage, is killed, to the immense relief of everybody.
His head is stuck on a long spear, the band strikes up, the mourners
shout _Houssein! Hassan!_ for ten minutes, and the drama for the day
ceases.
There are other irregular interludes, Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, etc.
Some of the scenes are very comic; as that between Yezeed the tyrant and
his physician.
On the day when the martyrdom of Houssein himself is portrayed, the place
is thronged. The cruel Shemr, generally very vigorously represented, is
at times roughly handled by the mob. The crowd are often regaled with
sherbets by the personage at whose cost the tazzia is given, also pipes,
and even coffee; and the amount expended in pipes, coffee, tea, etc., to
the numerous guests is very considerable indeed.
Almost every house has its rosehkhaneh, or reading of prayers and
Scripture. These are generally given either to men or women; and in the
latter case, female readers and singers are employed. When given to men,
the moollahs officiate; and the reading takes place from a pulpit hung
with black, the roofs being crowded with rows of veiled women.
The tazzias are not approved of by the higher classes of the priesthood,
but custom has made the people cling to them, and each small village has
its local tazzia. Wherever a tazzia or rosehkhaneh is held, small black
flags are exhibited at the door, and any one walks in. By the performance
of the tazzia the commemoration of the death of Houssein and Hassan is
annually brought home to the Shiah Mahommedan, and the more fanatical
yearly hold a sort of Guy Fawkes day, when a _comic_ tazzia, in ridicule
of Omar, is held, and the (from their point of view) usurper is finally
conducted to the infernal regions by the devil in person.
During the greater part of Mohurrim bands of boys visit the houses of
their quarter singing a long chant commemorative of the death of the
martyrs, and collecting a few pence at its conclusion.
The month of Ramazan is the fasting month of the Persians, and the great
majority of the people rigorously observe it, tasting no food _nor
water_, nor even smoking, from sunrise to sunset. Of course when the
month falls in the summer the penance is much more serious.
The more ascetic go “peishwaz,” that is, observe the fast a few days
before it is really in force.
Only the sick, very aged, young children, and travellers are exempt, and
no one dares to openly break it, though, of course, many of the more
advanced or irreligious do so in secret.
In the night, an hour before dawn, the cry is, “Oh, water, water and
opium!” This is the warning given to the people to take their last snack,
the farewell cup of tea and pipe; and a copious draught of water and an
opium pill are generally swallowed just at the gun-fire which announces
daybreak.
Now the fast commences, and all compose themselves to sleep. At nine or
ten the usually early rising Persian gets up and prepares to maunder
through the day. He does no business save that which it is absolutely
impossible to avoid. Half the shops in the bazaar are shut, or only
opened for a few hours; the Government offices are closed the greater
part of the day; everything is put off “_until after Ramazan_.”
Towards the latter part of the afternoon the streets become thronged;
as sunset approaches every one gets more lively, and at the fire of the
sunset gun the longed-for pipe is seized, a cup of tea taken, and in
half-an-hour every one sits down to a heavy meal.
Many parties are given in this month, the guests generally spending the
night at the host’s house.
A peculiar form of eatable, called zalābi, is prepared during Ramazan.
A thin paste of starch and sugar, mixed with sesamun oil, is poured in
streams upon heated copper trays, and a kind of fritter produced, which
is delicate-looking and rather appetising. When eaten it is served cold.
A particular Mahommedan will not swallow his own saliva during this
month; and riders may be seen during Ramazan with their mouths and
nostrils carefully covered by the end of their turban, or by a
handkerchief, thus in their idea preventing the breaking of the fast by
the swallowing of dust, or animalculæ invisible to the eye. Generally,
however, this is merely affectation of religious scruple.
The most severe trial, however, setting apart the _thirst_ produced
in hot weather, is the abstention from smoking; and a merchant or
shopkeeper, who has the tube of a water-pipe between his lips eight hours
out of the twenty-four, really suffers considerable inconvenience from a
fourteen hours’ abstention.
The long nights of Ramazan are enlivened by numerous festivities;
dinner-giving takes place throughout the month, and the number of pipes
smoked till two A.M. is considerable. The story-tellers are now in great
request, and drive a roaring trade going from house to house. Poetry,
too, is much recited and read aloud, the favourites being Saadi, Hafiz,
and Firdūsi. Story-books, cheaply printed and roughly illustrated, are
much read. They mostly contain short tales.
Here is one paraphrased, with a facsimile of the rude woodcut
illustrating the tale. I must premise that Mortaza Ali, the fourth
successor and son-in-law of Mahomet, was assassinated by a fanatic; the
caliphate having been previously usurped by Omar and Abubekr, an old man
the father-in-law of Mahomet, who succeeded the prophet on his death. (So
say the Shiah sect.)
Abdul, a lazy peasant, lay
A-snoring half the livelong day;
His thrifty wife to scold began—
“Arise, and work, O lazy man.”
Yawning, he rose, and, stretching, spake,
While half asleep and half awake,
“Ah, little wife, why should I rise?”
“To earn our bread,” the girl replies.
“Know, woman, if we work or not,
In winter cold and summer hot,
Great Allah feeds his slaves, and he
Will surely feed both you and me.”
The youthful peasant kissed his wife,
Then sallied forth in dread of strife.
With merry song and joyous lay,
Abdul beguiled the dusty way.
At length he reached a spreading plane,
“Beneath thy shade I will remain;
A brooklet and a shady tree,
There is no better place for me.”
He laid him down prepared to doze;
But suddenly he quickly rose,
And clambering the plane in fear,
Espied a dervish drawing near.
The dervish had the dullard air,
The maddened look, the vacant stare,
That bhang[29] and contemplation give.
He moved, but did not seem to live;
His gaze was savage and yet sad,
What we should call stark-staring mad.
All down his back his tangled hair
Flowed wild, unkempt; his head was bare;
A leopard’s skin was o’er him flung,
Around his neck huge beads were hung,
And in his hand—ah! there’s the rub—
He carried a portentous club,
Which Abdul’s eye had caught, you see,
And this is why he climbed the tree.
The dervish stopped and gazed around,
Then flung himself upon the ground.
“I ne’er have seen in God’s creation
A fitter spot for meditation.”
Smiled at the turf which ’neath him lay,
And said, “Yes, here I’ll spend the day.”
This Abdul heard, and shook with fear,
While from his eye there fell a tear.
“Oh, heaven!” exclaimed the trembling wight,
“He may, perhaps, too, stop the night.”
...
The dervish, squatting in the shade,
Five puppets small of clay has made;
And to the first he spake: “To thee
I give the name of Omar. See,
The second’s Ali Mortaza,
The mighty prophet’s son-in-law.
You, Abubekr, are the third”—
Abdul craned out his neck and heard;
“The fourth the prophet’s self shall be”—
Abdul here groaned, and shook the tree.
The dervish paused, then gave a nod,
“The fifth one—yes—the fifth one’s God.”
Poor Abdul heard the blasphemy,
And shook with fear and agony.
“Ah,” quoth the dervish, “Omar; well,
You doubtless grill in deepest hell;
You robbed our Ali—I have smashed you;
Had Ali pluck he might have thrashed you.
Ali; could you do naught yourself to save
From murder and an early grave?
Ah! Islam’s head too weak to rule,
I fear you were a torpid fool—
Half-hearted idiot—bah—pooh”—
He raised his club—“I smash you too.
And you, old Abubekr—triple ass,
Could you not aid him? I’ll not pass
You over,—there, take that!”
And Abubekr got a spiteful pat.
“While as for you,” the dervish cried—
Here Abdul’s ears were opened wide—
“Oh, prophet, you at least did _know_,
Why didn’t you avert the blow?
In highest heaven you sat and saw;
But didn’t help your son-in-law.”
Down came the club with heavy thud,
The prophet was but flattened mud.
The dervish turned him, bowing low,
“Allah,” he cried, “from you I’ll know
Why _you_ did nothing; like the rest,
You were a lazy God at best.
When all mankind are in Thy hand
Why not despatch an angel band?
Or bid the earth to open wide
And swallow Omar in his pride?
What, silent too! ah, senseless clod!”—
The dervish raised his club to God.
Here Abdul screamed, and shouted, “Hold!
Ah, had you smashed _Him_—over-bold
And brainless dervish—as before,
Chaos would come again once more.”
The dervish heard—“Azraël!”[30] he cried,
Stared, and sunk back, and, shuddering, died,
And gave up his reluctant breath,
Thinking he heard the voice of Death.
Then cautious Abdul reached the ground,
Looked on the dervish, gazed around,
And softly to himself did cry,
“’Tis certain there is no one by.”
He searched the corpse, a purse appears,
And Abdul dries his frightened tears,
Hies to his smiling wife, says, “See!
From Allah, love, for you and me.”
“Husband,” quoth she, “God helps us all,
Both prince and beggar, great and small.”
Abdul replied, “But, girl, you see,
_God would have perished but for me!_”
[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF RUDE PERSIAN WOODCUT.]
The reading of poetry is much in vogue among the upper classes to
_promote sleep_! and even the most ignorant can rattle off long
recitations. So common is the habit of introducing poetry, that Europeans
are looked on as very ignorant, because their conversation is prosaic;
and one of the staff obtained quite a reputation as a well-read man in
a curious manner. He was acquainted with one (_and only one_) verse of
Persian poetry, a very well-known one. It was this:—
“For the mole on the cheek of that girl of Shiraz
I would give away Samarkand and Bokhara.”
Now the gentleman, on the mention of the word mole, cheek, girl, Shiraz,
Samarkand, or Bokhara, would instantly introduce the quotation; and
as Shiraz was the town we lived in, and Central Asian affairs are
continually on the tapis, Samarkand and Bokhara, unlikely words as they
were for general conversation, were invariably introduced, and the
inevitable quotation made. Unfortunately another member of the staff,
jealous of his rival’s reputation, betrayed him, and Othello’s occupation
went.
Books are treated with consideration in Persia. They are generally
bound in boards, and these are elaborately hand-painted, generally with
representations of birds and flowers. From two kerans to two hundred may
be paid for a pair of these boards. Sometimes a book is bound in leather.
This is, however, less common, save for account-books. A sort of outer
envelope of cloth or chintz is made, and the book enclosed in it, thus
preserving the binding and work at the same time.
Great expense, too, is lavished on the pencase (kalam-dān); it is nearly
always of papier-maché, about seven inches long, one wide, and one and a
half deep; it draws open and contains the pens, which are reeds, an ivory
or bone block for nibbing them on, a tiny spoon for moistening the ink,
and a penknife, also the peculiar scissors for trimming paper. At one
extremity is a small box of silver or brass containing a skein of silk,
which absorbs a quantity of Chinese ink, and is wetted with the tiny
spoon as it dries up. A roll of paper is also carried at the girdle, and
a few adhesive strips of thin coloured paper are provided for the closing
of letters.
When it is wished to write a letter, the Persian sits if he can, but
this is not a _sine quâ non_; he tears from his roll of polished paper
(made in the country) a piece of the needful size, and commencing in
the right-hand top corner, he proceeds to fill his sheet, writing from
right to left, and leaving at the left-hand side of his sheet a large
margin of at least an inch; should he reach the bottom of the page, and
have still more to say, he turns the paper round and proceeds to fill
the margin. He then concludes, reads the letter, and with his scissors
carefully trims off the torn edges, and cuts off all needless paper.
If it be an important letter he now seals it at the right-hand bottom
corner, or at the end; the sealing is often repeated on the back, and is
equivalent to our signature. He damps the paper with his tongue, inks his
seal, breathes on it, and presses it sharply on the paper. A permanent
and very distinct impression is the result. He now cuts a tiny piece off
one corner, for to send a _four_-cornered letter brings ill-luck, the
Persians say. The letter is either rolled up and squeezed flat, or folded
as we should fold a spill; it is thus about three to four inches long,
and half an inch to an inch wide. A strip of adhesive paper is rolled
round it, and the end of this is sealed in the same manner as before. The
letter is now addressed.
Titles are continually used in writing letters, and the language is
usually high-flown and even bombastic. Thus an ordinary invitation to
dinner would be couched from one merchant to another:—
“To the high, the great, the influential, the descendant of the Prophet
Lord Ali Baba; please God you are in health. It is my representation that
to-morrow your slave will be delighted to be honoured, in the house of
your slave, with your illustrious and pleasant company to dinner. I trust
your Excellency’s health is good. I have no further representation to
make.”
Or after a long string of compliments and inquiries after the health
of the correspondent, comes the “mutlub,” or _essence_ of the letter,
which is expressed thus:—“and please send by bearer your horse. I have no
further petition to make.”
A Persian is apparently very pious in his conversation, the name of God
being continually introduced, but these phrases have merely the meaning
of affirmatives or negatives.
Thus:—“Inshallah (please God), you will ride out to-morrow.”
“Alhamdillillah (thank God), I have nothing to do. Inshallah, I will.”
“Bismillah” (in the name of God), handing a pipe.
Friend admiring it: “Mashallah” (God is great). And so on.
Many of these phrases in which the name of God is used are with the
intention of avoiding the evil eye. Nothing must be admired, _in so many
words_, without one of these invocations.
Thus, one must not say, “What a fine boy!” on seeing a Persian son, but
“Mashallah” (praise God). In fact, the word “Mashallah,” engraved on
gold or silver and ornamented with pearls, is commonly worn sewn to the
caps of young children, and the word is often written and worn as an
amulet to protect a fine horse. For the same reason a blue bead is often
put in the tail of a horse, or sewn on the caps of the children of the
poor. Cats’ eyes are frequently worn for this protection from the evil
eye, and a hand[31] with one finger extended I have seen used. This hand
was, of course, quite different from the metal open hand which surmounts
religious buildings and banners, all the fingers of which are extended.
Talismans (“Telism”) are constantly worn; they are generally enclosed
in metallic cases and affixed to the arm (“Bazūbund”). They are often
verses from the Koran, at other times merely figures rudely drawn, or a
collection of letters placed in some eccentric figure, as the well-known
Abracadabra; often the repetition of some of the names of God being
simple invocations.
A Persian is very loath to let these talismans be seen. They are
generally obtained from dervishes, priests, or old women.
During the cholera time in Shiraz I was attending the daughter of the
then high priest. I happened to see the old gentleman, who was sitting
surrounded by a crowd of friends, petitioners, and parasites. He was
writing charms against the cholera. I, out of curiosity, asked him for
one; it was simply a strip of paper on which was written a mere scribble,
which meant nothing at all.
I took it and carefully put it away. He told me that when attacked by
cholera I had but to swallow it, and it would prove an effectual remedy.
I thanked him very seriously, and went my way. The next day he called
on me and presented me with two sheep and a huge cake of sugar-candy,
weighing thirty pounds. I did not quite see why he gave me the present,
but he laughingly told me that my _serious_ reception of his talisman had
convinced the many bystanders of its great value, and a charm desired by
an unbelieving European doctor must be potent indeed.
“You see, you might have laughed at my beard; you did not. I am grateful.
But if I could only say you had eaten my charm, ah—then.”
“Well,” I replied, “_say_ so if you like,” and our interview ended.
CHAPTER XXVII.
SHIRAZ.
Bagh-i-Takht—Jews’ burial-ground—Christians’ cemetery—Its
desecration—Sergeant Collins’s murder—Capture and
execution of the robbers—How it was brought home to
them—Memorial to Collins—Health of the staff—Persians as
servants—Persian cuisine—Kabobs, varieties of—English
dinners—Confectionery—Fruits—Vegetables—Pickles,
etc.—Cook-shops—Trotters—Mode of selling meat—Game—Eggs—Wild
vegetables—Potatoes—Disinclination to use new seeds, and
its cause—Narcissus—General use of flower decoration—Tame
birds—Wild birds—White ants—Damaging the line—Hamilton poles.
Behind the town of Shiraz, under the hills, lies the Bagh-i-Takht, or
“throne garden.” In addition to its large size, it is remarkable for a
peculiar building on terraces, once very magnificent. These terraces are
faced by a wall of glazed tiles, white, blue, black, and yellow. Placed
behind a tank so large as to be almost a lake, this curious construction
is reflected in the water, and presents a sufficiently strange
appearance. On some of the terraces are rows of orange-trees, and on
others a succession of fountains; these, alas! play no more. The terraces
are very narrow, and do not at first strike the eye as such, and appear
a many-coloured wall with rows of trees, apparently growing out of it,
and the whole crowned by a lofty building, having more large trees within
its walls, and then the sky; the reflection of this and its consequent
doubling forms a very striking, if rococo, picture. At either side is
a lofty summer-house of several stories, and at the further corners of
the tank are low towers, which serve as points of vantage from which the
curious view can be admired.
The whole is more like a representation made upon screens of canvas than
a solid structure, and it looks like the pictures exhibited at the Surrey
Gardens in old days, from which the beholders were delighted with the
fireworks and siege of Badajos, or the storming of Chusan. The place is
indeed often used for the display of fireworks, and a really grand effect
is obtained, of course doubled by the reflection in the water.
To the right of this garden lies the Jews’ burial-ground, marked merely
by a few small flat stones with Hebrew characters on them. The grass and
weeds grow luxuriantly, and one has almost to search for the place, but
it is a large and ancient graveyard.
Behind the garden, on the surface of the hill, is the place used by the
Christians as a cemetery. Here lie Captain Chambers and Mr. H. V. Walton,
the maid-servant of the latter, and several children of the staff; also
some Armenians. The place, like the Jews’ burial-ground, lay open,
on the face of the hill, unremarked and unvisited; but unfortunately
a subscription was raised, and a huge mud wall with four towers was
erected, also a small doorway and a stone door. Then followed what was
certain to take place—the graves were desecrated by the Persians; every
little tombstone and memorial was broken into pieces; even the bricks
were torn from the bricked graves and flung about, and the Christian
burial-ground became the favourite drinking-place of the loafers of the
town. Away from all habitation as it was, and surrounded by a high wall,
it was a place of security for the holding of the drunken revels of the
worst of the rabble; and this was all caused by the unfortunate wall. In
this ground also lies Sergeant Collins, who was murdered about fourteen
miles from Shiraz, while I was in the place.
Sergeant Collins was one of the inspectors of the line, and of great
personal bravery. He was an old soldier of the best type, rough, but
honest and thorough, and ever doing his duty. He had had a hard life as a
sapper, having been through the China war, and had nearly completed his
service for pension. Sergeant Collins was upon the road, accompanied by
his wife, with two servants, a man and woman, and a muleteer and his boy.
The country was disturbed, and he should doubtless have been accompanied
by a guard, but this precaution was not taken.
The sergeant, who was weak and ill at the time, was lying upon the
bedding thrown on a baggage-mule, being too weak, from a recent attack
of fever and ague, to sit his horse. His muleteer suddenly shouted to
him, “Sahib, they have blocked the road.” Collins sat up on his mule
and saw some men in front of him covering him with their guns. These
commanded him to get down; the only reply that he made was to tell them
to be off, and to fire his revolver twice at them. It appeared that the
second shot slightly wounded one of the men. The thieves now rushed in,
firing as they came; more thieves closed in from behind and also fired.
Collins was hit in two places, and death must have been instantaneous,
as a _post-mortem_ examination I made two days after, when the body was
brought in, showed that one bullet passed into the brain, and another
fired from behind entered the chest. He fell at once, and the ruffians
rushed in and beat the body with their iron-headed bludgeons, breaking
one arm. They then blindfolded his Armenian wife and his two servants,
and carried them some distance off the road, where they detained them
till after midnight. The dead body was also dragged off the road itself.
Some time elapsed ere the murderers could be brought to justice.
Five of these came to a dismal ending. One died in some weeks from a
gunshot wound; it was said that this was from one of the shots fired by
Collins. One committed suicide when the Persian authorities had made the
pursuit very hot. This is a most unusual thing in the East. Three others
were after considerable trouble arrested, and thrown into the jail at
Shiraz.
Mirza Hassan Ali Khan, C.S.I., then British Agent at Shiraz, had to bring
considerable pressure on the Persian authorities to get justice done,
but was at last successful. Of course there was no moral doubt as to the
guilt of the three murderers, but to bring it home to them definitely
was no easy matter. To cause the men to be executed was simple enough;
the Governor of the town would have been quite pleased to oblige in
such a trifling matter; but no example would be made, and the men would
be looked on as martyrs, who had suffered from pressure brought by the
English Minister at Teheran. In a civilised country these men would
doubtless have escaped, but in Persia, justice, though at times very
blind, is never slow, unless her palm is greased. Great dissatisfaction
was felt among us all that these men should be allowed to escape, yet
there seemed no way of bringing the matter home to them. At last artifice
was used by the Governor. I was not present, but substantially what took
place was the following, and my informant was well posted, and said he
saw it all. The three men being brought into the Governor’s presence, he
smilingly asked them how they liked prison. Of course they immediately
began to assert their innocence, and to call heaven to witness it. “Ah,
my friends,” said the Governor, “I, too, am a Mussulman. We are all
Mussulmans here—an unbeliever more or less does not much matter. I shall
not really punish but reward you. That you killed the Feringhi there is
no doubt; I _must_ punish you _nominally_. I shall cut off a joint from
a finger of each of you; but your dresses of honour are ready. Clothed
with these you will be immediately liberated; and now, my children,
tell me all about it; how did you manage it, eh?” The astonished and
delighted prisoners fell into the trap, and vied with each other in
giving the details. “The European fired twice from one pistol—may we be
your sacrifice—and we all fired at once, rushing in on him. He was but
a European. We trust in the clemency of your Highness—may we be your
sacrifice,” etc. The Governor had now succeeded in bringing the murder
home to the three men. From this they did not deny it, but gloried in the
fact, gloating over the details. In a few moments they were taken into
the public square and their throats cut.
A red granite tablet was subscribed for by the engineer officers and
non-commissioned officers in Persia, and placed in the Armenian church
at Shiraz, to commemorate the death of Sergeant Collins while gallantly
defending his life against long odds. Probably had he not been weak and
ill at the time the result might have been widely different, for he was
pluck personified, and a dead shot with gun or pistol, and he had both.
Subsequently we lost another of the sergeants, who was shot in the
Ispahan section, but as he was almost insane at the time, and his
assailant was unaware of his derangement, there is nothing to be said but
that it was a misfortune. It says much for the Persians and also for the
staff, that these were the only two deaths by violence that occurred in a
period of seventeen years. Although nearly all of the staff were much on
horseback during the whole of this time, no accidents occurred worthy to
be called so. And the general health has been remarkably good.
Fever and ague, and at times dysentery, have been common, but otherwise
the health of the staff has been wonderfully good; far better, in fact,
than it would have been in Europe, for the mortality has been very low
indeed. A peculiar immunity from the attacks of intermittent fever, to
which we were nearly all subject, was seen in the cases of European
females, who seldom suffered from it. But the climate was not favourable
to young children, who were much affected by the sun, against which
sufficient precaution was rarely taken.
The ordinary run of Persians make very smart servants, and, unlike
the Indians, they are ready to turn their hands to anything; their
strong points are their power of bearing fatigue, their capabilities
as cooks under adverse circumstances, and their honesty as to the
property of their masters. As in other countries, the fewer they are
the more work they do. The native mode of cookery is extravagant, and
possibly a little greasy, but it is very varied. Rice is the basis of
at least three-fourths of the dishes, and as this seldom exceeds a
penny a pound, a little money goes a long way. Pillaw, or rice boiled
and served with clarified butter and containing lamb, mutton, venison,
fowl, or partridge; seasoned with herbs, spices, orange-peel, raisins,
pomegranate juice, plums, or unripe grapes, form a curious variety; while
chilaw, or rice plain boiled, and served with the various kūrusht, or
_entrées_, consisting of much-flavoured plats as “ghari” (curry), boiled
lamb, or mutton, or fowl, or partridge; with sauces of pomegranates,
unripe grapes, plums, young almonds, apricots, or lemon-juice; and the
concentrated gravy covered with a layer of melted fresh butter, form
another section. All kinds of meats are also served roast.
Then there are the varieties of Dolma; these consist of meat finely
minced with raisins, almonds, spices, and rice, and packed in a case of
boiled cucumber, or marrow, or tomato; and served hot with some rich
sauce or gravy.
Then come stews or ragouts in infinite variety. Then meat balls or cakes
fried or served in pillaws with pungent vegetables, as the nohl-kohl,
forming the Kalam pillaw.
All English vegetables are found except the parsnip.
There are numerous dishes with eggs for a basis; fried sweetmeats
and baked ones whose names are legion; _petits pâtés_, or “boorak,”
containing highly-flavoured mincemeat; and confections, jams, and
sweetmeats without end. Delicious but cloying, these dishes give a
wonderful choice, and they are very ornamental.
The different pillaws are fragrant steaming heaps of rice of varied
colours, from pure white to the bright green of the Schevid, and the
yellow of the orange, and the parti-colour of the Palangi pillaw, whose
red and yellow steaming pile delights the Shirazi.
But the real triumph of the Persian cook is in his kabob. No eater
of juicy steaks, no consumer of mutton-chops done to a turn in famed
coffee-houses off silver gridirons, can in the wildest flight of fancy
approach the idea of the succulence of the kabob. Tenderness and
digestibility here approach their highest pitch, and the acme of _roasts_
is reached.
Small pieces of lamb-meat are cut from the little lamb of six weeks old,
either fresh slaughtered or well hung, both being equally tender; these
are thrust upon a flat sharp skewer previously rubbed with an onion,
with a tiny piece of the delicate tail fat between each; the skewers are
rapidly rotated over a fierce charcoal fire until the kabobs are browned;
then, still smoking, they are placed before the diner and eaten with
bread and salt. This is the real kabob, it is the king of viands, and
above praise. It can be obtained at any time, and only requires a lamb, a
fire, and a skewer.
Numerous modes of painting the lily are in use amongst the Persians. The
meat is sauced with lemon-juice and onions overnight, or dusted with
pounded figs, or dipped in lemon-juice and saffron, or packed in ice to
produce a certain crispness.
The _bazaar-kabob_ is simply a paste of chopped meat, very finely divided
and flavoured with onions; this is pasted over the flat skewers, toasted,
placed on a hot flap of bread, the skewers withdrawn, and the whole eaten
with mint, sorrel, or cresses and salt.
A fair road cook, _when posting_, will give his master a dinner of three
or four courses, and on the march the meals are little inferior in
variety and goodness to those served at the home. Most of the cooks in
good European employ can cook an ordinary English dinner; my own man had
some two hundred receipts from Acton’s book, and used to give us all the
usual English viands as well as Persian dishes.
Persian confectionery has attained a high pitch of excellence, everything
being pretty to the eye; but they have little idea beyond the flavour
of lemon-juice, so that most of their efforts are sickly sweet. Toffee
(“sowan”) is well made and like our own. Their ices and sherbets (syrups
in iced water) are excellent. Jams are numerous and good; conserves of
melon and cucumber, also citron, are made. Dried fruits are abundant;
cherries, apricots, peaches, apples. Pickles are made in all the
varieties, similar to English ones, but in addition grapes, oranges,
apples, lemons, aubergines, chillies (green), and tomatoes are common
pickles.
Dried and salted fish are much used, but fresh-water fish are little
valued, except the salmon and the trout.
Dried prawns and shrimps are carried all over the country from the
Persian Gulf.
Dates are the _staple_ in the south of Persia, and form a large portion
of the food of the poor all over the country. Fresh and preserved dates
are a dessert luxury. Melons, pumpkins, water-melons, are much consumed,
while all the common English fruits, save the gooseberry, currant, and
medlar, are cheap and within the reach of all; as are also grapes, in
endless profusion, peaches, nectarines, and apricots.
The bamiah (lady’s finger) and aubergine are additions to the usual
English list of vegetables, and the nohl-kohl is in common use, while
radishes the size of a fist are a common food of villagers.
Cheese and butter are cheap, being about twopence a pound, while flour
in the great cities seldom exceeds a penny a pound (bread is the same
price), and in villages is much cheaper.
With all these things to be got, Persia is really the poor man’s
paradise; in fact, _to live in, the cheapest country in the world_.
Tea and coffee are much drunk; the prices are those of Europe for tea,
but the best _Mocha_ coffee is only a shilling a pound. The only dear
necessaries are lump-sugar and European candles. Good wine may be got
for from threepence to one shilling a quart, and native arrack is from
one-and-threepence to one-and-ninepence a bottle.
In the bazaar are cook-shops where the labouring people resort; here are
sold bowls of soup, pillaws, kabobs (a separate trade), and a cut off a
sheep roasted whole may be had in Ispahan. The trade of kalleh-puz, or
cooker of sheep’s heads and feet, is a common one; the head and feet of
sheep are slowly simmered for some twelve hours, and the liquor sold as
soup; the feet, tongues, and heads being retailed to peripatetic vendors.
The butchers sell by weight, and have no idea of joints; the buyer is
allowed to hack off a large or small portion, and price is the same,
irrespective of part. The liver, lights, and kidneys, with the heart,
are only eaten by the poor, while the suet is carefully removed for the
candle-maker, and can only be had at a higher price than the meat. The
huge tail of the Persian sheep is looked on as a delicacy, and a portion
is allotted to each buyer.
The sheep are well slaughtered at the public slaughter-houses outside the
town, and nowhere else; a tax of ninepence is levied on each carcase.
When hung outside the shops of the butchers, the carcases are decorated
with strips of Dutch foil and bunches of grass.
The oxen, being used as beasts of draught in the fields, are only
slaughtered when worn out, and beef is consequently only eaten by
the poor, being as a rule half the price of mutton. It is hard and
indigestible, and as the Persians never hang their meat it is deservedly
despised. Lamb is twice the price of mutton. Among the Christians of
Julfa, however, good beef is at times to be obtained, but the animals are
seldom larger than Alderneys, save when buffalo-meat is had, and this is
hard and dark.
Game is frequently sold alive, being netted by the villagers, quails and
partridges being thus disposed of; the usual price is four for ninepence.
Wild ducks and geese are sold for a few pence; also sand-grouse.
Sparrows, too, are particularly valued for soup for invalids, and are
sold alive by the hundred. There are no rabbits; hares being what is
termed machrore, or uneatable, in contradistinction to nejis, or unclean,
are only eaten by the irreligious; the price is usually fourpence to
sixpence.
Of course pork is not seen, pigs not being kept, and the flesh of the
wild pig is black and indigestible. Pork, however, is looked on as an
aphrodisiac, and the Europeans are constantly asked for small pieces of
it.
Tame ducks, save in Teheran, are unknown, and turkeys are also very
scarce.
Eggs, generally forty to sixty for the keran (ninepence), are brought in
by the villagers; the prudent Ispahani always tests his eggs by dipping
in water—a very sure test—those that float being addled. Wild rhubarb
(rivend), celery (jai-sheer), and chardons, also a kind of truffle, are
hawked by boys; the wild onion, too, is looked on as a delicacy.
Mushrooms are found of large size, and are much appreciated. Potatoes are
now coming into common use among the Persians; they cost a farthing to
a halfpenny per pound for very fine samples of the tuber. Some fourteen
years ago they were only cultivated for sale to Europeans, and were very
rare and dear. Strawberries are gradually coming into cultivation near
the capital. There are no raspberries. The Persians are loath to try new
seeds or vegetables. Although I grew green peas in Ispahan, and offered
to give the seeds to market-gardeners there, they would not take them.
For, said they, “If the prince hears that I grow peas, I shall be obliged
to present them to him, and he will never pay me anything, and when the
crop is over, probably beat me because I have no more.” The yield of
vegetables from native seed is generally very large: the Turkish cabbage
grows to a size of twenty-eight pounds per head and quite white, close,
and tender.
The Persians never reduce the amount of fruit or vegetable crop to
produce a _fine_ product; all things being sold by weight and at a
standard price, quantity, not quality, is what is aimed at.
The narcissus and cyclamen grow wild; huge bouquets of the blooms of the
former are brought in in early spring, and sold for a few farthings:
every room at this time, even that of the poorest labourer, is decorated
with this flower. The moss-rose and common pink are also everywhere sold;
most of the stalls of the bazaar-men are decorated at least with one,
sometimes with many, bouquets of common flowers. These men, too, have
talking larks, nightingales, or parrots hung in cages over their shops,
or, at times, turtle-doves.
A favourite pet among the Persians is the red-vented date nightingale.
This bird lives on dates alone, and is brought from Southern Persia,
below Kazerān. The owner places a date and water in the cage, and after a
day or two leaves the door open. The bird flies away, but returns several
times in the day, and always sleeps in his cage, for nowhere else will he
find his food of dates.
Rats, save the Jerboa rat of the desert, are unknown; the arid plains
probably preventing their immigration. Mice, of course, swarm, and the
many ruins which appear all over the country are full of owls, ravens,
and foxes. Choughs abound in certain places, notably on a high rock near
Sivend, between Shiraz and Ispahan, on the high-road. Each town has its
special bird that teems there, as in Ispahan, magpies, and in Hamadan,
doves.
Fly-catchers of many hues are seen hanging on the telegraph wires in
hundreds, and the oriole is common in Shiraz; the nightingale in the
gardens of Shiraz is literally as frequent as the sparrow in a London
street.
The marshes teem with water-fowl—grebe, mallard, ducks, snipe, snippets,
cranes, some very large, herons, flamingo, cormorants, geese, and teal,
are common; while eagles of various kinds, hawks, some of immense size,
and vultures are seen on every march.
In some places the white ant is common, and when the telegraph-line was
of wood, considerable damage was done; it is now, however, iron. Great
diversity in the character of the natives is seen in the amount of damage
done to the line. The turbulent native of South Persia always carries
a gun, generally also pistols, and he has a peculiar delight in aiming
at telegraph-poles, which he seems to consider as marks put up for his
convenience. The pole is made in three pieces—a foot-plate (underground),
a socket or holder of cast-iron, and a standard of wrought-iron. The
marksmen soon found out that their bullets glanced harmless off the
wrought-iron standard, but that a third shot, piercing the cast-iron
holder, infallibly brought it down; of course its fall brought the
wire with it, and frequent interruption was the result. From Kazerān
to Bushire the poles were being continually replaced at great expense,
and at length it was considered expedient to replace the ordinary
iron telegraph pole by the ingenious “Hamilton” pole in places. This
“Hamilton” pole consists of a strip of spiral wrought iron, exactly like
a paper-spill in construction; these foil the marksmen: the bullet goes
in one side and out the other, but the pole does not fall. I saw one five
years ago with seventy-three holes in it, and it was as firm as ever, and
is doubtless still standing.
This was one of the apparently trifling difficulties that had to be
overcome in keeping up constant communication between England and India.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
BEASTS, BIRDS, FRUITS, AND FLOWERS.
Tamed pigs—“Marjahn”—Mongoose—Persian cats—Their
value—Van cats—A fierce cat—How to obtain a Persian
cat—Greyhounds—Toolahs—Watch-dogs—Monkeys—Tame
lions—Tame and cage birds—Superstition concerning
house-snakes—I kill a clockwinder—Wild ass—Fighting
rams—Tame partridges—Gardening—Ordinary
flowers—The broom-plant—Vine-culture—Quinces and
pomegranates—Orchards—Garden parties.
Among the curious ideas that the Persians have, is that the presence of
a pig in the stable is good for the horses’ health. They say the “breath
of the pig” does the horses good, and makes them thrive. I fancy that
the real fact is, that the tame pig turns over the “pane,” or dry horse
litter, a great deal, and so prevents its rotting, and consequently saves
the groom a large amount of work, for he has daily to spread the bed of
“pane” used at night in the sun so as to thoroughly redry it. A good
groom has always a large supply on hand, so as to give all the beasts
warm, thick, and dry beds; a bad groom sells it off to the bath-keepers,
and it is burnt by them as fuel.
Almost as soon as I had arrived at Shiraz my groom asked permission to
buy a little pig; a tiny squeaker was brought and carefully nursed by
him. These wild pigs are strangely thin, and as active as a terrier; they
are very affectionate, and show it strongly to the horses and groom, all
answering to the name of “Marjahn” or “Coral;” this is the universal
appellation of tame pigs—much on the principle that all waiters are
William, all boots (or bootses) George, and all chambermaids Mary.
When the horses leave the yard they are accompanied by the pig, who is
inconsolable if left alone in the stable, and shows his grief by piercing
screams and attempting to scratch his way out. As long as even one
horse is in the stable piggy is perfectly happy, and goes on sedulously
rooting and turning over the “pane,” which is his continual amusement and
occupation, and from which he removes any stray grains of barley.
I marched, when we all camped out on account of cholera, some
twenty-eight miles: “Marjahn” never left the heels of my horse, and was
able to keep up when I galloped, but anything over half a mile was too
much for him; he was not, of course, in such high training as his wild
relatives, and when distressed he would commence squeaking and looking
up in an appealing manner. He remained with us in camp, never leaving
my horses, with whom he was on the best of terms. I often used to put
the horse to speed when out for rides, and on “Marjahn’s” beginning to
squeak the horse would look round and attempt to slacken his pace, and
“Marjahn,” if really left behind, would show great distress. The pig
would bathe in the river, and show delight in wallowing and swimming.
As he got bigger he used to charge strange dogs who chased him, and was
always more than a match for them, generally turning aggressor, and
obstinately pursuing them with many grunts and shrieks. “Marjahn,” when a
fine young boar of three years, was following my horse one day as I raced
him against a friend, forgetting in the excitement the distress of the
pig. Our gallop being over, I saw a black spot far away on the plain; it
was poor “Marjahn,” who had burst a blood-vessel in his attempts to keep
up with us; when we reached him he was quite dead. I never cared to keep
another pig, and the groom’s grief was very great.
Another pet I had was an ichneumon, or mongoose; this was one of the
large reddish variety, and had been brought from the Persian Gulf; I saw
a boy dragging the poor beast along by a string; I gave him a shilling
and possessed the mongoose. After the first two days, during which he was
very timid, he became very friendly, and soon learnt to come to call.
His antics were most extraordinary; he would climb almost anywhere,
and he killed all mice, scorpions, flies, beetles, and moths, also
small birds and snakes when he could get them; his great delight was
to get into any cranny or hole, and his activity and fearlessness were
surprising. I had a large white Persian cat; this poor beast the mongoose
was never tired of pursuing; he would erect all his hair and _follow_
the cat, whose steps he would dog for hours; the cat was not allowed by
him to eat, for did he once take his eye off his stealthy pursuer, the
animal would spring on him, give him a severe bite, and disappear like
a ghost under the fender, or in some convenient hole. I had to give the
cat away, as he faded to almost a skeleton, being nearly _haunted_ to
death. The aspect of the mongoose when on the war-path was sufficiently
terrific, the erected hair increased his size three times, while the
bushy tail appeared part of the body, and was like a gauzy wedge: every
now and then he would give a low growl, and when making his spring, emit
a sharp rattling cry that was very startling.
He exhibited great affection to me personally, and would allow me to do
anything with him; would cling on my finger by one paw and swing, or
sleep on my shoulder as I read. At bedtime he would jump on the table
and emit a plaintive cry, attempting to attract one’s attention to the
fact that it was time to retire, and on my rising would precede me
gambolling to my bedroom, sit on a chair when I undressed, and on my
finally retiring jump into his little kennel. The animal was much cleaner
than a cat, and made an interesting pet. He never would make friends with
the servants, who teased him, or with the dogs, who, after all being
smartly bitten in the muzzle, went in deadly fear of him. So tame did
he get that on my leaving Shiraz for Ispahan I carried him the fifteen
marches _in my holster_, turning him loose while I breakfasted on the
road; at night he slept on the bedding, and when a stranger entered the
post-house rooms he used to bolt up the chimney (these chimneys had no
soot in them). He had a great fancy for warmth, and would sleep for hours
under the fender. On one occasion this desire for warmth was nearly the
cause of his death; he jumped into a brazier of live charcoal, doubtless
deceived by the white appearance of the ashes on the top; of course the
poor beast was much burnt, but I managed to save him, and his affection
was, if possible, enhanced. I am sorry to say that his fate was a sad
one: the Armenians caught him and killed him for his skin. I was happily
able to cause the fellow who did it to be punished. On reaching England
I obtained a mongoose of a similar kind from the Zoological Gardens,
Regent’s Park: he too became a great pet with us all, but he used to
terrify the neighbours, in whose houses he would suddenly appear, and
on several occasions I had to rescue him from the clutches of a mob of
British boys. He had an epileptic fit, to which he was subject, and died.
He too manifested the same extraordinary affection far exceeding that
of the dog, and while we had him we never had a mouse or black-beetle.
These animals, like the weasel and ferret, are inordinately fond of meat,
and it is dangerous to attempt to take it from them, especially if the
beast be hungry. Neither my wife, myself, nor my English nurse was ever
bitten, and the mongoose, as I knew it, showed far more affection and
intelligence than most pets.
Something in an account of Persian life must be said of Persian cats.
The fact is, that long-haired cats are very seldom seen; the usual cat
is similar to the regular London cat of the leanest variety, and the
village cat resembles most the half-starved beasts found in empty houses.
Long-haired cats are generally only seen in the houses of the rich,
and they are eagerly purchased for ten to fifteen shillings, when good
specimens and _white_, by the horse-dealers, who take them to India in
cages; they there find a ready market for them.
The best cats are Van cats, which are not really Persian; these, _if well
bred_, are deaf, and also have eyes of different colours—a pink and a
yellow eye, or a blue on one side and yellow on the other. They will not
catch mice, show no affection whatever, their hair sticks to everything
in spring, and they are in every way objectionable. A few long-haired
cats are ash-coloured—these are rare. I saw one belonging to the wife of
the late Major Pierson. While Pierson and I looked on, we saw this cat,
which was a male, fight with and _kill_ another cat upon the roof. But
the cat was tame and almost affectionate to his mistress. The fact is,
if you want a Persian cat of the finest kind, _you can best get one in
Paris_, at any of the numerous bird-shops on the quays.
Dogs are not kept as pets by Persians, though they are used for hunting
and as sheep-dogs. The greyhound is an exception; the Persians will pet
and fondle these animals, and even pay a long price for one. They are
of two kinds, the Arab dog, similar in all respects to a small English
greyhound, but deficient in bottom: the Persian dog, with longer hair
and feathered ears, feet, and tail, with immense bottom, but deficient
in speed: these are often crossed with each other. The ears, feet,
and tail of the Persian variety are often dyed magenta or yellow, and
a sufficiently ludicrous appearance is the result. The “tazzies,” or
greyhounds, are not looked upon as unclean, and the term of sag or
“cur-dog” is never applied to them. The “toolah” is any kind of dog that
is not exactly a pariah, and is much affected by sporting Persians, who
attempt to hunt game with him; he is never of any use, and generally is
only kept as swelling his master’s importance. These “toolahs” remind me
of a curious definition I once heard from a well-known dog-fancier, now
dead.
Years ago I, with many other of my fellow-students, used to keep
bull-dogs and terriers; it was a common foible enough in those days. My
landlady, of course, would not permit a dog of apparently ferocious breed
to be kept on her premises, so I boarded my dog with a dog-fancier. This
man constantly used the term “tyke” when he wished to speak disparagingly
of an animal. I asked him what the word “tyke” really meant: and his
definition of a “tyke” comprehends the Persian “toolah.” “A tyke,” he
replied, “is a dawg as ain’t no sort of breed, and ain’t no sort of use!”
What a number of tykes we see in England, and why do people keep and pay
tax on them?
Watch-dogs are kept and kindly treated; they are let loose on the roof
at nights. The wandering tribes have some fine dogs—short-haired, tawny,
with black muzzles, having all the characters of mastiffs; they are very
fierce, and it is difficult to obtain them. Near Hamadan, and also at
times near Ispahan, are found big sheep-dogs, of no particular breed,
generally long-haired and tawny with black muzzles. These are a match for
wolves, and are often savage; of this kind was our big dog “Jarge.”
Monkeys and baboons are kept and trained by the lutis, or professional
buffoons, as are bears, and even lions. It is usual when the wife of a
man of any substance brings him a son, that these men should bring the
lion, with song and music, to the house. The delighted lady invariably
gives a present. Should there be any disinclination to give it, the
buffoons threaten to loose the lion, which generally has the desired
result: if this be ineffectual they carry out the programme, and
themselves simulate terror.
[Illustration: LION AND LUHLIS.]
They brought the lion to me in Shiraz, and played me the trick of loosing
him in my courtyard.
As I had not been presented with an heir, and the joke was very
unpleasant, I simply told my groom to let loose my dogs. These flew at
the lion, and he put his head in a drain and roared. I afterwards found
that he had been starved, and teeth and claws drawn. The lutis were glad
to apologize, and quickly removed the king of beasts.
Of pigeons I have previously spoken. Nightingales, goldfinches, talking
larks, parrots, singing larks, and starlings, are all seen in cages.
Snake-charmers are not often seen, and then with only a few harmless
snakes in a box. The Persians do not like to destroy house-snakes, for
two reasons: first, because they say they do no harm; and secondly,
because they suppose them to be tenanted by the spirit of the late master
of the house. In my first house in Shiraz—an old and handsome one—I was
continually annoyed by a buzzing, as of the winding of clockwork. This,
I was told, proceeded from the snakes. I, however, never saw one, though
the buzzing was frequently heard in all parts of the house.
One morning I heard a great twittering of birds, and on looking out,
I saw some thirty sparrows on the top of a half-wall. They were all
jumping about in a very excited manner, and opening their beaks as if
enraged, screaming and chattering. I was at first at a loss to understand
the cause of the commotion, but I saw a pale-yellow coloured snake
deliberately advancing towards them from the ornamented wooden window
from which he hung. They _all_ appeared quite fascinated, which much
surprised me, and none attempted to fly away. The snake did not take the
nearest, but deliberately chose one and swallowed him. I, too glad to get
rid of one of my buzzing annoyances, got my gun, and, notwithstanding
the entreaties of my servants, some of whom wept, assuring me that the
reptile was inhabited by the spirit of the late master of the house,
I gave him a dose of duck-shot. He was a big snake, some four feet
long. I cut him open and extracted the sparrow. After some ten minutes’
exposure to the sun, the bird got up, and, after half an hour, flew away,
apparently unhurt. The snake was not a venomous one, nor do we find
venomous ones in houses in Persia.
Shortly after, a servant of my landlord came, and took away the snake’s
body, and all my servants sulked and looked black for a week. But,
on speaking to my landlord, an educated man, he laughed, and simply
congratulated me, and told me that the clock-winding snake had annoyed
him for years. They are supposed to live in pairs, but I only saw the
one, and never heard the noise again.
The wild ass (“goor-khur”) has been kept as a pet, and even ridden; but
they generally begin to be very wild before reaching puberty; of course
the adults are quite untamable. They are very rare, and do not generally
live long in captivity; they are also very fleet indeed, and a very fine
mule is produced by their union with a mare.
Rams are kept as pets, and trained to fight, as are bulls. These rams may
be seen chained outside the shops of the owners, and on Thursday evenings
they are fought, generally for a dish of pillaw. They charge each other
with great fierceness, and the one driving the other from the field is
proclaimed the winner. The fights are often for considerable sums. The
rams wear large leathern collars, having bells attached to them; the
collars are ornamented with cowries.
Partridges are often allowed to run in gardens, being fed like fowls;
they become very tame; they are the red-legged variety.
There is now a close time for game generally enforced throughout Persia;
this is a wholesome measure of the present Shah’s.
One of our pastimes in Persia was gardening, but the dryness of the
climate and the great heat of summer render one’s previous experience in
England nearly useless.
On getting into a new house, the garden is usually found in a very
neglected state. It consists of a number of beds, which are sunk to a
greater or less depth in the bricked courtyard.
These gardens are at times of considerable size, the one in my Ispahan
house being a regular parallelogram, some fifteen yards by twenty. The
place had nothing in it but three or four fine apricot trees. I turned
it over to a Persian gardener from the town, who commenced operations by
making a raised path six feet wide, lowering the garden itself to get the
earth; this path was in the form of a cross, and divided the large plot
into four equal beds. These were mapped out into ornamental flower-beds,
and sown with various seeds; each bed, containing a different kind, was
carefully sprinkled with strong manure, and then the whole was flooded
with water from the town watercourse.
Each bed communicated with the other by a narrow trench; some six inches
of water was let on to the bed, filling it to the top of the little bank
of mould surrounding it; then the opening was closed, and the water
allowed to proceed to the next bed. In this way each bed got thoroughly
wetted once or twice a week.
The seeds were generally soaked for some days before sowing, often being
tied up in a damp rag till they germinated; and, as a rule, seeds sown
dry, save very minute ones, did not germinate.
The flowers sown were of the commonest description. They were scattered
very thickly, and never thinned.
Convolvulus (Lulufer, or Neelufer), Marvel of Peru (Lalah basi), aster,
zinnia of a uniform brick red, wallflower (or Gul-i-Kher, lit. asses’
flower), portulacca (Gul-i-naz-nazi, flower of coquetry), a kind of
common cockscomb (Zūlf-i-aroos, bride’s locks), the dahlia and _Lilium
candidum_ (Gul-i-Mariam, Mary’s flower)—these two latter were looked on
as rare flowers, and of great price—the larkspur and the sweet-William,
the China rose (or Gul-i-Resht, flower of Resht), the nastorange, a
lovely whitish, orange-scented, single climbing rose, the moss-rose (or
Gul-i-Soorkh), of which the rose-water and attar of commerce is made,
blooming only every other year, and the single orange and yellow rose,
with the narcissus, pink, and the wild Lallah or tulip, formed the
principal garden ornaments; while a useful background and edging was made
of the Jarroo or broom-plant. This sows itself, and when cut in autumn
and allowed to dry, it makes the usual carpet-broom of Shiraz and Ispahan.
The iris, both white and purple, are great favourites; the edges of the
trenches had broad beans pricked in in twos and threes, forming the
earliest green leaf of spring. At irregular intervals would be a pumpkin
or gourd vine, or a vegetable-marrow; here, there, and everywhere were
inserted fruit trees; while a few planes and poplars were planted to give
shade and rest for the eye. The lilac and vine, too, were planted freely,
but without any attempt at symmetry; while little patches of herbs, as
mint, aniseed, fennel, parsley, etc., were grown in shady corners. No
attempt at thinning out was made; the things came up, and the larger
plants grew, while the smaller ones were dried up by the sun. The whole
place was flooded once or twice a week.
At Shiraz the gardening was still more primitive; a few orange trees, the
border planted with narcissus and a thick jungle of convolvulus, with an
occasional rose tree, was all that one could manage.
In Teheran there is a French gardener, and was an English one, to the
Shah, but their influence had not been of much avail. Mr. Finn, our
consul at Teheran, was very successful with geraniums, which flourish in
Persia; but the natives are too careless to preserve them through the
winter, or to take cuttings; a flower, in fact, having no real commercial
value.
Taking cuttings, save for the tobacco plant, is unknown; but the grafting
of fruit trees is practised, also budding.
The Persians well understand the culture of the vine, and large harvests
of fine grapes are the almost invariable rule; they never thin the fruit,
but keep the vines very closely cut, resorting to a new vine in a very
few years.
Manuring in some parts of the country is done on a very liberal scale,
particularly in Ispahan, where the traditions of market gardening have
been handed down from father to son. The profitable opium crop is now,
however, engaging the attention of the Ispahani to the exclusion of
almost everything else.
Persia has particularly fine quinces and pomegranates. The latter I have
seen of four pounds’ weight. The Ispahan quinces are sent all over the
country, packed in cotton, as presents. They give forth a very strong
and agreeable perfume, which is much delighted in by the natives; and
they are passed from hand to hand, and savoured like a sweet-scented
flower. The Attar-beg pomegranates have no perceptible seeds, and their
flavour is very delicious. Their variety is great—sweet, sour, or
sour-sweet; they vary, too, from white to almost black in the pulp. As
the pomegranate flourishes throughout Persia, it seems strange that it
is not cultivated in England. It is very handsome as a shrub, and the
scarlet bloom most effective as a garden ornament. The fig is small, but
luscious, and innumerable varieties are found. Gooseberries and currants
are unknown.
In Hamadan the vines are grown on the edges of deep trenches; the snow
filling these trenches preserves the roots, while the vines themselves
are often protected with earth during winter.
In the south of Persia, and also in the north, the very slightest
cultivation is employed, yet in good years the harvests of every kind
are very heavy. In all cases it is the abundance, or the reverse, of the
supply of water that regulates the amount of harvest. Given plenty of
water, the harvest must be large.
The melon has been spoken of in another place. The water-melons and the
white-fleshed melons of Gourgab, near Ispahan, are the finest in the
world. I have seen melons weighing twenty-eight pounds of the former
variety; these were, however, phenomenal.
In the orchards of Ispahan clover is sown under the trees to break the
fall of the fruit, which is only plucked when a choice dish of it is
required as a present. The usual way is simply to pick up the droppings.
The Persian never thins the fruit. I have often recommended their doing
so, but on two occasions when I tried the experiment and marked the
trees, it did not succeed: the trees where the fruit had been thinned
merely giving fewer fruit, _of the same size_ as the unthinned trees
under the same conditions and of the same variety.
Nothing can be more delightful than these cool and silent gardens in the
summer in Ispahan. The thick foliage keeps out the sun, and the deep
green of the short clover refreshes the eye. Tea in a garden, with pipes
and fruit, is a pleasant way of spending a warm afternoon. Unfortunately
the Persian or Armenian usually looks on a fruit garden merely as a good
place to get drunk in, and the frequent sounds of music and singing show
the passer-by that this idea is being carried out.
Garden parties are, however, often given by Persians who never touch
liquor, and they are as enjoyable a form of entertainment as may be. An
invitation to one is generally given without any preparation, as during
the paying of a call; it is accepted, and forthwith an immediate start is
made. A few carpets and pillows are rolled up and placed on a mule, with
the samovar or Russian urn in its leather case, and the tea equipage in
its travelling box. The cook, on his pony, takes his whole _batterie de
cuisine_, and hurries to the garden indicated by his master, probably
buying a lamb and a couple of fowls, as he passes through the bazaar.
The entertainer, his wife and children too, if we are very intimate,
the former on his horse, the latter astride on white donkeys, proceed
at a leisurely pace in the direction of the garden; while the servants,
all smiles, for they enjoy the outing as much as the family, accompany
them on foot or horseback, carrying water-pipes, umbrellas, and odds
and ends. On reaching the garden, fruit is eaten; then the whole party
roam unrestricted among the shady paths while tea is prepared. This is
partaken of, and then a musician, or a singer, or perhaps a story-teller,
makes his appearance and diverts us all. Or some servant, who has a good
voice, sings or plays on the flute to us.
Often a grave and reverend merchant will produce a “tarr,” a species of
lute, or a “santoor” (the dulcimer), a kind of harmonica, and astonish
us by really good Eastern music. Few will consent to sing; it is _infra
dig._ The nightingales sing merrily, and dull care is effectually
banished. In these thoroughly family parties, wine or spirits are never
introduced. Chess or backgammon (Takht-i-Nadir, the camp of Nadir Shah)
are constantly played for a nominal stake of a lamb or fat pullet.
The party is collected on a raised daïs in the open air, and sit on
carpets or lean on huge pillows. Candles are lighted in the lallahs or
Russian candle-lamps; these are convenient, as they are not extinguished
by wind. At about nine dinner is brought, after innumerable kalians or
water-pipes have been smoked: this is eaten in comparative silence; host,
guest, wives, and children, all sitting round the leathern sheet which
represents a table, and dipping their hand in the platters. At about ten
all retire, the bedding of each is spread in a separate nook, on one’s
own carpet—all of course being in the open air—and at dawn one smokes a
pipe, drinks a little cup of black coffee, and takes one’s leave.
Our host and his guests go about their several businesses, while the
women and children and servants generally breakfast in the garden and
return home together in the cool of the evening, bringing back fruit and
huge bouquets of the moss-rose with them.
These impromptu entertainments are most enjoyable: there is no sense of
restraint, and their absolute suddenness, absence of formality, and true
hospitality, form a remarkable contrast to the more formal pleasures
of European life and the regularity of entertainments which hang over
one, till their very thought becomes insupportable. Of course, such
entertainments are only possible in a country where the gardens are
freely thrown open to everybody.
CHAPTER XXIX.
PERSIAN CHARACTER, COSTUMES, AND MANNERS.
Character of the
Persians—Exaggeration—Mercifulness—Anecdote—Costumes of
men—Hair—Beards—Arms—Costumes of women—Jewellery—Glass
bangles—Nose-rings—Painting of the face—Tattooing—Hair—Outdoor
costume—Dress of children—Their manners—Strange custom—Love of
mothers—The uncle—Cousins—Slaves—Servants—Slavery.
The character of the Persian, as it appears to me, is that of an
easy-going man with a wish to make things pleasant generally. He is
hospitable and obliging, as honest as the general run of mankind, and is
specially well disposed to the foreigner. He is very kind and indulgent
to his children, and as a son his respect for both parents is excessive,
developed in a greater degree to his father, in whose presence he will
rarely sit, and whom he is in the habit of addressing and speaking of as
“master;” the full stream of his love and reverence is reserved for his
mother; and an undutiful son or daughter is hardly known in the country.
Home virtues among the Persians are many.
No act of serious import is ever undertaken without the advice of the
mother; no man would think, for instance, of marrying contrary to his
mother’s advice; and by the very poorest the support of their parents
would never be looked on as a burden. Respect for the aged is universal;
“this grey beard” is a common term of respect; and an aged man or woman
will frequently give an opinion unsolicited, and such advice is often
requested, and always listened to as valuable.
The peculiar honesty of the Persian servant towards his master in respect
to his goods and chattels has been previously remarked; and in commercial
morality, I fancy that a Persian merchant will compare not unfavourably
with that of the European generally, if he does not always attain the
high standard theoretically adopted by the Englishman.
To the poor, Persians are unostentatiously generous; most of the rich
have regular pensioners, old servants, or poor relations who live on
their bounty, and though there are no workhouses, there are in ordinary
times no deaths from starvation; and charity, though not organised, is
general.
The Persian is, I regret to say, a liar, but Oriental exaggeration and
a tendency “to run into poetry,” as Mr. Wegg said, perhaps accounts
for much of this. After a time one learns to mentally discount the
statements made by the natives, and habit generally enables one to do
this correctly. All ranks of society exaggerate and draw the long bow;
a curious instance of this occurred in Shiraz. I was conversing on the
subject of hunting with the king’s son, and a large circle of courtiers
and priests filled the room.
The prince narrated his exploits in hunting the antelope the previous
day, and gravely stated that while pursuing a pair of “ahū,” when riding
a very restive horse that he had, his head-stall broke.
“What should you have done, doctor?”
“I should have tried to stick on as long as the ground was good, and,
expecting an accident, have awaited it.”
“Ah, that was because _you_ were not a prince,” he said. “_I_ leant
forward, and unclasping my belt, placed it in the horse’s mouth as a
bridle, and thus directing him, pursued my game and killed both antelope.”
All the circle applauded (as of course they were bound to do). I was
silent.
“You don’t mean to say you don’t believe that?” said the prince.
I smiled.
“Speak out if you don’t; I shan’t be offended in the least.”
“Well, your Highness, I don’t believe it.”
“Quite right, darogh bood” (it was a lie), unblushingly replied his Royal
Highness, and burst into a fit of laughter quite unabashed; the circle of
courtiers, of course, were convulsed.
The giving of the lie is no insult in Persia; among the natives a common
expression is, “You are lying,” and the general reply is merely to
asseverate the statement by an oath, no indignation whatever being shown
at the charge.
Procrastination is the attribute of all Persians, “please God,
to-morrow,” being ever the answer to any proposition, and the to-morrow
means indefinite delay. A great dislike is shown generally to a written
contract binding the parties to a fixed date; and, as a rule, on breaking
it the Persian always appeals for and expects delay and indefinite days
of grace.
Only the upper classes and the natives of towns, among the military
and servant class, are in the habit of indulging in intoxicants, and
unchastity is confined to the females of these classes; this vice among
young women _prior to marriage_ is very unusual; and the Persian woman
compares favourably with her European sister in this respect.
Persians are clean in their persons, washing themselves and their
garments frequently, differing in this habit from the Armenians, who
never wash more frequently than once a month, and consider it _unhealthy_
to do so; these people have great fear of taking cold, and dread water
like cats.
I will not trust myself to give my opinion on the character of the
Armenian. Of course I have known brilliant exceptions; but when I say
that I endorse all that Morier, Malcom, Lady Shiel, and the standard
writers on Persia have said of these people, I need not add that my
impression is unfavourable in the extreme. They possess one good quality,
however,—thrift.
The Persian always makes the best of his appearance; he is very neat in
his dress, and is particular as to the sit of his hat and the cut of his
coat They are all fond of animals, and do not treat them badly when their
own property. Of course hired horses and mules are often over-ridden, and
a good deal of cruelty from ignorance, in the way of riding animals with
sore backs, is seen; but as travellers must proceed, and are frequently
unable to give their horses or mules a rest, because they must keep with
their caravan, this is not to be wondered at. The Persian, however,
generally saves his animal as much as possible, and frequently dismounts
and walks, leading his mule or horse. Much of the frequency of sore backs
must be put down to the badly-made saddles and pack-saddles, the latter
of which are merely stuffed with “kah” (cut straw).
[Illustration: MIDDLE CLASS PERSIANS.]
[Illustration: PERSIAN BOY.]
Cruelty is not a Persian vice; torture and punishments of an unusual
and painful nature being part of their judicial system. There are no
vindictive punishments, such as solitary confinement, penal servitude for
long terms of years, etc. Seldom, indeed, is a man imprisoned more than
twelve months, the rule being that there is a general jail delivery at
the New Year. Royal clemency is frequently shown, often, perhaps, with
want of judgment; still, it is very frequent. A cook I had, was years
ago one of the Baabi rebels, and was seized and conducted to Teheran.
(His guilt was undoubted; he himself acknowledged it; and these men had
made an attempt, nearly successful, on the Shah’s life, actually wounding
him.) This cook, “Mehdi,” was chained by the neck, with eleven others,
and led out in the Shah’s presence for execution. The eleven men had
their throats cut. “Enough,” said the king, “let _that_ poor rascal go!”
He was taken back to prison and his life spared; but though the Shah
had meant that he should be released, _there being no formal order_, he
remained in prison _for several years_, making a good living by selling
savoury messes to his fellow-prisoners.
The costume of the Persians may be shortly described as fitted to their
active habits. The men invariably wear an unstarched shirt of cotton.
This is sewn with white _silk_, cotton as a sewing material being
unknown; it is often, particularly in the south of Persia, elaborately
embroidered about the neck. It fastens in front by a flap, having two
small buttons or knots at the left shoulder. It seldom comes below the
hips. There is no collar, and the sleeves are quite loose, and are
not confined at the wrist. The lower orders often have it dyed blue,
particularly the villagers; but the servant and upper classes invariably
wear a white shirt. Silk shirts used to be worn, but are now seldom seen
on men. Among the very religious, during the mourning month (“Mohurrim”),
the shirt is at times dyed black.
The “zerejumah,” or trousers, are of cloth among the higher classes,
particularly those of the military order, who affect a garment of
a tightness approaching that worn by Europeans. But the ordinary
“zerejumah” is of cotton, white or dyed blue, or at times red, cut very
loose, and exactly similar to the “pyjamas” worn by Europeans in India.
They are held up by a thin cord of red or green silk or cotton round the
waist, and the labouring classes, when engaged in heavy or dirty work, or
when running, generally tuck the end of these garments in under the cord,
which leaves their leg bare and free to the middle of the thigh.
The amplitude of these loose garments enables the Persian to sit without
discomfort on his heels, _his usual mode of sitting_, for chairs are only
used by the rich, great, or Europeanised; and it is a common thing for a
visitor, if on familiar terms, to ask to be allowed to sit on his heels,
as the unaccustomed chair _tires_ him.
Over the shirt and “zerejumah” comes the “alkalūk,” generally of quilted
chintz or print. This is a closely-fitting garment, collarless, with
tight sleeves to the elbow, whence to the wrist are a number of little
metal buttons; these are fastened in winter, and left open in summer.
Above this is the coat, or “kemmercheen,” a tunic of coloured calico,
silk, satin, moiré, cloth, Cashmere, or Kerman shawl, gold embroidered
silk, satin, or velvet, according to the time of year and the purse
or position of the wearer. This, like the alkalūk, is open in front,
and shows the shirt. It has a small standing collar at times, and is
double-breasted. It has a pocket-hole on either side, giving access to
the pockets, which are always in the alkalūk, in which garment is the
breast-pocket, where watch, money, jewels, and seals are kept. The length
of the “kemmercheen” denotes the class of the wearer. The military and
official classes and the various “noker,” or servants, from the king’s
valet, who may be also prime minister, wear them short; that is to say,
to the knee, while fops and lutis (sharpers) wear them shorter even than
this. The priests, and merchants, and the villagers, especially about
Shiraz, and the townsmen and shopkeepers, with doctors and lawyers, wear
them very long, often nearly to their heels.
Over the kemmercheen is worn the kolajah, or coat. This is as a rule cast
off in summer, save on formal occasions, as when the wearer is performing
his functions or making a call, and is often borne by a servant or
carried over the shoulder by the owner himself. They are of cloth, shawl,
or camel-hair cloth, and are invariably lined throughout with either silk
or cloth, flannel, or even fur. They are like the Turkish frock-coat,
made with a very loose sleeve, and with many plaits behind. They have
lappels, as with us, and are trimmed with gold lace (derbeeri), shawl,
or fur, or at times worn quite plain; they have a roll collar and false
pockets.
Besides these garments there are others, as the long juba, or cloth
cloak. This ample and majestic garment is affected by mirzas
(secretaries), Government employés of high rank, as ministers, farmers
of taxes, courtiers, physicians, priests. The wearers carry a staff as a
rule. The jubas are made of the finest cloth, very amply cut. They have a
standing collar and long sleeves. These sleeves are from one to two feet
longer than the arm, and are often allowed to hang down empty when the
garment is worn out of doors; but when in the actual presence of guests
or a grandee, they are used to keep the hands hidden (a token of respect
to those present), and the many wrinkles formed by the excessive length
of these sleeves are supposed to be their beauty.
The abba, or camel-hair cloak of the Arab, is often worn by travellers,
priests, and horsemen. The priests particularly affect it; it is a very
picturesque garment, warm, and waterproof, also very light. Some of these
abbas are very expensive, though plain; while others, much embroidered in
gold, are given as dresses of honour to the middle classes and priests,
and are used at weddings, etc.
Among outer garments worn by travellers and the aged are the well-known
poosseen, or Afghan skin-cloak. These are full length, only used by
travellers and the sick or aged; and the “neemtan,” or common sheepskin
jacket, with short sleeves, used by shopkeepers and the lower class of
servants, grooms, etc., in winter. They are mostly seen at Ispahan. The
Afghan poosseen is a wonderful garment for travellers, as it is so very
warm, and forms bed and bedding, but it has to be kept dry. The skins
are dyed yellow; the fur is generally a natural brown. An ample cloak is
made with very long sleeves, which act as gloves, the hands not being
protruded. They are often elaborately embroidered with yellow silk, and
are worth in Teheran, where they are very common, from four pounds (ten
tomans) to sixteen pounds (forty tomans).
Besides these “balapoosh,” or overcoats, is the “yapunjah,” or woollen
Kūrdish cloak. This is a kind of felt, having a shaggy side, of immense
thickness. It looks like a bear-skin, and is of great weight. It is
a half-circle in shape; a strap at the neck holds it on. The wearer,
generally a shepherd, uses it as great-coat, bed and bedding. It is quite
waterproof, and very warm. The thing is worn slung, closed side to the
wind, and is used as a shield against the wind or snow.
There is also the felt coat of the villager, before described, a very
warm and inexpensive garment, which wears well. It is from half an inch
to one inch thick, and enables the villager to defy the severest weather.
The cost is from five to fifteen kerans.
The kemmerbund, or belt, is also characteristic of the class. It is made
of muslin, shawl, or cotton cloth among the priests, merchants, traders,
and bazaar people; shawls and muslin are also affected by the secretary
class and the more aged or old-fashioned among the great Government
employés.
In it is carried by the literati and merchants the pencase and a roll of
paper, and its voluminous folds are used as pockets: and by the bazaar
people and villagers, porters, and merchants’ servants a small sheath
knife is stuck in it; while by “farrashes,” the carpet-spreader class, a
large canjar, or curved dagger, with a heavy ivory handle, is carried;
less for use than as a badge of office.
The headgear, too, is very distinctive. The turban is worn by the
priests. These use generally a white one, consisting of many yards of
muslin, unless they be “Syuds,” or descendants of the prophet, when a
_green_ one is worn. This at times is a very deep colour, nearly black;
at others a grass-green.
These Syuds, too, usually wear a kemmerbund, or girdle of _green_ muslin,
shawl, or cotton cloth. Merchants also affect the turban, usually of
muslin, embroidered in colours; or of a yellow pattern on straw-coloured
muslin, or of calico, or at times of shawl.
The waist of the Persian is generally small, and he is very proud of his
fine figure and broad shoulders.
The distinctive mark of the courtier, military, and upper servant class
is the _belt_, generally of varnished leather, black in colour, with a
brass clasp, usually of Russian manufacture. The princes and courtiers
often replace the brass clasp by a huge round ornament of cut stones, the
favourite one of his Royal Highness Zil-es-Sultan being of diamonds, of
large size, a huge emerald being in the centre.
The “kola,” or hat, is of cloth or sheepskin, on a frame of pasteboard.
The most expensive are made of the black skin of the fœtal lamb. Strange
to say, these skins usually go to Europe to be dyed—I believe to
Leipzig. The commoner people wear coloured lambskin hats, as grey, or
even sheepskin, with the wool long. The fashions in hats change yearly;
they are generally affected by the military and noker (servant) class,
by courtiers and beaux, and are usually worn with a knowing cock. The
Ispahani merchant, and the Armenian, at times wear very tall ones.
The hair is generally shaved at the crown, or the entire head is shaved,
a karkool, or long thin lock, being at times left, often two feet long
from the middle of the crown. This is kept knotted up and hidden. Its use
is to enable the prophet Mahommed to draw up the believer into paradise.
The lower orders generally have the hair over the temporal bone long,
and this is brought in two long locks, turning backwards behind the ear;
they are termed “Zūlf;” the beaux and youths are constantly twisting and
combing them. The rest of the head is shaven. Long hair, however, is
going out of fashion in Persia, and the more civilised affect the cropped
hair worn by Europeans, and even have a parting in it.
The chin is never shaved, save by “beauty men,” or “Kashangs,” though
often clipped, while the moustache is usually left long. At forty, a man
generally lets his beard grow its full length, and cherishes it much;
part of a Persian’s religious exercises is the combing of his beard.
Socks, knitted principally at Ispahan, are worn: they are only about two
inches long in the leg. The rich, however, affect a longer sock: white
cotton ones are worn in summer, and coloured worsted in winter. The
patterns of these worsted socks are often very pretty and effective. The
villagers only wear a sock on state occasions, as at a wedding, the New
Year, etc.
Shoes are of many patterns; the Orūssi or Russian shoe, similar to our
children’s shoe without the strap, is the most common. Next, the Kafsh,
or slippers of various kinds. The heel is folded down, and remains so.
The priests affect a peculiar heavy shoe, with an ivory or wooden lining
at the heel. Green shoes of shagreen are very common at Ispahan. Blacking
is unknown to Persians generally, but a European’s servant may be always
recognised by his polished shoes. Boots are only used by horsemen, and
are then worn much too large, for ease. Those worn by couriers often come
up the thigh, and are similar to those used by our sewer-men.
With boots are worn shulwar, or baggy riding breeches. These are very
loose, and tied at the ankle by a string; a sort of kilt is worn by
couriers. Pocket-handkerchiefs are never used, save by the rich or the
Teheranis.
Most Persians affect a “shub kola,” or night hat, for wear in their
homes. This is a loose, baggy cap, of shawl or quilted material: it is
often embroidered by the ladies, and presents of “night hats” are as
frequent with them as our ones of embroidered slippers.
As to arms, these are usually carried only by the tribesmen, who bristle
with weapons. The natives of the south of Persia and servants—these
latter generally, particularly in Shiraz—carry a kammer, or dirk, which
is, however, seldom used as an offensive weapon, save in drunken rows.
The soldiery, on or off duty, always carry one of these “kammers” or
their side-arms, sometimes both. They hack, but never thrust with them.
Of course on the road the carrying of weapons is the rule, and it is
needed, as there is no police, save the ephemeral phenomena introduced by
Count Monteforte at Teheran. These men, who are really efficient, are too
good to last.
The costume of the women has undergone considerable change in the last
century; it is now, when carried to the extreme of the fashion, highly
indecent, and must be very uncomfortable.
The garment doing duty as a chemise is called a perhān; it is, with the
lower orders, of calico, white or blue, and comes down to the middle of
the thigh, leaving the leg nude. Among the upper classes it is frequently
of silk. At Shiraz it is often of fine cotton, and elaborately ornamented
with black embroidery: among the rich it is frequently of gauze, and much
embroidered with gold thread, pearls, etc. With them it often reaches
only to the navel.
The head is usually covered with a chargāt, or large square of silk or
cotton, embroidered. These chargāts are folded, as were shawls amongst us
some years ago, thus displaying the corners, two in front and two behind;
it is fastened under the chin by a brooch. It is often of considerable
value, being of Cashmere shawl, embroidered gauze, etc.
A jika, a jewelled, feather-like ornament, is often worn at the side of
the head, while the front hair, cut to a level with the mouth, is brought
up in love-locks on either cheek. Beneath the chargāt is generally a
small kerchief of dark material, worn to set off the complexion, and
preserve the chargāt; only the edge of this is visible. The ends of the
chargāt cover the shoulders, but the gauze perhān, quite transparent,
leaves nothing to the imagination. The breasts and chest are very
visible, and the abdomen is quite bare.
On state occasions, or with women who aim at beauty, the face is always
painted more or less, and a profusion of jewellery worn. This is of the
most solid description, the gold some twenty-three carats fine, and quite
flexible: no hollow jewellery is worn, intrinsic value being what is
aimed at.
Silver is only worn by the very poor: coral only by negresses.
Necklaces and bracelets are much worn, and numerous chains with
scent-caskets attached to them; while the arms are covered with clanking
glass bangles, called “Alangū,” some twenty even of these hoops being
worn on an arm.
Jewelled “Bazūbund,” containing talismans, are often worn on the upper
arm, while among the lower orders and South Persian or Arab women
nose-rings are not uncommon, and at times bangles, or anklets of beads,
on the ankles.
The face on all important occasions—as at entertainments, weddings,
etc.—is usually much painted, save by young ladies in the heyday of
beauty. The colour is very freely applied, the cheeks being reddled,
as are a clown’s, and the neck smeared with white, while the eyelashes
are marked round with kohl (black antimony). This is supposed to be
beneficial to the eyes, and almost every woman uses it—very needlessly,
as the large languishing eye of the Persian belle needs no adventitious
aid. The eyebrows are widened and painted till they appear to meet, while
sham moles or stars are painted on the chin and cheek—various in their
way, as the patches of the eighteenth-century belles: even spangles are
stuck at times on the chin or forehead. Tattooing is common among the
poor and villagers, and is seen among the upper classes.
The hair, though generally hidden by the chargāt, is at times exposed and
plaited into innumerable little tails of great length, while a coquettish
little skull-cap of embroidery or shawl or coloured silks is worn. False
hair is common. The Persian ladies’ hair is very luxuriant, and never
cut; it is nearly always dyed red with henna, or black with indigo to
a blue-black tinge; it is naturally a glossy black. Fair hair is not
esteemed, and I have been asked to condole with ladies in their grief
in being the possessors of fair locks. At Ispahan so universal is this
feeling that a young half-caste lady having beautiful golden hair, dyed
it on her marriage to a pre-Raphaelite auburn, to please her Baghdadi
husband.
Blue eyes are not uncommon, but brown ones, like those of the
full-blooded Jewess, are the rule: a full-moon face is much admired, and
the possession of a dark complexion termed “nummak” (salt) is the highest
native idea of beauty.
Most Persian women are small, with tiny feet and hands. The figure,
however, is always lost after maternity, and they wear no support of any
kind.
A very short jacket of gay colour, quite open in front, and not covering
the bosom, with tight sleeves with many metal buttons, is usually worn in
summer: a lined outer coat in cold weather.
In winter a pair of very short white cotton socks are used, and tiny
slippers with a high heel; in summer in the house ladies go often
barefoot.
The rest of the costume is composed of the “tūmbūn,” or “shulwar;” these
are simply short skirts of great width, held by a running string; the
outer one usually of silk, velvet, or Cashmere shawl, often trimmed with
gold lace, according to the purse of the wearer; or among the poor, of
loud-patterned chintz or print. Beneath these are innumerable other
garments of the same shape, and varying in texture from silk and satin to
print.
The whole is very short indeed; among the women of fashion merely
extending to the thigh, and as the number of these garments is amazing,
and they are much _bouffée_, the effect of a lady sitting down astonishes
the beholder, and would scandalise the Lord Chamberlain. As the ladies
are _supposed_, however, to be only seen by their lords in these indoor
dresses, there is perhaps no harm done.
Indecency, too, is very much an idea, for a Persian lady, who will thus
expose her extremities and the greater part of her trunk, will carefully
veil her face, showing nothing but the eyes. The ladies of rank, however,
have no shame of any kind, and display very redundant charms. The indoor
costume of the Persian lady is in fact exactly that of the _corps de
ballet_, but shorter: while in winter, an over-mantle like the “kolajah”
or coat of the man, and with short sleeves, lined and trimmed with furs,
is worn; this gives the costume a peculiarly graceful appearance.
[Illustration: OUTDOOR DRESS OF PERSIAN WOMEN.
(_From a Native Drawing._)]
Leg-coverings are now being introduced, and the last princess of the
blood royal I saw added to her comfort, though she destroyed the poetry
of her appearance, by a tightly-fitting pair of black cloth “pants” with
a gold stripe! This garment will doubtless soon become general.
In ancient days the Persian ladies always wore them, as may be seen by
the pictures in the South Kensington Museum. In those times the two
embroidered legs, now so fashionable as Persian embroideries (“naksh”),
occupied a girl from childhood to marriage in their making; they are _all
sewing_ in elaborate patterns of great beauty, worked on muslin, in silk.
The outdoor costume of the Persian women is quite another thing;
enveloped in a huge blue sheet, with a yard of linen as a veil,
perforated for two inches square with minute holes, the feet thrust into
two huge bags of coloured stuff, a wife is perfectly unrecognisable, even
by her husband, when out of doors. The dress of all is the same; save in
quality or costliness, the effect is similar. And yet with such a hideous
disguise, a Persian coquette will manage to let the curious know if she
have a good face and eye, by lifting her veil in a sly and half-timid
way. The only thing I know exceeding in folly the chimney-pot hat, is
the outdoor dress of the Persian woman. Expensive, ugly, uncomfortable,
hot in summer, cold in winter, words fail to express its numerous
disadvantages; it has one positive quality—as a disguise it is perfect,
and its use favours the intrigues rife in the country.
As for the children, they are always when infants swaddled: when they
can walk they are dressed as little men and women, and with the dress
they often, nay generally, ape the manners; a Persian child of the upper
class being a master of etiquette, an adept at flattery, and a mirror
of politeness. It is a strange custom with the Persian ladies to dress
little girls as boys, and little boys as girls, till they reach seven
or eight years; this is often done for fun, or on account of some vow,
oftener to avert the evil eye.
Persian women are very fond of their children, and pet them greatly. The
love of the Persian for his mother is very great; he never leaves her to
starve, and her wishes are laws to him, even when he is an old man, and
she an aged crone. The mother is always the most important member of the
household, and the grandmother is treated with veneration. Mothers-in-law
are not laughed at or looked down on in Persia; their presence is coveted
by their sons-in-law, who look on them as the guardians of the virtue of
their wives. The uncle, too, is a much nearer tie than with us, that is
to say, the paternal uncle: while men look on their first cousins on the
father’s side as their most natural wives. Possibly this is because their
female cousins are the only women they have any opportunity of knowing
anything of personally. Black slaves and men-nurses, or “lallahs,” are
much respected and generally retained in a household, while the “dyah,”
or wet nurse, is looked on as a second mother, and usually provided for
for life.
Persians are very kind to their servants, and try to make their people
look on them as second fathers; a master will be often addressed by a
servant as his father, and the servant will protect his master’s property
as he would his own, or even more jealously.
A servant is invariably spoken to as “_butcha_” (_child_). The servants
expect that their master will always take their part, and never allow
them to be wronged; if he does not do so, he cannot obtain a good class
domestic, while if he sticks to the man, he never leaves him.
The slaves in Persia have what Americans call “a good time;” well fed,
well clothed, treated as spoiled children, given the lightest work, and
often given in marriage to a favourite son, or taken as a “segah,” or
concubine, by the master himself (and respectable Persians only take
a “segah” for ninety-nine years, which is equivalent to a permanent
marriage), slaves have the certainty of comfort and a well-cared-for old
age. They are always looked on as confidential servants, are entrusted
with large sums of money, and the conduct of the most important affairs;
and seldom abuse their trust.
The greatest punishment to an untrustworthy slave is to give him his
liberty and let him earn his living. They vary in colour and value:
the “Habashi” or Abyssinian is the most valued; the Souhāli or Somāli,
next in blackness, is next in price; the Bombassi, or coal-black negro
of the interior, being of much less price, and usually only used as a
cook. The prices of slaves in Shiraz are, a good Habashi girl of twelve
to fourteen, forty pounds; a good Somāli same age, half as much; while
a Bombassi is to be got for fourteen pounds, being chosen merely for
physical strength. They are never sold, save on importation, though at
times they are given away. Strange as it may appear, to the mind of any
one who has lived in Persia, slavery in that country to the African is an
unmixed good. Of course the _getting to Persia_, and the being caught, is
another thing. But I have never seen a Persian unkind to his own horse or
his slave, and when overtaken by poverty he first would sell his shirt,
_then_ his slave.
CHAPTER XXX.
TRAVELLING—ART WORK—FOODS.
Travelling—Difficulties of posting—Saddles and
bits—Cruel joke—Old stories—Pastimes—Enamels—Persian
pictures—Curio-buyer—Carvings—Metal-work—Calligraphy—Kahtam—Incised
work on iron—Embroideries—Silver-work—Washing of
linen—Ironing—Needlework—The bath—Washing the hair with
clay—Bread and baking—Unleavened bread—Other kinds—Travellers’
food—Inordinate appetites—Food of the poor.
Of marching with a native caravan I have no experience—Europeans as a
rule avoid it—and having usually enough luggage and servants to occupy a
string of mules of their own, generally travel by themselves. A specimen
of daily life upon the road when marching will be given in my journal
on our road home, when we did twenty-eight days’ marching over some
twenty-five to thirty miles a day, with only two days’ rest.
Of travelling post I have said enough: I have ridden myself from
Ispahan to Teheran, seventy farsakhs, in thirty-nine hours twenty-five
minutes, the horses being mostly full of grass: taking three miles and
three-quarters to the farsakh, this gives two hundred and sixty miles as
the distance, or a continuous speed of over six and a half miles an hour,
allowing for stoppages, sleep, etc., _in that time_. Probably the actual
rate is an average of eight miles, but it requires some resolution to
keep it up. When it is remembered that the roads are vile in the extreme,
being mere mule-tracks, and that _horses can only be changed every twenty
to twenty-six miles_; that a heavy kit is carried; also that saddling,
to be done well, has to be done by oneself, the horses paid and haggled
for, half the time being at night, and that the post-people have to be
awakened; it is not perhaps, after all, bad going. Much faster journeys
than this however are made when the rider is _expected_, or prepared to
liberally grease the palms of the post-people.
As a rule the European always outrides the native, the baggy “shulwars”
of the latter rendering the wearer sore after prolonged cantering, and
the native saddle and short stirrups being unfitted for long and rapid
journeys. How a Persian can ever be thrown, as they are frequently, is
very wonderful. Packed into the deeply-forked saddle, with a tremendous
pommel, to which they cling, a fall ought to be impossible.
The native bits are “ab khori,” or watering-bit, a common snaffle; and
“danah,” a most severe ring-bit. These are made like the letter H, very
small, and having a plate, to which a ring is attached, affixed to the
middle of the centre bar. This ring acts as does the curb-chain; a horse
can be _certainly_ stopped with one, but they are cruel though effectual;
being made _square_, they cut like a knife, and are the frequent cause
of very hard mouths. In fact, when one buys a horse he is always a
puller, and, if an old horse, it takes a long time to accustom him to the
snaffle. Of course in posting the native bit is the best to use, unless
one wishes to be quite powerless.
Endless yarns are told in Persia of the road and its vicissitudes, every
one has had his special experiences; a few sweet, many bitter, and each
man starts fully determined in his heart to make the fastest time on
record, but a succession of bad horses, an ugly fall, or a very wet day,
often upset the most careful plans; or the dearness of grain, or a series
of couriers, may provide the rider with a number of half-starved or tired
horses, or he may lose his way and find himself “on the road to nowhere.”
I travelled once with one Malek Mahommed Beg, one of the couriers of the
English Legation: this man was a celebrated rider, and I well remember
my astonishment at seeing him get down from the saddle and deliberately
place a sharp stone under it, in order to get an extreme turn of speed
out of a wretchedly knocked-up post-horse. On going into Teheran I was
horrified to see the post-house guide deliberately whip a bit of cord
round his knife-blade, thus making a goad of three-quarters of an inch
in length, with which he urged on his wretched steed; remonstrance was
useless, and, as he went on ahead, he called to me to follow his example.
Among the stock yarns told amongst Europeans in Persia is that of the
most cruel and elaborate hoax I have ever heard of. One of the Teheran
residents was in the habit of snubbing a quiet little man, who had come
to the country as private secretary to the manager of an enormous scheme
for the regeneration of Persia; the little man bore the rough jokes
and rudeness of his tormentor for a year, and then, as even worms will
turn, got huffy and vowed revenge. Unluckily for the habitual snubber,
he had revealed in a moment of confidence that he was proprietor of some
tickets in an Austrian lottery scheme, and that a drawing was imminent:
also he gave some of his numbers, even exhibiting the bonds or tickets.
One morning the monotony of Teheran life was broken with the news that
X⸺ had won a fortune. It appeared that a bogus telegram was brought to
a gentleman in Teheran requesting him to ascertain if the holder of a
certain number in the lottery was in Teheran, as he was believed to be a
Mr. X⸺.
No sooner was the news communicated to X⸺ than he went to his strong box
to verify the number, and, to his delight, found that he was the actual
holder of the winning bond.
A castle, one hundred thousand gulden, and the territorial rank of Count
was, I believe, the prize, as stated in the telegram.
X⸺ sent an immediate invitation to his friends to come to his house,
and was congratulated generally on his good fortune; no one being taken
into the secret, everybody’s pleasure was sincere, and they became
accomplices unawares, in the carrying out of the elaborate trick. Just
as the excitement was at its height, and the clock was five minutes to
twelve, the perpetrator of the hoax arrived; he was received by the
victim with open hands, and bursting to tell his news: this was heard,
and the expected congratulations given. “I have made up my mind to return
to Europe at once,” said the doomed one: “we shall buy a two hundred
ton yacht and live a good deal abroad,” etc., etc. “By the bye, what is
to-day?” said the hoaxer.
The FIRST OF APRIL!
Tableau! I regret to add, though, that this very cruel joke caused an
attack of hysterics to the victim’s wife.
X⸺ was the hero of many tales, one of which was too good not to be
perpetuated. An American missionary at a large breakfast party was
suddenly accosted by X⸺, from the other end of a long table, with—“I say,
P⸺, I don’t believe in hell.” The parson took no notice, but the remark
was repeated in a loud tone after a dead silence.
“I say, P⸺, I don’t believe in hell.”
The pale Yankee drew himself up, and, in the national drawl, quietly
replied, “Waal, for your sake, X⸺, I hope you’re right.” That parson was
more than a match for his opponent.
Another Persian tale of these latter days is the answer of a lady as
witty as she was prepossessing. On the high-road to the capital from the
Caspian, the members of the expedition sent by the German Government to
observe the transit of Venus met a lovely vision in habit and hat, on a
prancing steed. They halted, saluted, and declared their errand.
“To observe the transit of Venus, ah—well, you can go home now,
gentlemen; _your duty is done_; good-bye;” and the pretty vision
disappears at a smart canter “away in the ewigkeit,” as Hans Breitmann
says. _That_ joke dawned on those Germans after some hours.
There was once a little paper published in the Persian Gulf, called the
_Jask Howl_, to which I was a contributor, but it died a natural death,
after becoming very personal.
Theatricals, too, had their day, both in the capital and down country.
Lawn tennis, played on a ground of prepared mud, was the great amusement
when I left Teheran.
Riding, however, is the never-failing pastime, and the poorest European
can afford a horse.
Photography was to me a pleasant way of beguiling the tedium of Persian
down-country life. I spent many hours a day, and obtained a fair
proficiency; but finding myself becoming a slave to it, I gave it up,
though reluctantly. In the meantime I had taken innumerable likenesses,
and some two hundred types. I had also had the barren honour of having
large photographs reproduced in the _Graphic_ and _Illustrated_.
I patronised art in Persia to the extent of having some enamels painted
on small gold plaques. This art is rapidly being lost, and the continued
marring of an otherwise pretty picture by errors of drawing and
perspective is very annoying.
I also commenced having illustrations to the wonderful novel of ‘Hadji
Baba,’ by Morier, executed by native artists; but the men I employed
raised their prices in almost geometrical progression as each fresh
picture was executed. They are, however, very spirited, and well exhibit
Persian life.
While I was in Ispahan, M. P⸺ was sent by the ‘Magazin du Louvre’ to buy
curios, china, etc., of every description.
He bought with a vengeance, doubtless knowing what he was about. All was
fish that came to the net; and to see the little Frenchman gesticulating
to a crowd of excited Persians, each anxious to dispose at a fancy price
of his own wares, was very amusing. Since that time it has been difficult
to get anything really good in the curio way in Persia, each man thinking
his own article an unappreciated treasure.
The Abadeh carvings, generally ornamental sherbet spoons and boxes,
carved from pear-wood with a common knife, and very beautifully done, are
still to be had; but the work is deteriorating, and the attempt to copy
European drawings is destroying its originality.
Very beautiful carving, or rather engraving, on metal is still done
in Ispahan; and I have some cups of brass, and others of silver, that
are probably unique in this kind of metal-work. But that, too, is
deteriorating; the good artists find it pays them better to do a quantity
of coarse work for the exporting curio-dealers than finer and more
delicate engravings, which are paid for at a higher rate, but which tax
their sight and skill to the uttermost.
Calligraphy as a high art is dying the death. A single line by a great
calligrapher was worth a fabulous amount, and large sums were often paid
for a good manuscript of Hafiz or the Koran. Printing has destroyed
all this, and the cheap volumes from Bombay presses tend to eradicate
calligraphy as an art.
A kind of inlaid work similar to our Tonbridge ware is made in Persia;
it is to be seen at both Ispahan and Shiraz; though not so chaste as the
Indian work, it is much more varied in pattern, and the effect is good.
Metal is freely used with the coloured woods, but brass, and not silver,
is employed. It is called “Kahtam.” Glove and handkerchief boxes are made
for the European market, and tables, chairs, chess and backgammon boards,
and mirror frames for the wealthy Persians. The Shiraz work is the best.
Ispahan is celebrated for its incised work on iron. This “pūlad,” as it
is termed, is beautifully veined and cleverly damascened, being inlaid
with thin plates of gold. The specimens are, however, very expensive;
as the work is the monopoly of a family, prices are almost prohibitive.
This, too, is a dying art.
Of painters and paintings I have spoken. The copying of doubtful European
works is their bane, and they fail in their rendering of the nude, in
which they delight. For pretty faces and good colouring, the Persian
artist has a deserved reputation. He is especially great in miniatures,
some of these being almost microscopic.
The embroideries of Resht, on the Caspian, are too well known to need
description. They are very florid, but cheap and effective. The price is
about two pounds a square yard for _very_ elaborate ones, if a large one
is ordered, and paid for by instalments as the work proceeds. Aniline
colours, used to dye the silks employed, are the curse of the modern
work, the showy tints of which soon fade. These, however, can be avoided
by specifying that they are not to be used.
The gold and silver work, except that of Zinjan, is poor in the extreme,
but solid; while, for filigree-work especially, Zinjan rivals Malta.
There are, however, _some_ great artists. Stones are clumsily set, and
often even strung and bored. A few clever gem-setters have come from
Constantinople to the capital.
The use of starch is unknown in Persia, and the laundresses very bad. As
in most Eastern countries, the washing is done at the side of a stream,
the minimum amount of soap and the maximum of beating being employed.
Such rough washing rapidly destroys one’s linen. Nowadays most Europeans
keep a laundress, or what is called a washerman, of greater or less
skill, and their shirts are “got up” as in Europe.
The Persians understand ironing, and the trade of ironer is a common one.
The dresses of the common people are ornamented by lines drawn on them
parallel with each other, by means of a kind of iron. The garment is laid
on a large jar of clay, and, holding this between his knees, the ironer
(“ūtū-kesh”) makes his pattern upon the new garment of silk or cotton.
The same means are used to mark the stuffs for quilting, which is much
in fashion. A Persian wears always at least one quilted garment, and
his quilts (“lahaf”) are simply large sheets of thick quilting. New
cloth clothes are also carefully ironed, a box-iron, filled, with live
charcoal, being generally employed.
The needlework of the Persians is very beautiful, silk being used
for sewing to the total exclusion of cotton. Some of the patterns of
embroidery, particularly those on silk, are very original; while the
networks of white silk, done with the needle on the “rubanda,” or veils,
at the part covering the eyes, being done wholly with the needle, are
almost monuments of art work.
Women as well as men smoke the kalian, and the aged ladies are often
opium-eaters to a large extent.
The great amusement of the Persian women of every rank is the bath.
Generally three or four hours in the week are passed by the very poorest
in the “hammām.”[32] As for the wealthier, they have baths in their
own houses, and use them almost daily. The middle classes make parties
to go to the hammām, and assist each other in the various processes of
shampooing, washing with the “keesa,” or rough glove, and washing the
hair with pipe-clay of Shiraz—a plan, by the way, which it is worth while
to follow, for the hair is rendered thereby cleaner than when eggs are
used. The pipe-clay is made up in little round cakes much resembling
biscuits.
A traveller of the pessimist type, who was posting through the country
to India, once showed me a pocketful of these cakes of clay, and drew my
attention to the “beastly native biscuits, that a fellow couldn’t eat!”
He had got a large handful for a copper as he passed through a roadside
bazaar.
Serious matters are the dyeing of the hair and beard, the use of the
depilatory, and the smoothing of the soles with pumice, and, lastly,
the dyeing of the soles and palms of the hands with “henna.” The very
poor seize the opportunity to wash their rags in the public bath at the
same time that they bathe. These public baths are open free of charge
and without distinction to rich and poor. A few coppers are given to the
“delaks,” or bath attendants, male and female. These pay for fuel, hot
water, etc. Certain hours are appropriated to each sex. The whole bath
can be always exclusively hired for a few kerans.
As to bread, it is of three varieties, and is all made from leavened
dough. The “sangak” is of the thickness of a finger, some three feet long
and a foot wide. This is baked in a peculiar manner, and from the word
“sang,” a stone, it obtains its name. A huge arched oven is half filled
with small pebbles from the river. Upon these pebbles is placed a pile of
brushwood; this is fired and fed till the stones are sufficiently hot;
the fire is then pushed into a corner, and the flaps of dough are placed
on the heated stones by means of a peel, as many as twenty loaves being
put on at a time. Batch after batch is baked in this way, the stones
being stirred occasionally when they get too cool to bake well, and the
fire is raked forward and fed again, and so on. Or at times the fire is
simply shifted from place to place in the oven, the loaves being placed
on the stones as they are heated. Thoroughly good bread is the result,
crisp, appetising, and satisfying. Eaten hot with butter, it is the
finest of breads after the Russian. Of course it is absolutely pure. The
term “flap-jack” is applied to this form of bread by the Europeans in
Persia.
The next variety is mostly baked by the smaller bakers of the various
suburbs of the towns, who have a slower sale. Your Persian likes his
bread hot from the oven, save the thrifty Ispahani, who prefers it cold,
thus gaining in the weight. This is the “tannūr” bread. The “tannūr,”
or oven, is simply a huge jar fixed into the earth, and usually placed
against a wall. This is constantly fed with pieces of camel-thorn, which
catch from the flames at the bottom, and keep the walls of the jar hot,
as well as maintaining a high temperature inside. The loaf is the same
thickness as the “sangak,” and about two feet by one, oval in shape. They
are flung against the inside of the heated jar by a peculiar motion of
the hand of the “shartir,” or baker’s oven-man. In a few seconds they are
thoroughly done and browned. They are then quickly removed by a fork, and
others placed in their stead.
The third kind of bread is that usually baked by villagers or tribesmen.
It is a thick circular loaf, some foot or more in diameter, and is a sort
of griddle-cake.
It is baked on a hot plate of iron, or at times a pot-lid covered with
live ashes is placed over it, or the cake is turned over.
The unleavened bread, which is best prepared by Armenians and Kūrds, is
merely a paste of flour and water, rolled to the thinness of a wafer,
and of great size. It is baked on a hot plate, and is hung out to air
and dry; it is then folded, when not quite dry, into four. It will keep
for several months if kept dry, and is damped prior to using, when it
loses its brittleness, and becomes easily rent, but unbreakable. It is a
capital bread for the road, and is invariably carried by Persians when
marching, being very portable, and as palatable after a couple of months
as on the day it was made.
Rusks, biscuits, and a peculiar form of very dry bread, called
“twice-fired,” are specially made for travellers; and the Armenians
prepare a kind of bun, which is made with flour and ghee, slightly
sweetened and sprinkled with sesamum seeds. Sesamum and poppy seeds are
often used to ornament and flavour the breads, especially the “tannūr”
variety. Hard-boiled eggs are also sold, dyed red or yellow, for the use
of travellers. A lump of cheese, a few raisins, and a dozen of eggs are,
with some of the “twice-fired” bread, a sufficient and cheap provision
for the native traveller.
The appetite of some of the lower orders for bread is very extraordinary.
I have often been surprised to have a servant ask for an increase of
wages, _because_ he had a large appetite. Persians invariably pay their
servants so much in cash, so much (by weight) of bread, two suits a year,
and what is left at meals divided among them. This the European does not
do; he gives it all in coin. I have seen a boy eat fourteen pounds of new
bread and, as a sauce to the bread, a dozen hard-boiled eggs. I _saw_
this, and I left him—_still eating_.
Bread, eggs, “mast” (curds), and cheese form the staple food of the
labouring classes in Persia; occasional onions, eaten in chunks as
a boy eats an apple with us, render the _menu_ tasty, and the eater
insupportable.
Meat the poor seldom eat. When they do get it, they make soup of it,
pounding up the meat after it is boiled to rags, and mixing it anew with
the soup; they dip bits of bread in the mess till it is consumed. Of
course, in the fruit, lettuce, cucumber, grape, and melon seasons, these
form a large portion of their diet.
CHAPTER XXXI.
EDUCATION. LEAVE, AND RETURN VIÂ INDIA.
Education—Schools—Punishments—Love of poetry—Colleges—Education
of women—Religion—March to Bushire—Extremes of
cold and heat—Good luck—Go home to England—Leave
_viâ_ India—The “Boys”—Lisbon—Algiers—Port Said and
Suez—Jeddah—Donkeys—Coral reef—Sea-slugs—Aden—Madagascar
oranges—“Grimes”—Kurrachee—Drives—Visit to the alligators at
Muggerpir—Disgusting scene—A legatee—Black-wood furniture—A
lost bargain—Persian Gulf—Bushire—Leave for Shiraz.
As to education in Persia, reading, writing, and the rudiments of
arithmetic are general among the merchant and bazaar class; and each
small village has its school, which is generally held in the mosque. The
usual sum paid for instruction to the “moallim,” or schoolmaster, is
from sixpence to a shilling a month. The letters are taught, and then
the reading in Arabic of the Koran. Of course the boys do not understand
what they read, and as they all read at once in chorus, the noise is
deafening. The discipline is severe, and a boy who is idle, _or whose
parents are backward with the monthly stipend_, has a rough time of it.
The bastinado on a miniature scale is always ready in the corner, and
a rope and pulley is kept, in which a troublesome boy’s hand and foot
may be placed, that he may be hoisted on high, a terror to evil-doers.
This, however, is not a painful punishment; it is a sort of substitute
for the standing on the form as practised with us. No attempt is made to
teach anything more than the three R’s; particular attention is devoted
to calligraphy, for a good writer is sure of his living, if merely as a
clerk.
Those who aspire higher, to the post of mirza or secretary, generally
obtain a knowledge of phrase, trope, and compliment from the writings of
the poets; and the intricacies of detail on these matters are endless—in
fact, they are a science.
The tales of “Saadi,” and a smattering of Arabic, form the climax of what
is learnt at school.
At many village schools a few only of the boys learn to write, all to
read. This power of reading they soon lose, but a villager has little
occasion for it, and the repeating from memory of a few prayers, and
passages from the Koran, with some verses of poetry, is generally all
that remains to the villager of his education.
The quoting of poetry in Persia is universal; it is in every man’s mouth
from highest to lowest, and is introduced into the most unpoetical
conversations. The servants would often pass their evenings listening to
the declamation of the poet Firdūsi as intoned by my cook; and certain
hackneyed quotations are ever on the lips of even the most ignorant.
A few boys, after leaving school, proceed to college (“medresseh”). These
are intended for the priesthood, the law, or medicine.
There seem to be no regular courses.
The student studies Arabic sedulously, and reads a good deal in a
desultory sort of way, much time being devoted to poetry and commentaries
on the Koran, while he fills up the rest of his time in literally
“sitting at the feet of the local Gamaliels,” regularly presenting
himself at the receptions of the heads of law and religion; he is seen
at their “medjlisses,” or assemblies; ever ready with a quotation, or
a smooth affirmative, or a sigh of astonishment at the erudition of
his patron; the student swells the throng of his numerous hangers-on,
accompanying him on visits, and to the mosques; ever ready to write a
letter, run with a message, give an order to a servant; in fact, to do
everything that is not exactly menial.
After a few years of assiduously imitating the great man, the young
priest or lawyer is, perhaps, sent to a small village, where he may
become pedagogue and parson, or he elects to follow the fortunes of some
grandee, as secretary on no wages, with possible opportunities of modakel
(peculation).
Or, if a doctor’s son or relative, he compounds his drugs for a year, and
then is a full-blown hakim, or physician, and, setting up in some distant
town, on the principle that “no man is a prophet in his own country,” he
may earn a very comfortable living.
In Teheran there is a college where the rudiments of a liberal education
are taught by English and French professors on an ambitious scale. From
this college are recruited the courtiers, diplomats, and Government
employés of the Shah, also the principal officers of the army.
The daughters of the rich and learned are the only women who are at all
educated; some of them are good readers and reciters of poetry, and can
even write verse themselves; but most of the educated women can merely
write a letter and read the Koran, or an ordinary Persian story-book,
the former _without comprehension_, it being in Arabic. A great deal of
their time is given to poetry, and they are all of a very sentimental
turn. About one woman to fifty educated men are found, the policy of
Mahommedanism being “not to open the eyes of a woman too wide.”
Among the educated classes many are infidels, others pure theists, while
communism _as a religion_ is followed by the numerous secret sectaries of
the “Baab;” among whose tenets is undoubtedly, though the Baabis deny the
fact, that of community of wives and property.
The great portion, however, of the merchants, traders, and villagers are
_really_ Mahommedans, a practical and work-a-day religion, when stripped
of mummery and bigotry. The Persian is not prone to fanaticism, though
he is easily excited to it, and dangerous when in a state of religious
fervour. They are very particular as to prayers and forms, as fasting,
etc., and many carry them out at great personal inconvenience.
Among the higher servants—military and courtier class—however, irreligion
is rife. These say no prayers, keep no fasts, have no belief, and
are utterly dead to everything but what they believe to be their own
interests. Many openly boast their disbelief in anything, _and this is
done with impunity_.
In the year 1874 I had occasion to march down to Bushire. The journey was
without incident, but shows the extraordinary variety of the climate. We
went down on our own horses in five days.
The first night we lay covered with all our rugs in a small room, four
of us, with a huge fire, and it was impossible to sleep for the intense
cold. The next day we rode through heavy snow, having to blunder through
drifts on foot up to our waists, dragging our horses, and glad to drink
raw curaçoa to keep any warmth in us when freezing on our horses, where
we _were_ able to ride. The fourth night we slept in the open air at
Dalliké, under some palms, with next to no covering; and as I was the
only one of the party who had taken the precaution to keep my head
wrapped up in a handkerchief, and my gloves and a pair of socks on, so I
was the only one who was not terribly bitten on face, feet, and hands by
mosquitoes. That day and the next we suffered from the heat.
The only memorable event in Bushire, which we left after a week’s stay,
was the good fortune of one of the cable employés. He had bought a ticket
in the big Indian Derby sweepstakes for nine rupees, the original price
being ten. It was sold to him rather against his will, the seller being a
married man, and feeling it wrong to gamble. The ticket won five thousand
pounds, which was duly paid to the lucky buyer. What must have been the
feelings of the other man? Mr. S⸺ (the purchaser), however, salved them
by generously giving him five hundred rupees.
Being now entitled to two years’ leave I made up my mind to return home,
and posted up to Teheran and Resht; thence by Russian steamer over the
Caspian.
On the Caspian I met the Rev. R. B⸺, of the Church Missionary Society,
who had been stationed at the Armenian village of Julfa, near Ispahan. He
was returning with his wife, after a stay in Persia of some years. This
companionship made a tedious journey more agreeable. We had fine weather
on the Caspian, and reached Zaritzin without incident.
When passing through Russia a French lady, Madame O⸺, authoress of
‘Impressions of Life in Russia,’ came into our train. She was accompanied
by a crowd of friends, who had provided her with supplies of food and
drink, fruits and sweetmeats, on a most extensive scale.
These she most kindly insisted on our partaking of. She proved an amusing
companion, but differed on religious matters with the clergyman, who at
length expressed himself as shocked with her very liberal opinions. The
lady then ceased to argue, and asked for a cigarette. My friend gave her
one, but it was of Teheran manufacture, and not at all to her taste.
“_Tiens_,” she said, handing a silver case to him, filled with _Russian
Laferme cigarettes_, “my opinions are like your cigarettes, execrable,
but _my_ cigarettes are undeniable;” _and they were_.
I took my two years’ leave, married, and made up my mind, very
reluctantly, not to return to Persia; but the English climate did not
agree with me, and at length my wife and I determined to go out, and, at
all events, see if it were preferable to England or no.
I fancy it was rather against my own previous ideas, as we were shown
a letter of mine by a married French friend, who had, when personally
unknown to me, written to ask what was the needful outfit for Persia. I
had replied, so many shirts, boots, etc., such saddlery, and, above all,
NO WIFE.
After five years’ experience we both think my advice to my friend was
correct.
In September 1876 we got on board the British India Steamship Company’s
ship _Arcot_. Our friends and relatives went with us as far as Gravesend,
and we went through all the usual weepings and farewells. My wife was
very ill till in the Bay of Biscay; I insisted then on her coming on
deck, and after that, though she couldn’t stand the saloon, which was
stuffy, for the first week, she enjoyed the voyage, which, as she had
never left Europe before, had all the charm of novelty.
We were lucky in our ship, and lucky in our captain, and we had only one
fellow-passenger, a youth of nineteen; save a Portuguese doctor, who got
in at Lisbon, and out at Aden, whence he was bound to Mozambique. There
was an enormous staff of Portuguese (half-caste) waiters, and, with so
few passengers, of course we received great, almost oppressive, attention
from them.
The captain had a small dog, of the curly variety called “Tiger,” and
one “boy” looked after him, and another after our little black-and-tan
terrier, “Pip.”
Of this arrangement I was unaware till one day I asked a “boy”—they were
much alike—if he had seen the dog about. “Don’t know, sah; I Tiger’s boy,
sah; I go ask Pip’s boy, sah.”
There being so few passengers we got a state-room for four to ourselves,
which opened into a bathroom. This was specially convenient, and the bath
of hot and cold water very refreshing in the hot places we had to pass on
our long seven weeks’ voyage.
At Lisbon we stayed two days. The entrance to the mooring-place was
very fine, and the site of the old town—that destroyed by earthquake—was
pointed out to us. The wine trade seemed to absorb the principal
energies of the inhabitants, who were a bustling lot, and the reverse of
prepossessing. As it rained the whole time we were there, we saw nothing
of the place. We got a box of Bucellas, containing two dozen, for two
pounds, for use on our march up country, and found it a clear light wine,
but not strong enough for the ordinary English palate. It did not seem to
be sophisticated.
Algiers, the next port we reached, was a delightful break in the voyage.
We went ashore, saw the lions, and here my wife had her first glimpse
of Oriental life. The Arabs in their white burnooses, looking in the
gloaming like so many freshly-risen Lazaruses, the negroes, veiled women,
camels, etc., all astonished and delighted her. We went for several long
drives (in the sun and dust); we sat under the palms of the “Place,” in
the dust, and heard the band; lunched at a café in the dust; bought many
lovely photographs, and were very sorry to continue our voyage. We here
got fresh sardines; very far superior to tinned ones we thought them.
Of Port Said and Suez there is little to be said. A kind of _café
chantant_, with roulette on disadvantageous terms, seemed to wake into
extreme liveliness on the arrival of the P. and O. boat at the more
cheerful of these two towns, I really forget which; and syrens, of an
elderly Teutonic type, sang and played on various instruments; while a
roaring temporary trade was done in beer and syphons. The canal is too
well known to need description.
At Jeddah we had two days. The first one was diversified by an invitation
to the house of the consul, whose nephew was acting, and in the afternoon
we went for a _gallop_ on donkeys in the desert—_such_ donkeys, nearly
fourteen hands high, pure white; groomed within an inch of their lives,
full of spirit, and worth forty pounds apiece. I forget if these animals
were Bahrein donkeys, or, in fact, where they did come from, but they
were the equal of any hack I ever rode—soft-mouthed, spirited, of free
action. They kept up with our host’s horse with ease, and our ride in the
desert was certainly an enjoyable one.
The next day the captain was good enough to give us a day on a coral
reef. We went by boat to the reef, and saw Nature’s superb aquarium,
where _all_ the vegetation and fishes were in good condition—_such_
zoophytes, _such_ seaweeds, and _such_ gorgeous fish, sponges of all
sorts and sizes, and coral of all sorts of shapes and colours; lovely,
indeed, as seen through the clear water.
The boat was run aground on the reef, and the men got us many specimens,
which we carefully treasured in a foot-bath for twenty-four hours, but
the great heat killed them all then. Huge sea-slugs were very numerous;
they are eaten by the Chinese, and are dried and sold in large quantities.
We did not call at Hodeida, the port of Mocha.
At Aden we lay three days, and of course went to see the tanks; very
wonderful, but so often described that it would be presumption to attempt
it. We were presented by Captain Hansard, of the B.I.SS. Co., with a
large basket of the biggest and sweetest oranges we had ever tasted;
they were from Madagascar. Only those who have been in the Red Sea can
appreciate the delights of such a present at its full value.
Captain Hansard’s vessel, the steamer for Zanzibar, was moored alongside
ours while cargo was trans-shipped, and there was quite a congregation
of British India steamers. Captain Hansard brought on board for our
amusement his pet, a rare species of lemur; this _being_—he was more
human than a monkey—constantly accompanied the captain over his ship;
he was a dullish white, save the body and arms, which were covered by a
bright brown-coloured fur, giving the animal the appearance of having
on a sort of “cardigan;” the bright yellow eyes, and noiseless, rapidly
graceful movements were strange; the term lemur being a very appropriate
one, for the animal was very ghost-like.
Quite different in habits from the common gray lemur, “Grimes,” for so
Captain Hansard named him, was a most gentle and affectionate animal,
clinging to his master like a baby, and quite like a child in his
affection.
But “Grimes’s” temper was uncertain; he got loose and would have severely
bitten a youth who teased him had he not been with difficulty secured,
and this he never would have been had not Captain Hansard just then
luckily come aboard; to his master’s whistle he came at once. More agile
than a monkey, the creature, when pursued, flew over the rigging and
awnings, taking long bounds without apparent effort, like an exaggerated
Spring-heeled-Jack; and coming down to the ground noiselessly, as if
devoid of weight. “Grimes” was altogether a notable animal; his master
was much attached to him. We were presented with a monkey by another of
the captains; he was amusing, as all monkeys are, but his light paled
before the superior attractions of “Grimes.”
Leaving Aden, we ran straight for Kurrachee, which we reached after
nearly five weeks from London. We knew no one in the place, and we should
have been glad to have seen a little of India by taking a tour by rail,
but Captain Burke assured us that he might be ordered off at any moment
by telegram; and as we did not feel disposed to chance being separated
from our kit, we had to forego it.
Each day we went ashore after tiffin, and were driven about in a landau
and pair; it was much too hot to walk.
Since we reached Jeddah we had been sleeping on the skylight platform;
this was each night fenced in by tent walls, but here the damp drove us
below. On this skylight, too (a big awning covered the whole deck), we
lunched and dined.
One day we diversified our drive by an excursion to Muggerpir; it is some
twenty miles off, most of the way on a good road, but a terribly dusty
one; we had to take four horses, and as soon as we arrived, were glad to
take refuge in the travellers’ bungalow and lie down to escape the heat.
After lunch (tiffin I may say, as we were in India) we went to see the
muggers (alligators).
Behind a low mud wall was a muddy pool having some twenty snouts exposed:
apparently lifeless, they looked like bits of driftwood; under a tree lay
a big alligator quite motionless. On the guardian being interviewed, he
suggested our regaling the muggers with a kid, and one was brought by a
villager, paid for, and killed. The priest in charge now advanced close
to the pool, the eyes of the owners of the snouts opened, but the heads
hardly moved; we saw several other smaller reptiles among the bushes. The
man now called to them, a few wagged their heads slightly, but otherwise
did not notice him; then he brought the kid, and all now were instantly
alive; those who had been hidden in the bushes slid into the muddy water
hole, and all began to swim vigorously, while the big gentleman under the
tree actually opened his eyes; but _he_ did not stir. The body of the kid
was tossed in, and was instantly torn in pieces and struggled for; in
two minutes it had disappeared; it was a horrible sight. In another five
minutes the pool was still, the motionless heads lay sweltering in the
sun, and all was as quiet as death.
The guardian now advanced to the big alligator, and informed us that
he was a legatee, and regularly fed under the terms of a will, and so
independent of the votive kids. The brute allowed the man to open his
jaws, and gave no signs of life, save that when called his eyes opened.
He was a fine animal, but the rest of the muggers were what Americans
would call “right mean little cusses.” We satisfied the priest and
returned to Kurrachee, having seen its one sight.
One other thing, the oysters at Kurrachee are not bad, particularly when
you know you won’t get any for five years to come.
We were much struck with the beauty and cheapness of the _black_-wood
furniture here. This beautiful carved furniture is now, so they told
us, out of fashion in India, and may be had for a song; the worst of it
is, it is brittle and bulky. We went to one of the dealers and bought
a hundred pounds’ worth, and for this sum our Persian home would have
been sumptuously furnished; we made a contract with the seller, _in
writing_, to pay him ten per cent. extra for the whole to be delivered
free on board, in cases not weighing over three hundred pounds each, and
not measuring more than four by three feet; if otherwise as to size and
weight, the bargain to be off. The afternoon before the _Arcot_ left, we,
on our return from our drive, found the dealer on board, and he smilingly
informed us that the furniture was all _in the hold_; he then presented
his bill. I smelt a rat, as I had told him _I must see_ the cases and
weigh them before shipment. Luckily I did not trust the fellow, for some
of the cases weighed eight hundred pounds, and of course could not have
gone up country in Persia. I refused to take delivery, and was threatened
with the law. But it appears that the dealer, on showing his contract
to a solicitor, was told he had no case, and reluctantly removed his
packages. I was sorry the man lost by the affair, but packages of huge
size and weight were useless for mule carriage. So we lost our black-wood
furniture.
We had ten days of the coast of Belūchistan and the Persian Gulf,
stopping at Linga, Bunder Abbas, etc., though we did not go ashore,
having no desire for some hours’ pull, _in the sun_, in an open native
boat on a very rough sea.
At length Bushire was reached, and after a seven weeks’ voyage from the
time we left London, we landed in Persia; and were hospitably entertained
at the Residency, where Colonel Prideaux, one of the whilom captives of
King Theodore, was Acting Political Resident in the Persian Gulf; Colonel
Ross being at home on leave.
I was anxious to draw pay again, which I could only do on reaching my
station, Shiraz; and to escape the rains: so I engaged a muleteer, and
finding two of my old servants and a boy in Bushire, we started with
thirty mules, ourselves riding muleteers’ ponies.
Our stay in Bushire lasted only four days, and at some personal
discomfort we started, hoping to avoid the rains which were due in a
fortnight.
CHAPTER XXXII.
FROM THE PERSIAN GULF TO ISPAHAN.
Our start for Shiraz—Camp out—Borasjūn—Spring at
Dalliké—Kotuls—Kazerūn—Buy a horse—A tough climb—Place
of Collins’s murder—Arrive in Shiraz—Hire a house—Settle
down—Breaking horses—Night marching—Difficulties
of start—Mūrghab—Find our muleteer and
loads—Abadeh—Yezdikhast—Koomishah—Mayar—Marg—Arrive in Julfa.
We ourselves, our small dog “Pip” in a cage, and our canaries—almost
unknown in Persia—and seventy-two tiny “avadavats” (bought at Kurrachee
for three rupees), left in a boat for Sheif, on an estuary of the gulf,
thus avoiding the Macheelah plain, a dreadful march of mud and water, and
shortening the journey to Shiraz by two stages.
After four hours’ pull and sail in the burning sun we reached Sheif. This
appeared simply a mud hut on the beach. There may have been a village,
but we saw nothing of it. Here we mounted our sorry steeds.
Some three hours after we caught up with the rest of our loads, which had
struggled out through the Macheelah the day before. All the mules were
knocked up, and my wife was fatigued with the unwonted exertion of riding
a muleteer’s pony. This is at any time hard work for a _man_, for the
beast does not answer the bit, bores continually on it, and strokes with
a light-cutting whip are quite unfelt. There is also a struggle among the
riding ponies, more used to loads than riders, as to who shall be last of
all; in which a lady’s pony is generally the victor.
It had been impossible to buy a hack suited to a lady in Bushire. I
had been asked English prices for the ghosts of steeds—quite honestly,
however, for Bushire prices are much higher than Shiraz ones. So after my
wife’s trying my pony, the cook’s, and the head muleteer’s, I got one of
our escort, a good-natured fellow, clad in rags and smiles, to lend her
his. This “yabū” (common pony) was at all events easy, and had a canter
in him at need.
At sunset the muleteer informed me that we were twenty miles from our
halting-place, Borasjūn, and that the mules could do no more. It was
hopeless to attempt to go on, as my wife was as tired as the mules. Night
(happily a warm one) was coming on; there was no sign of any shelter
for miles, the only thing visible on the sandy plain being the distant
date-groves, and these are of course no protection. The road was dry,
which was something, and we had plenty of food with us; so we halted,
spread our carpets, had tea, and later on dinner, and camped out—rather
a dreadful first day’s travelling in Persia for a lady, to sleep without
shelter, and in her clothes, in the middle of the road, after travelling
since ten A.M. However, there was nothing else for it. The Sheif road is
a very unfrequented one, and the country was safe and undisturbed. It
was a lovely night, not a breath of wind. At four A.M. we had tea, and
started at five, getting into Borasjūn at ten.
For the time of year the luxuriant vegetation near the village was
extraordinary; it was now late in October, the heat was great, and the
amount of moisture in the air somewhat oppressive. We found capital rooms
in the caravanserai, and the clerk at the telegraph-station made us
welcome to high tea, being rather indignant that we had not come straight
to the office. After that we started again, and reached our halting-place
at midnight.
At Dalliké is a rest-house maintained by the Department for the use of
the employés. A short distance from the rest-house at Dalliké is a hot
spring of clearest water; the temperature is about one hundred degrees,
and being in a circular natural basin, some four feet deep in the
centre, and in a place where no warm bath can be had, it is a favourite
halting-place for travellers. Besides giving a comfortable bath, there is
a peculiarity that I have seen nowhere else; the basin is full of myriads
of fish about the size of whitebait. On dipping the hand in, they at once
cover it, and in a minute it is quite hid from sight by crowds of tiny
fish: they have no fear, and can be removed in handfuls. On stripping and
entering the basin a curious effect is produced by one’s limbs becoming
black with the fish, which nibble at the skin, and only leave it when you
plunge violently. On becoming still, one’s body is again entirely covered
with fish.
From thence we travelled by day only. At each village I tried to get a
pony for my wife, but nowhere could I succeed, though I was ready to buy
anything not absolutely vicious.
Mr. M⸺ kindly gave us quarters at the telegraph-office at Kazerūn, and
here we rested a day.
The kotuls, or passes (literally ladders), well known throughout the
country, had astonished my wife: they are terrible places to ride up, and
nearly impossible to ride down: she, however, was determined not to be
beaten, and had ridden them all. We had been especially fortunate in our
weather; no rain, though we saw many clouds, and it was imminent.
As I was looking out of window at the Kazerūn telegraph-office, I saw
a man mounted on a handsome grey mare. I hallooed, and he stopped. I
went down and parleyed. The mare was sound, and six years old, fast,
light-mouthed. I felt that, if free from vice, she was what my wife
wanted. I rode her, and succeeded in getting the man to close for seven
hundred and fifty kerans, about thirty pounds. I gave him fifty kerans
in cash, and a bill on Shiraz for the remainder. I never regretted
the purchase. The mare was all that a lady’s horse should be. She was
tall for Persia, being fourteen three in height, no goose rump, and
very handsome. Her mouth soon got very light, and her only fault, a
very trifling one, was that she carried her ears badly. My wife and I
constantly rode her for four years, and after marching twenty-eight
stages from Ispahan to the Caspian on her with a side-saddle on, I handed
her over in good condition, having sold her for a fair price.
Of course the journey to my wife became now a pleasure. She had a horse
_of her own_ that did not jolt, and who at a word or a shake of the rein
would canter or gallop, instead of the thwack, thwack of the muleteer’s
yabū. By fancying the troubles of a lady compelled to cross the Rocky
Mountains on a small Hampstead donkey, with a tendency to fall, one might
form some faint ideas of my wife’s trials in getting over her five days’
climb from the coast to Kazerūn. We here left the date-groves, which had
been numerous till now.
Two more passes remained to us—the Kotul Dokter and Kotul Peri Zun (the
Passes of the Virgin and the Old Woman). That of the Old Woman is very
bad indeed, and it is a wonder how loaded mules do get up it—miles of
awful road among loose rocks and stones, and then steep zigzags of paved
road up a perpendicular cliff. Awful work! We did it, however, and did
it in the night; for we had been stopped by a great firing of guns and
alarm of thieves in the beautiful Oak Valley, and so lost the daylight.
We avoided a great part of the pass by scrambling up “Walker’s Road,” a
straight path under the telegraph-line, well enough to walk _down_, but
almost impossible to ride up, particularly at night; fortunately, we had
a moon, and the weather was fine. My wife, however, was compelled to
dismount twice, and we lugged, shoved, and dragged the horses up, the
mules, of course, going by the high-road: at last we did get in, but all
tired out.
Next day a longish march brought us to the hill leading down into the
plain of Desht-i-arjeen. It was on this hill, some eleven years before,
that Major St. John[33] was riding, when a lion suddenly sprang upon his
horse’s hind-quarters. St. John had only a very small Colt’s revolver
with him at the time, when suddenly he saw a lioness some thirty yards in
front; he cracked his whip and shouted at her, thinking that she would
bolt. She charged; sprang, and came down under his foot. With so small
a pistol it would have been useless to fire, so he spurred his horse,
which, however, would not move. The lioness now attacked from the rear,
standing on her hind-legs, and clawing the horse’s hind-quarters; he then
jumped off, getting, however, one slight scratch.
The horse now plunged and reared, knocking over the lioness on one side,
and the man on the other. The horse now was moving away. The lioness
stared at the horse, the man at her; then St. John fired a couple of
shots over her head to frighten her, but without effect; she sprang again
on the horse’s hind-quarters, and both were lost to view. After an hour
St. John found his horse, who, however, would not let him mount. He drove
the animal to the little hamlet, where he found a single family, but the
fear of beasts would not let the head of it come out to search for the
horse; however, next morning he was found quietly grazing; his quarters
and flanks were scored in every direction with claw-marks, and one wound
had penetrated the flesh, which St. John sewed up. In a week the horse
was as well as ever, but bore the marks for the rest of his life.
I have taken the liberty of abridging Major St. John’s own account of
this _real_ lion story from his note to the article “Leo,” in the work
on the ‘Zoology of Persia,’ volume ii., edited by Mr. W. Blandford, the
well-known naturalist. At the time the affair took place, Major St. John
was superintendent of the Persian Telegraph Department; shortly after,
I had the honour of serving under him in Shiraz for some time, and was
indebted to him for many kindnesses. I saw the horse some two years after
the affair, and the scars were very apparent. I did not tell my wife this
story till we had passed the stage, and there was no more lion country.
Our next march brought us to Khana Zinyun, where a handsome caravanserai
has been built by the Muschir, the great man of Shiraz. Before reaching
it we passed a pole, marking the place where the body of Sergeant Collins
was found, after his murder by highway robbers in the famine time.
The next morning we rode into Shiraz, and had no sooner reached our house
than the expected rain, which had happily held off during our journey,
began to fall, the sky was overcast, and continuous storms took place,
which lasted for a fortnight. Thanking our lucky stars, we prepared to
make ourselves as comfortable as possible, and set to to unpack and
arrange our quarters.
When we arrived at Shiraz, the superintendent’s house, which was in a
garden just out of the town, was kindly placed at our disposal. In a few
days I succeeded in hiring a good new brick-built house. We bought a few
carpets, and moved into it.
My colleague, Dr. Odling, kindly gave us the loan of his furniture for
the six months he expected to be away on leave, which was a good thing,
as one cannot get furniture made in Shiraz, and everything has to be
ordered in India or Ispahan. In the latter place there are fairly good
carpenters.
Our house was the property of the superintendent of the Government powder
mills, and for ten tomans, or four pounds a month, we hired it for the
six months that we should have to stop in Shiraz during my colleague’s
leave of absence. On his return it had been arranged that we were to go
to Ispahan, where we were to be permanently stationed.
The house was formed of a quadrangle, having rooms on three sides, and a
dead wall at the end.
The greater portion of our kit being in tin-lined cases, and intended for
our permanent abode, we did not unpack. After about a week we had settled
down into working order, obtained a fair cook, and old and respectable
servants; put our little “Crescent” car together, a small low dog-cart,
built by McMullen, of Hertford, which has the great advantage of taking
to pieces, being easily put together, easily packed in small and light
parcels, and was thoroughly seasoned; and stood the extraordinary dryness
of the climate without cracking or warping, which is saying a great deal.
The next thing was to get a trap-horse. The roads are mere tracks, and
very rough and heavy, and a strong animal was required. I managed for
twelve pounds to pick up a cobby pony of thirteen two. I had him gelded,
as even in Persia it is considered unsafe to drive an entire horse; and
he with another animal I gave seven pounds for, were handed over to the
coachman of the Muschir to be broken. I had vainly attempted to break
them myself with a gun-carriage, for my little dog-cart was too light and
pretty to risk a smash with. After a fortnight the Muschir’s coachman
informed me that both were quite broken. I suggested that he should drive
them in his master’s trap, a big brougham; but he evidently feared an
accident, and gave up the job in despair. Another fellow, however, took
it in hand, and after a few days I rode out some five miles, and was
delighted to find that one of the ponies was fairly broken, the little
grey one. The other one was hopeless; he, however, answered well as a
servant’s drudge.
We were able now to take frequent drives, though a long one, from the
heavy state of the roads, generally kept the pony in the stable for a
couple of days. Still it was nice driving over the plain, when once
outside Shiraz and its environs.
My wife found the life amusing from its novelty; and as we were not to
remain in Shiraz during the summer, which is the unhealthy time, our stay
was enjoyable enough.
As Shiraz has been previously described, there is nothing more to be
said than that the winter soon slipped away, and the spring, the most
enjoyable part of the year in Shiraz, arrived, bringing the jaunts to
gardens so usual there.
My colleague, anxiously expected, did not, however, arrive till July,
and the weather had then got so hot as to necessitate our marching up to
Ispahan _by night_. As I have not noticed this mode of travelling before,
I cannot do better than quote my wife’s diary, which gives her experience
of the matter.
“On Tuesday, July the 17th, 1877, everything being ready, we were
informed that our muleteer was unable to start, his mules being a hundred
miles off; so after much delay we found another, and engaged with him for
forty mules, each carrying three hundred and fifty pounds, at the rate
of seven hundred pounds, from Shiraz to Ispahan, for two pounds eight.
Besides this, our cook had three mules for himself and his family, and
with our own three horses, we shall form quite a respectable cavalcade.
“Shiraz to Zergūn, 24 miles.—On Wednesday the 18th, after weighing all
our cases and tying them up with the charwardar’s ropes, at six P.M. we
rode out, accompanied by Mirza Hassan Ali Khan (our friend the British
Agent here); having started all our servants, bedding, and road-kit,
on six mules. We kept one servant with us, and a gholam (or irregular
cavalry man), having an order from the Governor of Fars on all the chiefs
of villages to vacate their houses if needed, and to find us with food
and forage, of course being paid for them. No sooner had we cleared the
town, than, to our disgust, we found our pantry-man surrounded by his
weeping relatives, his wife and our cook’s lady being unable to tear
themselves from their sympathising friends. This, of course, did not
matter, but, alas! the mule-load with our bedding was with them.
“My husband, by a free use of threats, compelled Abdul Hamid (the
pantry-man) to start, the gholam following in charge of the mule which
carried Hamid’s wife and the cook’s wife and daughter, a girl of nine;
all closely veiled, and weeping copiously.
“On getting about a mile out, the cage containing eight canaries, two
goldfinches, and eighteen avadavats, which we had got at Kurrachee, was
given to Hamid to carry in front of him; but as it was his first journey
and attempt at riding, after about a couple of hundred yards he and
the cage came crash to the ground, some avadavats escaping; so we gave
the cage to a villager to carry on his head; we then bid good-bye to
Mirza Hassan Ali Khan; and my husband now was occupied in whipping on
the mule of helpless Abdul Hamid, to get him up to the other servants,
in which he succeeded after we had gone twelve miles. From the packing,
and excitement about getting mules, and not having had anything since
breakfast at one P.M., we were very tired; as were the horses, which we
had been from peculiar circumstances obliged to keep on grass for the
last three weeks.
“The road was a good one, but the moon gave very little light, and we
could not canter on that account, and for fear of the servants lagging.
This stage was formerly a very bad one, but the road was made good last
year, when the king was expected in Shiraz.
“At last, at eleven P.M., we reached the chupper-khana (or post-house)
at Zergūn, where we took the bala-khana (or upper room); we drank some
milk, and lay down till our dinner—a roast fowl and potatoes, and custard
pudding—was ready, which was not till nearly one hour after midnight.
“After that we slept heavily till seven A.M., when we were glad of our
tea and devilled fowl. We had breakfast at twelve, and vainly expected
the mules all day; and after seeing our horses groomed and fed, we dined
at seven on soup, boiled fowl, and caper sauce, Irish stew, custard
pudding, figs, and grapes; ice, of course, was not procurable; our wine
we brought with us, and we always have a flask full of it for the road.
“Just before starting, at half-past two A.M., _in the dark_, we had a
basin of soup; and having got all our servants off, started for our
second stage.
“At three we got off, and after nearly missing the road, we marched along
with our mules till dawn, when we cantered over a good and level road,
and feeling tired at sunrise, got down and had some cold fowl and wine.
Another hour brought us to Hadjiabad, where we found two comfortable
rooms occupied by some small official, of whose carpets and water-skin
we took possession (by means of a few kerans), and slept till breakfast.
We again rested till five P.M., when we had soup, and started, reaching
Sivend at nine P.M., seven hours’ journey, thirty-two miles from Zergūn.
“To our disgust we found that the inspector had locked every room in
the telegraph-office, he being on leave; so we took up our quarters
on the verandah, which was fairly cool. In the morning still no mules,
so we moved over to the best house in the village, where we are very
comfortable. We were glad to give our horses a rest, for the sudden
exertion after grass had done them no good. We passed our day in seeing
our saddles cleaned, the washing of ‘Pip,’ and writing letters.
“At night, the place being full of cats, who attacked the birds, C⸺ shot
two and missed two more. They, however, ate one canary, and the wires
being broken, C⸺ had to pursue another bird over many roofs, catching him
at last unhurt.
“_Sunday._—Still no news of mules; sent a ‘kossid’ (or foot-messenger)
with a letter to Shiraz asking for steps to be taken to get them out. The
man is to get half-a-crown for walking the fifty-six miles in eighteen
hours, and to bring back an answer!
“_Monday._—Venison for breakfast. We got a welcome present of snow last
night, and by laying the top of the table on the bird-cage, succeeded in
defying the cats.
“At twelve P.M., Wednesday, having no news of our mules, we engaged two
muleteers, started, and in two hours marched to Kawamabad, eight miles,
fording the river Bendamir half-way. A fair road. The weather changed
here; it was very chilly on arrival, and cool and windy all day.
“Left Kawamabad at six P.M., Thursday, and reached the tomb of Cyrus
at twelve, where we rested a little, and ate some fowl, and found the
night very cold. The monument is like a huge dog-kennel, of great
squared stones, on a stone platform. Ussher states the tomb itself to
be forty-three feet by thirty-seven. There are seven stone steps, which
diminish in thickness as one ascends. The kennel-like edifice at the
top is twenty-one feet by sixteen only; the thickness is five feet. The
interior dimensions are ten feet long, seven wide, and eight high. There
are no inscriptions. The door is four feet high only. There are the
remains of twenty-four columns, six on each side.[34]
“Got to Murghāb, twenty-eight miles, at two A.M. A very long and
fatiguing march; several passes. This place is celebrated for carpets,
but we failed to obtain any. In the centre of the village there is a
large piece of turf like a cricket field—the only piece of turf I have
seen as yet.
“Left at six P.M. A bad road, with several passes, till half way, when
it became a sort of steppe; here we came on a number of mules grazing:
we fortunately sent a man to ask whose they were, and they turned out to
be _our_ loads and the missing charwardar,[35] who had passed us when we
halted at Sivend.
“Our difficulties will now be much less, as with lots of muleteers we
shall get loaded and off quickly, and our bedding mule (which at present
carries my fortnightly box, C⸺’s portmanteau, a carpet, two heavy chairs,
and a table, a champagne box full of wine, an india-rubber sack full of
odds and ends, my little black bag, a heavy cage for Pip, and the birds’
cage a yard long, besides our bedding; and its pack-saddle weighing
thirty pounds) will go much lighter: we shall also get our bath, which
had gone on with the loads.
“We reached Dehbeed, twenty-six miles, at two; we had soup and fowl on
the road, and were very glad to get in. There is nothing here but a
chupper-khana, a caravanserai (in ruins), and a telegraph-office. It
is delightfully cool and windy, the water, too, is like ice, and very
good. Nothing to be got but bread; but we had supplies with us. Left at
nine P.M., and over a fair road with two small passes to Konar Khora,
twenty-four miles. This is a more lonely place than the last; water only
and cucumbers to be got; a post-house and caravanserai (in ruins) the
only houses, and nothing nearer than twenty-four miles. The flies so
hungry here that they bite and _hurt_.
“Left at six P.M., over a level plain and splendid road; stopped at
Faizabad, twenty-four miles, at twelve midnight, and taking the best
house, a very good one with two rooms overlooking a garden, slept again
in the open air; much warmer here; meat to be got again; we are now out
of the wilderness; had a really comfortable rest here; left at ten P.M.
“Reached Abadeh, sixteen miles, at two A.M. Our groom had lagged behind
with the horse-clothing, and the other two men had lost their way; so
we, the cook and the bedding, arrived alone. C⸺ had to tie up the horses
as best he could, and we took an hour to get to bed. The road was good,
and in the morning we got a fair mutton steak, but no fruit was to be
had. Left at ten P.M. Abadeh is a large place enclosed in a mud wall, the
post-house being outside; it is celebrated for spoons carved in wood in
a wonderful manner, but they are useless and dear. Here Mr. Carapet, of
the Department, hospitably entertained us and gave us a capital dinner,
and a leg of mutton for the road.
“Over a long plain, twenty-four miles to Shūrgistan; put up in the
guest-house of the shrine; arrived at half-past three. Nothing to be got
here; so hot that we had to go downstairs—the lower rooms are cooler.
Left at half-past eight P.M., and over a long plain to Yezdikhast, twenty
miles, where we arrived at one. A fine caravanserai; got a good room on
the roof. People here report the king’s death, and there is a panic. The
place is peculiar, being built on a high cliff which is in the middle of
a deep gorge nearly a mile wide, a small river running down the middle.
Our gholam left us here, this being the frontier of Fars.
“Left at six P.M. with three guards on horseback, the road reported to
be not safe. This stage is where C⸺ was robbed, and where the Bakhtiaris
make their incursions. Twenty-six miles to Maxsud Beg: a long road.
Arrived at two A.M. Took the guards the whole way, or we should never
have found the chupper-khana, which is off the road. Got some good bread
here at a small village. Found a load of ice sent us from Kūmishah; a
welcome present from the inspector there. A good room twice the usual
size, very cool; a high wind all day and night. Left at half-past seven
for Kūmishah, sixteen miles, a fair road, wind very high and cold.
Arrived at half-past eleven, after much trouble in a rocky valley,
servants losing themselves and coming to grief. The brown horse went lame
(from a projecting nail) and had to be led. Were hospitably entertained
by the inspector, Sergeant McIntyre, who gave us a breakfast of many
dishes. A large place, but in ruins; very cool; a fine shrine and
resting-place for pilgrims, accommodating some thousands.
“Left at half-past five; twenty miles over a dreary plain to Mayar, a
large caravanserai, and a village which is the Shah’s personal property
(in ruins); arrived at half-past eleven. No beds, as we had got in two
hours before the loads. I was so tired, I lay down and slept in my habit.
We were all too tired to eat, and the servants were dead beat; so we
went without dinner, ordering a good breakfast to be served as soon as
we should wake. Being determined to try and get into Ispahan (or rather
Julfa) to-morrow, an early move was necessary; we started at five P.M.,
and reached Marg caravanserai, twenty-eight long miles, at two A.M.;
here my husband determined to halt for a few hours, and I slept till
dawn in a wretched hole. There were good quarters in the chupper-khana
(post-house), and the post-house and caravanserai are all that Marg
consists of; but we were told that glanders had been rife there, and we
were afraid to trust our horses in the place.
“At dawn our caravan arrived; the muleteers and servants swore they could
do no more, but a little persuasion and a promise of a present got them
off, after feeding their mules, and we cantered on, reaching our quarters
at ten A.M., after a hot ride in the sun. By this forced march we escaped
the meeting with new friends, who otherwise, had we arrived the next day,
as was calculated, would have ridden out to meet us. I lay down at once,
and the mules and their riders dropped in one by one, each man on his
arrival seeming to shout louder than his predecessor.
“But our journey was over, and I trust I may never again have to march
three hundred miles at night.”
CHAPTER XXXIII.
JULFA.
Hire a house—Coolness of streets—Idleness of men—Industry
of women—Stone mortars—Arrack—Hire a vineyard—A wily
Armenian—Treasure-trove—The “Shaking Minarets”—A
hereditary functionary—A permanent miracle—Its probable
explanation—Vaccination—Julfa priests—Arrack as an
anæsthetic—Road-making—Crops of firewood—Fire temple—Huge
trees—The racecourse—Disappearance of ancient brick
buildings—Donkeys—Healthiness of Julfa—Zil-es-Sultan—His
armoury—Prospects of the succession to the
throne—Bull-terriers—Mastiffs—Politeness and rudeness of the
prince.
After a considerable amount of diplomacy, we managed to secure a fine
large house with a good garden and stabling, in the principal and best
street of Julfa. My wife was pleased with the cool climate of Ispahan,
the abundance of water, and the rows of trees with which each street is
planted.
The Armenian is a thrifty fellow, and plants the Zoban-i-gūngishk, or
sparrow-tongue, a kind of willow, on either side of the small ditch
which runs down the side or centre of the streets; this ditch brings
the water for the irrigation of the gardens, and by planting the trees
he obtains shade and fire-wood; for the “Zoban-i-gūngishk” is the best
of all woods for fuel, and the roots keep the ditch-bank solid and in
good repair. Cool and pretty as the streets look from the unaccustomed
masses of foliage, one soon finds that one is in a _Christian_ village.
Sheep and oxen are slaughtered all down the principal street, in the most
public manner; and on Saturday night especially drunkards are common,
while swarms of loafers, generally men who live on small pensions from
relatives in India, lean with their backs against the wall, basking in
the early sun, or sprawl in the shade during the heat.
In each doorway sit or lounge the women, but their hands and tongues are
busily employed; they knit socks as long as daylight lasts; some widows
even maintain a family by this industry. With nose and mouth hidden,
poorly fed, but well and warmly clad, the Armenian woman makes up by her
industry for the laziness of her husband; she sweeps the house and yard,
cooks the food, makes the clothes, bakes the bread, makes wine, arrack,
flour—for this is generally ground in a hand-mill by the poor; and the
rest of her time is filled up by knitting. These Armenian women are
notable housekeepers, and though generally ignorant and ungraceful—a girl
is never even fairly good-looking after seventeen—they are hard-working
and very virtuous.
In most of the quarters of Julfa may be seen at the roadside huge stone
mortars for the pounding of rice, by which means it is extracted from the
husk; these are the remains of the teeming Julfa of other days, when it
was a large city with twenty-four crowded parishes, each with its church,
the ruins of most of which are now all that remain of the parishes. You
seldom see a Julfa man pounding at one of the huge mortars; he prefers to
hire a Mussulman or villager to do the heavy work for him, and as he does
not care to part with his money—“Thrift, thrift, Horatio!”—the payment
is generally a glass of spirits. These spirits cost nothing, as each man
makes his own wine, which he sells, and from the refuse his arrack, which
he drinks. Armenians seldom drink wine; it is not strong enough for them,
and arrack is much more to their taste. All the refuse, after clearing
the wine, is put in a big pot, a head and worm is fixed on with mud, and
distillation by means of a very slow fire of big logs is proceeded with.
The product is redistilled once, and even a third time. A strong rough
spirit is the result; it is generally coloured green, and flavoured by
thrusting a handful of leaves of anise (rasianah) into the receiver. Of
course the spirit is quite pure, being after a third distillation simply
strong spirits of wine. What the Armenians _sell_, however, is much
adulterated and drugged; it is known as “fixed bayonets,” and is simply
made to produce intoxication.
I secured a fine house in Julfa for forty-eight pounds a year. One
side of this house—it formed two of the four enclosing sides of a big
garden—is shown in the illustration. The immense window indicates the
great size of the huge T-shaped summer room, or Orūssee, the floor of
which was tiled. The fountain is seen playing in the hauz, or ornamental
tank, in front of the Orūssee.
[Illustration: DR. WILLS’S HOUSE IN JULFA.]
My landlord had a fine vineyard at the side of my house, and for a yearly
payment of one hundred kerans I secured the right of entry, and the
privilege of eating as many grapes as we pleased. The landlord, however,
made mud bricks, and covered over _all_ the paths with the freshly-made
bricks laid to dry; it was only, finding remonstrance ineffectual, by
calling our five dogs in with us, and letting them run over the soft
bricks, that I could get him to clear the paths. I found, too, that I was
waterless directly water became scarce and dear, the man having sold our
water. Fortunately the lease specified the water, so I _took_ the water,
and referred the purchasers to my landlord. They beat him, and got back
their money. I saw the three arguing and fighting for several days; how
the matter ended I did not inquire. I got my water.
Twice in my house concealed treasure had been discovered; once to a large
amount by the grandfather of my landlord, and a second time to a smaller
value by his father.
On this second occasion, the well running dry, men were sent down to
deepen it; a door was found in the wall, and a quantity of arms and
clothing were discovered in a small chamber in the wall, but no money or
jewels. I found a secret chamber in this house, but it was empty.
Of course my wife had to be taken to that terrible fraud, the _Shaking
Minarets_. Why, no one knows, but every one has heard of the Shaking
Minarets. “You went to Ispahan. What did you think of the Shaking
Minarets?” is constantly asked by those who have not been there. Even
those who have, much on the principle of the bumpkin, who, on paying
his penny, is triumphantly shown the biggest donkey in the fair, _in a
looking-glass_, and urges his friends to go and see that show: so does a
feeling of having been defrauded cause people to advise their friends to
see the Shaking Minarets. The mere name is poetical and mysterious.
Upon a gentleman high in the diplomatic service being asked what was the
use of the British Agent at Ispahan, he replied:
“Oh, it is an hereditary office; he shows British travellers the Shaking
Minarets.”
But then that “excellency” was a humorous man. He it was who, on being
troubled by a pertinacious clergyman with many grievances, and told
by him (the parson) that “he was but a humble member of the Church
Militant,” replied, “Church Pugnacious, you mean.”
Dearly did the British Agent love to perform his “hereditary function.”
The new-comer, full of desire to see the Shaking Minarets, and really
pleased with his visit to the town of Ispahan, would make the appointment
for _the_ sight, and, seeing the “hereditary functionary’s” enthusiasm,
not liking to damp it, would acknowledge that he _had_ seen the eighth
wonder of the world.
An hour’s sharp canter through bridle-paths and shady lanes, after
crossing the river by the old Marnūn bridge, would bring one to the
little shrine, through the power of whose “Pir,” or saint, there
interred, the _miracle_ of the _Shaking Minarets_ is daily on view. As
one approached the village where the shrine is, the labourers in the
field would begin to run towards it, each eager to be the holder of a
European’s horse, and their shouts would bring a crowd to the scene.
There is nothing particularly wonderful about the shrine; it is under a
lofty arch of modern construction, and is the usual rectangular chest,
under which reposes the body of the saint. On the whole lies an open
Koran and reading-stand. The chest is covered by a ragged pall of cotton
cloth; and a few strings of copper “kendils,” or votive offerings, in
the shape of small copper cylinders constricted in the middle, attest
the popularity of the saint with the villagers. The guardian, also the
village schoolmaster, is a Syud, or holy man; no information can be
obtained from him, save that the dead saint has great power, and that the
shaking is a miracle. Proceeding to the top of the shrine, a good view of
the Ispahan valley is obtained, and here one sees the celebrated _Shaking
Minarets_. A lusty villager ascends each, and by dint of strong shaking,
both vibrate considerably. The “hereditary functionary” used _to do this
himself_ with great gusto, but, having visited England, has become too
important for the personal exercise of his “functions.” When one man
ceases to shake the vibration continues in both, and a peculiar sensation
of insecurity is felt when one is inside the minaret.
The _minarets_ are some twelve or fourteen feet high above the roof. They
are of brick; and the fact is, that being continuous with a long thin
wall which connects the two at the base, the vibration caused in one is
communicated to the other. This is the _miracle_, which will probably
some day cease by the vibrator being propelled into space, and then the
office of the “hereditary functionary” will be really a sinecure. The
place, however, has been repaired, and the minarets rebuilt, within the
last thirty years, so the guardian says. I fancy that the explanation
of the miracle lies in the hypothesis I have suggested, the long wall
on which the minarets are built having probably settled, and so, having
no communication with the side walls, being no miracle, but merely
bad building. We saw the miracle, expressed our wonder, thanked “the
hereditary functionary,” and went home sadder and wiser than we came.
Vaccination is now happily appreciated in Persia. On my first arrival it
was unknown, and inoculation was regularly practised. Another plan, too,
was common, and the future native pastor of the Protestant Armenians lost
a child by its practice. He put his own child in bed with a child having
small-pox, that it might take the disease in a benign form; confluent
small-pox of the most virulent type resulted, and the poor child died, to
the great grief of the parent, a most deserving and honest fellow.
This man and one other are the only teetotalers of Julfa, which may
dispute the palm with any Scotch town for capability of swallowing liquor
on a Sunday.
So common is drunkenness here, that an old cook of mine, an
English-speaking Armenian, used to say to me on Sunday night—
“Dinner finished, sir; if you no orders, I go get drunk with my priest.”
Needless to add, that they both did get drunk, and that it was at the
cook’s expense. Happily, there are some few exceptions among the Julfa
priests, for all India, Persia, and Batavia are supplied with priests for
their Armenian communities from Julfa.
Spirits are supposed to deaden pain, and a Yezdi, a guebre
(fire-worshipper), who had lodged some slugs and iron in his hand, prior
to my removing them, swallowed a quart of strong spirit without my
knowledge. I supposed him to become suddenly delirious, but he was only
suddenly drunk.
Our first care was to make a road for our little dog-cart. The gates
separating the parishes were mostly too narrow to let it pass, and we
finally made one six feet wide at the narrowest, having three bridges
without parapets (which we widened), and one was at a sharp angle, _and a
deep ditch the whole way on one side, and a wall on the other_. This was
capital for a small two-wheel thing, as long as the horse didn’t jib or
shy, or we didn’t meet any one. Happily, it did not in our time, but when
we got a bigger trap, a park phaeton, with a pair of horses, the pleasure
of our drive was somewhat damped by the possibility of a capsize at night
in the dark! But the cherub that always keeps a watch over poor Jack must
have been on duty, for we never did have an accident. It was Hobson’s
choice, that road or none.
Crossing the river at Marnūn became our favourite ride, and here one
could canter for miles on a good road, the greater part of which was
shaded by the gardens and orchards on either side. A great deal of
firewood, too, is grown in this neighbourhood, water is plentiful, and
so firewood is a staple crop. Getting out beyond the gardens, on a small
mountain standing by itself on the plain, was the ruin of an ancient
fire-temple. It was merely built of mud bricks, but here at Ispahan these
remain for centuries, and it was only on climbing up to it that one
perceived that it was not all quite modern, and a small portion built of
very large bricks on an ancient wall. A grand view was got from it, as it
commanded the entire plain.
Several large plane-trees are to be seen in the villages, many with
platforms built round them, where the villagers sit and smoke in the
evenings. A sort of semi-sacred character is attached to some of them,
particularly to one which is called the “plane of Mortaza Ali.”
A striking feature at Julfa is the so-called racecourse at Ferhabad.
A couple of walls enclose a straight run of over a mile. These walls,
which are in ruins, and of mud, have at intervals various pavilions,
some of the rooms of which are still almost perfect. At the end is a
large square, having many rooms round it in a still better state. The
road turned at a right angle towards the village of Julfa; but as this
is intersected by wells and watercourses, it is not used as a cantering
ground. The place is supposed to have been the summer palace of the
Afghan conquerors.
Ruins and ancient buildings, when built of burnt bricks, rapidly
disappear in Persia. It is for a very simple reason. It is cheaper to
demolish an old building, and carry off the good _seasoned_ bricks by
donkey-loads, than to make and burn new ones, which often crumble.
In my own time a large and handsome college near the Char Bagh of
Ispahan has utterly disappeared, the prince having given an order for
its demolition, and that the material be used in making the new one he
has now completed. The very foundations were grubbed up. In Ispahan
itself every third house is a ruin, and in Julfa the walls of gardens
and orchards often contain the bare inner walls of ancient houses, which
retain the brightness of their painting and gilding in the dry and pure
air.
Donkeys, as beasts of burden, are much employed in a country where there
are no carts or wheeled vehicles; save in the capital, the donkeys do
all the ordinary work of vehicles. Earth, manure, produce, firewood,
charcoal, grain, are all carried on these beasts or on mules. Each animal
has his pack-saddle, in which he lives and sleeps. It is only removed
when the donkey gets a rare and very occasional curry-combing from a
very primitive sort of instrument, having jangling rings, which produce
a music supposed to be soothing to a donkey’s soul. Every villager has
his donkey; if more than one he is well-to-do. The ordinary wage of a man
is one keran, a man and donkey one keran and a half, and each additional
donkey half a keran. They work from sunrise to sunset, with an hour’s
interval for feeding.
Julfa is a particularly healthy place, for the cesspools are constantly
kept clean by the market-gardeners, who pay for the privilege of removing
the manure. By mixing the contents of the cesspools with ashes, a dry and
portable manure is produced of the highest efficacy, and odourless. It is
removed on donkeys, and stored in the fields until required.
In the very depth of the winter, when snow and ice had rendered the
ride to the town highly dangerous for horses, I was summoned in haste
to see my old patient the Zil-es-Sultan, now the most important man in
the kingdom next to the king. I went, though risking my horse’s knees,
and was rather disgusted to find that I was sent for _to see if he was
ill or not_, as he was not sure. I found him in a hot room, temperature
eighty (by the thermometer), wrapped in furs, being shampooed by three
attendants, while a fourth was reading poetry to him. He was, I told him,
in a fair way to get ill, and that air and exercise were all he needed.
He took my advice, and returned to his usual very active life.
He showed me an armoury of some eight hundred rifles, with a
proportionate amount of fowling-pieces and pistols. I expressed the
desired amount of admiration. I suppose the time will come when his Royal
Highness will make an effort for the throne, probably on the present
Shah’s death. It will be a lucky day for Persia if he succeeds, as he
is clever, tolerant, and a good governor. His personal popularity is
very great, and his luck as a governor proverbial. He has a dislike
to deeds of blood, but is a severe governor, like his uncle, the late
Hissam-u-Sultaneh, whose virtues he emulates.
The Valliāt, or heir-apparent, on the contrary, is physically weak, and
mentally imbecile, being a bigot in the hands of a few holy men, and as
impracticable as he is obstinate. No doubt if he ever does reign a black
time will set in for the country, for religious persecution on a gigantic
scale will commence, and the future of Iran be very sad.
The Zil-es-Sultan had just got two bull-terriers from England. He was
convinced of their ferocity; and certainly the dog, very short-faced, and
almost a bull-dog, was of terrific appearance. His Royal Highness caused
them to be let into the courtyard, cautioning me to be very still, as not
knowing me they might attack me, and providing me with a lump of sugar to
appease them. Of course nothing of the sort took place, but the dogs ran
about and smelt the various grandees, to their great disgust. The prince
made great pets of them, feeding them with sugar. I was surprised to find
that though these dogs had not seen an Englishman for months, yet on my
speaking to them in English they followed me about, fawning on me, and
neglecting the prince, and the dog-man who was their valet.
Since this time the prince has procured two huge half-bred Dutch
mastiffs, in which he greatly rejoices, and these animals, though not
fierce, are certainly very powerful dogs. Strange that the love of
animals in a man like the Zil-es-Sultan should so overcome the Mussulman
dislike of the unclean beast. The dogs were in the habit of licking the
prince’s hand.
This particular winter was an unusually severe one. There was much snow,
and it was impossible to get out for rides for a fortnight; and two
store-rooms of my huge house fell in, from the heavy mud roofs being
soaked with water, and breaking their supports by the enormous increase
of weight.
On one occasion in the early spring we had ridden out to the garden
palace of Haft Dust, and were preparing to take tea, when with great
noise the Zil-es-Sultan rode into the place with some fifty horsemen. No
sooner did he see and recognise my servants than he asked if I was alone.
On hearing that my wife (“my _house_,” as my man put it) was with me, he
rode out, taking all his followers with him, and sending me a message to
“go on with my tea, that he trusted I should enjoy my visit, that the
place was mine as long as I pleased,” etc.
Europeans avoid the Persians when with ladies, as very ridiculous scenes
are at times the result. One gentleman, whose wife was not in her first
youth, on meeting the prince when riding with her, instead of avoiding
him, stopped to speak.
It was one of his rude days, for he calmly asked, in defiance of the
rules of Persian politeness, which demand the ignoring of the existence
of any female:
“Is that your wife?”
“Yes, my wife.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have a wife so old and ugly as that. Get a young one.”
The situation for both lady and gentleman was embarrassing.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
JOURNEY TO AND FROM TEHERAN.
Proceed to Teheran—Takhtrowan—Duties—Gulhaek—Lawn-tennis—Guebre
gardener—A good road—The Shah—Custom of the Kūrūk—M.
Gersteiger—Cossack regiments—Austrian officers—New
coinage—Count Monteforte—New police—Boulevard des
Ambassadeurs—English Embassy—Tile gates—Summer
palaces—Bazaars—Russian goods—Demarvend—Drive to
Ispahan—Difficulties of the journey—Accidents—Danger of
sunstroke—Turkeys—Keeping peacocks—Armenian tribute of
poultry—Burmese and Japanese embassies—Entertainment and
fireworks—Cruel treatment of Jews—Oil paintings—Bahram and his
queen—Practice makes perfect—Pharaoh and the Red Sea—Pharaoh
and the magicians.
After an eighteen months’ stay in Julfa (Ispahan) I received orders to
proceed to Teheran “to act” (for my chief).
We started, my wife travelling in a “takhtrowan” (moving bed). This
consists of a box with doors and windows, six feet long, three feet
wide, and four feet high. A thick mattress is placed in it, and plenty
of pillows. Where the road is fairly level, as from Ispahan to Teheran,
it is not a bad way of travelling for a lady. The great cause of
satisfaction to her was that she had her baby with her. Water was kept
out of the machine by a waterproof sheet being tacked to the top, and
a thick carpet was lashed over the roof when travelling in strong sun.
At each end of the box are shafts, and between each pair a mule. The
movement is at first rather sickening, but this is soon got over, and the
traveller sleeps the greater portion of the stage.
Although we travelled as lightly as possible, we were forced to take
twenty-four mules, and were heartily glad when our journey, which was
twelve long stages, and without incident of any kind, was over. I hired
a little house at Gulhaek, the village where are situated the summer
quarters of the English Embassy, and where lives the _chief_ of my
Department, _in the summer_.
In addition to my own work I was in charge of the staff of the
Indo-European Telegraph Company’s line who lived in Teheran. Our
own signalling staff too lived _in the town_. As however we had an
exceptionally healthy summer, the duties were very light.
I was also placed in medical charge of the Russian Embassy by the Russian
Ambassador, M. Zenoview, for the greater part of my six months’ stay,
their own physician having gone to Russia for a time on private business.
Gulhaek is one of the villages at the foot of the mountains bounding
the Teheran valley, and by prescriptive right the English Legation go
to Gulhaek, the Russians to the next village, Zergendeh, and the French
to another a couple of miles higher, called Tejreesh. These places are
delightfully cool, and if the _signallers_ of the Department and of the
Company could be moved to them, it would be a great boon to the men, for
it is terribly hot and unhealthy in the town, and the expense would not
be great: _in fact it ought to be done_.
Lawn-tennis, when we arrived, was in high vogue, and was played every
afternoon on a level ground (a _lawn_ in Persia is nearly impossible)
mudded over with what is termed “kah gil,” a mixture of “kah” (cut straw)
and “gil” (mud). This forms a sort of sheet of smooth and springy ground,
which gives a good foothold, and dries rapidly. The tennis was justly
popular, and was the most pleasant means of obtaining exercise, and
consequently health.
Our own comfort was increased by the arrival of an English nurse, whom we
had engaged to come out for a certain three years.
I was enabled to buy a small park-phaeton and a pair of well-broken
horses from a German, the master of the Shah’s mint, who was leaving
because he declined to debase the coinage, which was contrary to the
terms of his agreement.
In the garden next to ours lived a Guebre. A few of these men have been
under the protection of the English Embassy time out of mind. He kept
us supplied with strawberries at tenpence a plateful; and as we had not
tasted them since leaving England, they were a great luxury, particularly
in a warm climate.
The greater part of the road from Gulhaek to Teheran, being the way to
the Shah’s favourite summer residences, is planted on both sides with
trees and shrubs. These give a grateful shade; and as the road is in
good order, it is pleasant driving; but, when thronged, the dust rises
and covers everything, so that it is like a very dusty return from the
Derby, but with no excitement, _and hotter_. Still, a good road in nearly
roadless Persia was a thing to be taken advantage of.
Several times when out driving we met the Shah, and invariably drew on
one side to allow him to pass. His Majesty was always very polite, and
returned our salutes. On our passing the first time he sent a man to
inquire who we were. The Prime minister, too, was particular in behaving
in a civilised manner, but the ragamuffin attendants on the royal ladies
always used to shout “Begone,” “Be off,” and their postilions would
always drive as close as possible, and pass one as if they wished a
collision, or to take a wheel off.
The custom of the kūrūk is dying out. It used to be death for any man
to be in the neighbourhood of the royal wives when on their numerous
outings. The people always fled, or stood with faces to the wall; and
Europeans, when they saw the eunuchs’ procession approaching, and heard
the cry of “Gitchen” (Turkish “Begone”), to avoid unpleasantness and
possible rows, used to turn down the first street. A very eccentric
Austrian, the Baron Gersteiger Khan (the latter title being, of course,
a Persian dignity; for many years instructor to the Persian army, and
at last general; principal officer of engineers, and constructor of
roads, in which latter work he has really left some striking marks of
his success), on meeting the ladies when he was on foot, turned his face
to the wall like a native, and as each carriage passed, deliberately
_saluted from the back of his head_. This delighted the ladies, and they
informed the Shah. The Shah sent for Gersteiger, and made him repeat his
salutes, and after laughing a good deal, gave him a handsome present.
The king generally travelled in a carriage very like a sheriff’s, with
eight pairs of horses harnessed to it, with postilions. They went at a
fair pace, were always preceded by the royal runners (“shatirs”), clad in
their ancient Persian dress of red, with the curious turreted hat, like a
fool’s cap and bells, and each bearing a gold baton. These men were all
good runners, and some six or eight ran in front, while one or two always
kept at his Majesty’s side.
When we were in Teheran a number of Russian officers were engaged in
forming some so-called Cossack regiments. They engaged horsemen, whom
they regularly paid, and seemed to be teaching these men their drill
successfully. These so-called Cossacks were the Shah’s favourite toy of
the moment, and he was never tired of reviewing them. They were well but
plainly dressed, well horsed and well armed, and the Russian officers
were very popular both with Shah and soldiers.
A large contingent of Austrian officers had also arrived to instruct the
infantry and artillery; but though these gentlemen were well paid, they
did not find Persia the El Dorado they expected. Some of them resigned
while I was there. They also fought among themselves; and all have now,
I fancy, left the country. The capital was ever rather a rowdy place;
murders and burglaries were common; and, as in other towns of Persia, the
“darogas,” or police-masters, and their dependants were so mercenary,
that the townspeople preferred being robbed to complaining to them, on
the principle of two evils to choose the less.
The manufacture of false money had become a national evil, and forgeries
of the royal seals were frequent. The first evil was sought to be got
over by calling in the old rough coinage, which was hammer-struck, and
substituting a handsome series of medals in gold and silver, having
milled edges. These were introduced with great success, and the new
coinage was handsome and popular. But it was soon counterfeited, and when
the nuisance had attained its height the Count Monteforte arrived with
special credentials from the Emperor of Austria, and was installed as
head of police. This gentleman seemed to be exactly the right man in the
right place. He got on with the natives, in a few weeks established a
character for honesty and shrewdness, detected many offenders, recovered
much stolen property, and established a regiment of policemen, well
drilled, well dressed, honest, polite, and who REFUSED BRIBES. As bribes
are to the Persian what beef is to the Englishman, these phenomena have
probably ere this been either shelved or corrupted; but when we were in
Teheran in 1880, they were in full swing, and the wonder and admiration
of foreigners and natives.
Just one street in Teheran is very much Europeanised; it is fairly paved,
and lighted by lamp-posts containing candles. It is called the Boulevard
des Ambassadeurs, and as it is a wide street, the view from the bottom
is somewhat striking, ending as it does in the green hills and black
mountains covered on their tops with snow.
At the top, approached by an ornamental gate of great size, is the
palace of the English Ambassador. This has been recently erected at
enormous cost, partly from designs by the late Major Pierson, R.E. It
is surrounded by trees, and the edifice meets the requirements of the
country, and is very original in appearance. It stands in a magnificent
garden of great size, in which are placed the houses of the secretaries,
built like English villas of the better class. The interior of the
Embassy is furnished with great splendour with English furniture, and our
ambassador to the Court of Persia is lodged as he should be, _en prince_.
The rest of the town is wholly Oriental. Dead walls of mud and brick are
seen in every direction. The streets are mud in winter and dust in summer.
The principal feature in Teheran is the numerous tiled gates. These
structures, covered with floridly-coloured tiles in elaborate patterns,
mostly geometrical, having centre-pieces of representations of scenes
from the mythology of Persia, were certainly novel and curious. As a
rule, the modern tile-work is in striking contrast to the ancient, which
is much chaster, and in better taste.
Of the many palaces none were worth description, of those that I visited,
which were all mere summer retreats. They were gaudy, much painted and
gilt, and the white plaster-work, decorated with mirrors, was the only
kind of ornamentation having the slightest pretence to be artistic. The
dry climate, however, enables this effective style of decoration to be
used for _exteriors_, and it retains its pristine whiteness in the clear
air for many years. Many large buildings seen from a distance in Teheran
have a great appearance of magnificence, and it does not strike the
beholder at first that they are merely plaster-of-Paris over mud bricks.
To them the term “whitened sepulchre” is particularly appropriate; but
the insecurity of property must be considered, and a man would be unwise
to build an expensive edifice which would expose him to jealousy.
The bazaars are good, and sufficiently curious; of course much inferior
in size and richness to those of Stamboul (Constantinople). Most of the
goods exposed, not of native manufacture, are Russian.[36]
The Russian goods are liked in the Eastern market. They are _very
cheap_, and _very strong_; in fact, are suited to the country; they are
also, alas! very ugly. The tremendous land journey from Trebizonde,
or that from the Persian Gulf, or the alternative from Baghdad _viâ_
Kermanshah, closes the Persian market at Teheran to the English.
Fortunes, however, are made there, an importer of French goods (which are
particularly appreciated by the Persians) having retired with a large
one. About four hundred per cent. is generally charged, which covers the
heavy freight and the duty, and leaves about cent. per cent. profit.
We found a great deal of gaiety at Teheran. A weekly dinner at the
Embassy, generally a daily drive, and the society of many Europeans of
different nationalities, was of course a great break in the monotony of
our life in Persia. But our pleasures after four months were interrupted
by the serious illness of my wife. Our second little boy was born, and we
were lucky in having a reliable nurse.
The view of Teheran is made very unique by the great semi-extinct
volcano, Demarvend, in the distance, which gives it great grandeur,
towering, as it does, over the valley, with its top covered in eternal
snows, and taking innumerable lovely tints at the rising and setting of
the sun.
We came to Teheran by the longer way of Natanz, thus avoiding the great
Kohrūd pass, a particularly unpleasant stage when there is much snow;
and as my wife was really an invalid, we determined to return to Ispahan
driving—a thing no one has done before, and I fancy no one will do again.
I had a new set of wheels made specially strong and heavy, and with very
strong tyres. I succeeded in buying a second pair of half-broken horses,
in case my own pair came to grief, and we left in the autumn for Ispahan,
the nurse and babies occupying the takhtrowan, while my wife and I went
in the trap.
We drove through the town with some trouble, and as soon as we were clear
of the fortifications the road became broad and level, and we reached
Hadjiabad, a garden, where we stopped the night.
The next day we crossed a rocky mountain, having to drag the phaeton by
hand some miles, and then, locking the wheels with ropes, we got it down
a very steep place. The rest was plain sailing; the roads were generally
fairly good. My wife had to get out only some four times on a fifteen
days’ journey, and it was only on getting into or out of villages, where
there were at times deep ditches, but plenty of willing helpers, that we
had any difficulty.
On our last stage but three we mistook the road, and came forty-eight
miles instead of twenty-four. We, however, only used our second pair
once, as they were very unsafe; and our horses, strange to say, did the
whole journey well, and arrived in fair condition.
At the last stage but two a ridiculous accident occurred. We had
frequently snapped the heads of bolts, and even the bolts themselves, by
going over very rough places, the jolt breaking the heads off, as they
were steel. These we generally detected and replaced by others, which
we had caused to be made in Teheran. But Mūrchicah is a big village,
with numerous twists and turns between dead walls ere one gets to the
post-house. We had come a long stage, were very tired, and very anxious
to get in, and, instead of going over a deep dry ditch which we had to
pass, and which was very narrow, in a careful way, I was foolish enough
to try to pass it quickly. The result was a snap of all three bolts that
fixed the trap to what is, I fancy, technically termed the fore-carriage.
The thing hung together till we had got the hind wheels out of the ditch,
and then the horses, pole, and two front wheels went on, the carriage
itself remaining behind and falling forward; and, had not the apron been
up, we should have been shot out. Fortunately the reins were long, and
the horses easily pulled up. They were probably unaware of the accident.
Though we were in the village there was no one about. The servants were
either in front with the bedding, or behind with the loads, yet in five
minutes the bolts were replaced by fresh ones, and we were proceeding on
our way.
At this stage our little boy was taken very ill, and we both felt that
another march in the sun in the “kajawehs,” with his man-nurse, might
be fatal to him. So next morning we started very early, and taking him
in the trap, which had a hood and an opening with a cut leather curtain
behind, that made it very cool: we hurried over the twenty-two miles, and
did it in two hours and twenty minutes through deep sand.
The next day’s stage was a very bad one, as, though short, we had to pass
through the town, and had to take the horses out twice, and I dreaded
our own very narrow and dangerous road to the house. However, we got in
without accident, by starting at dawn, before ten; and the child, by
rest and nursing, was soon himself again.
The sun in Persia is a very insidious enemy. Many cases of sun-apoplexy
each year are seen, and I had a fixed rule that, except for evening
rides, my wife and I always wore an Elwood’s sun-helmet, and this
is the only real way to preserve oneself. All other things but the
topi are valueless, unless one uses the hideous pith hat, or resorts
to the turban. Of course in India these precautions are still more
necessary. I don’t know if these sun hats are made for children. They
are very necessary if children are allowed to go at all in the sun, and
they _will_ go, and natives _will_ let them. But really good-looking
riding-hats are turned out for ladies. My wife had a solar riding-hat _à
la_ Gainsborough, that was almost becoming; so that ladies at least have
no excuse. I was constantly warning those under my care of the danger
of little caps, billycocks, etc., but in many cases I was looked on as
a “Molly,” though I felt it my duty to press my warnings. Of another
thing I am convinced, that the powerful effect of the sun is much lost
sight of _in Europe_, and I look on a bright helmet of metal, _unless
air-chambered_, as an invention of the devil, and pity the poor Life
Guards, etc.; the horsehair, however, happily saves them a little.
On our journey down, at a place called Sinsin, we saw a big turkey, and
succeeded in buying a pair for fifty kerans, supposing them to be the
_only_ pair. We found afterwards that the head-man of the neighbouring
village had a hundred birds, and the price afterwards fell to eight
shillings a bird.
We were very successful in the rearing of the young turkeys, the hens
sitting on their own eggs, and proving good mothers. So many poults did
we have, that, when we left Ispahan eighteen months afterwards, we ate
two a week for nearly six months. The turkeys were of two varieties, the
ordinary black ones, as seen in Europe, and of large size, and a smaller
bird, of lighter colour, and more delicate, some of which latter were
almost pure white.
Peacocks are much valued in Persia, and supposed only to be kept by
royalty: the English Minister has several fine birds, and the _privilege_
of keeping them is jealously guarded.
We brought a quantity of tame ducks down from Teheran; these increased
and multiplied amazingly, and bred with some wild ducks of the common
kind. We brought also three geese. Geese, ducks, and turkeys were common
long ago in Julfa when Ispahan was the capital, but the Armenians,
finding that they had to pay a yearly tribute of fat birds, allowed them
to die out, and so escaped the exaction. However, when we left Julfa,
all the Europeans had turkeys and ducks, and there were plenty of geese
at Soh, three stages off: so, doubtless, by now (two years) they are
plentiful.
We were glad to get back to our own home, for though Teheran gave us most
of the joys of civilisation, still we felt that our home was in our big
house at Julfa. And how we did enjoy not having to start as usual the
next morning!
Our stay in Ispahan was not chequered by any very exciting events, save
those personal to ourselves.
During our sojourn, two ambassadors passed through it. One, the Burmese,
an old and cheery man with huge ears, accompanied by a staff of attachés,
one of whom spoke English well, and had been educated at King’s College.
He was supposed to be carrying rubies for disposal through Europe. He
had a ring with him as a present from the King of Burmah to the Shah.
Hoop, collet, and all, were cut out of one solid and perfect ruby of
the first water—a truly barbarous present. These Burmese all wore the
national apology for unmentionables—a handsome sheet of silk, termed a
“langouti.” This is wrapped around the waist, and depends nearly to the
feet; their heads were bound with fillets of muslin. The Zil-es-Sultan
gave an entertainment in their honour, to which we were all invited. A
fair dinner was followed by fireworks; these in Persia are always fairly
good, the only thing being that Persians do not understand _coloured_
fireworks, otherwise their displays are very good. One very good feature
is, that the public are always freely admitted. All the walls are marked
out with clay oil-lamps, and festoons of the same hang from wires affixed
to high poles: these are lighted after sunset, as soon as it is dark.
Music of a promiscuous character is played, all the musicians and singers
joining in to _different_ airs. The military bands strike up, each man
playing his loudest at his own sweet will. A gun is fired, and the huge
golden rains from earthen cones light up the whole scene, disclosing the
shouting throng of good-tempered Persians of the lower orders; all people
of condition having been provided with rooms and seats. All the roofs are
thronged with crowds of veiled women, flights of rockets are continually
let off, and the set-pieces soon commence. These are supplied in great
profusion, and, save for the want of colour, they are quite equal to any
effort of European pyrotechny.
A row of wretched Jews are now pushed into the tank—a proceeding which
always accompanies any official display of fireworks. I know not why,
unless it is to let the poor Jews feel, even in times of rejoicing, the
wretchedness of their position. Dancing boys dressed as girls twirl and
tumble, buffoons dance and pose grotesquely, the noise of music and
singing is at its loudest. “Kūrbāghah” (frogs), a kind of water firework,
are thrown in the tanks in every direction, and, as the set-pieces are
fading, the whole concludes with a tremendous bouquet of fire as in
Europe.
The Japanese ambassador, or rather commissioner, was received with less
ceremony, as he was proceeding _incog._ on his way to Europe, having a
mission to introduce Japanese goods to the notice of Europeans generally.
His attachés, too, spoke French and English, and were funny little
fellows; but, as the Persians put it, “too ugly to have any value, even
as slaves!”
We patronised art in Ispahan by having oil-paintings, executed by native
artists, of incidents in Persian life; some of these were sufficiently
curious. Among the subjects illustrated were “The Sticks,” a very tragic
picture indeed, where the expressions of pain, terror, supplication, and
ferocity were well shown.
Another amusing series were five pictures representing the history of
Bahram and his queen. The monarch is shown as pinning, with a master-shot
from his bow, the foot of an antelope to its side while it was scratching
itself.
“What do you think of that?” says the exulting king.
“Oh, practice makes perfect,” coolly remarked the lady.
They naturally separate; for it is a dangerous thing for a wife to
disparage her husband’s shooting. And here a curious parody of an ancient
classical legend occurs. Bahram hears of a _lady_ of great strength, who
is in the habit of carrying a full-sized bull to the top of a tower!
He goes to see the prodigy, and sees a lovely woman perform the feat
(scene depicted); his astonishment is manifested by his placing his
finger to his mouth—the typical gesture for this sensation in Eastern
art.
“Oh, that is nothing,” says the triumphant queen, “practice makes
perfect.” She then explains that she had commenced her feat when the bull
was a little calf. The king smiled, and took her back.
Many of the subjects illustrated were the histories from the Koran. Thus
the passage of the Egyptians, and their subsequent fate in the Red Sea,
is shown; Pharaoh and his host drowning, while a green-winged angel
exhibits to the sinking monarch a divine scroll, on which his sentence
is written. The expiring Egyptians are good, and the look of horror on
the face of Pharaoh is well done. _But a small steamer is seen in the
distance!_ Another picture was “The staff of Aaron changed to a serpent,
having devoured the serpents of the magicians of Egypt.” Here the winged
dragon (or serpent) of Aaron is so tremendous, that Wagner would have
been glad of him at Bayreuth: he is vomiting fire, and is a bogey of
the first water. Pharaoh, his eyes starting from his head, is depicted
in horror, while Moses has the satisfied expression of a conjurer after
a successful _tour de force_. Another represents Iskender (Alexander
the Great), who, having conquered the world, proceeds to the regions
of eternal night, as according to Persian legend he did in fact. The
conqueror and his warriors are well and carefully drawn, many of the
figures carrying torches and cressets; but the eternal night is shown by
painting the whole of the figures, trees, etc., _on a black ground_, and
a curious effect is thus produced.
Solomon in all his glory (see Frontispiece) is a favourite subject.
Solomon, who had the power of speaking the languages of animals and all
created things, and who could command the spirits of the earth and air,
is seen seated on his throne. Above his head is the fabulous bird, the
simūrgh; to his right, on a perch, is his favourite the hoopöe, below
this are two tiny efreet. The Queen of Sheba is seated in a chair of
state, behind her are her female servants and slaves, and two gigantic
jinns (genii). To the king’s left, are his Vizier Asaph (the author of
the Psalms of Asaph, or possibly the person to whom they were dedicated),
and Rūstam, the Persian Hercules, armed with his bull-headed mace. Behind
them are four jinns of terrible aspect. The air is full of birds; and the
foreground of beasts, reptiles, and insects. The tiny figures with crowns
are angels, servants of Solomon; the turbaned figures are courtiers and
servants.
CHAPTER XXXV.
WE RETURN VIÂ THE CASPIAN.
New Year’s presents—Shiraz custom—Our cook’s weaknesses—He
takes the pledge—And becomes an opium-eater—Decide to go
home—Dispose of kit—Start for Europe—Our own arrangements—Diary
of our journey home—Arrival.
A severe winter, diversified with occasional fine weather, when the
days were even hot in the sun, brought the No Rūz (or Persian New Year)
and the commencement of spring. Our servants brought their plates of
sweetmeats to mark the day, and duly received a month’s pay, or clothes
to that amount. The woman-servant Bēbē brought her mistress an earthen
water-bottle, around the ledge of which was sown barley, the grains being
held on by a bandage, and the porous jar keeping them constantly wet; the
result was a number of rings of bright grass, the whole forming a very
pretty and original, if useless, present. It is a common custom to do
this in Shiraz at the New Year, and even the poorest has his water-pot
covered with brilliant green.
Our cook is giving some trouble just now; for though a capital _chef_,
and though he has been with me fourteen years—having begun at eight
shillings a month, and arrived for the last five years at forty _and the
spending of all the money_—yet he has his vices. When he was first with
me as a youth of nineteen, he was perpetually getting married, and as
frequently getting divorced; then he took to getting continually arrested
for debt; next drink became his foible, and this endured for about four
years; dismissal, the bastinado (by the authorities), fining, were all
tried without avail: at length, in despair, I sent him to the head of
religion in Ispahan, with a note to the Sheikh, in which I apologised for
troubling him, but stated that the man was a very old servant in whom I
had a great interest, and _would he make him take the pledge_? The cook,
who took the note himself, had no idea of the contents. He told me that
the Sheikh read it and told him to wait; when the large assembly that
always throngs the Sheikh’s house had disappeared, the old gentleman
produced a Koran, and proposed that the cook should take the pledge. He
dared not refuse. After swearing to take no wine or spirits, a formal
document was drawn up, to which the cook attached his seal. The Sheikh
wrote me a very polite note, and assured me that the man would keep the
pledge.
It appeared that he exhibited a tremendous “taziana,” or
cat-o’-nine-tails, to my man, as what pledge-breakers are punished with.
The cook now was for weeks as sober as a judge, but he was _becoming a
fool_; the dinners were spoiled, or incongruous, or both: in fact, as he
must do something, he had become an opium-eater. Opium, though habitually
used by the aged of both sexes, is seldom taken to excess, save by
“lutis,” or confirmed debauchees.
At last, finding it impossible to cure this determined offender, I gave
my reluctant consent to his proceeding to Kermanshah, his native place,
where he wished to stay at least a year. I never saw him again.
I don’t know if the last straw was the loss of our cook, or if we had
come to the conclusion that definitely Persia was not the place for a
lady, but we decided to go home on two years’ leave, to which I was
now entitled; and as we felt that it was very probable we should never
return, we determined to sell off our entire kit. We accordingly drew out
a catalogue of our worldly goods in Persia, and distributed it among the
telegraph officials. By a couple of months everything was disposed of but
the rubbish. This was sold by auction, and produced a keen competition
among the Armenians.
I was enabled to get rid of our phaeton without loss, for a Persian of
wealth, the “Mūllavi,” gave me within forty pounds of what I gave for it
and the horses; and the severe work we had had out of trap and horses for
two years was well worth the difference.
Captain W⸺, who was expecting his sisters out, _viâ_ Russia, took all our
road kit and saddlery, and my wife’s mare and the “takhtrowan,” all to
be given over at Resht, on the Caspian, so we were quite free to start.
OUR JOURNEY HOME.
_March 28th, 1881._—ISPAHAN JULFA.—At last I hear that a muleteer is
found who will go direct to Resht, by way of Kūm, Hajeeb, and Kasvin,
avoiding the capital. I go to the house of a Baghdad merchant in Julfa,
and find the muleteer, who is being regaled with pipes; he is the
head-man of the neighbouring village of Se Deh (three villages), and the
proprietor of a hundred mules. I am told that his son-in-law will go with
the mules, and am introduced to a young fellow some six feet high and
thickly built, who is a Tabrizi, and speaks good Turkish and bad Persian.
He is wearing the large heavy sheepskin cap of Tabriz, with the wool
long. The merchant informs me that he thinks the hire should be sixty
kerans per mule. This is said in English, and he then turns to the elder
man and says:
“You will, of course, give this sahib mules at forty kerans per mule?”
The old man replies: “I have, after much persuasion, got Jaffer Kūli, my
son-in-law, to agree to eighty.”
The young man, with many vows, raises his hands to heaven and demands
eighty-five. “Why do you throw words into air, Jaffer Kūli? as I am this
merchant’s friend let us say eighty, and the sahib will have had mules
for _nothing_. Of course we get a present?”
I here get up, saying, “These fellows are quite mad; let us talk to
_men_.”
They in turn rise and say, “Our last word is seventy-five.”
So we talk for an hour. Then, and not till then, the ceremony of
agreement is gone through, and the articles strictly drawn up by the
merchant, after much chaffering. At last he begins to read in a sing-song
drawl, for our mutual edification, the following:
“‘I, Haji Mahomed, of Se Deh, and I, Jaffer Kūli, his son-in-law, give
and let, for the journey to Resht, from Ispahan, _viâ_ Koom, Hajeeb,
Doong, Kasvin, to make twenty stages and halt four days at our own
expense, and at the wish of the sahib; twelve mules, four for the mule
litter, two for the kajawehs (covered mule paniers), and six for loads;
we hereby acknowledge five hundred and fifty kerans, and two hundred
more are to be paid in Resht; our hire is sixty-two and a half kerans per
mule; we will start to-morrow, and have affixed our seals.’”
Here they all call on the prophet; and both muleteers seal, and the
merchant witnesses the document, which is handed to me. I give them a
cheque for five hundred and fifty kerans, and we all go off to my house
to look at the loads. On seeing these, both men begin to vociferate. “Ah,
loads, such loads, no one ever took such loads; on no account will we go.”
“All useless, Haji,” we reply, and a pipe is given them.
They then proceed to sing their own praises, and we (the merchant and I)
profess to love them like brothers. They now retire, and I and my wife
and servants begin to pack up our road-kit seriously; the travelling
gear, got ready long ago, is dragged out and re-examined; tarpaulin is
nailed firmly on the roof of the takhtrowan (horse litter), and the same
is done to the kajawehs; then thin red covers are put on and patched,
new straps and buckles are added to the bedding-bags, and the bedding
packed so as to get each side one weight; movable curtains are hung in
the takhtrowan and its harness is renewed. In the morning the assistant
muleteers arrive, and proceed to cord each box with heavy ropes, leaving
the ends loose; these ends are afterwards tied together; and so each
half load hangs on a side of the pack-saddle; a long broad band with an
iron ring at each end is flung over the mule and his load, and gradually
tightened. Thus loaded, the mule and his burden seldom, or never, part
company.
The muleteer, having had some of his hire, signed his agreement _and
roped some of his loads_, is by Persian law _bound to go_, and we calmly
prepared to start on the morning of April 4th.
_April 4th._—No sign of muleteer. We use our road kit, and are in the
same plight as when marching.
_April 5th._—Muleteer arrives, and requests us to take back our money.
Mutual threats and curses deep. Muleteer refuses to salaam. Muleteer is
threatened with the Governor. Muleteer demands a present. Muleteer is
offered a thrashing. Muleteer is insolent. Muleteer is pursued. Muleteer
flees.
_April 6th._, eight A.M.—Muleteer arrives at six A.M. Harnesses the
takhtrowan to two beasts, who shy and kick, and can’t be made to move.
Again offers to return money. Is again threatened with the Governor, and
called a Jew. Retires in violent passion.
Four P.M.—Arrival of muleteer with fairish horses (by the way, the man’s
beasts are all yabūs or horses). They are tried and found satisfactory.
Assistant muleteer addressed as “Hadji” (“pilgrim,” a title very
agreeable to the lower class of Persians), and regaled with pipes. Head
muleteer addressed as “That.”
Muleteer declines definitely to start, and offers to refund, _but will
go for increased hire_. Muleteer publicly threatened with Governor, and
called “That wind-bag.”
Muleteer retires, swearing he will die rather than start.
_April 7th._, eight A.M.—No muleteer. Nine A.M.—Arrival of muleteer and
nine mules (_i. e._ ponies), four assistants, and a donkey. Assistant
muleteer is secretly promised twenty kerans if he becomes the slave of
hirer, to be given in Resht. Eleven A.M.—Mules at last loaded; they
start. The wives of the servants come and weep on them. The takhtrowan
is carried to the high-road. Twelve noon.—I take N⸺ (our English
nurse), Frank, and the baby to the starting-place, and put them into
the takhtrowan, placing Charlie, our eldest, with a nurse-boy, in one
kajaweh, the woman-servant Bēbē in the other. They leave.
Half-past twelve.—I go round my rooms for the last time.
A⸺ (my wife) and I mount, with our table-servant, last of all. We
leisurely walk our horses out. When we have got a quarter of a mile, our
servant swears he has dropped his whip. I refuse to let him go back, as I
don’t want to lose sight of him. Scene with him. Grumblings, threats.
We pass the Missionary house. We bid them all good-bye at the door.
While this is taking place Ibrahim, the head-man, disappears. I gallop
after him, leaving A⸺ to come on with the bedding and the groom. After
a chase of two miles I catch him. He swears I told him to get up to the
takhtrowan. Threats. Whispered curses. I shout myself hoarse. We cross
the river, pass through the town, four miles out of which we reach the
caravan. On over a sandy and muddy plain to Gez. Four farsakhs. Time,
half-past four P.M. Tea, five P.M. Rest of caravan arrive. Eight, dinner.
Nine, bed.
_April 8th._—Leave Gez at nine A.M. Over a sandy plain, six farsakhs,
twenty-three miles, to Mūrchicah. Cold wind, dull day, rain threatening.
Arrive at “chupper-khana” (post-house) at five, having breakfasted among
some ruins on the road, about half-way. The post-house keeper at this
place was the man who behaved so well to me, and lent me clothes when I
was robbed, so I gave him a double present, as usual, and a bottle of
wine.
_April 9th._—Left this morning at seven for Soh, six long farsakhs; left
the plain, half-way breakfasted, and at the dam, a long farsakh from Soh,
were met by Sergeant McG⸺. After ten minutes it began to rain heavily,
and though we cantered for two miles, we got pretty wet ere we got our
rugs. On their reaching us it left off raining. Mrs. McG⸺ gave us a
magnificent high tea. Soh is a terribly cold place. We were hospitably
entertained and well fed, but it is impossible to get warm, even with
huge fires.
_April 10th._—In the morning at five A.M. the ground was _covered with
snow_, and the weather was severe; it also rained till seven, when it
cleared a little. Started the caravan at eight, selves at nine. Rain and
drizzle till we got to the Kohrūd Pass, when it suddenly came on to snow
heavily.
The track was through snowdrifts half melted, and before we had got a
dozen yards up the steep ascent, A⸺’s mare was off the track, trembling
with fear, and up to her girths. A⸺, too, fancied, I think, that it was
all over with us. The muleteers began to call on God, Ali, and the other
saints, but we blundered along, one mule only falling. The snow got very
thick, but our goggles protected our eyes, and we were heavily wrapped
up. One side (the windward) soon got white, and A⸺ appreciated the big,
old-fashioned, silk handkerchief which I gave her, to keep her sun hat
on, and protect her face from the snow. After an hour and a half of
this, we cleared the pass, the takhtrowan having got over in safety, and
N⸺ and the babies _not_ having had to get out, which, if they had been
obliged to do, would, with knee-deep snow and two feet of mud, have been
a serious matter.
The snow melted into drizzle, and in a quarter of an hour we were in a
sheltered valley, in a strong sun, and entering the village of Kohrūd. We
got to the post-house, and there took off our wet wraps and hung them up.
About two hours before sunset. Six farsakhs. Seven hours in the saddle,
all but the last two being severe work for a lady.
_April 11th._—Started early, as we have seven farsakhs (twenty-six miles
and a half) to do. Though we expected to feel the heat, we had soon to
take to our wraps, as a strong Scotch mist, with occasional cold showers,
followed us all through the mountains to the caravanserai of Guebre-abad
(which is supposed to be haunted). We found it empty, and breakfasted
with our horses there, but the weather was too awful for N⸺ and the
children to get out, so we sent them on.
Half-way to Guebre-abad we had to pass down the causeway cut in the side
of the mountain, which skirts the reservoir fed by the Kohrūd torrent,
where is stored the water for the town of Kashan. It is simply a valley,
closed at one end by a huge wall of masonry. This retains the waters, the
surplus falling over the top, like the Staubach on a small scale.
Within two farsakhs of Kashan the climate changed; our faces seemed
on fire. We found wheat two feet high, clover the _same height_, and
the little rain that fell was warm and refreshing. We got to the
telegraph-office at five-thirty, and were immediately regaled with tea
by Mr. S⸺, the clerk there. An hour and a half afterwards the caravan
came in. Here the men went to the bath, Bēbē started washing clothes,
and after dinner we inaugurated the new hot bath, just built in the
Government quarters (a great luxury).
Here at Kashan we determined to halt a day, and enjoy the genial warmth,
doors all open, and the luxury of _not_ having to start in the morning.
Kashan is celebrated for silk and velvet weaving, but the silk is
generally of very sad colours, and the objects useless to the European,
so we could merely buy a few handkerchiefs and some velvet curtains.
The water supply from the Kohrūd torrent is collected in the reservoir
we passed, and on reaching Kashan is stored in “ab umbars,” or
water-cellars, and when they are emptied they are regularly re-filled,
thus getting a supply of fresh and clear water.
All about are curious, conical buildings of mud, some ten and twelve
yards high. They have small terraces a few inches wide at top, others a
foot or two wide at bottom. These are the grain stores of the place, and
seem peculiar to Kūm and Kashan.
I tried to pick up some curios in the bazaar, but found it hopeless. The
copper bazaar was particularly good and fine, but all of the work was
useful, not ornamental. Was bothered by visitors the greater part of the
afternoon, most of whom came for advice gratis. Near this place is Feen,
one of the royal palaces, well worth a visit, but as our horses needed a
rest as well as ourselves, and it is a four-mile ride, and I had seen it,
we did not go.
_April 13th._—Bid good-bye to Mr. S⸺. He had most hospitably entertained
us. Left Kashan for Sinsin, six farsakhs. Found the immediate
neighbourhood of the town well sprinkled with villages; they however
soon ceased, and we came to a sandy desert, where it was very hot.
Arrived about half-past three. Directly we got in we poisoned the kanaat
(the underground canal for irrigation) in order to get a dish of fish.
In about an hour the fish came to the surface quite intoxicated, and
were caught and gutted at once. They were very good, and the poison
did not affect us. I used six berries only of cocculus indicus, and we
got about six pounds of fish. We got a good dinner at nine—soup, fish,
roast lamb, _pâté de foie gras_, tinned peas, apricots and custard,
Ispahan wine, port, coffee, cherry-brandy. This gives some idea of what
a good road-cook can do. Directly we arrive in a place, our “farrash”
and table-man (who keep up with us) drag out our carpets, sweep the
little dirty rooms out, spread the carpets, fill our bags with chaff for
beds, make our beds, prepare tea, and bring me a water-pipe. Then when
this is completed, the “takhtrowan,” loads, children, tables and chairs
arrive; N⸺ and the children go to their room. We get chairs and have tea
and biscuits, or bread and jam (of course we have already had _déjeuner
à la fourchette_ with three or four dishes and tea on the road). In
the early morning we have a slice of bread-and-butter and a “snack,”
with chocolate and milk. After afternoon tea we doze, read, write, and
stretch ourselves, or go for a little walk near the chupper-khana, or
caravanserai, as it may be. The little sketch of the chupper-khana at
Sinsin I made on the spot, and it gives a good idea of the regulation
Persian post-house. In these post-houses the traveller in Persia passes a
good deal of his time: they are all built upon this plan, and pretty much
alike; the wall at the top is seen to be crumbling; most of them are in
varying stages of dilapidation. They are all built of sun-dried bricks,
except in the extreme north, and plastered with mud and cut straw
(kah-gil). In the front is seen a takhtrowan or horse-litter, in which
ladies of rank, or invalids, usually travel.
[Illustration: A CHUPPA KHANA OR POST-HOUSE. (SINSIN.)]
_April 14th._—Leave Sinsin at seven A.M. for Passanghūm, seven farsakhs
(twenty-six miles and a quarter). Half-way, breakfasted, at Shūr ab (Salt
Water), where Sergeant McL⸺ was killed, a wretched, ruined hole. The name
is a good one, as nothing but salt water is to be got here. Heavy showers
caught us in the afternoon before we could get into Passanghūm. From this
place to Kūm is only four farsakhs, and the gold dome of the great shrine
can be seen from here. Road all monotonous but good, with an undulating
country perfectly bare.
_April 15th._—Left at eight for Kūm, as we are to breakfast with Mr. J⸺,
the clerk there. Half-way, two farsakhs, a pretty village, Lengarood;
then a muddy plain; then, after many twists and turns, sacred Kūm.
Through ruined bazaars, past ruined shrines and tombs, close past the
great shrine, through a short but prosperous-looking bazaar to the big
bridge; then along the river in the open, sandy, but cultivated plain for
a mile, to the telegraph-office. On the first view of Kūm, on leaving
Passanghūm, the great gilded dome sparkles and reflects in the strong
Persian sun. Kūm contains the tomb of “Fatmeh,” the sister of Imām
Riza, who lies at the shrine of Meshed. Imām Riza is the eighth imam,
and Fatmeh is considered a very holy person indeed. Many of the kings
of Persia are buried in the immediate neighbourhood of the shrine, and
numbers of both sexes visit it yearly. Out of every hundred people on the
two stages before we arrived at Kūm, eighty were pilgrims.
Unlike the Meccan, this pilgrimage can be made at any time of the year.
Among Persians, _after_ the great pilgrimage to Mecca, which gives the
title of “Hadji,” that to Kerbela ranks next, and the man who has been
there, for the rest of his life is termed “Kerbelai.” This title too is
generally _given_ to one of the lower orders when one wishes to stroke
him the right way, as is also that of “Meshedi,” or “he who has visited
Meshed” (as a pilgrim). This is the second great place of pilgrimage;
next comes Kūm, and though it carries no title, yet many thousands go
there yearly as pilgrims.
The tomb itself, _I am told_ by my muleteers and servants, is, as are
most graves of holy persons in Persia, covered by an ark; this in its
turn is covered by a sad-coloured shawl. Of course it is exactly under
the great dome. Round the tomb are laid shawls of considerable value as
carpets; then comes a wooden trellis-work, next a row of steel railings,
inlaid with gold, and, outside all, a row of solid silver rails surround
it: they are six feet high, and the thickness of a London area-rail.
The interior of the shrine is hung with European chandeliers of various
patterns (unlighted), and various votive offerings are hung about.
Of course no Christian is admitted. The great dome is covered with
small copper sheets, each having a layer of _pure_ gold an eighth of
an inch thick, on the outer surface: the gold never dulls in the pure
air of Persia. The top ornament of the dome is also of pure gold, and
reported to weigh one hundred and forty pounds; this is probably _not_ an
exaggeration.
The bridge over the river, which save in spring and winter is dry, has
nothing remarkable about it; there are a few gaudy columns on it covered
with blue and yellow tiles; the bridge itself is steep and narrow and
also badly paved, as are most bridges in Persia.
Kūm lives entirely on the pilgrims, and is also a centre for muleteers.
This journey is the first occasion of my getting them (the muleteers) to
start on the _next_ morning, as they and the servants generally find a
strong attraction in the shrine.
Here, too, is a favourite place to make “tobeh,” or a vow of abstinence
from some particular sin; the vow is registered, solemnly made at the
shrine, and generally, for a time at least, kept.
In the afternoon I sold my last pony to the muleteer, and have now no
horses of my own in the country; my wife’s mare is already sold to be
given up at Resht, and my other pony on the same condition.
Here, too, I discharged my groom, an ill-conditioned fellow, who was
lazy and useless, as I had only one horse to be looked after, and the
under-groom could manage that.
_April 16th._—Left at eleven for Pul-i Dellak (the Barber’s Bridge), so
called because it was built by the court barber of the day. We should not
have gone to Pul-i Dellak, but the road to Mejdabad is blocked, the river
being unfordable, so we have to come to this place (the third stage from
Teheran) to cross the river at the Barber’s Bridge. This gives us a stage
more.
The bridge is the usual thing but longer, and an artificial causeway has
been built where the Kūm river and another join our bridge, crossing the
other stream (name unknown), while a few broken arches only are left of a
continuation to the right of the causeway, of a bridge which once crossed
the Kūm river. At sunset, as is _usual at this place_, it blew great
guns. When we woke it was raining hard; it cleared at eight A.M.
_April 17th._, eight A.M.—At the time we started the caravan we got off
ourselves in a drizzle, which at half-past nine became a shower, and then
heavy rain; this continued till half-past eleven. It came down in buckets
full, our puggeries got wet and so heavy that we had to remove them. A⸺
over her heavy jacket put a so-called waterproof cloak, and over that a
thick wool shawl; her knees she kept warm by one of my overcoats, but the
bottom of her habit ran water. I had a blanket with a slit in it, and a
big plaid kept my legs dry and warm.
It then cleared, the sun got hot, the wraps were hung on the loads to
dry, and at three we arrived at Shashgird, an outlying village, very
poor, as all such villages are. Four walls, a turret at each corner,
a ruined room over the doorway; the three sides within were mostly
surrounded by hovels of the bee-hive order of architecture; two of these
we cleared out, our servants took a third, while my wife’s mare got a
fourth. The rooms are small but clean and comfortable; a hole in the roof
lets out smoke; there is even the luxury of a door.
In the centre of the village square is a small pen; we inspect it: it
contains some five-and-twenty lambs three or four days old. At sunset on
the arrival of the mothers (_after having been milked_) the bleating and
noise is something awful; the pen is opened, and the lambs distributed.
Some of the mothers find it difficult to recognise their offspring; soon,
however, with the help of the villagers of both sexes, and much laughter,
all are given to their own mothers.
Weather fine and warm, no need of fire. We dine and sleep.
Villagers polite and good-humoured, quite ready to turn out. Many
chattels left in our rooms with perfect confidence. Of course they expect
a little present. Shashgird is four farsakhs from Pul-i Dellak over a
sandy road very heavy from rain. A choice here of clear water which is
salt, muddy water which is sweet; chose the muddy. No insects in our
humble lodging, which was clean and comfortable.
Villagers civil and very obliging. Present on going, three kerans (two
shillings and threepence)! They are delighted.
_April 18th._—We left at nine A.M. in fine weather for Bagh-i Sheikh
(Garden of the Sheikh), five farsakhs; after a long two farsakhs we came
to a large and prosperous-looking village on the edge of the salt-plain.
Here outside the walls was a large and good disused hammām (or bath); we
breakfasted there, in it, as it was cool and quiet; after two hours, at
two, started again, entered salt swamp, fortunately dry. After two miles
came on good road, and made the large Shah Abbas caravanserai[37] at five
P.M.; a mile before reaching it we struck the high-road from Kūm.
A large caravanserai in good repair; no doorkeeper; took four rooms—one
for us, one for N⸺ and boys, one for servants, one for mare. Not a soul
in the place.
About four or five miles before getting into this place, one of the
ponies I had sold to the muleteer dropped as if shot; he didn’t hurt
me beyond pinching my ankle a little; he dropped so suddenly, his foot
giving way, that I was not quick enough. I am sorry for the charwardar,
one leg is evidently gone.
Some hundred mules now in the caravanserai, noise of their bells all
night long; country fertile, lots of villages all down the valley; we
passed several on our left only.
In lighting the kalian or water-pipe, the way of preparing _burning_
charcoal on the road without a fire, and with speed and economy, is
ingenious; a light is put to a bit of charcoal, that is placed in a wire
basket the size of one’s fist among other pieces of charcoal; the basket
is then swung round at the end of a piece of string, and a handful of
glowing charcoal is produced in three to five minutes.
Difficulty in getting our chaff beds filled here: man would only _sell_
chaff, not _lend_ it.
Told me he was ill. Told him I had the exact remedy for his disease.
Delight of chaff-man. Told him I never gave away medicines, demanded
fifty kerans. Rage of chaff(ed)-man. He gave chaff, and I physic.
_April 19th._—Left at half-past eight for Doong; weather fine; road an
uphill one. Saw heavy storms going on in the mountains, and one passed us
about two miles off; much forked lightning in the mountains; at half-past
twelve one was coming straight down on us. The sun was overcast;
suddenly, when our man was getting out more rugs, a few drops came, then
a shower of hailstones all the size of the _largest cherries_, some
larger. The noise was terrific; the horses got frightened and rushed off
the road; one mule threw his load. I got off and got hold of A⸺’s mare,
and it was as much as I could do to hold both horses and get her off; the
servant’s pony broke loose and _kicked at the hail_; none of the beasts
would face it; fortunately the muleteers held the takhtrowan and kajaweh
mules. Down it came, _and it hurt_; the ground got white, a heap formed
to windward of each bush and stone. In five minutes all was quiet, and we
started again after reloading the wine boxes which had been kicked off by
the mule.
In speaking of the size of the hailstones, _I do not exaggerate_, and
certainly I never saw any like them; they were all quite spherical, and
more like balls of hard snow than hail, but very hard.
I asked the muleteer if he had seen anything like them. “Oh, they are
nothing,” he replied; “in the neighbourhood of Ararat I have seen them as
large as eggs (!), and they killed lots of sheep.” I thought him what the
reader may think me.
At half-past three we got into Doong, after six hours and a half in the
saddle.
We found a big caravanserai with only one room, the other places being
merely stables, which were full.
However, some camel-men politely vacated it, and we, after some
half-hour’s sweeping, made it very warm and comfortable. Fortunately it
was a large one, twenty by ten, and sheltered, being built at the end of
a recess.
While at dinner something fell on the table; it was a _camel-tic_, and I
expected what followed.
A camel-tic is a flat insect, which is active when not distended and
hungry, but very sluggish when full. We caught a small one in the
bedclothes, but saw no more. In the night, however, one bit N⸺ on the
top of her head, and the wound bled freely. This place was painful for a
month.
In the morning, on walking over where some two hundred camels had lain,
it was difficult to avoid treading on the sluggish and gorged beasts, who
looked like smallish cockchafers. I mean the tics.
_April 20th._—Started at eight for Hajeeb, six farsakhs. On getting to a
big caravanserai, half-way, got down to breakfast, muleteer going on; but
in an hour he returned, saying Hajeeb was not safe to stay in at night,
so he advised stopping where we were. We took three rooms; they seem
comfortable. Sleet storm in the afternoon.
The name of this place is Koshkirūd (Dry River). I don’t think there are
any tics here, but we shall see.
One tic found. No one bitten.
A tremendous wind blew all the twentieth, making it very cold out of
cover.
No robbers, which was lucky, as the caravanserai has no doors.
_April 21st._—Started at seven A.M. Went through undulating hill tops,
with only a few black tents in them, but plenty of grass. Saw four troops
of antelope. On getting to Hajeeb (three farsakhs), found that one side
of the caravanserai wall had fallen down, and the place was really not
safe from night thieves.
Got breakfast of grilled mutton and maccaroni. Sent some on hot for N⸺
and the children, who do not stop on the march.
After one and three-quarter farsakhs of same sort of country, got to
a descent and came to a large plain (the plain of Kasvin?), thickly
sprinkled with villages. Though the wind continues, it is much warmer
here, and the sun stronger.
The muleteer says that we shall have this wind to Kasvin, or a stage
beyond it.
The first village, Allah Sung, five farsakhs from Koshkirūd, we did not
stop at, but went a farsakh farther to Bōween, a large village. Here we
got a good carpeted room in the large house of a villager, and another
room for N⸺ and the children. In our room are the man’s carpets and all
his valuables, boxes, etc., but they are left to our mercy without the
slightest hesitation—his bedding, his clothes, and all his earthly goods.
The people of this place are very well-to-do. They speak Turkish, and do
not understand Persian. The women do not hide their faces.
As we are having a cup of tea, we get astonished at not hearing of the
arrival of our caravan.
I had ordered the servants to stop it as it passed the door. I suddenly
hear that it has passed the village. Ibrahim (my head-man), at a crab’s
run, goes to stop it. I saddle a horse and gallop out. At the other side
of the village I find Ibrahim calling “Hoi, hoi!” to the caravan, which
is a mile off. He calmly informs me that they don’t hear him. I reply,
“Ass!” and canter after them and bring them in.
On nearing the house, a mob of boys, headed by a youth of eighteen,
amuse themselves by hooting me, and calling out, “Dog of a European!”
in Turkish. I remonstrate in Persian. Delight of boys, who hoot more. I
produce two of my four words of Turkish, “Kupak ogli!” (“sons of dogs”).
They throw stones. I ride at them, and give my village youth the lash of
my crop across his face. They flee, and throw stones from a distance.
Arrival of my muleteer, who remonstrates in Turkish with some elders.
Informs them that I am a _European ambassador_! (Elchi Feringhi), and
dangerous to tamper with. They apologise. I reply, in a lordly manner,
“Chok yakshi” (Turkish for “very good”), my other two words.
Have tea.
Ten P.M., dinner.
_April 22nd._—Started at eight A.M. Gave our landlord two and threepence,
with which he was satisfied. Of course, as we had bought grain, bread,
wood, etc., he had made a good thing of us.
Wind still blowing very hard; lots of villages and cultivation, the sun
being stronger. The wind is not so troublesome as yesterday, and we need
no wraps. Still, it is difficult to talk. After two farsakhs pass through
a salt swamp, which is fortunately dryish. Arrive at Kherrah, four
farsakhs from Bōween, at two-thirty. Caravan gets in at three forty-five.
Find a fine caravanserai, but no rooms, the villagers having built up
the entrances of the eight rooms there are. We find the shopkeeper, and
take possession of his shop and the two next rooms. We have a door once
more!—a real door! _All his commodities are scattered about, and he does
not remove a thing!_
It appears this caravanserai is very little used, save by those who
stick in the salt marsh. This, in _wet weather_, though only eight miles,
must be a good day’s march, and sometimes even impassable in places.
There is a causeway of big rough stones, but _all_ the bridges were
broken. At five P.M. wind went down to nearly nothing. All to-day (over
the swamp) the weather seemed dull, from dust storms in the distance. We,
however, fortunately did not get into one.
A⸺’s saddle will give her mare a sore back if she rides her, so she is
compelled to ride one of the ponies, a hard trial after the easy and
willing mare.
I had the benefit of the mare, as my saddle doesn’t gall. The back was
better on arrival than when we started.
Our mules (yabūs, _i. e._ pack-ponies) are in fair fettle, considering
that we have only halted one day at Kashan. To-morrow we strike the great
high-road, and we left robber-land yesterday.
The children, the baby included, as yet have not had a day’s illness, and
we are all in robust health.
All our rooms have been as yet wind and water tight, and save at Soh
(that very hyperborean place) we never had or needed a fire.
We are hurrying on, as the steamer (so they say) leaves Enzelli on
the second; and if we do not halt we can get a day there to repack
and wash clothes, pay off the servants, hand over my road kit, which
Captain W⸺ has bought, get money from Messrs. Ziegler, and start
comfortably—INSHALLAH (please God).
Talking of doors, when we have no doors we nail up two curtains
overlapping, if a big entrance, with an extra one crossway over the top
if high, and at bedtime we put crossways over the bottom of the curtain
our table-top and frame and two chairs, built up so that, if any one
attempts to get in, the whole _must_ come down on to a big copper bath
with a crash, and so wake us.
I rather pride myself on this arrangement, which is, I fancy, very
efficient, and keeps out wind and thieves too.
All the people here are big-headed, big-hatted, big-eared, small-eyed,
stupid, chibouque-smoking, Turkish-speaking people, quite different from
the smart and polished Persian of the South and Ispahan; but they are
_honester_, not grasping, and in _reality more obliging_. Instance this
morning, my cook asked a man to help him load his mule (_i. e._ give him
a lift with his big saddle-bags).
He replied, “Load him yourself!”
On my asking the fellow if he called himself a Mussulman, he grinned, and
helped at once.
_April 23rd._—Started at seven for Kasvin. Lovely day, no wind, but after
the first hour a good deal of sun. After three long farsakhs, came in
sight of Kasvin; another farsakh, arrived at one P.M. People well-to-do.
Heard that there is an _hotel_ (!) here, but distrusted it.
Went to a fine new caravanserai, where we got a courtyard to ourselves.
Our muleteer says our beasts cannot go on, so we must perforce halt a day.
We have a grand clothes-washing and child-bathing to-day.
Settle our trunks for the sea voyage.
In the afternoon I go to see the _hotel_. I find what I expected, a very
fine house, with bare walls, enormous charges, and impudent and dishonest
servants. I should be very sorry indeed to put up there. I thrashed one
fellow as it was for putting out his tongue; the rest at once became
polite.
They say that the steamer goes _twice_ a week—Sunday and Thursday.
I shall inspect the _hotel_ again to-morrow.
There is a big tiled shrine, in which is the tomb of the son of Imām
Riza. It seems in good repair, but not in good taste; also a Musjid-i
Juma (big mosque), much ruined.
_April 24th._—I find, after seeing the Russian telegraph clerk, that the
steamers go only once a week; so we must hope to catch that of Sunday,
the first. It will be very doubtful if we do it.
To-day I went through the bazaars to try and get a piece of Yezd silk
(Houssein Kūli Khani) for A⸺, but failed.
I, however, found biscuits for the children, which the servants said were
not to be had. They had been brought from Ispahan, where they were made.
When in the “chupper-khana,” I found a Russian locksmith, who had come to
Persia in search of work. He found none, and was returning on foot from
Teheran. He left this morning to catch the steamer of the first. Turkish
is here more spoken than Persian, and the people seem quite another
race, quiet and industrious, and more honest, but rougher.
A good many of the houses are built somewhat after Russian style, and our
caravanserai has doors (and also big windows to some of the rooms).
Everything but the bedding is packed ready for a start in the morning
early.
I say little of Kasvin, having had too much to do to see a great deal of
it.
Kasvin has no special production; it is merely a mart. It is, however, a
very populous town, and misrule is not so rampant as in other places.
We each wrote a letter home; found no one at the post-office and no
letter-box, so had to entrust our letters to the Russian telegraph clerk.
They arrived in due course. The place seems much larger than it really
is, owing to large plots of waste ground, which are unbuilt on.
_April 25th._—Left for Masreh. Passed in lovely weather through a grassy
plain for two farsakhs; then two more to Akabah; breakfasted in the
village gateway; then a tremendous two farsakhs through the hills to
Masreh. Started at seven-thirty, got in at three-thirty. Seven hours in
saddle, one hour halt.
Found a good room in chupper-khana, but the room for the children is full
of camel-tics. Moved them to the roof room, which is supposed to be free.
Our room is not safe from them, and at night it is too cold to go outside.
A⸺ will not allow me to sleep in the takhtrowan, so we shall all have to
sleep in the room on the roof.
Masreh is a village of merely a few hovels, in a lovely grassy valley.
Since Kasvin nothing bare; all grass or cultivation.
All night long we were awake at fits and starts looking for tics. We must
have killed twenty. They are ordinary sheep-tics.
They seem exactly the same thing as camel-tics, but smaller, and the
bites merely cause a spot (of effused blood) the size of a split pea at
biggest.
The camel-tic that bit N⸺ on the top of her head at Doong has caused
great soreness, and the blood flowed down all over her face. I was once
bitten on the foot, and tenderness lasted two months. Frank and the baby
were bitten, each in two places; so was A⸺. I was a little bitten, but
not by tics; they leave a round black mark the size of sixpence.
_April 26th._—Half-past seven A.M., left for Pah Chenar, a steady ascent
for eight miles, then tremendous descents of steepness and difficulty. We
had to get off our horses frequently for comfort’s sake, and the baby and
N⸺ had three times to get out of the takhtrowan, while the children had
twice to leave the kajawehs.
The takht horses were continually with their hind-quarters within three
inches of the ground at the descents, and sliding along.
The scenery was grand in the extreme, and the weather, fortunately, fine.
Small shrubs and wild roses now begin to be frequent. When at the top of
the mountain, two farsakhs from Masreh, the view was gigantic. One saw
far beyond Kasvin, over the plains and into deep valleys, which reached
for miles, and were of every shade of grey, red, green, and brown; some
hills even were bright orange; and such a bird’s-eye view was it when we
commenced the descent that I, who have seen many places, never certainly
saw anything so vast and magnificent.
It could not be called pretty till we got within a farsakh of Pah Chenar.
Then it was all green in the bottom of the valley, in which ran a small,
swift, and turbid river, or rivulet at the present time, doubtless a
month earlier a swirling torrent.
The entire stage has been one continuous descent. Got in at half-past
four; eight hours in saddle. Half-an-hour lunch. The people plough the
almost perpendicular sides of many of the hills, so we were constantly
coming on patches of various greens.
The climate has become _tepid_, and full of moisture; lots of flies.
A fine chupper-khana, with a new water-cellar close by, from which I
attempted to sketch the valley. We are all very tired, and have walked a
good deal of the way perforce.
A curious thing happened this morning when we left Masreh. I had given
the postmaster my knife to cut something; when I left I forgot it, and
only thought of it when a mile away. I cantered back, and found my
servants just leaving. I immediately said to the head-man:
“Have you got my knife, as _directed_, from the postmaster?”
He took the hint, and said:
“No; I forgot it.”
“Give it me.”
The postmaster put his hand in his pocket, and gave it up; _but_ had I
said “_Where_ is my knife?” or “_Have_ you got my knife?” I should never
have seen it again.
To get on with Persians it is necessary to be smart and unscrupulous to
a _certain extent_. Their own proverb is; “Better is a lie which causes
joy, than truth which produces grief.” See the first tale in Sāadi. I
am afraid my “as directed” was an _acted lie_. But then Sāadi is a high
authority.
There is lots of water here, as the frogs are croaking all night in
bursts: a croak, a chorus; silence, a croak; then “Berek ity kix, squax,
squax,” etc.
Dinner at nine. Hotch-potch and mock-turtle soups, _mixed_ (the cook’s
idea, and a good one); fresh salmon, leg of lamb, mint-sauce, custard and
plums, cheese, coffee, cherry-brandy, Persian wine, port, Madeira, kalian.
The climate here being humid, is very feverish. The people coming up get
bitten by tics at Masreh, then get fever, and put it down to the tics.
May not this theory account for the _Bug of Meana_? We are all taking
quinine to-night, to avoid it (fever and ague). The grimaces, as each man
takes it pure from a teaspoon, are grotesque, but all know its value, and
are glad of the dose.
_April 27th._—Left at half-past seven A.M. for Rūdbar, an up-and-down
road, but fairly good, between mountains, by the bank of the big river
(Suffid Rūd, White River). Vegetation plentiful; a few trees, barley in
the ear. Came to Munjîl, after several bits of very bad road, up and
down hill. Munjîl and Rustumabad are close together. There is a large
olive-grove, lots of springs, trees, and corn about the village. After a
mile came to a junction of three rivers, and on turning a corner came to
a bridge of six arches.
The bridge is new, and well built. By its side, attached to its piers, is
a wooden bridge, so placed that if (as is sometimes the case) parts of
the bridge be washed away, there may still be a way over.
The wind was blowing a gale up-stream, and, though there was lots of
sun, it made it chilly, and the wind under the arches blew up sheets of
spray. As soon as we had crossed the bridge we began a series of steep
ascents along an awful road, from one and a half to three yards wide,
cut in the side of the cliff, often having a sheer drop (and never any
parapet) of several hundred feet, to the rushing river. The wind was
tremendous—the horses at times _unable_ to march against it—_full in
our faces_. The ascents were, it is no exaggeration to say, often of
forty-five degrees. One had to hold the mane firmly to keep the saddle
from going over the quarters, and we could not get down, as the horses
would not face the blast riderless. Arrived (the last farsakh being the
longest and worst I ever saw in Persia) at Rūdbar at half-past three, a
lovely village, embosomed in olive-groves at the brink of the stream, in
a wooded nook. Forest and olive-groves on the other side of the stream,
which is still shut in by high mountains.
We put up at a good, but small, caravanserai in the village. Here saw the
dress of the Ghilān working class for the first time. Also Ghilān shoes
made of raw hide, with the hair on; the fronts lace up with hempen string
or thong, tying over the ankle.
To-day up to Munjil, and for the last two days we met large parties of
“chardūr nisheen,” or “dwellers in tents,” with their wives, children,
oxen, sheep, tents, dogs, horses, etc., quite in patriarchal style.
Everybody carried _something_, according to size, _all save the men_. The
cows were all laden. One little thing of five was carrying on her head
her father’s hat; all busy in some way or other. We bought a live lamb
for dinner, two and threepence.
The wandering tribes’ tents are pitched as follows, and we saw so many,
that we had an opportunity of seeing each stage. Stakes are driven in the
ground in pairs. Between these stakes a piece of very stiff reed-work,
like huge matting, is placed on its edge, in the form of a square; this
forms the wall. Strong poles are put at the four corners, and cross-poles
are attached to these. The whole is fixed to a centre pole; then cloths
of black goats’ hair are stretched over them. The ground is carpeted,
and the whole is wind-proof, rain-proof, and sun-proof. The wealth of
the owner can be well guessed from the size and newness of his tent
furniture. We noticed that they always had with them a primitive sort of
plough, the share being wooden.
_April 28th._—Left Rūdbar at eight, for Imāmzādeh Hāshem. Country more
and more beautiful; wild flowers plentiful; all the hills and mountains
covered with trees to their summits. Rode through olive-groves, each
tree having a big excavation in the ground by its side, which is filled
with water frequently, and so the tree is watered. Road very bad, and
in many places very steep, almost precipitous. We keep by the left bank
of the Suffid Rūd (or White River), which is at present the colour of
_café au lait_. After three farsakhs we enter woods; the usual English
trees, also yews, firs, box, wild vines, figs, and pomegranates (these
latter in bloom), ivy, convolvulus. The ground is covered with red and
white clover and ferns, violets, forget-me-nots, huge anemones, and most
English wild flowers. Nothing bare; trees overhang the road, and we
ford frequent small streams, constant runnels and watercourses. Lovely
weather, temperature about eighty degrees Fahr. At half-past four we came
on a large chaussée, which is perfectly flat, and at half-past six we get
in—eleven hours (half an hour’s halt at breakfast), or ten and a half
hours in the saddle! A stiff march for a lady.
The scenery has resembled the most wooded parts of Switzerland, and at
times the “Iron Gates” of the Danube, _only much more grand than either_.
We have been in the forest since two P.M., and shall be in it till we get
to Peri-bazaar. From within a farsakh and a half of this place there have
been constant swamps, but even in them the trees are dense.
We manage to get all in by daylight, having come certainly thirty miles.
We fortunately brought chaff (straw) with us, but no barley is to be got.
Mules nearly done up. Happily this chaussée lasts to Resht.
We both agree that we have never seen anything so varied or so lovely as
to-day’s march, though it was long and fatiguing.
I hope we may get dinner at half-past ten; it is now ten.
The people here have a miserable, agueish appearance; doubtless fever is
very rife. We all again take quinine; the servants decline to do so. I
insist. They yield.
Half-past ten.—Have happily got barley for my wife’s mare; trust to
_make_ the muleteer buy some for his mules, but price very high. We pass
a nearly sleepless night _from warmth_.
_April 29th._—Leave Imāmzādeh Hāshem at half-past seven; ride over the
smooth road to Resht. The forest continues, but the trees smaller and
more sparsely scattered; a big ditch at either side of the road keeps
it dry; fields, or rather cultivated swamps, begin to appear in the
forest and gradually become more frequent; at either side of the road,
on the bank, are ferns of all sorts, including maiden-hair, common male
fern, and ox-tongue; orchids of all colours, buttercups, forget-me-nots,
poppies, anemones, violets, myrtle, all blooming luxuriantly: not a bit
of bare earth to be seen—_everything verdant_. Quantities of snakes,
tortoises, and green lizards (very tame), small and large.
At twelve we arrive at the town, and I send on a man to M. Schwab, agent
to Ziegler and Company (to whom, Ziegler and Company, I have a letter).
M. Schwab puts us up in his huge house with great hospitality, gives us a
good double-bedded room, and gives his own room to the children, telling
us to make ourselves at home: we do so.
We find at M. Schwab’s, M. Vassiliardes, a Greek, formerly one of Ralli’s
people whom I had known in Teheran, and a young American traveller, Mr.
Doherty, who says he is a naturalist, and “hopes to find curious bugs” in
Persia. _He will!_ He tells me bug is _American_ for beetle.
We breakfast. The rest of the day is occupied in paying off servants,
giving over Captain W⸺’s purchases, handing over the mare, giving present
to muleteer, repacking for the ship, getting money, etc.
_April 30th._—We start after breakfast. A⸺ and I, with N⸺ and the
children, in a rough cart on the mattresses and pillows; the luggage in
another, the servants on its top. After one farsakh (_the last one_) we
reach (passing through forest and swamp) “Peri-bazaar,” in the midst of
swamps. Here is the wharf. In a few minutes we get on a boat manned by
six rowers and haulers, a bow-man and a steersman; we take three servants
with us, and the woman Bēbē. As soon as we push off from the bank, a rope
is attached to the top of the mast and we are towed for an hour, by the
haulers, through the swamp.
They then get on board and row; they row very badly with oars like
long-handled spades, and when the steersman calls out “Mohammed,” they
reply “Allah saklassān,” in a yelling chorus, and spurt. We passed
through a narrow natural canal, and then came to the “Mūrd ab,” or “Dead
Water,” a large estuary; we row for three-quarters of an hour and then
the sail is set. We left Peri-bazaar at three, and reach Enzelli at seven.
The canal and estuary were teeming with fish and water-birds, and we
saw cranes, herons, cormorants, and unknown water-fowls in thousands,
flying up from the reeds, or rising as we neared them. We also saw a huge
vulture who was eating a fish (or was it a big fish-eagle?), _but no boat
or human being_.
At each side of the boat are fixed sticks tied in a bundle; these serve
as fenders and rowlocks, really the latter being a small ring of rope.
We land just at the door of the prime minister’s harem, a tumble-down
place. We find the governor of Ghilān in the berūni, or men’s apartments;
he has laid down carpets in our rooms, and gives us tea, lights, dinner,
and breakfast, _i. e._ he does so for his friend M. Vassiliardes, and we
reap the benefit. Our beds are full of fleas. Weather _hot_ and damp.
_May 1st._—Lovely weather; have all ready by eight A.M. No steamer.
Breakfast from Akbar Khan, Governor of Ghilān. Walk in the gardens,
orange-trees with lots of oranges (of last year) on them, and at same
time in full bloom quantities of roses, the iris too—very large and fine
flowers. Everything very damp; rather too hot in sun, but nice breeze.
Four P.M.—_No steamer._ Go over the six-storied tower of the Shah,
built when he went to Europe, a gew-gaw place going to ruin from damp;
protected by mats. We inspect his bedroom, salon, etc. Walk in town; like
a Russian suburb of, say, Astrachan.
Seven P.M.—_No steamer._ Bed at ten.
_May 2nd._—Get up at five. _No steamer._ At six the steamer is seen; we
cram in a few odds and ends, cushions and blankets, and make the final
distribution of clothes, etc., to servants. We go down to the shore and
get into our last night’s boat.
Half-past eight, arrive on board the steamer. Give my servants their
presents: they kiss our hands and weep; we weep, the children weep.
I send them off by saying their boat is leaving. Our boat is the
_Tzarovitch Alexander_, one of the newest and best boats. N⸺ has _all_
the ladies’ cabin; we have a state room below. We take in cargo.
Eleven, breakfast. Vegetables very well done come after the zakooska, or
snack, then stewed steaks with carrots, then a sweet sort of omelette
with jam—and very little jam. We drink piver (beer) of Astrachan. One
P.M. Still taking in cargo.
Ten minutes to two.—We start, leaving some cargo-boats still unloaded;
our principal cargo seems to be raisins, eggs, and cotton, and a little
dried fish; but the captain tells me that this is the largest cargo he
has ever got from Enzelli. We have been loading busily, both fore and
aft, with steam cranes, since the vessel’s arrival. We run along the
coast, no motion to speak of; strong sun, weather lovely. At half-past
five we dine, and we took tea at half-past three. Ship’s tea undrinkable;
we use our own. Dinner is stchēe (one of the national cabbage soups),
cutlets, roast duck, and a sort of Bavaroise. We pass (without stopping)
Astara at ten P.M., sea getting up. Stop at Lenkoran at one A.M., take
eight passengers for Bakū.
They talk in cabins and wake A⸺. I remonstrate in German, French, and
Persian; dead silence. Leave at three _A.M._, sea going down. Tea at
eight; lovely sun, pass between islands; no sea on.
_May 3rd._—Half-past ten, breakfast. Four P.M., arrived at “Bakū;” went
on shore, bought photos of Russian types of Bakū, etc., changed all my
Persian money into paper roubles; exchange, three roubles forty-seven
copecks to one toman (or seven-and-sixpence).
_May 4th._—Again went on shore. There is nothing to see; the usual cheap
imitation of French fashions, much business, principally in naphtha
(Bakū, owing to this, has in twenty years risen from nothing). There
is a good natural harbour, lots of Russian officers about; Armenians,
Persians, Lesghians, more numerous than the actual Russians. Deep water
full of fine fish close in shore; our big steamer is warped up to a
wooden pier 300 yards long. Only four other steamers lying here, all
smallish, one barque, and lots of small crafts like galliots. Oranges
plentiful and bad, also tobacco from Riga (?). I got a pair of Tartar
enamelled earrings here, and a big turquoise.
Noon (twelve).—Sudden rush of the beauty and fashion of Bakū to
breakfast on board; it appears that doing this, and the club, are _the
two amusements of the place_. The naphtha trade and the steamer depot,
with the garrison, form the society of this place. Festive Russia drinks
bad champagne, at one pound a bottle, after breakfast. First whistle,
half-past one. Second whistle, a quarter to two. Embracing, weeping,
departure of Festive Russia, leaving some ten men-passengers, one
Georgian lady very uninteresting, and one young lady with a quantity of
fair hair and a fat baby. “Fair one with golden locks” is kissed freely
by every one.
Third whistle. Final rush; we are warped out. The deck passengers are
dissolved in oily and spirituous tears. At ten minutes past two we paddle
off. No sea in the bay. Half-past four, tea. Half-past six, dinner. Heavy
swell on. A⸺ and N⸺ go below; so does fair one with the golden locks, at
end of dinner. A⸺ lies down, and escapes. Quarter to nine we all retire.
Heavy swell on.
_May 5th_, seven A.M.—No swell. We make Durbend, said to have been
fortified by Alexander the Great. We anchor half a mile off. I make a
rough sketch. Arrival of “fair one with the golden locks,” with the locks
done into one huge yellow plait; it is one foot from the ground exactly.
I save the fat baby’s life, who had made for the staircase, and shot into
my arms. At ten leave Durbend. Half-past ten, breakfast. Half-past four,
tea. Reach Petrovsk. A fine natural harbour. Within this the Russians
have made a second one, formed by two horns of blocks of rough stone,
tossed in pell-mell, and masses of concrete, eight feet by four feet,
which stand in a row seawards on the loose stones. They have a tramway
for horses, and five men. Each mounts a horse and drags a truck full of
stones out (tandem). When they get to the right place they dismount and
throw out the stones. Simple, not pretty, but effectual. They were doing
this when I was here ten years ago. They are doing it now.
The place is hardly Russian—full of Lesghians, who seem prosperous. I did
not go ashore, as it was getting chilly, and there is nothing to see. The
town covers a large space of ground, but is sparsely scattered, and looks
better from the sea than nearer. As we had one thousand sacks of rice to
discharge we did not get off till half-past nine P.M. Weather fine all
night.
_May 6th._—Up at eight. Did up rugs and bedding, as we get on the “flat”
at the six-foot channel in the afternoon, and are towed in it to the
Volga boat. We are at present in the boat in which the Shah made his last
voyage to Europe. Of course he had it to himself, and the engineer tells
me he slept on the floor of the ladies’ cabin, and _put his shoes on the
table_. So much for the civilisation of the “Asylum of the Universe,”
“The king of kings!” The stewards, after a little remonstrance, are civil
and obliging, the food good and plentiful; the fish particularly good;
while the Astrachan beer is a great treat, fourpence-halfpenny a bottle
only. We had a lot of port with us, which, _as we had to drink_ or throw
away, we preferred the former. The corkage is charged fivepence. Many
Russians bring their own liquor.
Children and ourselves all in robust health. The rest has done us good.
The officers are all very obliging and friendly, two speaking English,
all German, and one some French; but the stewards were, alas! Russians of
the real _vielle roche_. The bill had to be gone carefully through. I cut
off one-fifth of it; they merely smiled; and not finding that we were the
sheep who before the shearer was dumb, were very civil.
Quarter to one.—Nearing the nine-foot channel. Not a ripple. We have been
very fortunate, as the Caspian is at times _very_ rough! Half-past four,
arrived at the “Nine-foot,” as it is called. We go on board the “flat”
This is a huge barge, some two hundred feet long; forward and aft are
the holds; in the centre twenty cabins, each for four persons, and the
saloon; over these another saloon, and a hurricane-deck on top. The sea
is like oil, and we leave at ten P.M., being towed by a small tug.
_May 7th._—Wake to find ourselves in the Volga. At eleven A.M. we _reach
Astrachan_. Here I go on shore to the office, and complain that I have
been forced to take a ticket for my two children, and that I ought only
to pay half-fare for one. This, however, I put in a veiled manner. I
find that children under ten _travel free_, and forty-one roubles are
immediately _refunded_! Officials of company most civil. Our luggage is
merely formally examined. I find all this is because my passport has
a favourable mark from my friends of the Russian Legation in Teheran
which signifies “treat the bearer well:” so they tell me. We are even
provided with a private cabin, although every berth has been taken in
advance. I and “Charlie” drive in a droschy through Astrachan, a hideous
but flourishing, large town, evidently rich. I buy a pair of Russian
salt-cellars, ugly, but good. I had fever yesterday. I have it again
to-night. At ten P.M. we leave.
The current is very strong here, and the long shallow boats very fast and
powerful, but the vibration is tremendous, worse than a railway carriage.
There is every comfort, convenience, and luxury on board. The scenery of
the Volga above Astrachan, as we see it on
_May 8th_, is very tame: a low sandbank, a little brushwood. River two
miles wide. A few villages; country quite flat; consequently we see
nothing. Here and on the “flat,” we have had “sterlet,” the celebrated
Volga fish—fairly good, nothing wonderful. Here the police tell me not to
wear my grey wideawake, as, if I did, I should be mobbed as a Nihilist.
The Emperor just assassinated, and mob very excitable.
_May 9th._—Tsaritzin, seven A.M. Go ashore and drive to railway station,
a very fine building. We dine, and at half-past three P.M. start in
a compartment of a first-class saloon carriage; this we have all to
ourselves. About every half-hour we stop for five minutes at least. One
gets in and out as one likes, and the guard takes care that the train
does not leave without us. On every platform is a big vessel of clean
drinking-water for the peasants. Bottled beer, hot pies, and vodka (a
very raw spirit) to be got everywhere: the beer sixpence a bottle, and
very nice bread, quite a luxury, and so good that the children eat it all
day long, calling it “cakey.” Travel with windows open all night; pace,
seventeen miles an hour, without stoppages.
_May 10th._—Reached Griazi at noon. Sleep in the _sleeping-room_, and
after a bath leave at half-past six P.M. We have with us sheets, pillows,
and blankets, and at eight P.M. we all go to bed, undressing and making
ourselves quite at home. Start at midnight.
_May 11th._—Arrive at Orel ten minutes to nine A.M. Drive round town with
“Charlie” and A⸺ in droschy. Buy a gilt silver salt-cellar of Moscow
work. Nothing to see in the town, which seems well-to-do and substantial.
Get a bath, or rather wash, and four hours’ nap in the waiting-room.
Leave at three P.M. Carriage to ourselves.
In this part of Russia a train consists of one first-class, one
second-class, and, say, fifteen third-class carriages. We find that it
suits us to go first, as we can lie down and go to bed, which is of great
moment in so long a journey. All the seats draw out to form beds, and
the carriages are lined with velvet, have double windows, and every
comfort on board. Pace, twenty miles an hour. _No charge is made for the
children!_ Witebsk at eight P.M.
_May 12th._—Dunaberg at half-past five A.M. Here we find a wretched
station and buffet. They try to persuade us to go to an hotel. We
breakfast at the buffet, and then go by rail some two miles, to the
Dunaberg station of the Warsaw-Riga line. _This move was an inspiration._
Here we found a really magnificent station and buffet. Nothing leaves
till to-morrow at half-past three A.M.—an unearthly hour. We dine
at the buffet, and take one of the bedrooms in the station provided
for travellers _by the Russian Government_. We get a magnificent
_appartement_ for three roubles, with two _beds_! with blankets and
pillows and a sofa. Fortunately, the beds are in alcoves, so I take the
sofa, and we all sleep till three A.M. of the _13th_. We get up, go down
to the station, and at twenty minutes past four A.M. (awful time) start
for Berlin.
Arrive at Wilna at eight A.M. Get to Eydtkuhnen, the Prussian frontier,
at eighteen minutes to two. Here a form of custom-house examination is
gone through. Leave at twenty-two minutes past two, and reach _Berlin_ on
May 14th at ten minutes past six A.M.
We are all dog-tired, dirty, woebegone in the extreme, our luggage
eccentric-looking; and on our arrival in the Hôtel de R⸺, Unter den
Linden, a new and handsome building, we humbly ask for rooms in French.
The head waiter patronisingly informs us that he _hopes_ to give us
rooms, and informs the manager in German that we may be put _anywhere_.
We are taken into the lift and brought to the _third floor_. Two good
rooms are shown us for six and a half marks each room—in all, with extra,
_i. e._ children’s beds, fifteen marks.
When the head waiter sees our piles of luggage arrive, and is asked for
hot coffee, he becomes polite and servile, and tells us he can give us
better rooms on the second or first floors; but we decline to move, sleep
being our first object. We do sleep, but _miss_ the vibration of the
carriage. We go to the _table d’hôte_, and, as we dread strange liquors,
order a bottle of a well-known brand of dry champagne. It appears without
label and without cork carefully frozen. The head waiter glides up, and
remarks in English—
“You will find this a ver fine wine, sar.”
I taste it, and reply—
“You have brought me sugar-water; I asked for wine. Take it away.”
Astonishment of head waiter, who retires with wine, and presently returns
with same sweet mixture in an old labelled and capsuled bottle. I taste,
and point out that the label says “_très sec_,” and the wine is sweet,
in fact, the same as before. He then tells me that the “pore waitre”
has made a mistake, and will have to pay for the wine if I return it.
I retort “that that won’t injure him, as it can’t cost much, and that
it would injure _us_ to drink it.” This to the intense delight of some
German officers.
The waiter then tells me that _he finds_ that they are out of the wine I
want, but _he_ recommends ⸺. I decline to drink it, saying, “I don’t care
for ‘_Schloss weis nicht wo_,’” as I feared getting a second succedaneum.
After a sitting at the lengthy _table d’hôte_ of one hour and a half,
we leave for more sleep. The table was plentiful, but common, and
required a youthful appetite. This we did not possess, and we were both
decidedly seedy for the rest of our stay in Berlin. We merely had our
morning coffee at the hotel, and dined and breakfasted at “Dressel’s,” a
restaurant of European celebrity. The cost was the same, but the wines
and cook were undeniable, the attendance good, and the place select and
quiet, and only some three hundred yards from our hotel in the Unter den
Linden. This evening my neck was cricked, and gave me great pain. We
still could not sleep, missing the jarring of the train. A⸺ and Charlie
quite knocked up. We all are feeling the cold.
_May 15th._—All of us quite knocked up: headaches and sleeplessness, and
want of appetite; in fact, we are getting ill. I went to see the National
Gallery and Altes and Neues Museums. Much pleased with what I saw, but my
cricked neck annoyed me. A⸺ too ill to go out. Our eldest boy, Charlie,
still quite done up.
_May 16th._—Saw the Galleries again, and the wax-works (to which I took
Charlie, who seems nearly himself again)—far better than Tussaud’s.
In the evening we went to the Friedrich Wilhelm’s Theatre, and saw the
‘Piper of Hammelin,’ a so-called comic opera. The singing and acting were
good, but serious in the extreme. The orchestra stalls cost only three
marks (three shillings). Began at half-past seven, over at half-past
ten. The players very respectable, and the audience very quiet and
appreciative; dresses good, _mise-en-scène_ fair, acting equal to that of
English provincials.
_May 17th._—A⸺ much better. Went for drive in morning. Had a good deal
of business to do to get money, and start luggage, etc. At five went to
Zoological Gardens, a fine collection and magnificent gardens, a concert;
fairly good dinner there, price very moderate: lots of guests. Much
pleased. These gardens are open till ten P.M. We returned home by eight.
_May 18th._—Had coffee. Started at ten. Breakfasted at the station.
_Again no charge for the children._ Secured a _coupé_, with
washing-place, etc., to ourselves, after some wrangle with the guard,
having to appeal to the station-master, who decided in my favour
against another claimant, I having placed my hat in the carriage, and
so retained it by travellers’ law, but the guard had removed it and put
other people in. Started at twelve noon for Calais. Speed, forty miles,
including stoppages. Lovely country till we got to the iron region, Essen
(Krupp’s?). Minden particularly pretty.
_May 19th_, one P.M.—Arrive at Calais. Half-past one leave by the Calais
Douvres. Fair sea on, no pitching, but considerable roll. None of our
party sick; only some dozen ill in all on board. A great improvement on
the little boats as to motion. Time, one hundred minutes. Half-past three
leave Dover. Half-past five arrive at Charing Cross Station.
_Home!_ “Alhamdulillah!” (“Thank God!”)
FINIS.
APPENDIX A.
Table of Post Stages and Ordinary Marches from Bushire, Persian Gulf, to
Teheran.
Farsakhs
(3½ to 4 Miles).
Bushire to Ahmedi 6
Thence to Borasjūn 6 Telegraph-office.
” Daliki 6 Guest-house.
” Khonar Takhta 5
” Kamarij 4
” _Kazerūn_ 4 Telegraph-office.
” Mean Kotul 5
” Desht-i-Arjeen 4 Telegraph-office.
” Khana Zinyūn 6
” Chenar Rahdar 6
” _Shiraz_ 2 Telegraph-office.
” Zergūn 6
” _Seidūn_ 7 Telegraph-office.
” Kawamabad 4
” Mūrghab 6
” Dehbeed (the coldest place
in Persia) 6 Telegraph-office.
” Khana Khora 7
” Surmeh 7
” _Abadeh_ 4 Telegraph-office.
” Shūrgistan 6
” _Yzedkhast_ (or Yezdicast) 6
” Maxsūd Beg 5
” _Kūm-i-Shah_ 5 Telegraph-office.
” Mayar 5
” Marg 6
” _Ispahan_ 3 To Telegraph-office, _Julfa_.
” Gez 3
” Mūrchicah 6
” Soh 7 Telegraph-office.
” _Kohrūd_ 6
” _Kashan_ 6½ Telegraph-office.
” Sinsin 6
” Passan Ghūm 6
” _Kūm_ 4 Telegraph-office.
” Pul-i-Dellak 5
” Hauz-i-Sultan 6
” Kanarigird 6
” _Teheran_ 7
Teheran to the Turkish Frontier, _viâ_ Hamadan and Kermanshah.
Teheran to Robad Kerim 7
Thence to Khaniabad 6
” Kūshkek 6
” _Noberand_ 7
” Zerreh 7
” Marahkraba 6
” _Hamadan_ 6 Persian Telegraph-office.
” Syudabad (or Assadabad) 7
” _Kangawar_ 5 Persian-office.
” _Sana_ 6
” Besitūn 4
” _Kermanshah_ 5 Persian-office.
” Myedusht 4
” _Harūnabad_ 7
” Kerind 6 Persian-office (two stages
from Turkish frontier).
Teheran to Resht (Caspian).
Teheran to Meanjūb 5
Thence to Sangerabad 6
” Safarkoja 6
” Abdūlabad 5
” _Kasvin_ 3 Persian Telegraph-office and
so-called Hotel.
” Masreh 7
” Pah Chenar 6
” Menjil 6
” Rustumabad 5
” Kudum 6
” _Resht_ 4
_Resht_ to Peri-bazaar 4
Peri-bazaar to _Enzelli_ (on the Caspian Sea). 5 to 12 hours by boat.
N.B.—Towns and large villages are in italics.
APPENDIX B.
Duration of our Journey from Ispahan to London.
_Time._
Days.
Ispahan to Resht (488 _miles_) (including one day’s
halt at Kashan and one day at Kasvin) 23
Resht to Enzelli 1
Halt in Enzelli waiting for steamer 1
Enzelli to Astrachan (including 22 hours in Bakū) 5
Astrachan (halt of ten hours) to Zaritzin 2
Zaritzin to Berlin 5
Berlin to London, including halt at Berlin 5½
---
42½
===
_Possible time_ for a horseman to do it, including stoppages but _hitting
off_ the steamer, and riding day and night.
Days.
Ispahan to Enzelli (488 _miles_) (including six hours’
delay and rest in Teheran) 4
Enzelli to Berlin 12
Berlin to London thirty-six hours (including delay in Berlin) 1½
---
17½
===
APPENDIX C.
TRAVELLING IN PERSIA.
In taking servants, take men who have travelled before: men who know
their business, and to whom travelling is no trial, soon learn _their_
duties and _your_ ways, and after the second stage do all that they have
to do with great regularity. Men who may be good servants in a city, on
the road if they have never marched are _quite_ helpless—they are for
ever tumbling off their mules, dropping and leaving things behind, always
tired, always asleep, and ever grumbling. Drop them as soon as you find
them out, let some one else have the pain of breaking them in and making
men of them. An old man (or middle-aged one) who has never travelled is
hopeless; a boy _may_ learn.
The cook should be a good one and one who is used to the road, and a man
of even temper. Pity and spare him, for his trials are many—all day on
his mule, the rest of the twenty-four hours in the smoke and blowing up
a fire of, as a rule, damp wood, he barely gets his well-earned rest of
four hours. Promise him a good present on the arrival at destination,
humour him, let him make a little profit, and let him give _you_ his
accounts. Make him _always_ have hot water and soup ready, and always
cold fowl or meat in his bags, and he should be prepared to cook a hot
breakfast at an instant’s notice in twenty minutes on a bare desert
plain, with the wood and water he has with him, and _without shelter of
any kind_.
In choosing a horse for the road it must be remembered that beauty is
nothing. Great strength and health with _quick and easy walking powers
are needed, and a smooth action_; the beast should be in good health,
with a _healthy back_ and clean feet, and a good feeder; he above all
things should have a long stride and no tendency to trot; his paces being
a walk, an amble, and a canter, he should not be lazy or a puller; his
temper should be good, that he may be taken near the mules; and unless he
be sure-footed, and _never cuts_, he is useless for marching purposes. He
should not be too young or at all delicate, the more of a cob he is the
better; greys should be avoided, and above all white hoofs, or even one
white hoof.
He should be shod the day before leaving, but _the hoof left as long
as possible_. The Dayrell bridle, being also a head-stall, is good for
marching.
In starting it is very needful to secure a respectful and respectable
muleteer, and having got him, to protect him from the exaction of ten per
cent. of his total hire by the servants; let him feel that you are his
friend.
All the kit _that is required on the journey_, as tables, chairs, food,
clothes, and liquor, should be on one or two mules, not all mixed up _on
many_, with things that are not needed till the journey’s end.
On the groom’s mule (which should be a good one in order to come in with
the master’s horses) should be all the horse-clothing, head and heel
ropes, etc., and _full_ nose-bags, so that the horses may get a good feed
on arrival (of chaff).
With the cook’s should be _all_ their kit, a little _dry_ fire-wood,
knives and forks, and tea: with the head-man on a _good horse_, a snack,
water, wine, matches, money, and a big whip, and the rugs and wraps. A
whip is needful, as one is liable to be mobbed or insulted.
A good supply of tinned provisions should be taken, dried fruits, rice,
flour, sago, tinned milk, and chocolate and milk, and some soups and
vegetables in tins. The wine should be strong, to bear dilution. One
bottle of brandy we took as a medicine; it arrived unopened.
In the foods the great thing is to get variety. Butter should be melted
and run into a champagne bottle for cooking purposes, while fresh
and good butter may be bought in each large town and carried in tins
_salted_, for four stages, or more if in winter.
Small tent carpets are needed, large ones are useless, and two small ones
are better than one of larger size, as they fit in better, or carpet two
rooms. A small broom is needful. Copper pots for cooking, and enamelled
iron cups and tin plates as being less bulky than copper are required.
Bottles when emptied should be _repacked_ to avoid smashes; all bottles
should be in straw envelopes. Short carriage candles are good and need no
candlesticks—being thick they stand upright.
A table should be made of a board three feet long by two and a half wide,
with a cross piece near each end underneath; this is merely laid on cross
trestles held together by a string.
Folding chairs, _not camp stools_, should be taken, and they should be
strong and covered merely with canvas; thick stuff gets wet, and keeps
so. The best chair is with a buckle, so as to raise for dining, or lower
for lounging; by putting on a movable foot-piece of two small iron rods
and a bit of canvas, a fair and very comfortable bedstead is produced,
and no mattress needed. No mattresses should ever be used, but as coarse
chaff is procurable everywhere, large bags should be taken, the size of a
mattress, half filled with it, and shaken down; these beds are warm (and
cool in hot weather), fairly soft, and hold no insects. Pillows must be
carried; linen pillow-cases are best.
All “jims,” such as naphtha stoves, spirit lamps, air cushions, cork
mattresses, iron bedsteads, are practically useless, as they are either
so light as to smash, or so heavy as to be a nuisance. _Everything should
be of the commonest and strongest materials._
Bullock trunks are the best kind of clothes box, but should have no
straps (the straps are always stolen), but strong brass hasps for two
padlocks for each trunk are a very good thing, as locks sometimes open
from a severe jar. As for bed-clothes, sheets are a great comfort; I
never travelled without them; they should be also carried through Russia.
Red or Vienna coloured blankets are the best, and should be carried in
a “mafrash band,” or big carpet waterproof trunk; the carpets should be
laid over all, and these with the man on top of them keep the bedding
dry. These mafrash bands serve also to hold all odds and ends.
Bread should be taken on from each stage, as it may not be got or be
very bad at the next, and when not wanted is gratefully accepted by the
servants. A double supply should be got at each large town, as it is
always good there.
At the big towns, too, very good “bazaar Kabobs” of chopped meat (they
are eaten hot), also biscuits and dried fruits, may be had. The tea must
be Indian, as that sold in Persia is very inferior.
Milk, as a rule, can only be got at sunset, and a tin or two of it is
useful.
It is always better to go to a post-house, or chupper-khana, than to a
caravanserai, as the noise of mules and camels is avoided, and the loud
cries which resound on the arrival or departure of a caravan, which
generally takes place at midnight or dawn.
Avoid night travelling if you can, but if you must do it, _always start
before midnight_. When alone and unarmed keep within hail of your
caravan, or keep at least one servant with you. It is easy to miss both
caravan and road. If you have a swift horse it does not much matter.
See that your horses get their corn, and _that they eat it_; also that
they are rubbed down when unsaddled, and are properly groomed two hours
after feeding; also watered night and morning. Examine their backs,
shoes, and hoofs each morning, _and never take your groom’s word as to
backs_.
Insist on your saddlery, stirrups, and bits being bright each day.
Carry a big hunting crop and lash; even if you don’t mean to use it, the
sight of it prevents rudeness. Unless the part you are in is disturbed,
arms are as a rule needless.
Boots and breeches are only needed in autumn and winter, otherwise
Bedford cord trousers, or pantaloons, and shoes are better; no straps.
Boots, if worn, should be _very large_, with low heels, and well greased
daily with resin ointment, or Holloway’s.
Spurs save one’s temper and arms with a very lazy horse, but otherwise
are a nuisance.
A knife with corkscrew and straight blade, a tin-opening blade, and a
leather-borer, is a good and needful thing.
Money should never be carried; one’s servant should keep it, save a few
kerans.
In very cold weather it is as well to put on a big pair of coarse country
socks _over_ one’s boots, and to twist a bit of sheepskin, with the hair
on, round the stirrup iron; these precautions keep the feet warm.
A sun hat or topi is of the first necessity; also thick and strong
_loose-fitting_ gloves (old ones are best) of buckskin.
A change of trousers or breeches, in case of a soaking, should be kept
with the head servant, who should always have matches. Bryant and May’s
are the best, and with three of their matches a cigar or pipe can
be lit _in any wind_: they sell a tin outer match-box which is very
useful, as one cannot crush the box; this, with one’s knife, pipe and
pocket-handkerchief, should be one’s only personal load.
Oxford shirts, grey merino socks, and a cardigan of dark colour, complete
the equipment; the last is a _sine quâ non_.
A Norfolk jacket is best for outer garment. No tight-fitting thing is of
any use.
On arrival tea should be the first thing, the kettle being got under
way at once; then carpets spread, chairs and table brought, mattresses
filled and laid, beds made, and fire lit if cold. Make tea _yourself_ in
your KETTLE, and make it strong; never let your servants make it, as they
either steal the tea or put it in _before_ the water is boiling, so that
_they_ may get a good cup, and _you_, of course, get wash.
A Persian lantern should be taken of tin and linen (this shuts up) for
visiting the stable at night, and another for the cook to use.
Water should always be carried both to quench thirst, and for a small
supply lest at the next stage water be bad or salt.
Smoked goggles are a necessity.
A puggree of white muslin should be used for day marching.
A big brass cup can be taken in a leather case on the head servant’s
saddle-bow; it acts as cup or basin.
No English lamps should be used, as they always get out of order.
It is wise before starting to see that the cook’s copper utensils are all
_tinned_ inside. A copper sponge-bath and wash-basin are needed. Plates
and dishes all of _tinned copper_.
A few nails are required to nail up curtains, stop holes, etc.
APPENDIX D.
RUSSIAN GOODS VERSUS ENGLISH.
THE KARŪN RIVER ROUTE—THE BEST MEANS OF REACHING THE COMMERCIAL
CENTRES OF PERSIA—OPINIONS OF EXPERTS—WISHES OF MERCHANTS.
Colonel Bateman Champain, R.E., in a paper read before the Royal
Geographical Society, January 15, 1883, after estimating the population
of Persia at six millions, gives among the products of the country,
“grains of all kinds, cotton, tobacco, silk, opium, fruits, dates,
wool, hides, carpets, rugs, and an immense variety of the luxuries and
necessaries of life. There is, on the other hand, a large demand for
cloth, cotton fabrics, sugar, tea, coffee, and all the innumerable
comforts called for by a moderately civilised community.” He then goes
on to state, “that the great proportion of these articles are imported
_from or through Russia_” and that “it is but too evident that Russian
manufactures are steadily superseding British wares at Ispahan, and even
in the Persian markets south of that centre.” Colonel Champain then
proceeds to notice the various proposed means for reaching the commercial
centres of Persia; and after pointing out their disadvantages, draws the
attention of the Society to the proposed route _viâ_ the Karūn River.
General Sir F. Goldsmid, after corroborating the statements of Colonel
Champain as to the roads, spoke of railways in the future through Persia,
particularly a complete railway between England and India; said that
“failing the project of the great Indian railway, which could not be
carried out _for many years, nothing could be better_ than the proposed
communication, partly by water and partly by road, _viâ_ Ahwaz to Ispahan
and Teheran” (the Karūn River route).
Mr. G. S. Mackenzie, after some prefatory remarks, recounted how he
started from Mohammera (to which place goods may be taken by _ocean_
steamers), on the 27th July, 1878, in the steamer _Karūn_ of 120 tons,
built for Hadji Jabar Khan, Governor of Mohammera, at a cost of 6000_l._;
in twenty-three hours Mr. Mackenzie arrived at Ahwaz, without the steamer
either bumping or grounding, and he ascertained that at the lowest season
the river is navigable. At Ahwaz the river is blocked by rapids for about
1100 _yards_ as the crow flies, but (a canal _or_) a tramway of some 1600
_yards_ would reach the open portion of the river; thence Captain Selby,
in the Indian steamer _Assyria_, succeeded in ascending to within five
miles of Shuster (and also he steamed up the Diz River to within one mile
of Dizful). From Shuster to Ispahan is 266 miles, or twelve ordinary mule
stages.
The time taken by _goods_ in reaching Ispahan from Mohammera _by river
is_,
Days. hrs.
By steamer to Ahwaz 0 23
By transshipment by (_train_ or) mules 0 4
Thence to Shuster by river, say fifty miles 0 12
By caravan to Ispahan (allowing one day’s _detention_) 13 0
-------
14 15
The present route is from Bushire to Ispahan (while
from a week’s to a fortnight’s delay at Shiraz is
generally experienced in getting fresh mules) 23 0
-------
_Certain difference_ 8 9
=======
_Or probably (on account of delay at Shiraz)_ 18 0
The land journey (the chief of the Bakhtiaris being favourable, of which
there is no doubt) resolves itself to a journey over an ordinary Persian
mule track, no worse than the old one from Bushire to Shiraz, while _as
it passes through a good grazing country, hire would be cheaper_.
After some remarks in praise of Russia from Col. C. E. Stewart, Mr.
Russell Shaw, having a general experience of railways, and having
actually surveyed a proposed line from Baghdad to the Persian frontier,
disposed of the various costly and ideal schemes of railways for Persia;
and suggested the feasibility of reaching Persia from India.
The President, after a few general remarks, in which he wished well to
large schemes of railway extension through Persia, _in the far distant
future_, “thought it had been CLEARLY DEMONSTRATED THAT IT WAS POSSIBLE,
AT A VERY SMALL COST, TO GET A ROUTE INTO THAT PART OF PERSIA WHERE ALONE
ENGLISHMEN COULD HOPE SUCCESSFULLY TO COMPETE WITH RUSSIANS.”
The President stated that, “It was clear that if she (Persia) would offer
no obstacles, the route up the Karūn would very soon be made practicable;
and he could not but think that if it were steadily pressed upon the
Persian Government, the desired result would be obtained.”
He concluded with well-deserved compliments to Colonels Champain and
Smith, and Mr. Mackenzie.
It is a question whether the valuable commercial interests of this
country in Persia receive the attention they deserve. Why do we not try
to imitate Russia in opening the marts of Persia? She has done so till
the word “Russian” has come to mean “_anything foreign_”! Why do not we
insist on the _Karūn River_ being thrown open to British enterprise?
Russia is a civilising influence, a rough one, perhaps, but still a
civilising influence: and she is civilising the Turkoman.
The export of opium alone in 1881 was 924,000 lbs., which at 16_s._ a
lb.—an ordinary price—is 739,200_l._; and _were Persia thrown open to
English enterprise_, this sum would have been sent there, not in specie,
_but in Manchester manufactured goods, etc._
I have good authority for stating that England is the only country
admitting the produce of Persia duty free; as opium, wool, cotton (and
good cotton), carpets, grain, dates, galls, gums.
Persia gives nothing in the way of facilities in return, for Russian
influence is too strong, and under that influence, or from her own
tortuous policy, she keeps the southern route, _viâ_ the Karūn River,
closed to English enterprise.
But the principal difficulty that the English merchant has to contend
against, is the difficulty he has _as an Englishman_ to recover debts,
and whether this be impotence or policy on the part of those in
authority, the fact remains, and has necessitated the withdrawal of
important English establishments from Ispahan and Shiraz. The tact or
energy of Her Majesty’s representatives at Teheran and Bushire is not to
be doubted; but Downing Street seems to order a “masterly inactivity” or
“an expectant attitude.” At Teheran we have a Minister Plenipotentiary
and a Vice Consul, with the usual staff of a Legation; at Tabriz and
Bushire, Consuls-General: but at Kermanshah, Hamadan, Ispahan, Shiraz,
Yezd, and Kerman, _all great commercial centres_, we have only _native_
agents; these men _exercise no influence_, and are held in contempt by
natives and Europeans alike, _as powerless_. At times, however, the
_native_ (or British) agent has real influence, mostly personal: as in
the case of Mirza Hassan Ali Khan, C.I.E., our late agent at Shiraz. WE
WANT _English Consuls_ to protect us and our trade, say the merchants,
and then the opening of the Karūn River: without these Persia as a mart
is closed to English enterprise, and becomes _the monopoly of Russia_.
GLOSSARY OF PERSIAN WORDS,
HAVING THE TRANSLITERATION OF THE ORIENTAL SCHOLAR JOHNSON AFFIXED IN
PARENTHESES TO MOST WORDS. WHERE NO PARENTHESES OCCUR, THE SAME WAY OF
WRITING THE WORD AS THAT SCHOLAR IS EMPLOYED.
ABBA, ABBAH (_abā_).—A long, sleeveless, square-cut cloak,
generally of camel-hair—much worn by priests.
AB-I-RŪKHNI (_ābi rukni_).—The Spring of Rukhni (Rooknabad,
Moore).
AB KHORI (_āb khūrī_).—A watering bit.
ACHŌN (_ākhūn_).—A schoolmaster.
AGHA, AGA (_āghā_).—A lord, a master.
AHŪ (_āhū_).—An antelope.
AID-I-NO RŪZ (_aidi naw roz_).—New Year’s Day.
ALANGŪ.—A bangle (of glass).
ALEPH, ALEF (_alaf_).—A grain, grass, or forage-seller.
ALHAMDULILLAH (_al hamdu li’llāh_).—Thank God. Praise to God.
ALKALŪK, ALKALŌOK (_alkhálik_).—An inner quilted tunic.
ALŪ BALŪ (_ālū bālū_).—A cherry.
ALŪ BOKHARA (_ālū Bokhara_).—A kind of small acid plum.
AMĀN, AMAUN (_amān_).—Mercy!
ANDERŪN (_andarūn_).—The harem. Women’s quarters.
ASP-I-NO-ZIN (_aspi naw zīn_).—A horse just fit for the saddle.
BADINJON (_bādinjān_).—The aubergine or brinjal.
BADRAGHA (_badraka_).—A riding out with a departing guest.
BAGGALI (_baghalī_).—Native glass bottles.
BAKKAL (_bakkāl_).—A general dealer.
BAMIAH.—The ladies’-finger (a vegetable).
BALA KHANA (_bālā khāna_).—An upper room, hence balcony.
BANDER (_banda_).—Literally, a slave. I (by courtesy used).
BAZAAR (_bāzār_).—A collection of shops (the road between which
is usually covered).
BAZAAR KABOB (_bāzār kabāb_).—Minced and seasoned meat toasted.
BĀZĀRCHA BULAND.—The lofty bazaar.
BAZŪ-BAND (_bāzū-band_).—An armlet (generally containing a
talisman).
BAZZAZ.—A shopkeeper.
BELLI (_balē_).—Yes.
BERO (_bi-ro_).—Go! (Imperative).
BERŪNI (_birūni_).—The outer (or men’s) apartments.
BEZUN (_bi-zan_).—Beat! (Imperative).
BHUTA (_bota_).—Camel-thorn, brushwood.
BISMILLAH (_bismi’llāh_).—In the name of God!
BORIO (_būrīy_).—A kind of coarse matting.
BRILLIĀN (_biryān_).—Minced and spiced meat sold cooked in the
bazaar.
BULBUL (pronounced _Bull Bull_).—A nightingale.
BŪRAK.—A small meat pie.
BUTCHA, BATCHA (_bacha_).—Child! (Mode of addressing servants,
equivalent to the Anglo-Indian, boy!)
CAFSH-DOOZ. _See_ KAFSH-DOOZ.
CAH (_See_ KAH).—Cut straw.
CAJAWEH. _See_ KAJAWEH.
CALAAT. _See_ KALAAT.
CALAM-I-RUMI. _See_ KALAM-I-RUMI.
CANAĀT. _See_ KANAAT.
CANJAR. _See_ KANJAR.
CARAVANSERAI. _See_ KARAVANSERAI.
CHADŪR (_chādar_).—An outer woman’s veil.
CHAI (_chā_).—Tea (used throughout Russia and the East).
CHARGĀT (_chargāt_).—A square headkerchief.
CHEHEL SITOON (_chihal-sitūn_).—“The Forty Columns.”
CHEKMEH-DOOZ (_Chakmah dūz_).—A boot-maker.
CHENAR (_chanār_).—A plane-tree.
CHERRAGH (_charāgh_).—A lamp (in form and principle that of the
early classic one).
CHICK (_chīgh_).—A fly blind.
CHILLAW (_chulāw_).—Plain boiled rice.
CHOCOLAH (_chaghāla_).—Green fruit when very small.
CHUPPAO (_chāpū_).—A raid on horseback.
CHUPPER (_chār pā_).—A mounted post (a quadruped), posting.
CHUPPERKHANA (_chār pā khāna_).—A posting-house.
COLAH. _See_ KOLAH.
COORJIN. _See_ KOORJĪN.
COORSHID. _See_ KŪRSHID.
COSSIB. _See_ KOSSIB.
DANAH (_dahanah_).—A curb-ring bit.
DAR (_dār_).—A gallows, the execution pole.
DELAK (_dallāk_).—A barber, a bath attendant.
DELLEH.—A kind of weasel (? _Mustela sarmatica_).
DEYEEREH (_dayyīrah_).—A tambourine.
DILGOOSHA (_dil-ku-shāy_).—“Heartsease,” name of a garden at
Shiraz.
DOLMA (_dūlmah_).—A kind of sweet or flavoured pudding of rice
or meat.
DOOGH (_dogh_).—Buttermilk, curds and water.
DOZD (_duzd_).—A thief.
DOZD GAH (_duzd-gāh_).—A place of thieves.
DUBBEH (_dabbah_).—A repented and repudiated bargain.
DYAH (_dāya_).—A wet nurse.
FAL (_fāl_).—A lot, an omen (_sortes_), pronounced fahl.
FARNOOSE (_fānūs_).—A cylindrical lantern.
FARRASH, FERASH (_farāsh_).—A carpet-spreader.
FARRASH (_ferash_)-BASHI.—Lit. chief carpet-spreader.
FARSAKH.—A distance of from three and a half to four miles, the
hour’s march of a loaded mule, the parasang of Xenophon.
FARSH.—A carpet of any kind.
FELLAK, FELLEK (_fallak_).—A pole having a noose attached
to hold the feet for the application of “the sticks” (or
bastinado).
FERAMOOSH-KHANA (_farāmush khana_).—The (lit.) house of
forgetfulness, a masonic lodge.
FIZINJAN (_fizinjān_).—A dish flavoured with condensed
pomegranate juice and pounded walnuts.
FURDER INSH’ALLAH (_fardā Insh’allāh_).—“Please God to-morrow.”
GELAS (_gelās_).—A white-heart cherry.
GELIM (_gilīm_).—A common kind of carpet.
GERMAK (_garmak_).—A small early melon.
GEZANJABINE (_gazangubīn_).—Manna, or nougat.
GHEVA (_gewa_).—A summer shoe described at p. 190.
GHOLAM (_ghulām_).—A mounted servant, lit. a slave, an
irregular cavalry-man.
GOJA (_gaujah_).—A small green plum.
GŌMPEZAH (_gōmbeza_).—A dome.
GOOR KHUR (_gor khar_).—The wild ass.
GŪL (_gul_).—A flower.
GŪL ANAR (_guli nār_).—Pomegranate flower.
GŪL-I-SOORKH (_guli surkh_).—The moss rose from which the attār
is made.
GŪMRŪK (_gumruk_).—A custom-house.
GŪMRŪKJI (_gumruk-chi_).—A custom-house officer, or farmer of
customs.
GUNGE (_ganj_).—A treasure.
GUNGIFEH (_ganjīfa_).—Playing cards.
HAKIM (_hakīm_).—A physician.
HAKIM-BASHI (_hakīm bashi_).—The chief physician.
HAMMAL (_hammāl_).—A porter.
HAMMAM (_hammām_).—A bath similar to the Turkish bath.
HARRH (_harr_).—Rabid.
HASSIN or HASSEEN (_hasīn_).—A pan.
HASSIR (_hasīr_).—A kind of fine matting.
HAUZ (_hawz_).—A tank generally of stone and raised above the
ground-level.
HENNA (_hinnā_).—A vegetable dye used on hair, hands, and feet.
HINDIWANA (_hinduwānah_).—A water-melon.
HISSAM U SULTANEH (_Husām us Sultana_).—The _Sharp Sword_ of
the State (a title that was given to the late uncle of the
Shah).
HOOJRAH (_hajrah_).—An office, or bureau.
HUC (_hak_).—A share, the dervishes’ cry.
HUKHM (_hukm_).—An order.
IMĀD-U-DOWLET (_Imad ud Dawla_).—A title, viz. the Pillar of
the State.
IMAM (_imām_).—A saint.
IRAN (_Īrān_).—Persia.
ISTIKHBAL (_istikbāl_).—A riding out to meet an arriving guest
or personage.
ISTIKHARA (_istiharat_).—Omens (taking), chances.
ITIZAD-U-SULTANEH (_Itizād us Saltanah_).—A title, viz. the
Support of the State.
JAI-SHEER (_jayshīr_).—Wild celery.
JEJIM (_jājim_).—A thin kind of travelling carpet.
JIKA (_jīgha_).—A jewel worn on the head by women. The royal
hat ornament of feathers and diamonds.
JŪL (_jall_).—A portion of horse-clothing.
JŪNIVER (_jānwār_).—A wild animal, an animal.
KABAB or KABOB (_kabāb_).—A roast or toasted meat.
KAFFIR (_kāfir_).—An infidel (a term of reproach).
KAFSH.—A shoe.
KAFSH-DOOZ (_kafsh-doz_).—A shoe- or slipper-maker.
KAFTEH-BAZI (_kaftār_).—Pigeon-flying.
KAH (_kāh_).—Cut straw.
KAH GIL (_kāh gil_).—Clay and straw mixed for plastering.
KAHTAM (_khātam_).—Inlaid work like Tonbridge ware.
KAJAWEH (_kajāwa_).—A covered horse pannier.
KALAAT (_khalat_).—A robe (or other token) of honour.
KALAM-DAN (_kalamdān_).—A pen-case.
KALAM-I-RUMI (_kallami-Rumi_).—Lit. Turkish cabbage.
KALI (_kālī_).—A carpet having a pile.
KALIAN, KALLIAN, CALIAN (_kalyūn_, _kalyān_).—A water-pipe or
hubble-bubble.
KALLEHPUZ (_kallapaz_).—Sheep’s head- and trotter-boiler.
KANAAT, KANAT, CANAĀT (_kanāt_).—An underground channel for
irrigating.
KANARA (_kanāra_).—A side carpet.
KANJAR (_khanjar_).—A curved dagger.
KARAVANSERAI (_karavān-serai_).—A public rest-house for
caravans; a khan.
KARBĪZA (_kharbuza_).—A melon.
KARKOOL (_kakūl_).—A long lock of hair by which Mahommed is
supposed to draw the believer up into paradise.
KASHANG.—A beau, lit. beautiful.
KAWAM.—A prefect.
KEEAL (_kayal_).—A cucumber.
KEESA, KEESEH (_kisa_).—A hair glove used in the bath.
KEISI (_kayzi_ ?).—Dried apricots.
KEMMERBUND (_kamar-band_).—A belt, or sash.
KENDIL (_kindīl_).—A votive offering of peculiar shape,
generally of copper or other metal.
KENNEH (? _kannah_).—A camel- or sheep-tick.
KETKHODA (_kat-khudā_).—The head-man of a parish or village.
KHAN (_Khān_).—A conferred title, which _descends to_ all
children—_now_ very common: in the second generation equal to
Esquire.
KHĀNUM (_khānam_).—A lady.
KHOK BER SER UM (_khāk bar sar-am_).—Ashes on my head.
KHOLAR (? _kolar_).—A kind of wine of Shiraz.
KHYAT (_khayyāt_).—A tailor.
KOHL.—Black antimony, eye paint.
KOLAH (_kulah_).—A hat.
KOLAJAH (_kulījah_).—An outer coat for men or women.
KOOMPEZEH, KUMBIZA (_kumbīza_).—A species of cucumber.
KOORISHT (_khūrish_).—A savoury dish, a ragout.
KOORJIN, COORJIN (_khwur-chīn_).—Saddle-bags.
KOSH GUZERAN (_khwush guzārān_).—A free liver.
KOSSIB, COSSIB (_kasb_).—A craftsman.
KOTOL.—An effigy.
KOTUL (_kutal_).—A mountain pass, lit. a ladder.
KUMMER, KAMMER (_kammah_).—A straight hiltless sword or dirk,
with a broad blade.
KŪMRAH (_khumra_).—A wine (or other) jar.
KŪRBĀGHAH.—A frog.
KŪRSHID (_khūrshīd_).—The sun with rays of light.
KŪRSI (_kūrsī_).—A small platform used to cover a fire-pot, a
chair.
KUTTL-I-AUM (_katli ām_).—A general massacre.
LAHAF (_lihāf_).—A quilted coverlid.
LALLAH (_lālā_).—A male nurse.
LANJIN, LANJEEN.—An earthen pan.
LATIFEH (_latīfeh_ ?).—A courtezan, a Persian court card.
LODAH, LODEH (_lawda_).—A pannier for grapes.
LŪTI (_lūtī_).—A buffoon, a scamp, a thief.
MACHRORE (_makrūh_).—Lit. detestable, but yet not illicit;
things not to be eaten, but yet _not_ unclean; _i. e._ not an
unlawful thing, but one which had better be avoided.
MAIDĀN (_maydān_, _mīdān_).—The public square. A distance about
a furlong.
MAKHMŪN SHUD UM (_makhmūn shudam_).—I am deceived.
MALLAGH (?).—A tumbler pigeon, a summersault.
MAMBAR (_mimbar_).—A pulpit.
MANGAL (_munkul_).—A brazier.
MASH’ALLAH (_Māshā’llah_).—Lit. What God pleases! A phrase used
when praising, to avoid _evil eye_.
MAST (_māst_).—Curdled milk (Turkish, yaourt).
MAUND (_man_).—A Persian weight of nearly seven, or nearly
fourteen pounds.
MEANA (_miyāna_).—The middle. The middle tube of the water-pipe.
MEHDRESSEH (_medresseh_; Arabic, _madrasat_).—A college.
MEJLIS (_majlas_).—An assembly, a reception.
MIL, MEEL (_mayl_).—A column, a watch-tower.
MIR-ACHOR (_mīr-ākhur_).—Master of the horse, the.
MIR-SHIKAR (_mīr-shikār_).—Chief huntsman, the.
MIRZA (_mīrzā_).—One who can write, a clerk, a secretary, a
gentleman. As an affix equals “Prince.”
MOAALIM (_mwallīm_).—A schoolmaster.
MODAKEL (_mudākhil_).—_Illicit_ percentage, “cabbage.”
MOHULLA (_mahallah_).—A street, a parish.
MONAJEM (_munajjam_).—An astrologer.
MOR (_muhr_).—A seal, a piece, as at draughts, etc.
MŪLLA, MOOLLAH (_mūllā_).—A priest.
MŪNSHI, MOONSHEE (_munshī_).—A secretary, a clerk.
MURSHED (_murshid_).—A chief of dervishes, or of a sect or
guild.
MŪSCHIR (_mushīr al mulk_).[38]—The principal revenue officer
of Fars.
MŪSHTAHED (_Mujtahid_).—A teacher of law.
MUST (_mast_).—Lit. drunk. The state of excitement of the
camel, etc.
MUTLUB (_matlab_).—The pith, or meaning (of a letter).
NAIB (_naīb_).—A deputy, a post-house keeper.
NAKSH.—A kind of embroidery. _See_ p. 131.
NAMMAD (_namad_).—A felt (of various kinds).
NAMMAK (_namak_).—Beauty of a brunette, high colour.
NARGHIL (_nārjīl_).—A cocoa-nut, a kind of water-pipe.
NAWALLA (?).—Balls of flour given to horses and camels.
NAZIR (_nāzir_).—A steward.
NEH (_nay_).—A reed, a spear, a flute.
NEH-PEECH (_nay-pīch_).—The flexible tube of a water-pipe.
NEJIS (_najīs_).—Unclean.
NOBER (_nawba_).—First-fruits.
NOKER (_nawkar_).—A servant.
NUFFUS (_nafs_).—Breath.
OOTOO (_atw_).—An iron.
OOTOO KESH (_atw-kash_).—An ironer.
ORŪSSĒE (_ūrūsī_).—Lit. Russian, _i. e._ foreign. A Russian
(-shaped), _i. e._ foreign shoe, a _raisable_ window, a room
having a raisable window, etc.
PALENG (_palank_).—A panther.
PALLIKEE (_pālkī_?).—A mule pannier to _ride_ in.
PANE (_pa-in_).—Dried horse-dung.
PEILEWAN, PEHLIWAN (_pahlevān_).—A wrestler.
PEISH-KESH (_pīsh-kash_).—An offering to obtain favour (a
nominal present).
PEISH KHIDMUT (_pīsh khidmat_).—A head table-servant.
PEISH-WAZ (_pīsh-wāz_).—Lit. a going out to meet.
PERHĀN, PERAHĀN (_pīrahan_).—A shirt (for man, woman, or horse).
PIDER-SAG (_pidar sag_).—Son of a dog! (Lit. O dog-fathered
one!)
PILLAW, PILAW (_palāw_).—Rice boiled with butter.
PŪLAD (_pūlād_).—Art steel-work. Damascened iron.
RAMMAL (_rammāl_).—A conjuring mountebank and finder of
treasure, a diviner. _See_ p. 120.
RANGRAZ (_rang-rez_).—A dyer.
RASSIANAH (_rāziyānah_).—Anise plant, the.
REICH-I-BABA (_rīsh-i-Baba_).—A grape called “Old man’s beard.”
REIS-I-SEEM (_rais_).—Lit. master of the wire, _i. e._
Telegraph superintendent.
RESHT-I-BEHESHT (_Risht-i-Bihisht_ ?).—Glory or brightness of
heaven.
RIVEND (_rīwand_).—Rhubarb.
ROSEH KHANA (_rosah-khānah_).—A prayer-meeting, etc.
RUBANDA (_rū-band_).—A (face) veil.
RUSHWAH (_rishwat_).—Lit. manure, _i. e._ a bribe.
RYOT (_ra-īyat_).—A subject, a tiller of the earth, a villager.
SAG.—A dog, a cur, a term of abuse.
SAHIB (_sāhib_).—Lit. owner; Sir, Mr. (to an European).
SĀLE AB (_sayl ab_).—Rise of the waters.
SANDALLI (_sandalī_).—A chair.
SANG.—Lit. a stone, _i. e._ a weight.
SANGAK.—A kind of bread. _See_ p. 334.
SANTOOR, SANTŪR (_santīr_ or _santūr_).—Harmonicon.
SARHANG.—A colonel.
SEGAH (_sīgha_).—A concubine.
SER-ANDAZ (_sar-andāz_).—That (carpet) laid over the head (of
the room).
SER-KASHIK-JI-BASHI (_sar-kashīkchi bāshī_).—Chief of the guard.
SEROFF (_sarrāf_).—A banker, a money-changer.
SHAH (_Shāh_).—The King.
SHAHZADEH (_Shāh-zāda_).—Lit. born of a King, _i. e._ Prince
(or descendant of a Prince or King).
SHARGIRD-CHUPPER (_shāgird-chāpār_).—A posting guide.
SHATIR (_shātir_).—A running footman.
SHATRUNJ (_shatrang_).—Chess.
SHATUR.—A wrinkle.
SHEERA (_shīra_).—Condensed grape sugar.
SHEMR (_Shimar_).—The slayer of the martyr Houssein.
SHERBET (_sharbat_).—Syrup—generally fruit syrup—syrup and
water.
SHERBET-DAR (_sharbat-dār_).—A servant who makes ices, etc.
SHIKARI (_shikārī_).—A huntsman.
SHIREH-KHANA (? _shīra-khāna_).—A wine-factory.
SHITŪR (_shatūr_).—A wrinkle (of a carpet, etc.).
SHUB-KOLAH (_shab-kulah_).—A night-hat (or cap).
SHUKKER PARA (_shakar-pāra_).—A kind of very sweet apricot
(lit. a lump of sugar).
SHUL-BERF (_shal [?] bāf_).—Loosely woven.
SHULWAR (_shalwār_).—Trousers, breeches, petticoats.
SHUMA (_shumā_).—You.
SOORKI, SORKI (_sākī_).—(Classical) a cupbearer.
SUFRAH.—A sheet of stuff or leather spread on ground to dine
off.
SUNGAK. _See_ SANGAK.
SYUD, SEYD (_sayyid_).—A descendant of Mahommed.
TAGER (_tājir_).—A merchant.
TAKHJA (_tākchah_).—A recess in the wall a yard from the
ground, a niche.
TAKHT.—A throne, a bedstead, a sofa, a platform.
TAKHT-I-NADIR (_takhti-Nadir_).—Backgammon. (Nādir Shah’s
favourite game.)
TAKHT-I-PUL.—A kind of backgammon.
TAKHT-ROWAN (_takhti-ravanda_).—Lit. a _flowing_ or _running_
bed, _i. e._ a horse-litter.
TALÁR (_tālār_).—A lofty verandah, an arched room open at one
end.
TAMASHA (_tamāsha_).—A show, a sight, a spectacle.
TANNOOR, TANNŪR, TANDOOR (_tannūr_).—An oven.
TARR (_tār_).—A guitar-like banjo.
TATAR (Turkish).—A gholam, a post rider, a courier.
TAZZIA (_Ta-ziyah_).—The religious dramas or miracle plays.
TAZZIE (_tāzi_).—A greyhound.
TELEET (? _talīt_).—A mixture of grass and cut straw for horse
feed.
TELISM (_tilism_).—A talisman.
TERIAK (_tiryak_).—Opium.
TERIAKDAN (_tiryak-dan_).—An opium pill-box.
TERIAKMALI (_tiryak-māli_).—Rubbing (_i. e._ preparation of)
opium.
TERKESH-DOOZ (_tarkash-doz_).—A quiver-maker, a saddler.
TOMAN, TOMAUN (_tomān_).—Ten kerans (7_s._ 6_d._), a gold coin.
TOOLAH (_tūla_).—A sporting dog.
TOORBESAH, TOORBIZA (_turbuza_).—A radish.
TOOTOON (_tūtan_).—Tobacco for the chibouque.
TŪMBAK (_tumbak_).—A kind of drum.
TŪMBAKU (_tumbākū_).—Tobacco used for the kalian or water-pipe.
TŪMBŪN (_tumban_).—Petticoats (made as very loose drawers).
UMBAR (_ambār_).—A cellar or store-room, a go-down.
ŪTŪ or OOTOO (_atw_).—An iron (flat or otherwise).
UTU-KESH (_atw kash_).—An ironer.
VAKEEL-U-DOWLEH (_wakīl ud Dawlah_).—An agent of Government;
the empty title given to native newswriters, who are _supposed_
to act as English Consuls, and whose offices are _sinecures_.
YABŪ (_yābū_).—A pony, a common horse, a horse.
YAHŪ (?).—A kind of common house pigeon.
YAKHJAL (_Yakh-chāl_).—An ice-store; a pond (and wall) for
making ice.
YAOURT (Turkish).—Curdled milk, (Persian) “mast.”
YASHMAK (Turkish).—A kind of veil, or face covering.
YAWASH (Turkish).—Gently, slowly.
YESSAOUL (_yasāwal_).—A mounted mace-bearer.
ZALĀBI or ZALĀBIEH (_zalībiyā_).—A sweet cake or fritter eaten
in Ramazan at night.
ZAMBŪREK (_zambūrak_).—A tiny cannon carried on and fired from
a camel’s back (from Zambūr, a wasp).
ZANGAL (_zangāl_).—A legging.
ZENDA-RŪD, ZENDARŪD (_Zanda-Rud_).—The river at Ispahan.
ZIL-ES-SULTAN (_Zill us Sultan_) (title).—Shadow of the King.
ZOBAN-I-GUNGHISHK (_zabāni gunjishk_).—Lit. sparrow’s tongue, a
kind of willow.
ZŪLF (_zulf_).—A long love-lock, a curl.
FOOTNOTES
[1] See Appendix D, page 417.
[2] Turcomanchai was the place where the treaty between Persia and Russia
was signed, February 22, 1828. Erivan and Nakchewan were ceded to Russia,
and two millions agreed to be paid to her.
[3] The form of these was very various, though the principle of action
was always the same: the smoke was conducted to the bottom of a pint
or more of water and then sucked up in bubbles through it, a gurgling
noise being produced. Some used the long “snake” or nehpeech, a spiral
of copper wire covered with coloured leather, and forming a flexible
air-tight tube some four yards long; this was the more old-fashioned way,
and required good lungs. A servant held the pipe itself at the side of
the master’s chair. Others affected the wooden stem with the pipe; this
as a rule is held by the smoker himself, and no great effort is required
in smoking, as the tube is only eighteen inches long and air-tight, which
the “nehpeech” or “snake” seldom is, save when quite new.
The portion between the pipe-head and the water-holder is as a rule
always the same: a wooden tube some fourteen inches or more long, with
numerous indentations, turned in a lathe, and coming to a point, so that
any pipe-head will fit it; from the end of this an inner tube goes to
within an inch of the bottom of the water. Sometimes this tube is made of
ebony, at other times covered with silver, and rarely with gold. In its
side at the bottom is the hole for the snake-like tube, or the stick.
The water-reservoir is usually of glass, either plain crystal, or
cut Bohemian; the shape of these glasses is that of a wide-mouthed,
long-necked decanter, and the neck serves as the place by which the whole
contrivance is held. In summer a porous clay bottle is generally used as
cooler by all classes, rich or poor.
Another kind of reservoir called a narghil (narghil, a cocoa-nut) is
made, having its shape like a cocoa-nut, with a spike or small knob at
the sharp end; this rests on the ground, and is meant for travelling.
It is made of brass, silver, or gold, and often in the two latter cases
enamelled; the “meāna,” or middle tube, to this kind of pipe is often two
and a half feet long, and the stem two.
Yet another form of kalian exists for travelling, and that is a copy of
the glass reservoir, of a rather squat shape, in buffalo or rhinoceros
hide; this is often, indeed usually, covered with enamelled plates of
gold and silver, often encrusted with gems, and is only in use among the
very rich.
As the great personages of Persia are constantly travelling, these more
elaborate forms of pipe are frequent; and, as a man’s pipe often gives an
idea of his social position, money is very freely lavished on them. The
mouth-piece is simply either wooden, or else the end is shod with silver.
The head consists of, among the poor, a clay reservoir for the tobacco.
These cost a farthing. But most Persians, though only of the lower middle
class, manage to have a silver pipe-head; this consists of three pieces,
the handle or chōb (wood), a carved and turned piece of wood pierced with
a conical hole which fits the meāna (or stem)—this may be represented by
the lower two-thirds of an old-fashioned wine-glass, with a small foot;
the fire-holder, which is of gold, silver, or stone, is fitted to this,
and represents the upper third of the wine-glass; and on this all the
ingenuity of the Persians is lavished in the matter of ornament. From
its under edge hang four or six little silver or gold chains four inches
long, terminated by flattened balls.
Lastly, the wind-guard, which prevents the fire from falling or being
blown up into an excessive state of incandescence, is usually made of
silver, and is an inverted cone of the same size as the fire-holder,
fitted to it with accuracy, and provided with two holes to give the
requisite amount of draught; at the side two pairs of chains depend from
the upper edge of this, and are made to reach as far as do the lower set.
The fire-holder is lined with a mixture of clay and plaster of Paris, on
which is placed the tobacco, freshly moistened and rubbed into coarse
fragments (though connoisseurs prefer a more elaborate preparation)—about
three-quarters of an ounce is required; it is flattened and smoothed, the
surplus water being squeezed away. Upon it are placed morsels of live
charcoal, which are blown into a fierce flame, and the excess of water
in the reservoir or bottle being driven out by blowing from the bottle,
which is always nearly filled. A few draws are taken by the pipe-boy to
see that all goes well, and to get rid of the taste of fresh charcoal,
and get the tobacco well alight, and it is then handed to the smoker as
under weigh.
On the fire-holder, however—perhaps because it is opposite the eye and
so most conspicuous—are seen the highest efforts of Persian art. It is,
whenever it can be afforded, of purest gold, though often thin; some rare
exceptions are unornamented; more ordinarily it is chased or covered with
high _repoussé_ work, or elaborately engraved. Or it may be so encrusted
with turquoises till little, if any, of the original metal shows; or it
may be ornamented with elaborate enamels of birds and flowers, or of
fruit; and a favourite pattern is vine-leaves of transparent enamel let
into the deeply-cut metal, and the bunches of grapes of varied colours.
More often three or four ovals, some two inches long, are filled by
portraits of a girl or boy—of course fancy ones—and the spaces between
them filled with flowers and birds. These enamels are very beautiful,
very costly, and very brittle; ten pounds being a common price paid to an
enameller to decorate a gold head, while as much as one hundred tomans,
or forty pounds, are given by great and rich amateurs.
Of the kalians, the heads and reservoirs of which are thickly encrusted
with gems, I do not speak at present; I had few opportunities at that
time of seeing such, and, as a rule, they are only possessed by the Shah,
his sons and uncles. I trust the reader will bear with this long but
needful detail as to pipes.
[4] As a rule, in Persia every one is up _by six_ A.M.
[5] Those who feel curious on the subject of modern Persian medicine, I
must refer to my article on the subject in the _British Medical Journal_.
[6] The English Legation or Embassy is always called “The Mission” in
Persia, by the members of it, and the English in the country.
[7] Futteh-Ali Shah had _over seventy sons and daughters_, and a prince’s
_son_ in Persia is a _prince_.
[8] As some confusion may be experienced in the matter of money terms, I
may append the following table of coins:—
_s._ _d._
(Copper) 2 pūls = 1 shahi (or shaie) or English 0 0½
” 10 shahis = 1 banabat or half-keran (silver) ” 0 5
20 shahis = 1 keran (silver) ” 0 10
10 kerans = 1 toman (tomaun), gold ” 7 6
Were the keran really tenpence, of course the tomaun would be 8_s._
4_d._, but its value is really only ninepence at present exchange (1883).
Of these coins the pūls and shahis are copper, the kerans and half-kerans
or banabats silver, and the tomauns gold; though for the past fifteen
years, until just recently, the tomauns (in gold) had nearly disappeared,
and were merely nominal, or old coins hoarded for the sake of the purity
of their gold. Prices are given indiscriminately in tomauns or kerans;
the price in kerans as five hundred kerans being mostly spoken of and
always _written as kerans_ and not fifty tomauns. Till lately the tomaun
has been _only a name_. The merchant-class, too, use the dinar, an
imaginary coin (not now minted at least), as a convenient fraction for
calculation.
I _on arrival_ took my servants’ accounts in tomauns and kerans,
_afterwards_ in kerans and shaies, _and at last in_ kerans and pūls;
while an English merchant friend actually wrote his house accounts in
dinars, and said it _awed_ his servants! one thousand dinars make a
keran, so one dinar is the 1/1000 of 9_d._
_There are no bank-notes_: and in _The Times_ telegraphic news, under
the head of Persia, Friday, February 24th, 1883, is a summary of a truly
Persian edict. By it the Shah informs his subjects that, “they are
foolish to take _dirty pieces of paper_ for gold and silver, and that
in future all _Russian Rouble notes will be confiscated_!” Then follows
a really useful prohibition forbidding aniline dyes, and ordering such,
when imported and discovered, to be destroyed; _these dyes_, which are
not fast, have been lately much used by ignorant carpet-weavers in Persia.
[9] Hakim, a doctor or physician.
[10] This system accounts partly for the apparently very low wages paid
to the Persian servant, which are (I give those paid latterly—1881—by
myself; in the case of head-servants it is sometimes, but very seldom,
more, as the pay is of course nothing to the modakel):—
A month. £ _s._ _d._
A nazir or steward 50 kerans, or 2 0 0
A good cook 50 ” 2 0 0
A good peishkhidmut (personal
servant, waits at table, and
valets one, and is expected
to dress well) 40 to 50 kerans,
or 30s. to 2 0 0
A farrash, i. e. sweeper or
message runner 25 kerans, or 1 0 0
A sherbet-dar, plate-cleaner,
maker of coffee, ices, etc. 25 ” 1 0 0
A second farrash 20 ” 0 16 0
A third farrash 15 ” 0 12 0
A cook’s disciple, or
scullery man 10 ” 0 7 6
A washerman, or woman who can
wash and iron thoroughly 35 ” 1 6 0
A woman-servant or nurse 25 ” 1 0 0
A head-groom 30 ” 1 5 0
An under-groom 20 ” 0 16 0
[11] ? Mustela Sarmatica.
[12] More correctly munshi.
[13] Or nummud.
[14] Here are four tombs, cut in the face of the solid rock, those of
Darius, Xerxes I., Artaxerxes I., and Darius II. A detailed description
is to be found in Usher’s book. (See illustration.)
[15] Russian subjects are well protected in Persia, and no injury or
insult to them is allowed to pass by their embassy.
[16] The present comparative dearness of provisions, such as bread, milk,
eggs, etc., is compensated for by a corresponding cheapness in the price
of sugar, candles, etc., which formerly were more expensive. I append a
list of prices in Ispahan in 1882:—
Kerans. _s._ _d._
Rice (per maund, 14 lbs.) 2 1 6
Mutton ” ” 2 1 6
Beef ” ” 1½ 1 1½
Fowls (each) ¾ to 1 7_d._, 8_d._ 9
and 0
Small chickens (each) ⅓ 0 3
Pigeons ” 0 2
Partridges ” ½ 0 4½
Eggs (40 to 60) 1 0 9
Butter (14 lbs.) 5 3 9
Clarified butter or ghee for cooking
(14 lbs.) 5 to 7 4_s._ to 5 0
Coffee, Mocha (per lb.) 1 9_d._ to 0 10
Tobacco (14 lbs.) 4 to 12 3_s._ to 10 0
Potatoes ” ½ to 2 4½_d._ to 1 6
Wood for firing (280 lbs.) 2½ 1 9
” broken, in small quantities (280 lbs.) 5 3 9
Loaf-sugar, English (per lb.) ¾ to 1 6_d._ to 0 9
Charcoal, sifted (14 lbs.) ½ to 1 4½_d._ to 0 9
” unsifted ” ¼ to ½ 2_d._ to 0 4½
Grapes ” 7/20 to 15/20 3_d._ to 0 7
Dip candles ” 4 3 0
Commonest oil for servants (14 lbs.) 1½ 1 1½
Bread (14 lbs.) 1 to 1½ 9_d._ to 1 1
The cost of horse-keep, _including_ grooms’ wages, shoeing, etc., is from
9_d._ to 1_s._ a day; this is supposing several are kept.
[17] I use this word for want of a better.
[18] On March 30th I left Erzeroum at nine A.M., reached Hassan Kaleh,
twenty-four miles, at three P.M.; started again at four P.M. (_all
snow_), reached Balakoohi, where a storm compelled us to halt at seven
P.M. Slept there.
_March 31st._—Started at five A.M. for Kharassan, twenty-five miles;
arrived at half-past nine; made a detour of ten miles on account of
water. Started at half-past eleven on _same horses_; stopped at a village
twenty-four miles off, name unknown; horses dead beat; road—_water, mud,
and thawing snow_—twenty-four miles.
_April 1st._—Started at five A.M.; arrived at Moollah Suleiman, eighteen
miles (same sort of road), at ten A.M.; left at half-past eleven for
Kadikeesa, twenty miles; arrived at five P.M.; went on through snow till
nine P.M. to a village, twelve miles only; halted. Slept in a sheep-shed
_full of tics_.
_April 2nd._—Started at six A.M.; arrived at three P.M. at Desardūn,
thirty-six miles. Here I saw Mount Ararat. Road very bad, from melting
snow. Arrived at Kizzil Deeza, twenty-four miles (a wretched hole), at
eight P.M.
_April 3rd._—Five A.M. Road pretty fair over a long snow-pass, twenty
miles to Abajik, in PERSIA. Arrived at ten A.M. Quite a pleasure to get
among the Persians again, and to be able to make myself understood. Then
an easy twenty miles to Keranee—half-past four P.M. Started at once;
reached Zarabad, twenty-two miles over a good road with capital horses,
at half-past eight P.M.
_April 4th._—Left at half-past six A.M. for Khoi, a long twenty-four
miles; got in at eleven A.M. Khoi is a very large place, apparently
prosperous. Good dinner of bazaar kabobs. Arrived at Turseh, twenty-four
miles, ten P.M.; road good, but shocking horses, down a tremendous pass,
then along the shores of Lake Ooroomeyeh—a kind of Dead Sea—it is very
salt. Many bituminous fires lighted it up at night, huge sheets of flame
suddenly appearing.
_April 5th._— Half-past two A.M., left Turseh for a place the name of
which has escaped me, arriving at half-past ten A.M. Arrived at Sufian at
half-past twelve noon. Left at once, reaching Tabriz, twenty-four miles
off, in four hours. Erzeroum to Tabriz, six days and seven hours, three
hundred and thirty-five miles.
I stopped with Colonel J⸺, V.C., our Consul-General, April 6th, 7th, and
8th. At three P.M. of April 9th I started for Teheran.
STAGES BETWEEN TABRIZ AND TEHERAN.
Miles.
Saoudabad 20
Hadji Aga 20
Darathiar 16
---
56
Slept.
_April 10th._—Turcomanchai 24
Meana 16
Jemalabad 12
Tercham 16
Aga Mezar 12
Nikibeg 20
---
100
Slept four hours.
_April 11th._—Zinjan 26
(met one of our staff;
breakfasted, and lost
three hours)
Sultaneah 24
Khya 30
---
80
Slept four hours.
_April 12th._—Khirve 18
Zeedaen 24
Kasvin 16
Abdulabad 18
---
76
Slept four hours.
_April 13th._—Sufferkhoja 24
Shunkerabad 22
Meanjūb 20
Teheran 20
---
86
[19] This is the one standard weight of Persia, the other being the
miscal or sixth part of our ounce. This, for convenience, is supposed
to consist of twenty nokods—the nokod being a grain similar to our pea
in appearance. The nokod is subdivided into three gundums or grains (of
wheat); these again into four kērāts (or carats)—these latter, however,
are only used in weighing gems. The Tabriz maund (or batman) and the
miscal and its subdivisions are in use throughout Persia in mercantile
affairs.
Further north than Ispahan the sere and the gerewankeh—the latter about
a pound, and borrowed from the Russians—are in use. Other local weights
exist, only known in special places. As a rule, each village has its
special weight (literally stone, “sang”), and their maunds get lighter
and lighter as one gets away from the large cities.
[20] The cost had been—
Kerans.
Thirty jars, at five kerans 150
Twenty loads of grapes 750
Carriage of same 60
Cost of labour, etc. 100
----
1060
Per contra.
Kerans.
Paid to me by Jews for refuse, for arrack-making 50
Resale of jars 140
---
190
Total cost, 870 kerans, or about 5½d. per bottle.
[21] _Must_ is a Persian word signifying “drunk;” it also means the state
of excitement of male camels at certain times.
[22] Strangled, after he had refused a cup of poisoned coffee, in 1882,
by order of the Zil-es-Sultan, while an honoured guest in his (the
Zil-es-Sultan’s) house.
[23] Topi, a sun-helmet.
[24] The full title is Kawam-ul-Molk.
[25] The full title is Muschir-ul-Molk.
[26] Would it have been necessary to have _explained_ to Bishop Bonner
the use of the thumbscrews _after_ his cruelty to the Reformers?
[27] Aug. 2nd, 1887. Dr. Odling writes me that this well is 849 feet
deep. I fancy that there is some error in this, as I put down the six
hundred yards. Possibly there may be a second shaft.
[28] The murdered sons of Ali, considered by the Persians, and all Shiah
Mahommedans, as the rightful successors of the prophet, consequently
sainted martyrs.
[29] Bhang, an intoxicating drug used by dervishes.
[30] Azraël, the angel of death.
[31] Not of coral, as in the Levant.
[32] Origin of our word “hummums.”
[33] Now Sir Oliver St. John.
[34] See Ussher’s ‘London to Persepolis,’ p. 564.
[35] Muleteer.
[36] See Appendix D, page 417.
[37] Shah Abbas the Great built caravanserais of great size and solidity
all over Persia, hence a good and large caravanserai, even though not
built by him, is called a “Shah Abbas caravanserai.”
[38] Mushir al Mulk, counsellor of the province.
INDEX.
Abadeh, 261, 356
carvings, 332
Abbah, the, 319
Abbas Kūli Khan, 215
the Great, 161
Abdul, 285
Abdul Hamid, 276, 353
Abdullah’s types, 9
Abdul Mahomed, 64
Ab-i-Rūkhni, 218
Ab-i-Zungi, 218
Ableh, 62
Abū Seif Mirza, 59, 84
Senna, 82
Accident to Mr. H⸺, 128
Accidents in driving, 374
Actors, Persian, 282
Aden, 343
Administration of justice, 146
Adulteration of opium, 180
Afghan poosseens, 319
(?) tiles, 198
Aflatoon, 82
Agha Hassan, 109
Ahs an Ahs, 96
Ahū, 167
Aid-i-No Ruz, 48, 51
Akbar Khan, 402
Alangū, 323
Alarm of robbers, 130
Alexander the Great, 378
coins of, 76
Algiers, 342
Ali Akbar, 282
death of, 283
Ali Oh! 43
Alison, His Excellency Mr., 48, 201
Alla Sung, 392
Alligators, 344
American missionaries, 144
Aminabad, 262
Ancient Armenian language, 140
buildings, disappearance of, 364
engraved ruby, 37
Julfa, 161
mud-houses, 137
Anderūn, 92
Anecdote of a dervish, 47
re smoking, 32
Aniline dyes, 149
dyes, prohibition of, 63
Animals, treatment of, 316
Antelope hunt, 86
Antelopes, 56
Apostate monk, 139
Appetites, large, 336
Apricots, 168
April, the 1st of, 330
Arab dress, 110
horse, my, 61
horses, 106
pipe, 33
Arachnoort, the, 138, 141, 159
Ararat, hailstones at, 391
Araxes river, 19, 313
‘Arcot,’ voyage in the, 341
“Armchair,” 136
Armenian Alsatia, 142
artificers, 162
baptism, 141
church, 160
converts, 164
cook, 363
fasts, 144
grateful, 93
graves, 162
jewellers, 162
Kaweh Khana, 163
loafers, 143
marriage of, 141
priest, 132
Protestant teacher, 140
schools, 144
scriptures, 140
theatre, 9
tribute, 376
village, 131
wine-sellers, 142
women, dress of, 132
women, industry of the, 360
Armenians, 72, 110
anecdote of, 73
apostatising, 111
bread, 336
carpenters, good, 123
character of, 316
disguised as Europeans, 72
education of, 144
former oppression of, 144
idleness of the, 359
improved position of, 144
of Hamadan, 72, 74
position of in Persia, 74
sanctity of, 73
successful, 143
taken to Julfa, 161
uncleanliness of, 316
Arms, 322
Arnold, Mr. Arthur, 273
Arrack, 141, 159, 360
Art of avoiding falls, 54
Arts, lost, 162
Asparagus, wild, 168
Ass, wild, the, 308
Assadabad Pass, 101
Astrachan, 405
As we turn in another turns out, 110
Attempts to proselytise among the Persians, 144
Audience at Tazzia, 281
Austrian officers, 371
Avadavats, 347
Avicenna, 82
Ayrton, Mr., 5
B⸺, Mr., 27, 213
B⸺, Rev. R., 340
Baab, cursing, 155
Baabi artificers, 164
conspiracy, 154
death of a, 154
revolt, 272
Baabiism, tenets of, 154, 339
Baabis, 144, 339
charges against, 154
visit to, 201
Baab, 153
Bad drainage, 153
Badraghah, 56
Bad water, 153, 241
Baghalli, 236
Bagh-i-No, 218
Bagh-i-Takht, 220, 292
Baker, an ungrateful, 183
Bakhtiaris, 262
Bakū, 403
Bamiah, 170
Bankers, 192
Bank-notes, edict as to, 63
Baptism, Armenian, 141
Barber’s Bridge, the, 389
Bargain for mules, a, 381
Bargains, 187
Barley, 102
Bastinado, the, 146
at Kūmishah, 254
degrees of, 148
Bath carpets, 152
at Constantinople, 212
the, 334
Bazaar, at Teheran, 372
breakfasts, 200
practice, 182
Bazaarcha Baland, 200
Bazū-band, 290, 323
Bear and dog fight, 227
Beards, 321
Beaters, 177
Bēbē Sakineh Sultan Khanūm, 215
Bedding for travelling, 55
Bedding horses, 101
Beef, 142, 299
Beetles, road, 215
Bell tower, Julfa, 139
Bells, substitute for, 139
Belly-dance, the, 115
Belt, the, 320
Belūchistan, 345
Berlin, 407
Besitūn, 109
Bewitched, 65
Bishop Moses, 138
of Julfa, the, 159
Thaddeus’s tomb, 158
Bishop’s, the, pictures, 159
Bits, native, 329
Black-wood furniture, 345
Black flags, 283
Sea, 9
Blandford, Mr. W., 321
Blowing from a mortar, 203
from guns, 202
Boat-building, 247
Boat journey, 210
Boiled to death, 272
Bombassi, 326
Bonaat, 77
Bookbinding, 288
Boorio, 197
Boots, 321
Borasjūn, 348
Boulevard at Teheran, 371
Bowin, 392
Boy dancers, 246
singers, 281
Boys, a mob of, 393
Bread, varieties of, 335
Breasts as ornaments, 132
Bribery, 189
Bribing postmaster, 13
Bricking up alive, 269
Brickwork, fine, 222
Bridge of tombstones, 163
Brigands, 263
Broom plant, 309
Bruce, Mrs., 164
Rev. Dr., 164
Bulbul, 114
Bull-terriers of Zil-es-Sultan, 366
Bunder Abbas, 345
Burial of a Christian child, 140
Burke, Captain, 344
Burmese Embassy, 376
Burning alive, 204
Bushire, 345
“_Butcha_,” 326
Butchers, 299
Buttermilk, 171
Buy a horse, 206
grapes for wine-making, 229
Buying horses, 58
C⸺, Major, 3
Cah (Kah), 174
Calico printers, 200
rinsers, 193
Call to the bath, 72
Camel, bite of the, 243
fight, 242
tics, 392
Camels, mode of procuring fighting, 242
Campanile, the, Julfa, 157
Camp out, 348
Captain Burke, 344
Hansard, 343
S⸺, 179
T⸺, R.E., 278
Carapet, Mr., 357
Caravanserai Gulshan, 200
Mokhlis, 182
Carboys, 236
Card-playing, 96
Carpets, Persian, 149;
1883, 150
all wool, 151
Bath, 152
colours of, 150
fast colours, 149
faults in, 150
“Gelīm,” 152
increase in price of, 153
“Jejīm,” 152
Meshed, 149
mode of laying, 152
“Nammad,” 152
of great value, 151
of Mūrghāb, 151
old, 149
patterns of, 150
quality of, 150
value, 151
why they last, 150
Carvings, Abadeh, 332
Cashmere shawls, 274
Caspian steamer, 211
Cathedral of Julfa, 100
Cats, long-haired, 305
ordinary, 305
Causeways, 198
Cavalry, irregular, 266
Cells of students, 197
Cemetery, Armenian, 162
Chaff beds, 20, 25
Chah Ali Bunder, 275
Chambers, Captain, 127, 176
Character of Armenians, 316
Persians, 314
Char Bagh, 135, 196
Chardūr, 325
Chargāt, the, 322
Charlesiah, 132
Charms, 291
Cheap freehold, a, 206
Cheapness of ice, 240
Cheese, tale of the phantom, 172
Chelinjeh Khan, 223
Chess, 97
Chibouque, 32
Children, dress of, 325
Cholar wine, 229
grape, 232
Cholera, 224
Chuppering, rules of, 259
Chupper khana, interior, 25
a, 386
whip, 22
Church Missionary Establishment, 165
Church Missionary Schools, 144, 163
Church Missionary Society, educational work of, 144
Church of England, 166
Jesuits, 143
Civil suits, 189
Claim to sanctity of Armenians, 73
Classical Persian, 278
Clay biscuits, 334
Cleanliness of Persians, 316
Clemency, royal, 317
Climate, variable, 339
Clothes of Persians, 318
Cocculus indicus, 129
Coffee à la Turca, 6
Coinage, new, 371
Collars, difficulty of washing, 153
College at Ispahan, 196
Teheran, 338
Collins, Sergeant, 293
place of murder of, 351
Colonel Prideaux, 346
Colt, anecdote of a, 103
grey, 239
Comfort of travelling, 55
Common flowers, 172
Complexion of women, 324
Compliments, Persian, 28
Concubines, 326
Confiscation, 155
Constantinople, 5
Conversation with king’s son, 165
Cook, my, tries to take priest’s orders, 139
Cooks, 297
Cook-shops, 298
Coral reef, 342
Cossack regiments, 370
Cost of living, 186
Costume, Persian, 317
of women, 322
Court costume, 50
Courtiers, 199
Cream, mode of obtaining, 171
Credit, 188
Crickets, mole, 216
Crops, 173
Croquet lawn, 167
Crucifixions, 204
Cruelty to horses, 329
to a nun, 140
to Yari, 78
Cruelties to Mirza Naim, 272
Crying off, 188
Cucumber jam, 92
Cuisine, Persian, 296
Curdled milk, 171
Curio buying, 332
Curious accident, 128
ring, 376
Cursing Baab, 155
Curtain in Armenian church, 140
Custom-house, 267
Custom of Shiraz, 379
the Kūrūk, 370
Cut straw, 174
Cyrus, tomb of, 355
D⸺, Mr., 51
Damage to telegraph line, 113
Damascening, 189
Dar, the, 201, 282
Darius, treasure of, 78
Daroga, the, 371
Day in Ispahan, 200
Day of Judgment, picture of the, 161
Debauchee, a, 244
Decorated pond, 50
Decorations, church interior, 160
Dehbeed, 356
tax-man at, 133
Delleh, 69
Demarvend, 373
Dervish and puppets, tale of, 285
at tomb of Hafiz, 278
Dervishes, 42
at Tazzia, 281
garden, 46
hats, 44
horn, 46
mode of begging, 44
vices, 46
vows, 43
Desht-i-arjeen, 350
Diana, temple of, reputed, 107
Dig for treasure, we, 79
Dilgoosha, 220, 274
Dinner on road, 107
sent away, 245
with a Persian prince, 114
Discipline, 71
Disguise of robbers, 264
Dispensary, my, 200
over the prison, 182
Doctors, 33
Doctors, studies of, 338
Dog-cart, my, 248
Dog, loss of, 129
Dogs, varieties of, 306
Doherty, Mr., 401
Dome, tiled, 196
Donkeys, 365
handsome, 342
Doogh, 171
Doong, 391
Door, substitute for, 394
Doors at Erzeroum, 213
silver, 196
Double snipe, 107
Dozd-gah, 262
Dr. Hoernle, 163
Dr. Odling, 351
Dressel’s, 408
Dresses of honour, 51
Dress of dervishes, 43
Dried bread, 336
fruits, preparing, 169
Drink in Julfa, 141
Drive to Ispahan, 373
Drunkards, Persian, 141
Dubbeh, 188
Ducks, wild, 176
Dunaberg, 407
Dung beetles, 216
Duration of journey, 412
Durbend, 404
Dyah, 326
Dying twice, 203
Early rising, 33, 116
Eating opium, 181
Ecbatana, 80
Economy of trading class, 172
Educated women, 339
Education, 337
of Armenians, 144
Effects of Bastinado, 148
Egglesiah Wang, 138, 157
Embassy, the English, 372
Embroideries, 333
Enamels, 331
English missionaries, 155
Engraving on metal, 332
seal, 184
Enzelli, 210, 402
Episcopal throne, 160
Erivan, 19
Eructation, politeness of, 91
Erzeroum, 212
Esther, tomb of, 75
Etiquette, 28
Evil eye, the, 325
Exaggeration, 315
Execution of a Baabi, 154
of a Prince, 125
of a woman, 275
of women, 122
Executions, 202
Expelled nun, 163
Expenses, our, 187
Eyebrows, painting the, 325
Eyn-ul-Molk, 38
Fair hair at a discount, 324
Faithless women, fate of, 275
Faizabad, 356
Fallen fruit, 311
Fals, 277
Famine, 251 to 255
at Ispahan, 253
at Kūmishah, 254
at Shiraz, 253
grain seized during the, 252
rise in mule-hire during the, 251
Fantails, 94
Fards, use of, 323
Farnooses, 115
Fars, 272
Fast of Ramazan, 284
Fasts, Armenian, 144
Father, the, 314
Fathmeh, 387
Fee, compulsory, of a vizier, 255
Feen, 386
Fellek, 147
Fellow-travellers, Persian, 215
Felt coats, 152, 320
Feramūsh Khana, 124
Ferhad and Shireen, 119
Feridan, 131
Fermenting of wine, 232
Ferns and bush vegetation, 400
Fight amongst robbers, 265
Fighting rams, 308
Figures of (?) Fame, 119
Finn, Mr., 310
Firdūsi, 338
Fire temple, 364
Firewood as a crop, 364
weighing, 25
Fireworks, 377
Firman, Royal, 257
First cousins, 326
fruits, 168
professional, visit, 41
Fish in hot spring, 348
in kanāats, 128
poison, 129
poisoning, 386
Flap-jacks, 335
Flat, the, 405
Flirtations, the Prince’s, 280
Flowers, common, 172
near Caspian, 400
wild, 173
Foods of poor, 336
Forests near Caspian, 400
Forged antiquities, 76
Fortune-tellers, 120
Freehold, my cheap, 206
Frogs, 398
Frozen wine, 58
Fruit, fallen, 311
Fruits, 168
“Furder,” 126
Furniture, black-wood, 345
want of, 123
Fussa, 240, 243
fertility, 247
Governor of, 244
Futteh Ali Shah’s family, 59
G⸺, Colonel, 2
G⸺, Mr., 97
Gambling in Pera, 9
Game, 299
Games, 97
Gardening, 309
Garden-parties, 311
Gardens at Shiraz, 223
Gate of Royal Garden, 198
Gelim, 152
Georgian ladies, 17
Gersteiger Khan, the Baron, 370
Gez, 158, 383
Ghilān shoes, 399
Gholam, a bold, 178
Girls’ school, 165
Goggles, 54
Golden pipes, 112
Goldsmid, Sir F., 56, 157, 417
Goor Khur, 308
Gougas, 127
Governor of Fars, 135
Fussa, 244
Governor’s garden, 199
Grain, extracting, 174
stores, curious, 385
Grape feeding of horses, 103
sugar, 171
Grapes as horse feed, 171
varieties of, 171
Grateful Armenian, 93
Graves, Armenian, 162
Great square of Teheran, 52
Gregor, Saint, 160
Greyhounds, 305
“Grimes,” 344
Guebre-abad, 385
Guebre gardener, 369
Gulf Arabs, 106
Gulhaek, 369
road, 36
Gūlpigon, 127, 132
Gulshan caravanserai, 200
Gūmrūkji, anecdote of a, 237
Gun at sunset, 284
Gunge, a, 77
Guns, blowing from, 202
Gurken, 216
Gymnastics, 98
H⸺, Mr., 128
Habashi, 326
Hadji, 121
Hadjiabad, 354
Hadji Ali Akbar, 229
Baba, 3
Kawam, 272
Khalleel, 109
Mahomed, 381
Saduk Ispahani, 192
Hadji Mirza Kerim, 192
Hafiz, tomb of, 276
Hailstones, large, 391
Hair of women, 323
wearing the, 321
Hajeeb, 392
Hakim-bashi, 201
princes, the, 145
Hamadan, 57, 64
vines at, 311
wine, 57
Hamilton poles, 301
Handicrafts, 189
Hansard, Captain, 343
Harem, the, 39
Hassir, 197
Hats, 223, 320
Headgear, 321
Head-rolling dervish, 43
Health of the staff, 296
Henna, 334
High priest, anecdote of, 290
Highway robbers, 263
Hippocrates, 82
Hissam-es-Sultaneh, 204
Hockey, Sergeant, 127
Hoernle, Dr., 163
Home-life of families, 92
Honesty of Ispahanis, 192
Hornet, death from sting of, 250
Horse-breaking, 352
Horse clothing, 90
feed, 102
market, the, 201
Horses, breeds of, 104
grape feeding on, 103
height of, 100
on grass, 103
price of, 106
Hospitality, strange want of, 267
Hotel at Kasvin, 395
de Byzance, 212
Hot spring, 348
Houssein and Hassan, 279
Khari, 201
Kūli Khan, death of, 262
name of, 281
House-building, 126
House, I buy a, 206
snakes, 307
Huge tent, 280
Hughes, Mr., 127
Hunting party, 84
I am mobbed, 82
I am robbed, 263
Ibrahim, 383
Ice, cheapness of, 246
mode of making, 241
Ices, 240
I commence the cornet, 72
I decorate a house, 206
Idleness of Armenians, 359
I fall among brigands, 259
Illness, 207
of Zil-es-Sultan, 255
Imādieh, 118
Imād-u-Dowlet, 108
looted, 119
Imād-u-Dowlet’s bad son, 124
Imām-i-Juma, 153, 199
Imām Riza, 387
Imāmzādeh Hāshem, 400
Immorality of Armenians, 138
pigeon-flying, 94
Impregnable village, 262
Impromptu entertainment, 312
Indelicate dress of ladies, 40
Indian lottery, 340
Industry of Armenian women, 360
Infants, 325
Inlaid work, 332
Interest, rate of, 76
Interior of house of a grandee, 39
mosque, 97
Intricate carpentry, 39
Intrigues of Shiraz women, 276
Ironing, 333
Iron poles, 301
Irregular cavalry, 266
Irreligion common, 339
Irrigation, artificial, 127
Iskender, 378
Ispahan, 215
arrival at, 135
Ispahan bridge, 135
cobs, 105
Ispahani, honesty of, 192
Ispahan priests, 197
start for, 127
Istikhara, 277
Istikhbal, 56, 109
J⸺, Colonel, V.C., 217
J⸺, Mr., 387
Jack and Jill, 83
Jade teapot, 201
Jaffir Kūli, 381
Jahn-i-ma Garden, 276
Japanese embassy, 377
Jars of sweets, broken, 258
Jeddah, 342
Jejim carpets, 152
Jesuits, church of, 143
Jewelled belts, 320
wand, 258
Jewellery, 323
Jewish sacrifice, 258
shrines, 75
Jews, 74, 146
at Erzeroum, 213
burial-ground, 293
oppression of, 146
thrown into tank, 52
treatment of, 377
Jika, the, 322
Johannes, Mr., 144, 163
Jokes of robbers, 267
Journey home, 208, 381
through Turkey, 213
Juba, the, 318
Judicious bishop, 139
Julfa, 135, 137
ancient, 161
cathedral, 157
cemetery, 162
customs, 359
doorways, 142
emigration, 143
nunnery, 139
origin of, 161
priests, 363
quarters, 206
Justice, 146
Persian, 295
Kabobs, 89, 297
Kafsh, 321
Kah, 174
Kah-gil, 369
Kahtam, 332
Kakheite wine, 18
Kalāat, meeting the, 255
my, 258
of Kawam, 258
Kalam-dan, 288
Kalian, 15
Kalians, details as to, 29
Kalifa, Kuchek, 138
Kammer, 142
Kanāats, 127
Kangawar, fish in, 128
temple at, 107
Kanjar, 320
Karabagh, 219
horses, 105
Karageus, 6
Kara Sū, the river, 108
Kashan, 385
Kashish Mardyros, 141
Kasim, wedding of, 282
Kasvin, Syud at, 208
Kawam, 257
Kalāat of, 258
Kawamabad, 355
Kawam-u-Dowlet, 239
Kawam-ul-Molk, 270
Kazerūn, 349
Keesa, the, 334
Kemball, Sir A., 208
Kemmerbund, 320
Kemmercheen, 318
Kerbela, 271
Kerbelai, 387
Kermanshah, 109
cheapness of, 112
Kerman shawls, 162
wine, 235
Kerrij, 27
Kerrind, 126
Khana Zinyūn, 225, 351
Khan Wakeel, 243
Khedkhoda, a, 268
Kherrah, 393
Khona Khora, 260
Khonsar, 131
Khosro Mirza, 203, 205, 217
Khyat, a, 191
“King Panther,” 45
King’s palace, 49
poet, 51
relative, 90
Kishmish wine, 159
Kit for Persia, 3
Knitting socks, 142
Kōhrūd Pass, the, 384
Kola, the, 320
Mūschir, 222
Kolajah, 318
Konar Khora, 356
Koom (or Kūm), 387
Koomishah (or Kūmishah), 268
famine at, 254
Koordi tobacco, 33
Koran reading, 337
Kosh gūzeran, 223
Kossid, a, 355
Kotol, a, 282
Kotul Dokter, 349
Peri Zun, 350
Kotuls, the, 349
Kūh Sufi, 162
Kūm, 387
Kūmishah, 357
Kumrahs, 230
Kūrdi bread, 336
Kurrachee, 344
Kūrsi, 138
Kūrūk, the custom of, 370
Kuttl-i-aum, or general massacre, 272
Lady patients, 38
Shiel, 154
La Fontaine, M., 7
Lake Jeukjar, 18
Lallahs, 326
Law, teachers of the, 338
as to cheques, 239
muleteers, 382
Lawn-tennis, 369
Laying carpets, mode of, 152
Lazarist Fathers, 165
Led horses, 56
Lemur, 343
Letter, a Persian, 289
Lighted charcoal, mode of producing, 390
Lika-ul-Molk, 270
Lilium candidum, 173
Lilliane, 131
Lily, painting the, 173
Linga, 345
Lion and Sun, Order of, 258
country, 351
cubs, 222
the tame, 306
Lioness, story of a, 350
Lisbon, 341
Little bishop, 158
Living, cost of, 186
Lizards, 93
Lodahs, 231
Lost arts, 162
Lottery, Indian, 340
Lutf-Ali-Khan, 264
Lūti-pūti, 239
Lūtis, 306
Lying, 315
Macheelah plain, 347
Madame O⸺, 340
Mad dog, 83
Magazine rifle, 224
Mahomed Ali, 19
Mahomed’s pigeon, 94
Mahommed Ali Khan, 146
Houssein Khan, 19
Major S⸺, 208
Major’s dervish, the, 42
Major St. John, 350
Maker of antiquities, 201
Malek Mahommed Beg, 329
Malekneas Khan, 126
Managing Persians, 179
Man nailed to post, 112
nurse, 276
Manuring, 174
Marching by night, 353
in Persia, 413
March to Shiraz, 206
Mardiros, Kashish, 141
Mare, I buy a, 349
Marg, 269
“Marjahn,” 302
Marnūn, 364
Marriage of Armenian priests, 141
Martyr, a, 154
Mary’s flower, 173
Mashallah, 290
Masreh, 396
Mast, 171
Master of ceremonies, 49
of the mint, 369
Matting, varieties of, 197
Maxūd Beg, 268, 357
Mayar, 357
McGowan, Sergeant, 384
McIntyre, Sergeant, 357
McL⸺, Sergeant, 386
“Meana bug,” the, 26, 217
Medical missionary, 163
practice, 182
Medresseh, 338
at Ispahan, 196
Mehdi, 317
Mejdabad, 388
Melons, 169, 311
Memorial to Sergeant Collins, 295
Merand, 115
Merchants, 188
Meshed carpets, 149
Meshedi, 387
Aga Jan, 224
Mesrop, priest, 140
Milking sheep, 389
Millingen, Dr., 7
Minarets, the Shaking, 361
Minor crops, 174
Mir-achor, the, 103
Mirza Abdul Wahab, 145
Ali Akbar, 244
Hassan Ali Khan, C.I.E., 225, 242
Mahmoud, 271
Naim, 272
Zeynal Abdeen, 125
Missionary, American, 330
church, 165
medical, 163
M⸺, M., 210
Moallim, a, 337
Mob of boys, 393
Mocha coffee, 298
Modakel, 66, 81
Modern college, 338
Mohurrim, 279
Mokhlis caravanserai, 182
Mole crickets, 216
Money table, 63
Mongoose, 303
Monk, the, 159
Monteforte, Count, 371
Month of fasting, 284
mourning, 279
Moollah, Hadji Ali Akbar, 229
Moonshee, the, 81
Mordecai, tomb of, 75
Morning rides, 64
Mortar, blowing from, 203
Mortaza Ali, plane of, 364
Moscow, 211
Mosque, interior of, 197
I put up in a, 131
ruined, 177
sleepers in, 197
tile, 197
Mosquitoes, 340
Mote and beam, picture of, 161
Mother, the, 314
Mothers-in-law, 326
Motummad-ul-Molk, 271
Mouth cloth, 132
M. P⸺, 331
M. Schwab, 401
Mr. Ayrton, 5
Mud as mourning, 126
Muggerpir, 344
Mule-buying, 127
Mules, bargaining for, 381
worn out, 193
Muleteers’ manners, 381
ponies, 347
Mūllas, 198
Mūllavi, the, 380
Mumbar, 197
Munjil, 399
Mūrb ab, 401
Mūrchicah, 374
Murder of a Syud, 265
Mūrghab, 355
carpets, 151
Mūschir, 240, 257
bastinadoed, 271
Mūschir’s coachman, 352
life attempted, 271
Mūschir-ul-Molk, 270
Mūshtaheds, 188
Musical amateur, a, 312
Musicians, 114
and singers, 91
Musjid-i-Shah Ispahan, 135
Mussulman converts, 164
My cornet-playing, 71
Myedesht, 126
My first horse, 62
“hold-all,” 55
house in Julfa, 206
landlord, 360
road, 363
Mystery of a Persian traveller, 225
Naib-ul-Ayalut, 120
Naksh, 131, 325
Naksh-i-Rūstam, 119
Name of God in conversation, 290
Houssein, 281
Nammad carpets, 152
coats, 152
Narghil, 30
Narrow escape, 203
Nastorange, 309
Natanz, 373
Native agents, 71
bits, 54, 329
Natural hot bath, 348
Needlework, 334
New coinage, 371
year, 48
festival, 51
presents, 379
Night marching, 353
Nishan, the, 250
Nose rings, 323
Nawalla, 103
Nude dervish, 43
Nummud, 40
Nun, cruelty to a, 140
expelled, 163
Nunnery, 139, 163
scandals at, 140
school, 140, 163
Nuns, 163
prayers of the, 139
O⸺, Madame, 340
Odd disorders, 65
Odling, Dr., 351
Oil lamps, 75
paintings, 377
Old Woman, pass of the, 350
Omar, ridicule of, 283
Omen, mode of taking, 277
Omens, 277
Opera at Moscow, 211
Opium, 180
adulteration of, 180
collecting the, 173
eater, an, 380
eating, 181
packing, 181
preparation, 180
Orcheeni, 269
Ordinary executions, 202
Orphanage at Shiraz, 253
Orphans, fate of, famine, 253
Orūssēe, 57
Our cook, 379
telegraph staff, a grievance of, 133
Out-door costume of women, 325
Oysters at Kurrachee, 345
P⸺, Mr., 70, 225
Packing opium, 181
Pah Chenar, 397
Painters, 200
Painting, 333
the eyebrows, 327
the face, 41
the lily, 173
Paintings in cathedral, 160
Palaces, summer, 372
Palgrave, Mr. Gifford, 212
Pane, 302
Paraphrase, a, 285
Partridges sold alive, 221
tame, 308
Pass of the Old Woman, 350
of the Virgin, 350
Passanghūm, 387
Patient, a grandee, 243
Peacocks, 376
Pehliwans, 98
Pera, 8
Perhan, 322
Peri-bazaar, 210, 401
Persepolis, Ussher on, 217
Persian cat, 305
character, 314
cleanliness of the, 316
colonel, 80
consul, 15
costume, 317
court, 49
cuisine, 290
dinner, 91
drunkards, 141
Gulf to Ispahan, 347
justice, 121, 295
letter, 289
lying, 60
medicine, 33
opium, 181
patients, 64
prince, dinner with a, 114
home of a, 113
proverb, 123
Relief Committee, 252
roads, 22
sick-room, 244
singers, 114
tea, 16
woodcut (in _facsimile_), 287
Persia viâ Trebizonde, 212
Petrovsk, 404
Phantom cheese, tale of the, 172
Pharaoh and the magicians, 378
and the Red Sea, 378
Photography, 331
Pickles, 171
Pictures, the bishop’s, 159
Pierson, Capt. W.H., R.E., 32, 56, 269
death of his horse, 61
Pierson’s house, 57
stud, 61
Pigeon-fanciers, 95
flying, 95
ornaments, 96
shooting, 129
towers, 130
Pigeons, breeds of, 94
in kanāats, 129
Pig, wild, 177
Pig’s flesh, 179
“Pig-sticking,” 176
“Pip,” 347
Pipe at departure, 16
Pipes, details about, 29
Piræus, 212
Plane trees, 196
of Mortaza Ali, 364
Plaster work, 39
“Pocrat,” 82
Poetry, 285
at schools, 338
quoting of, 288, 338
to produce sleep, 286
Pole-buying, 80
Police, new, at Teheran, 371
Politeness of Zil-es-Sultan, 366
Pollak, Dr., 182
Pomegranates, 310
Poosseen Afghan, 319
Poppies, 173
Porcupines in kanāats, 129
Pork as an aphrodisiac, 399
wild, 179
Port Said, 342
Post, a man nailed to a, 112
Post-house, a night in a, 25
Post-houses, interior, 25
Posting, rate of, 328
rules for, 24, 259
Post-stages, length of, 23
Potatoes, a novelty, 170
Potters, 191
Preparation of opium, 180
Presentations at court, 151
Present of an arm-chair, 123
a fig, 179
sweetmeats, 111
Price of Persian opium, 181
provisions, 187
Prideaux, Colonel, 346
Priests, Armenian, 197, 199, 363
Primitive forms of church, 140
Prince’s flirtations, 280
hakim-bashi, 145
physician, 145
Prison, dispensary over the, 182
Prisoners, 199
Procrastination, 315
Property, 120
Proverb, a Persian, 123
Provincial grandee, 89
Provisions, price of, 187
Pseudo-masonry, 124
Public at a tazzia, 280
Pulad, 332
Pul-i-Dellak, 388
Pul-i-Kojū, 195
Pulpit, 197, 279
Punishment of “the sticks,” 146
Put up in a mosque, 131
Quail-shooting, 90
Quarantine, 4
Quarters at Julfa, 206
Quinces, 170, 310
Quinine, 70
a general taking of, 398
Quotation of poetry, 288
Racecourse at Ispahan, 364
Races at Teheran, 214
Rahim Khan, 73
Railway, Moscow to Petersburg, 211
Rain, 175
Ramazan, fast of the, 284
Rammals, 120
Rams, fighting, 308
Raphael, a suspicious, 161
Rawlinson, Sir H., 109
Reading poetry, 145
Real ancient relic, 80
Red tape, 317
Réflet Métallique, 191
Relations of master and servant, 326
Religion of people, 339
teachers of, 338
Religious affectation, 285
toleration, 339
Removal of ancient building, 364
Repudiation, a, 273
Resht, 210
embroideries, 333
Resht-i-Behesht, 226
Respect to parents, 314
Rev. R. B⸺, 340
Riding-trousers, Persian, 322
Ring, a curious, 376
Ripsimeh, St., 160
Rise of the Zenda Rūd, 194
River Kara Sū, 108
Road-cooking, 107
Road to Shiraz, 217
Roads in Turkey, 213
want of, 248
Robber-chief, 264
Robbers, 263
alarm of, 130
fate of, 269
fight amongst, 265
Rock sculptures, 119
Rodolphe, 162
Roman Catholic Armenians, 166
Rookhnabad, 218
Rookhni, spring of, 241
Room-fellow, a would-be, 246
Roseh-Khana, 283
Rose-water, 309
Ross, Colonel, 346
Rotten Row of Shiraz, 219
Row at the bath, 71
Royal bounty, 51
edict, 63
farrashes, 51
firman, 257
ornaments, 50
Rūbandah, 334
Rūdbar, 399
Rudeness of Zil-es-Sultan, 367
Ruhdesht, 176
Ruined bazaar, 200
mosque, 177
Running footmen, 370
Russian bread, 18
cigarettes, 340
goods, 373 (Appendix D.)
Russian passengers, 10
post-house, 13
steamer, 9
subjects in Persia, 159
wines, 10
Rūstumabad, 209
S⸺, Captain, 179
S⸺, Colonel, 208
S⸺, Mr., 340, 385
Saadi, a moral tale of, 277
at schools, 338
tomb of, 278
Sacred trees, 364
Sacrifice of an ox, 258
Saddle-bags, 22
Saddle for riding post, 4
St. George’s church, 143
St. J⸺, Captain, 225
St. John, Major, 350
St. Michael, picture of, 158
Saint, shrine of a, 362
Salaam, the, 51
Salt lake, 247
marsh, 393
Samovar, 311
Sana, 108
Sanctuary, 137
Sang, 334
Sangak bread, 334
Sarhang, the, 80
Sau-sau-Rac, 274
Scandals at nunnery, 140
Scars on horses, 61
Scenery in North Persia, 397
School discipline, 337
Schools, 163
Schwab, Mr., 401
Scorpions, 249
stings of, 249
suicide of, 249
varieties of, 249
Sealing, 184
Seals, 184
Securing doors, mode of, 142
Segah, the, 326
Seidūn, 260
Sergeant Collins, 293
Hockey, 127
Sergipatoffski, Mr., 214
Serrum-u-Dowlet, 112
Servants, 67
honesty of, 313
posting, 260
wages, 67
Severe governors, 206
Shah Abbas the Great, 161, 390
bribing the, 271
Paleng, 45
the, 50, 370
Shah’s tower, 402
Shahtirs, 370
Shaking Minarets, the, 361
Sharp ride, a, 208
Shashgird, 389
Shawls, 274
Sheep, 175
tics, 396
Sheif, 347
Sheikh, the, 380
Shemar, 283
Shiel, Lady, 154
Shiraz, 218
climate, 224
famine at, 253
game at, 221
gardens of, 223
ladies, 219
lambs, 220
pipe-clay, 334
priest, 140
unhealthiness, 224
water, 241
wine, 229
women, intrigues of the, 276
Shirazi, gaiety of the, 219
Shirts, 317
Shitūr Gūlū, 226
Shoemakers, 190
Shoes, 321
Shooting antelope, 88
from the saddle, 84
Shopkeepers, 189
Shrine at Kūm, 387
of a saint, 362
Shulwar, 321
Shūr ab, 387
Shūrgistan, 261
Shushan, the palace, 109
Sick-leave, 207
Sick-room, a Persian, 244
Signs of wealth of Imād-u-Dowlet, 112
Silence of young married women, strange, 132
Silver doors, 196
Singers, Persian, 114
Sinsin, 386
Sir A. Kemball, 208
H. Rawlinson, 109
F. Goldsmid, 56, 157
Oliver St. John, 350
Sitting, mode of, 318
Skilled house-decorators, 164
Slavery in Persia, 326
Sleepers in mosques, 197
Smoking, 31
Snakes, 307
superstition as to, 306
Snipe, 116
double, 107
Snow-chair, 272
in Turkey, 213
Socks, 321
Soh, 384
Souhāli, 326
Soup Gework, 143
Spears, 179
Spurious cavalry officer, 73
Staff, health of the, 296
Stages, list of, 411
Stanley, the traveller, 224
Steamer, Caspian, 211
Steelyards, 221
Stone doors, 142
mortars, huge, 360
Storing wine, 58
Story, Persian, 285
Story-teller, 44
Straw, cut, its uses, 175
Stripped, I am, 263
Students, cells of, 197
Studs of horses, 89
Substitute for bells, 139
Successful Armenians, 143
Suez, 342
Suffid Rūd, 400
Suicide of a scorpion, 249
Suleiman Mirza, 90
Summer palace, 372
Sunset gun, 284
Sunstroke, dangers of, 375
Supposed lioness, 35
Surmeh, 260
Susmani girls, 114
Susmanis, 108
Swamp, shooting in a, 117
Swollen eyes, 213
Syudabad Pass, 101
Syud at Kasvin, 208
Houssein, 71
Syuds, dress of, 320
Hassan and Houssein, 153
the three, their fate, 156
T⸺, Mr., 27
Tabriz maund, 220
Tager, 188
Takhtrowan, 368
Taking quinine, 398
Talár, 57
Talisman, 290
Talking lark, 94
Tame pigs, 302
Tame gazelle, 167
lion, 306
partridges, 308
Tanks, 198
Tannūr or oven, 335
Tarantass, 12
Tarantulas, 248
Tattooing, 323
Tax-man at Dehbeed, 133
Tax of turkeys, 144
Taylor, Consul, 212
Taziana, the, 380
Tazzia, 279
Tazzias, dervishes at, 281
T-cloths, marks on, 194
Teachers of religion and law, 338
Teetotaler, a, 380
Teheran, 28, 372
races, 214
Teleet, 136
Telega, 11
Telegraph office, 198
flight of Baabi women to, 154
Telegraph poles, wooden, 80
Temple at Kangawar, 107
Tenets of Baabis, 339
Tent for Tazzia, 280
pitching, 399
Tents, 107
“The Sticks,” 377
Thief-catching, 85
Thieves, gang of, 269
Thorns in feet, 267
Tiflis, 14, 17
“Tiger’s boy,” 341
Tiled dome, 196
halls, 197
mosque, 197
Tile inscription, 177
work gates, 372
Titles, 38, 289
Tobeh, 388
Toffee, expensive, 80
Token, custom of the, 250
Tomb of Cyrus, 355
Esther and Mordecai, 75
Hafiz, 279
Saadi, 278
Tombs of the Kings, 119
Tombstone bridges, 163
Toolahs, 306
Trade credits, 188
in Teheran, 373
Traders, economy of, 172
Trades, 197
Traffic in drink in Julfa, 141
Transit of Venus, 331
Trap-horses, 352
Travellers’ law, 132
Travelling in Persia, 413
when ill, 208
Treasure finding, 76
of Darius, 78
trove in Julfa, 361
Trebizonde, 212
to Teheran, 213
Trees, sacred, 364
Tsaritzin, 406
Tumbakū, 30
Tūmbūn, 324
Turkeys, 375
in Julfa, 144
Turkish barber, 6
chibouques, 6
coffee-houses, 6
saddle, 7
use of, 24
Turkomanchai, 27
Turkoman horses, 104
Uncleanliness of Armenians, 316
Ungrateful baker, an, 183
Uniform, I appear in, 48
in Russia, 15
Unleavened bread, 335
Unripe fruit, eating of, 168
Ussher on the Meana bug, 217
tomb of Cyrus, 355
Ussher’s description of Persepolis, 217
Usury, 192
Utū-Kesh, 191, 333
Vaccination, 363
Vails, 68
Valliāt, 366
Valley of Yezdikhast, 261
Value of land, 175
Van cats, 305
Variable climate, 339
Varieties of kabob, 297
Vassilliardes, M., 401
Vegetables, 170, 300
Vegetation near Caspian, 400
Veil, the, 325
Venus, transit of, 331
Vienna, stay in, 4
Virgin, Pass of the, 350
Virtuoso, story of a, 37
Visit to Baabis, 201
Imād-u-Dowlet, 112
Visits, Persian, 28
Viticulture, 310
Volga, the, 405
W⸺, Mr., 133
Wages of servants, 67
Walker’s road, 350
Walling up alive, wholesale, 203
Walton, Mr. H. V., 137, 167
Want of roads, 248
Washerman, the, 333
Watch-dogs, 306
Watch-towers, 177
Water-fowl, 301
Water-melons, 169
Water of Shiraz, 241
Water-pipes, 29
Wedding of Kasim, 282
We find treasure, 80
Weighing, 221
corn, 192
Weights, 220
Well of death, the, 275
Wheat, 174
White eunuch, 39
Wholesale and retail, 188
walling up alive, 203
Wild asparagus, 168
ass, the, 308
ducks, 176
flowers, 173
geese, 116
pig, 177
sow, 178
Wine, Cholar, 229
cost of, 234
jars, 230
Kerman, 235
Kishmish, 159
making, 232
mode of packing, 236
purity of, 235
sellers, Armenian, 142
Shiraz, 229
varieties of, 235
Winter room, my, 206
Wisdom of a judge, 184
Women, bastinadoed, 122
costume of, 323
educated, 339
execution of two, 122
hair of, 323
head-dress of, 131
of Shiraz, intrigues of, 276
out-door dress of, 325
Women, sentimentality of, 339
Woodcut, Persian facsimile, 287
Wrestling, 98
X⸺, Mr., 330
Yabū, 107, 348
Yakhjal, 240
Yapunjah, 319
Yari Khan, 78
Yarns, 329
Yezd, 162
marble, 114, 276
nammads, 152
Yezdikhast, 261, 357
Yezeed, 283
Yezeedis, 126
Young pigs, 178
Zalābi, 284
Zambūreks, 52
Zangi, Spring of, 241
Zenda Rūd, 135, 193
Zerejumah, 317
Zergūn, 260, 354
Zil-es-Sultan, 146, 154, 203, 205, 365
accident to, 255
and his dogs, 366
and the bear, 227
boat of, 248
character of, 366
conversation with, 155
dress of, 257
his kalāat, 258
illnesses of, 149
petition to, 155
politeness of, 366
procession of, 256
prospects of, 199
rudeness of, 367
Zinjan, 154, 272
Zoban-i-Gūngishk, 359
Zoological Gardens, 35
THE END.
WARD, LOCK AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK.
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=GOETHE’S FAUST= (Complete). Translated in the Original Metres, with
copious Critical and Explanatory Notes by BAYARD TAYLOR. With a
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⁂ This is a full and complete reprint of BAYARD TAYLOR’S unrivalled
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=WALLACE’S TRAVELS ON THE AMAZON=: Travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro.
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=DEAN STANLEY’S LIFE OF DR. ARNOLD.= The Life and Correspondence of
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=POE’S TALES OF ADVENTURE, MYSTERY, AND IMAGINATION.= By EDGAR ALLAN POE.
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=VICTOR HUGO: SELECT POEMS AND TRAGEDIES.= (“Hernani” and “The King’s
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=DARWIN’S CORAL REEFS, VOLCANIC ISLANDS, AND SOUTH AMERICAN GEOLOGY=:
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=LOCKHART’S LIFE OF BURNS=: The Life of Robert Burns. By JOHN
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_Volume XX._
=BARTH’S TRAVELS IN AFRICA.= (Second and Concluding Volume): Travels and
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| 3/6 | =14= =Herbert’s Autobiography and History of England= |
| | under Henry VIII. By Lord HERBERT of Cherbury. |
| | 770 pp., =_3s. 6d._= |
| | |
| 3/6 |*=15= =Walpole’s Anecdotes of Painting in England.= By |
| | HORACE WALPOLE. 538 pp., =_3s. 6d._= |
| | |
| 3/6 | =17= =Locke’s Essays=: On Toleration, Education, Value of |
| | Money. 700 pp., =_3s. 6d._= |
| | |
| 3/6 | =18= =Bolingbroke on the Study and Use of History.= |
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| 3/6 | =19= =Essays on Beauty and Taste=: On Beauty, by |
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| 3/6 | =20= =Milton’s Early Britain.= With =More’s England under |
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| | 430 pp., =_3s. 6d._= |
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| 3/6 | =21= =Marvell’s Poems and Satires.= With Memoir of the |
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=Margaret Catchpole.= R. COBBOLD.
=‘His Book’ & ‘His Travels.’= ARTEMUS WARD.
=Twelve Months of Matrimony.= EMILIE CARLEN.
=Squanders of Castle Squander.= W. CARLETON.
=Evelina.= Miss BURNEY.
=Unrequited Affection.= HONORE DE BALZAC.
=Scottish Chiefs.= PORTER.
=The Improvisatore.= HANS ANDERSEN.
=Genevieve.= LAMARTINE.
=Tales of Mystery, &c.= POE.
=Helen.= MARIA EDGEWORTH.
=Royston Gower.= MILLER.
=Hagarene.= Author of “Guy Livingstone.”
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=A Lease for Lives.= A. DE FONBLANQUE.
=Backwoodsman.= WRAXALL.
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=Journey to Interior of the Earth.= JULES VERNE.
=The Great Invasion.= ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN.
*=Waterloo.= Ditto.
=The Blockade.= Ditto.
=Citizen Bonaparte.= Ditto.
=Year One of the Republic.=
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=The Conscript.= Ditto.
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=4= =McCulloch’s Principles of Political Economy.=
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=11= =Bacon’s New Atlantis, Essays=, &c.
=12= =Josephus: Antiquities of the Jews.= With Notes. I.
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=14= =Josephus: The Wars of the Jews.= With Notes.
=15= =Butler’s Analogy of Religion.= With Notes, &c.
=16= =Paley’s Evidences of Christianity.= Life, Notes, &c.
=17= =Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress.= Memoir of Author.
=18= =Robinson Crusoe.= By DANIEL DE FOE. With Memoir.
=19= =Sandford and Merton.= By THOMAS DAY. Illustrated.
=20= =Foster’s Decision of Character.= With Memoir.
=21= =Hufeland’s Art of Prolonging Life.=
=22= =Todd’s Student’s Manual.= By Rev. JOHN TODD.
=23= =Paley’s Natural Theology.= With Notes, &c.
=24= =Paley’s Horæ Paulinæ.= With Notes, &c.
=25= =Locke’s Thoughts on Education.=
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=54= =Masters in History.= By the Rev. P. ANTON.
=55= =Great Novelists.= By T. C. WATT.
=56= =Life of Thomas Carlyle.= By H. J. NICOLL.
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